The Good, the Bad, and the Funky

In my ear buds...

2012-01-29T13:37:00.004-05:00

When The Kathinator (for those of you who don't know me, that is my wife, Kathy) purchased an iPhone for me for my 40th birthday it opened up a bunch of new listening options. As I mentioned in my previous post, I spend the majority of my day with my ear buds planted firmly in place, and the iPhone has provided me with endless possibilities in regards to music. The first thing I did with the phone was research and install as many different music apps that I could find. Some of my favorites early on were Pandora, Slacker Radio, and NPR. I enjoyed creating my own stations, but became increasingly frustrated with what seemed like the same songs being shuffled each day. I didn't have a lot of faith in the apps being able to determine what I might like listening to because I created a station based on an artist that I like.

Thankfully, after a few months, a new app was released that assuaged my concerns: Spotify. Spotify has given me the ability to listen to just about anything I want to. Sure, there are some glaring omissions from their catalog (Zeppelin, Floyd, Beatles), but I don't need Spotify for those albums, I already have them. What I need Spotify for is to provide me the opportunity to brush up on things that I should have listened to long ago, listen to new albums that I would like to hear now, and best of all, try before I buy.

That leads to my only real issue not just with Spotify, but with all streaming music. That is, I don't own the music anymore. For ten bucks a month I can listen to anything at any time, but if I don't pay that ten bucks, then the music is over. I've realized that I miss buying music. I think purchasing music requires more of a commitment than streaming music. It is far too easy to listen to something on Spotify and dismiss it too rapidly. All of us have listened to bands and albums that took some time to warm to. With Spotify, I never really get, or give those albums, that chance. There are too many other options out there. Why should I try to force myself to listen to and enjoy the new Wilco album (a really good album, but I can't help but become a little bored with it) when I can just go and (re)discover something like Bowie's Hunky Dory again, or check out the new solo album, Clear Heart, Full Eyes by Craig Finn (from The Hold Steady)?

This post has actually veered from my intent. What I had planned was to post several short reviews of some selected albums that I am currently listening to. I just happen to be listening to all of them on Spotify and it resulted in this tangent. Ladies and gentlemen, here are a few of my favorite albums that I've listened to over the last few months, and a few thoughts on each.

Fitz and the Tantrums Picking Up the Pieces

This album was suggested to my by a co-worker and frankly, I can't stop listening to it. The debut album by Fitz and the Tantrums (who also have an ep available) is a great pop soul album. Michael Fitzpatrick shares vocal duties with a great soulful singer named Noelle Scaggs. While the album isn't necessary a soul masterpiece, it does have some great moments, like their single "Moneygrabber." This is not a heavy, dirty soul album. There is no real pain or strong emotion in Fitzpatrick's voice, but that is more than made up for by the strength of the songs. He has an uncanny vocal resemblance to Daryl Hall. This is some great new blue-eyed soul and I hope there will be more to look forward to from them over the years. This is good stuff.

Matthew Ryan I Recall Standing as Though Nothing Could Fall

Matthew Ryan has been in constant rotation for me since I heard his first single "Guilty" off of his debut album, Mayday, all the way back in 1997. When I think about all that is wrong with the music business I always think of this guy and try to figure out why we are subjected to so much crap on the radio, while someone like him survives a little more on the fringe. Every one of his albums ends up on critics year-end lists, yet every time I see him there are inexplicably only about 75 people there. This man deserves a wider audience. I Recall Standing... is another solid album in his canon. It is not my favorite as I gravitate more to his straight forward rock albums like Mayday, East Autumn Grin, Regret Across the Wires, and Vs. The Silver State. This album has more of his electronic sounds in it, and he is more low-key in his delivery, with a few exceptions. No one that I listen to seems to be able to paint a canvas like Matthew Ryan. He finds hope in despair, and is an artist that seems to be completely in tune with the world today and the 99% of us trying to find our place in it and something to hold on to. More people need to listen to his music.

The Horrible Crowes Elsie

The Horrible Crowes is a side project for Brian Fallon of the Gaslight Anthem. If you don't know the Gaslight Anthem you should. While I can't say I ever saw the young and hungry Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band of the early to mid-70s, I know enough about them and know their albums well enough to say that The Gaslight Anthem is in the same vein. (Bruce has also been known to join the Gaslight Anthem on stage on occasion.) Elsie takes a little different approach than the Gaslight albums. Where those albums are pedal to the metal, Elsie is a little more subtle and contemplative, but it really works. The Horrible Crowes (and The Gaslight Anthem) play music that should be heard loud, and with the windows open.

Black Country Communion 2

This is one killer album, probably my favorite album of the year. BCC have released two albums in the past year, 2 being the far superior. BCC is made up of Glenn Hughes (Deep Purple), Joe Bonamassa (blues guitar whiz), Jason Bonham (son of Bonzo), and Derick Sherinian on the keys/Hammond B3) The easy comparison for this album is to Led Zeppelin. It also happens to be the most accurate. This album is a perfect mix of hard rock, soul, and blues. Hughes has a range similar to Plant, Bonamassa plays guitar as if he's possessed. Bonham is a beast, and Sherinian fills in all the gaps with his textured keyboards. Save Me, Cold, and No Ordinary Son are the standouts on the album. I think if by some miracle Led Zeppelin reunited now, they would sound exactly like this. And Mr. Plant, if you stumble upon this blog, I'm begging you... Please put the Band of Joy away, call up Jimmy, John, and Jason and give us a tour or some new music.

Opeth Heritage

This is a little writeup that I never really thought I'd find myself writing. It is well known that I can pretty much enjoy all kinds of music. Well, one type that has never really been in my wheelhouse is any kind of "death metal" - the kind with the real guttural growls that seem to emanate straight from the bowels of a dying wildebeest. While perusing some of my favorite music blogs I kept seeing Heritage on numerous Top 10 lists. I did a little reading on them and found that this band has given up those guttural vocals for actual melody, harmony, and singing. So I decided to give it a shot, not knowing at all what to expect, and I'll tell you I was BLOWN away by this. This is a great album. You can hear a heavy dose of 70s hard rock/prog rock in it. There are beautiful piano passages, layers of guitars, and quite a pleasant voice. As far as modern bands go I'd compare them favorably to Porcupine Tree (actually, I think I like this album more than any single Porcupine Tree album I've heard.) This is definitely prog rock for the current hard rock scene. The musicianship is impeccable. This is a good headphones album and one that I highly recommend for someone looking for something a little different to listen to. I don't know a thing about Opeth, and I suspect I wouldn't like their earlier albums too much. But if this is indeed a new direction for them I can't wait to see where it goes.

Hello to the good, the bad, and the funky...

2012-01-20T19:49:00.000-05:00

Thanks for the intro, Kurt... I always thought that a good way to make an introductorypost on a music blog would be to discuss just what it is I love about music.Where I started, where I’ve gone, and where I am. I was born in 1971 and grewup in a twin house with my mom and my sister. My mother was a teenager in the60s and as I was growing up all I heard was her music. I grew up on a steady diet of Motown (The Four Tops were astaple), The Beatles (in 8^th grade I lost my mom’s vinyl copy of TheWhite Album in a poker game), and Led Zeppelin. This all changed in the 80swhen my mom entered a lengthy phase where she listened only to Air Supply andConway Twitty. Suddenly I was on my own in looking for the music that would becomethe soundtrack of my life.

I remember the very first song that I loved and the firsttwo vinyl albums I ever bought. “Philadelphia Freedom” (I thought it was aboutthe Phillies, not a women’s tennis team) was my first favorite song. I gatheredup whatever money I had from shoveling snow or cleaning my room and had my momdrive me to the K-Mart in Allentown where I bought Elton John’s Greatest Hits Vol. 2, and AC/DC’s Back in Black. I raced upstairs and putthe records on some old plastic record player that I had, and it fundamentallychanged everything about me. Since that day, whenever it was in 1980 or 1981, Isuppose, I have never been too far away from music.

I have gone through many phases of music that I listen to. Istill go through phases. I really started listening and discovering music bylistening to the radio in the 80s. I would listen mainly to pop music, alwayslistening to Rick Dees Weekly Top 40, and actually writing down the songs andtracking their chart movement every week. I listened to a lot of Hall andOates, and a lot of other top-40 radio. In 1983 - 1984 though, there were threesongs that completely altered my listening habits: “Cum on Feel the Noize”, “Jump”,and “Rock You Like a Hurricane”. I don’t know what it was, but the loudguitars, huge choruses, and crazy videos (I was an MTV addict) made atremendous impact on me and my friends. Suddenly all of my money from odd jobs,paper routes, etc. went to buying cassettes. My friends and I would ride ourbikes to Wall to Wall Sound and Video and buy everything we could find.Sometimes we would challenge ourselves to just buy albums based solely on theircovers. Clear tapes were immediately deemed more valuable than the standardwhite or beige tapes. We would trade tapes and make our own mix tapes. Musicwent everywhere with us. It was great.

Towards the late 80s and early 90s I started branching out abit. I realized there was a lot more music out there than just hair metal. Ialso started working (at what is still my all time favorite job) at RecordWorld, in Allentown. Here I spent time with other kids like me who just wantedto listen to music all the time. Maybe I’m just being sentimental, but I can’tremember any of us working there because it was a “job,” We wanted to be there. It was there that Idiscovered so many albums that I still go back and listen to on a regularbasis: Jellyfish Bellybutton, LennyKravitz Let Love Rule, The BlackCrowes Shake Your Moneymaker, PublicEnemy Fear of a Black Planet, Neil Young RaggedGlory. I also worked there during the mania of the Guns n Roses Use Your Illusion album releases(opening at midnight), and was on hand for the rise of grunge with Nirvana Nevermind and Pearl Jam Ten.

Around this time Ialso left home, moved out on my own and entered a huge Neil Young and BruceSpringsteen stage. My fascination with Neil is actually what led me to reallydig in with one of my other favorite bands, Pearl Jam. Of course I already hadtheir albums, but they became more important to me once I realized how muchthey had connected with Neil too. In the 90s, like everyone else, I listened toa lot of grunge bands. MTV was no longer a way for me to find any new music.Radio stations could occasionally fill that void because they weren’t so corporatelike they are today. DJs could still play artists they wanted to. In the Phillyarea there were 5 or 6 good ROCK stations that all played different bands. Itwas nothing like it is today where the same 50 songs are on the same rotation,on every station, every day with little deviation.

That is a real brief overview of what I liked from the yearI was born through the new millennium. I still love all of that music. I don’tbelieve in guilty pleasures. If I like it, I’m not ashamed. I still love hearingall of the old hair metal songs, I love hearing all of the random one hitwonder from the 80s, I love hearing the classic rock that I was too young toappreciate in the 70s, but fell in love with in the 90s. I adore the music andbands from the hugely underrated 1992 movie, Singles, which was Cameron Crowe’s ode to love and music in the90s. I love the late 80s silly rap songs, and the early 90’s R&B. I lovethe funk and soul sounds of the 70s. I honestly and truly love all kinds ofmusic. And in the 2000s, everything changed, and it got even better.

I don’t remember when exactly I got my first computer. Iknow that when I got married in 1996 we didn’t have one. By the time we moved toLandsdowne, just outside of Philly, in 2001, we did. I remember it was therethat I discovered file sharing. Right or wrong, it became a treasure trove forsomeone like me. Suddenly, I could have every song or album I ever wanted. Icould sample anything and everything. With the advent of YouTube I could seethe videos for any song I could think of. I could watch live performances ofartists from the comfort of my chair. I would spend countless hours searchingfor websites where people like me talked about music. I found tape and CDtrading sites where people would mail each other live recordings based only onthe promise that you were going to send them a show in return. My alreadysizeable music collection became obscene. But the best part was the discoveryof so many different bands and albums. I became addicted to the music siteswhere I would see a section that stated “If you like _____ you might like______.” What a concept! And as the decade rolled on, I discovered more andmore music. I discovered the great dirty garage/soul sounds of bands like TheDirtbombs and The Detroit Cobras. I found great blues and soul singers likeBetteye Levette and Sharon Jones. I stumbled onto the thunderous prog-metal ofMastodon and Opeth. Best of all, I read about and heard some of my favoritebands that you will never hear on the radio: The Gaslight Anthem, Matthew Ryan,Mutemath, and The Hold Steady. I also found out that bands that I used to lovein the 80s were still together and still making great music. Bands like SimpleMinds, Crowded House, and The Cult.

So that brings me to today. I spend very little time anymore trolling through record stores, though I always look for albums at yardsales. A few months ago I subscribed to Spotify and now purchase very littlemusic. But for an hour commute each way every day, and 7.5 hours a day at myjob, I do nothing but listen to music. In our house music is always on. I shareas much music with my 5 year old son as he will listen to. I try to get to afew concerts a year. I still spend too much time searching for music blogs andmusic reviews. I read as much as I possibly can, and I listen to everythingthat I can. I’ve gone back and read a bunch of the previous posts on this site,and I’ll admit that I’m a little nervous. My tastes are clearly a lot moremainstream and rock-oriented, but I hope I can bring some new insights to thissite and I hope that maybe I can encourage someone out there to take a listento something I like. Maybe it will be something old that I still love, or maybesomething new that I’m not sure about. And I hope it works both ways and that Iwill take on the challenge of listening to some different things (like The Stooges Funhouse, that Kurt and Scott had me listen to earlier today) too. Eitherway, it should be a fun ride.

A New Addition to the Blogging Brotherhood......

2012-01-20T19:33:00.002-05:00

Greetings all -

In the spirit of renewal brought on by the start of the New Year, S.D. and I have decided to add a new blogger to The Good, the Bad and the Funky.....

Actually that is b.s., (not the adding a new blogger part, but the spirit and renewal bit). In all honesty, our new addition is an old friend of ours. That said, his taste is a change from our own and his enthusiasm and unique take make him an excellent addition. But don't take my word for it (you should really know better by now anyways)......

5 from 2011

2011-12-30T12:30:00.002-05:00

Ah, the end of the year! A great time for those of us who like lists. Best-of-the-Year-in-This, Worst-of-the-Year-in-That – there are lists tallying just about every subject of interest. We read them to discover something we missed, or something they missed. We praise the ones that agree with us, and criticize the ones that don’t.

Then we go and compile lists of our own.

Have we actually listened to enough music, seen enough films, watched enough TV, read enough books, tuned-in to enough news, or followed enough trends to be objective on whatever topic we’re compiling? Unless we’re paid to, probably not. We travel the roads and stop for the attractions we like best, sometimes discovering a scenic bypass that’s worth a detour here or stumbling onto a business route we should have avoided there, and our lists concern the stuff we enjoyed (or didn’t) along the way.

The roads I traveled this year took my past a few good, new albums. Here are the five best...

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Five Essential LPs from 2011
(ordered by date of release)

1. Wounded Rhymes by Lykke Li
(Atlantic, March 1)

This is a scenic bypass through a business district. Aesthetic Pop for the Gaga Masses, Li’s sophomore album mixes blustery, booming and, yes, ballsy beats (“Youth Knows No Pain”, “Get Some”) with breezy, blistering ballads (“Unrequited Love”, “Sadness Is a Blessing”). The result is the best Girl Group Album Phil Spector Never Made with ABBA.

Track Listing
Youth Knows No Pain – I Follow Rivers – Love Out of Lust – Unrequited Love – Get Some – Rich Kids Blues – Sadness Is a Blessing – I Know Places – Jerome – Silent My Song

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2. Jason The Dragon by Weedeater
(Southern Lord, March 15)

Exactly what to expect from a band named Weedeater: the aural equivalent of eating weed (although bassist/vocalist ‘Dixie’ Dave Collins does sound like he’s smoked a lot of it, too). Pummeling but less intensely hypnotic than Stoner Metal classics Dopesmoker or Dopethrone, this is the sonic definition of a gateway drug. Title track adds 10 tons to Hendrix’s “Voodoo Chile”.

Track Listing
The Great Unfurling – Hammerhandle – Mancoon – Turkey Warlock – Jason The Dragon – Palms and Opium – Long Gone – March of the Bipolar Bear – Homecoming – Whiskey Creek

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3. The Harrow and The Harvest
by Gillian Welch (Acony, June 28)

Welch describes her & partner David Rawlings’ fifth album as “10 kinds of sad”. Compared to 2003’s Soul Journey, perhaps, but the Welch/Rawlings cannon is mostly five albums’ worth of sad. Tempos as woeful as Harlan County’s economy dominate, with the vintage aplomb that’s defined the duo’s New High Lonesome Sound since debut Revival. Perfect for everything about 2011.

Track Listing
Scarlet Town – Dark Turn of Mind – The It Will Be – The Way It Goes – Tennessee – Down Along the Dixie Line – Six White Horses – Hard Times – Silver Dagger – The Way the Whole Thing Ends

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4. Wicked Will by The Ettes
(Varese Fontana, August 2)

Coco & company delivered their 4th album to an apparent lack of critical reception, just as before. Must be that The Ettes are too consistently good for critics to bother. Garage fuzz, bitter venom, & a touch of Honky Tonk balladry – this is the stuff that made them great in the first place, filled out it in all the right ways. The Ettes deliver a 100º proof vintage sound.

Track Listing
Teeth – Excuse – The Pendulum – You Were There – My Heart – You Never Say – One By One – Trouble with You – Don't Bring Me Down – Stay Where You Are – I Stayed Too Late – My Baby Cried All Night Long – The Worst There Is – [Untitled]

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5. Bad As Me by Tom Waits
(Anti-, October 24)

I reviewed this album on 10/19.2011. Some musicians who are indebted to the past have a way of sounding more in touch with the future. Like two of his heroes, Jack Kerouac and Harry Partch, Waits’ career-spanning predilection for the past simply pushes the latest Tom Waits a little bit further away from the previous Tom Waits, and sidesteps the question.

Track Listing
Chicago – Raised Right Men – Talking At the Same Time – Get Lost – Face To the Highway – Pay Me – Back In the Crowd – Bad As Me – Kiss Me – Satisfied – Last Leaf – Hell Broke Luce – New Year’s Eve

~ S.D. Peters

Accepting The Consequences (Pt. 2)

2011-12-23T12:30:00.006-05:00

...continued from Pt. 1, posted 12/21/2011:

Search for the word “integrity” in my TGTB&TF posts, and you’ll find it. A lot. Typically as a quality of art opposed to commodity.* And when I refer to recorded music as a commodity, I mean a record that (a) was created to appeal to a mass audience, for (b) the purpose of selling millions of copies of it, which (c) it subsequently accomplished. A commodity may have integrity, but that’s as much a thing of chance as a work of foremost integrity becoming a successful commodity. There are plenty of instances where, failing to sell, a record still lacks integrity – the only difference being that the record buying public actually had some.

Anyone interested in the creative process ought to have an inherent distrust of musicians whose primary reason for making music is to make money: they’ll have no qualms compromising their creative vision in order to appeal to a mass audience in order to realize their goal. Only entertainers need to find an audience; an artist needs only to find his vision & see it through. Rest assured, there’ll be an audience for him, and it will find him and his work.**

* Consistent sales may be a mark of a product’s integrity, but I’m talking about artistic integrity.
** I’ve said something similar in 100 Great 20th Century Musicians (The Criteria).

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There are, as always, exceptions.

AC/DC play music that appeals to their audience. They always have & have no reason not to continue doing so. They entertain & they know it. They appeal to a particular audience that happens to be large enough to fill arenas with bodies and AC/DC’s coffers with cash. Their appeal happens to be a crucial part of their integrity, however. You can expect stellar 3-chord Rock & Roll; if you get a fourth, as Angus Young has said, it’s a bonus.

The Beatles are the archetype of the rare breed: the once-popular, critically re-assessed, still popular. They received plaudits from critics while the record-buying public paid millions of their hard-earned for the band’s freshly-minted singles & albums, but the legacy that persists today didn’t begin until their catalog had languished through most of the 1970s & early 1980s.

Then there’s Radiohead. Popular in the U.S. after releasing “Creep”, but roundly dismissed by critics in the U.K. as Britpop wannabes, they managed to win over the critics & appeal to an audience of millions with their second album. Their audience continues to grow (even as it loses the chaff who don’t quite get whatever new direction the band has decided to take with each subsequent album), and critics remain mostly in their corner.

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Most of the consequences of recorded music having monetary worth disprove the idea that the record industry somehow acts as a “filter” to weed out atrocities. There’s plenty of evidence that the industry was never very good at that, but perhaps a single example will do: Remember Milli Vanilli?

To be fair, there’s also evidence that the record industry was responsible for some great artistic triumphs that didn’t do so well on the market. Trout Mask Replica, though on Zappa’s Straight label, was distributed by Reprise Records, part of the Warner family. The Shape of Jazz to Come appeared on Atlantic, well after the label was an established powerhouse. Pet Sounds, in case anyone forgot, sold poorly (by Beach Boys sales standards) when it was released. The record label? Capitol.

O, and Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music appeared on RCA.

That these records – which reveal their artists’ intent, not an audience, to be foremost in mind – first appeared on major labels offers additional evidence that if the record companies were operating with sales in mind, they weren’t a very good filtering mechanism.

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Yes, the weakening of the recording industry is going to have some unpleasant consequences. Outsider Music has operated outside the recording industry, with full creative freedom such operation affords, and for every one listener that has found outsiders like Daniel Johnston, Wesley Willis, Wild Man Fischer, & Joe Meek’s I Hear a New World, there are hundreds more who, if exposed to them, will declare their “music” unlistenable. Judged by standards commonly attributed to what makes music music, they are.

Here’s the thing, though: those hundreds probably won’t ever hear “King Kong”, “Rock & Roll McDonalds”, “Go to Rhino Records”, or any Joe Meek recording other than “Telstar”, and it won’t matter. The people who want to hear those songs will find them – and not because they are judging them by the common standards of what makes music music, but rather what makes art art.

The recording industry has foisted things far worse on the listening public than, say, anything by Jandek (who when compared thus isn’t at all bad), for more than half-a-century, and failed to promote recordings that were far more worthy of receiving the hype a major label can arrange. An audience has found those neglected records, too, while the listening public has largely abandoned yesterday’s hits today for tomorrow’s has-beens.

Great music will be created whether or not the recording industry exists. Some of the best music created while the recording industry was king went largely unnoticed: is it possible that with greater creative freedom will come greater music?

Greatness is a superlative, so there’ll be lots of failures. Whether or not those failures outweigh the greater creative freedom afforded by the recording industry’s demise is the basic criterion for deciding if there’s any benefit to its continued existence as a creative filter – and the evidence suggests we’re better off without the filter.

As a joke, it may be funny to declare Lulu a failure so miserable that we’d better off if the recording industry continued to control recorded product; but as Klosterman said, we don’t live in a vacuum. The failure of Lulu itself would be a pretty weak reason to wish for the return of a dominant recording industry.*

* If anything, Metallica’s involvement in Lulu ought to be a STRONG argument favoring the demise of the recording industry. Here is a band whom, frankly, the recording industry has served quite well, and with whom, frankly, they’ve consistently sided in the debate over copyright control & music sharing, to the detriment of many lesser-earning artists who haven’t Metallica’s millions to protect, and therefore not as much to lose, by a more open policy toward how music is shared among listeners – particularly streaming. That, however, is a discussion for another time. In the context of the currently concluded discussion, the creative failure of a million dollar monster like Metallica gives us all some hope that the decline of the recording industry will keep the likes of future Metallica’s from earning so much money that they then forget there are others out there who need the exposure, in order to ensure they can earn at least some money.

~ S.D. Peters

Accepting The Consequences (Pt. 1)

2011-12-21T06:30:00.006-05:00

Chuck Klosterman wrote this entertaining critique of the recent collaboration between Lou Reed & Metallica: Injustice For All: The Lou Reed/Metallica Album: Lulu is bold, uncompromising, and totally unlistenable. Mainman read it, and wondered what I thought. I’m glad he asked, although regarding the goodness or badness of Lulu, I have no opinion of my own because I have:

a) Not listened to anything by Lou Reed post-New York (1989).
b) Not listened to anything by Metallica post-Metallica (1991).
c) No interest in hearing Lulu, regardless of what critics say about it.*

* I enjoy the music of the New Viennese School, yet have felt neither obliged nor compelled to listen to Berg’s Lulu (an opera) either. My interest in Lulu begins & ends with Pandora's Box, expressionist director G.W. Pabst’s SILENT take on the story. In an October 2011 feature on the album’s creation MOJO Magazine quoted from Reed’s lyrics, which further convinced me that when it comes to Lulu, silence is golden.

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Most successful artists have a purple patch of creativity (a subject Mainman & me wrote about in 2008). Reed’s was with the Velvet Underground (1967-1968); Metallica’s with their original bassist, Cliff Burton (1981-1986). Specific creative peaks of each artist respectively? The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967) & Master Of Puppets (1986). Commercial success followed later – Reed’s “Walk On The Wild Side” (1972) & Metallica’s eponymous “black album” (1991) – with diminishing returns.

Every listener is entitled to his own opinion, of course, but finding myself in the company of accepted critical opinion on Reed & Metallica’s careers, I’ll take Klosterman’s word when he says “[Lulu,] is not a successful record.” I’ll share a knowing chuckle when he theorizes the reactions of “Metallica fans”, “Lou Reed obsessives”, and “some contrarian rock critic” seeking Internet Fame. And when he says “It might be a successful simulation of how it feels to develop schizophrenia while suffering from a migraine, although slightly less melodic”, I’m hearing “The Story Of Wild Man Fischer” during a migraine, which would not be a very healthy experience.

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Having delivered his review in the first three paragraphs, Klosterman proceeds to riff on how such an impossible record came to be... well, possible. And it’s at this point I diverge. Not a sharp U-turn – more a hard cross-traffic left. I may arrive at the same destination as Klosterman & agree that Lulu is not a successful record, but I’m not by the same road, and with less reason to hold either Reed or Metallica 100% responsible for the failure (though for reasons I’ll mention later, I take some pleasure in Metallica’s failure).

Klosterman’s road goes this way:

As a rule, we're always supposed to applaud the collapse of the record industry. We are supposed to feel good about the democratization of music and the limitless palette upon which artists can now operate. But that collapse is why Lulu exists. If we still lived in the radio prison of 1992, do you think Metallica would purposefully release an album that no one wants? No way... Lulu is so terrible is because the people making this music clearly don't care if anyone else enjoys it. Now, here again — if viewed in a vacuum — that sentiment is admirable and important. But we don't live in a vacuum. We live on Earth. And that means we have to accept the real-life consequences of a culture in which recorded music no longer has monetary value, and one of those consequences is Lulu.

That road is a lot like Route 61 through Centralia, PA: you can still follow it, but you do so at the risk of falling through a crack in the earth and/or asphyxiating on carbon dioxide.* The implication that money (a) ought to be a criteria for judging an album’s value because (b) it would somehow keep an album like Lulu from being made, falls into a few cracks, and it becomes downright noxious when rendered, Recorded music should retain a monetary value, by appealing to the greatest number of people possible who might buy it – which is how monetary value is calculated from the record industry’s point of view.

I’ve lived with the real-life consequences of placing monetary value on recorded music. We all have. Those consequences have existed since the dawn of recorded music. There lashings of recorded evidence, including most of Metallica’s post-Master Of Puppets output. The most consistent source of proof, of course (at least since the 1940s), have been the Billboard charts, while the best source of contemporary proof are the autotuned atrocities that blast shamelessly out of SUV windows & iPod earbuds. Neither Klosterman’s, nor any other review I’ve heard or read,** has convinced me that hearing Lulu would somehow make me prefer those consequences.

* Centralia is a ghost town, sat atop a coal seam that’s burned underneath the town since 1962.
** A brief 4-star review in the Dec. 2011 MOJO was the first positive review I’ve encountered.

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Here’s what usually happens when recorded music has monetary value (i.e., has a large enough audience to move massive amounts of product): it recedes into the background & becomes at worst an historical footnote, and at best... forgotten. Popular at the moment, it’s as regrettable tomorrow as Klosterman considers Lulu today.

Am I saying that Lulu will ever not be regrettable? No. (And again, I’m taking Klosterman’s word that it is now.) Will it acquire a small but fervent cadre of fans, while other popular releases lose most of theirs? Well, the man who gave us Metal Machine Music is involved, so probably. Maybe it won’t get better with age, but if we’re talking value, then gaining a handful of loyalty is better than losing fistfuls of royalty (though, possibly not if you’re Metallica).

As far as monetary value goes, the rare album – the one that barely sold when it was released, was mostly remaindered, long deleted, and lately reassessed – is the one fetching hundreds, even thousands, now. The value of twenty copies each of the twenty best selling albums from the same time? They’re priced for $1 or less at your local Goodwill, although most won’t sell for less than free, and mostly won’t move for even that. Go back to your nearest Goodwill next week & prove me wrong.

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The valuable rarity & the worthless fad do share one thing in common, though: their monetary value isn’t earning a cent for the person who made the music. That means the guy who only sold 50 copies of his album in 1971 has nothing to lose by reassessment. He might not make another dime off his record (if he ever made even that much off it), but belated recognition won’t hurt. At worst he gets no money – which by now he’s quite accustomed to getting.

On the other hand, what good is the monetary value of a record to the performer who sold millions of them once upon a time, if those records can be had cheap from thrift stores, yard sales, & dollar bins? Even if the record’s still in print, why would anyone pay full, or even half-price for it?

To be continued...

~ S.D. Peters

“Bad As Me”: Tom Waits in Good Form

2011-10-19T09:00:00.002-04:00

(Note: As of today, I'll be using my real name - S.D. Peters - to sign-off these posts. I'm going to leave my Musical Jolly Chimp sign-offs on all my previous posts, but S.D. Peters & the Musical Jolly Chimp are the same person!)

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It’s been a long time since a Tom Waits album grabbed me right out of the gate. Since 1992, in fact – the year Bone Machine plumbed the collective psyche’s darker depths and peaked Waits’ Island recordings.

Excepting The Black Rider (Island, 1993), all of Waits’ post-Bone Machine albums are above-par records when compared to their contemporaries; but up against the rest of Waits’ stuff, none of them are a Small Change (Asylum, 1976), Swordfishtrombones (Island, 1983), Rain Dogs (Island, 1985), or Bone Machine (Island, 1992).

They’re not bad records; they’re just not as good. Such is the quality of Waits’ catalog, that all of his records are superior until compared to one another.

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Waits’ landmark albums requested but one listen, because they knew that was all you needed. One listen, and you were hooked – quite an accomplishment for records filled with dour ballads, clanging percussion, twisted blues, monomaniac sea shanties, psychotic Rumbas, Free Jazz wig-outs, and Burroughs-spiked spoken word bits about boozers, losers, weirdoes, and freaks, the lot typically punctuated (or punctured) by the real oddballs – a Pop Song or two of Top 40 caliber.

During the last nineteen years, Waits’ albums (five in all, excluding two compilations and one live recording) have been far more demanding. They’ll reward you for your compliance, but only if you have the patience to comply... again and again. That they’re “difficult” records compared to his Island albums reflects the caliber of Waits’ experimental accomplishments in the 1980s and early 1990s, but also tends to relinquish his later work to some dusty shelves under the basement stairs, alongside the lesser albums of the Asylum years.

All of which is what makes Tom’s latest, Bad As Me (Anti-), something of a reckoning – a career recalibration of sorts, which scores the past together. The winner? Tom Waits’ entire catalog. The loser? Possibly only The Black Rider?

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So, what’s wrong with The Black Rider? Looking at the facts, nothing. A collaboration for the stage with William Burroughs and the avant-garde playwright Robert Wilson, it was Waits’ swansong with Island (bar the 1998 “contractual obligation” retrospective, Beautiful Maladies), and a logical outcome of the shifting experimentation and theatricality of the preceding Island albums. Compared to those albums, however, The Black Rider was the relative nadir of Waits’ Island tenure – not because it lacked the experimental quality of it’s predecessors, but rather the jump-cut variety that kept listeners on their toes.

Franks Wild Years (Island, 1987), the weakest of Waits’ Island albums in the 1980s, was the “soundtrack” to a theater production by Waits & Kathleen Brennan, but the inclusion of a spirited Rumba (“Temptation”), a minimalist fire & brimstone sermon (“Down In The Hole”), and a ruminative death ballad (“Cold, Cold Ground”), lent an air of the experimental variety that defined its predecessors. The Black Rider, on the other hand, was all “theater”. Isolated from the stage, without any of the stylistic variety of Franks Wild Years, and coming at the end of Waits’ Island tenure, it offered only a twisted proof that the journey is more exciting than the destination.

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Leaving Island for the independent Anti- Records, Waits’ next offering or all new, original material was Mule Variations (Anti-/Epitaph, 1999). Like Waits’ previous “transition” album between labels, Heartattack & Vine (Asylum, 1980), Mule Variations sounded like outtakes from his most recent albums – albeit without any hint of things to come.

Where the title track of Waits’ last Asylum album foreshadowed one of the directions his Island recordings would follow – compare “Heartattack & Vine” to “16 Shells From a 30-06” and “Gin-Soaked Boy” from Swordfishtrombones, or “Big Black Maria” from Rain Dogs – Mule Variations lingered in the past. The implication was a return to the exploratory style that defined the initial Waits/Brennan collaborations.

The outré neo-Weimar Theater of The Black Rider, it suggested, was a one-off. The suggestion invited listeners back: Mule Variations was a “lost” Island album; it was Rain Dogs’ prodigal son. It was also an antidote to Beautiful Maladies. It captured a strain of the past without repeating it, and inoculated listeners’ against any suspicion that what might be next might be quite different.

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Released at the same time in 2002, Waits’ next Anti- albums, Alice & Blood Money were, like The Black Rider, collaborations with Robert Wilson. Unlike their pitch black predecessor, they dabbled in a clear-cut homage to the dark/light contrast of the Brecht-Weill Cabaret collaborations.

Blood Money is the more inviting listen of the pair upon their release; then you realize you’ve entered an empty theater, and begin to wonder why you’d come to hear something you couldn’t also see.

Alice, on the other hand, goes the extra mile to discourage listeners – every song sounds like it’s in the Key of Despair. Ignoring that advice, however, and you can cut through the album’s Kierkegaard-like abstractions. It will make sense. It’s the more theatrical work of the pair, true, but its atmosphere is that of Cabaret Dark Ride, and it’s barker is a dour balladeer who is quite capable of enticing you to slum the darker recesses of the human soul. Think of it as detritus of the Bone Machine – the dust that settles once the machine shuts down – and, if you’re a Tom Waits aficionado, you might be curious enough to invest the time it takes to sift through it.

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Real Gone (Anti-), released two years after Alice & Blood Money, is just that – gone, with Foreign Affairs (Asylum, 1977), Blue Valentine (Asylum, 1978), and The Black Rider, into remaindered bin of Waits’ oeuvre; waiting, perhaps, for some fans’ belated rediscovery – if not of the entire album, at least of its hidden gems – but mostly gathering dust on that shelf under the basement stairs. And it’s actually a more accessible, and varied, album than it’s three theatrically-inclined predecessors!

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Which brings us, finally, to Bad As Me (Anti-, 2011). Tom’s latest will be released on October 25, 2011, but as I write, it’s streaming via http://www.tomwaits.com/.

(The streaming ends Friday, October 21, 2011; so due to its limited availability, and the unlimited lifetime of this post, I’m not bothering with a direct link to the stream.)

Waits has an admirable, even enviable, trait – approximating, but not quite as extreme as, the integrity of cartoonist Bill Watterson – of protecting his work from would-be illicit profiteering (see his ticket sales policy, for example), so – no surprise – a pre-approved code was required in order to get in on the streaming. The codes weren’t hard to come by, however – you could request one if you hadn’t previously signed up on Waits’ site to receive one – and as a reward for listening, you received additional codes to share with your friends.

If you’re reading this before October 21, 2011, it’s worth your while to apply for a listening code. If you’re this too late, then I’d advise you to just pick up a copy of the album (or buy the mp3 download if that’s your thing), because Bad As Me IS Tom Waits’ best album since Bone Machine; the first non-compilation album in nearly 20 years that grabs you from the first note and doesn’t let go until the last.

(Not convinced? Then check out Tom Waits’ Private Listening Party on his website. This curmudgeonly acceptance of “technology” is prime Waits.)

I specify “non-compilation” because in retrospect, Orphans, a 2006 compilation of “Brawlers, Bawlers, and Bastards” from Waits’ back catalog (all of them previously unavailable on any Waits album), foreshadowed Bad As Me. The new material - 13 songs in 45 minutes - sounds like it could be from the back catalog.

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Comparisons to Mule Variations might be suggested at this point. One listen will dispatch them. Yes, Bad As Me has distinct echoes of Waits’ past recordings, but it’s no lost Island record. It’s Waits’ recalling, and sometimes reconfiguring his stylistic excursions of 40-odd years, rather than one extended replication of a particular period:

“Chicago” could be right at home on Swordfishtrombones, somewhere between “16 Shells...” and “Gin Soaked Boy”; or it could replace “I’ll Take Chicago” on Franks Wild Years.

“Raised Right Men” sounds as if it’s an outtake that could have raised the stakes on Heartattack & Vine.

“Pay Me” finds the down ‘n out smoke ‘n boozer of Small Change meeting Alice’s Bowler-hatted Weimar emcee (“Pay Me”), while “The Heart of Saturday Night” steps “Back Into the Crowd”.

In a real miracle of brevity, the scattered gems of Real Gone are compressed into the title track (“Bad As Me”), before the elusive closet romantic of Swordfishtrombones’ “Johannsburg, Illinois” reappears as the moody busker of “Kiss Me”.

Mayhem reigns in the penultimate “Hell Broke Luce” – one of Waits’ rare, and recent, statements of political outrage (previous ones appeared on Real Gone and Orphans), and the return of Keith Richards on “Satisfied” and “Last Leaf” guarantees the instant classic status of both tracks, just as Keef’s contributions on Rain Dogs and Bone Machine did for “Big Black Maria”, “Blind Love”, and “That Feel”.

There’s even one track (“Talking At the Same Time”) with atmospherics that ring like an improved echo of Bone Machine’s “Dirt In the Ground”; and another, “Get Lost”, actually helps Elvis find his way to 2011 by way of Alice’s “Kommienezuspadt”.

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How is it that some musicians who are most indebted to the past have a way of sounding more in touch with the future without any intention? Like two of his heroes, Jack Kerouac and Harry Partch, Waits’ career-spanning predilection for the past simply pushes the latest Tom Waits a little bit further away from the previous Tom Waits, and sidesteps the question.

As the songs of Bad As Me roll by, you get the feeling that the Tom Waits on this album is, once again, moving somewhere that’s neither here nor there. He grabs the past, pushes it through the present, and into the future, never sounding like he’s anchored to any of them in particular.

What comes next is anyone’s guess, and the album’s closing ballad, a Robert Burns-quoting rumination called (appropriately) “New Year’s Eve”, is perfectly placed to confound any hypotheses.

~ S.D. Peters

"The Joys of Concertgoing" - Paul McCartney at Yankee Stadium 07-16-11

2011-07-19T09:54:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday (July 16th, 2011- a date that will live in infamy.....well, not quite but it was a good day) I had the pleasure to see the man, the myth, the legend (who hopefully has learned not to get married again without an ironclad pre-nup), Sir Paul McCartney.

Macca, as the Brits are fond of calling him, was in fine form running through his solo, Wings, and Firemen material while mixing in healthy dollops of his first band, the Beatles, into his 2 1/2 hour long set. No one ever said that Sir Paul doesn't know how to put on a show. Considering the fact that he is pushing 70 and his voice is still as supple (for the most part) as ever, all who came were sure to be entertained. Jet flowed into All My Loving, Paperback Writer was followed by The Long and Winding Road. He even did a few tributes to his deceased band mates, John Lennon and George Harrison (Give Peace a Chance, A Day in the Life, and Something). Which they may have liked if they were around to comment.....or they might have slagged him in the press for taking their name in vain, depending on whether they were pissed at him or not. I imagine we'll never know.

Macca, as brilliant and beloved as he is, can be a polarizing creature at times. There are those who feel that his "taskmaster" ways helped hasten the Beatles' demise while there are others that feel he has never lived up to his potential after the band broke up. That fact that no Beatle ever did never lessened the criticism.

Granted, Paul had a bigger arsenal to draw from than his fellow ex-Moptops. Generally considered the best musician of the group (during the course of the Beatles' run he played drums on several tracks, played the guitar solo on tracks like "Taxman" and is one of the best bass players in rock and roll) , even John Lennon admitted that Paul could (and did) knock out tracks for the Beatles all by himself.

Here is a quote from John's 1980 interview in Playboy about "Why Don't We Do It in the Road" off of the White Album -

"That's Paul. He even recorded it by himself in another room. That's how it was getting in those days. We came in and he'd made the whole record. Him drumming. Him playing the piano. Him singing. But he couldn't—he couldn't—maybe he couldn't make the break from the Beatles. I don't know what it was, you know. I enjoyed the track. Still, I can't speak for George, but I was always hurt when Paul would knock something off without involving us."

Add that to the fact that Macca has a talent for melody that is only rivaled (or perhaps we should say equaled by Brian Wilson of Beach Boys fame) and considerable skills as a lyricist (Before you say anything, yes, Lennon was the more imaginative writer but if John was a 1A, Paul at his best is probably a 1B) and perhaps his detractors have a valid point. For a man with that pedigree to be content to sing "Silly Love Songs" might seem to be a waste....but was it?

McCartney's melodic talents lend themselves to pop songs and always have. I bet you that if I told you to sing a The Beatles song, you aren't digging into the vaults to pull out Lennon's "Baby's in Black" or Ringo's "Matchbox". The average person would go for the low hanging fruit like "Hey Jude","I Saw Her Standing There" etc and that is vintage McCartney. His talent is such that even on weaker material he'll throw in a nugget and make the song worthwhile (like the 30 seconds of him singing "the wonder of it all, baby" at the end of Wings' "Listen to What the Man Said").

I get the feeling from what I've read and now seen was that all he wanted to do was use his talents to entertain. He wasn't angry (like John was most of the time) or spiritual (like George) so he crafted songs that he liked and thought people wanted to hear. And is that the worst thing in the world for a professional musician? People shit on Wings because it's not the Beatles. Fine, that is a valid point but from what I can tell, the band served the purpose of its master. It allowed Sir Paul to tour, to play songs to arenas full of fans, and become "most successful musician and composer in popular music history" according the Guinness Book of World Records. He might well have been able to do that if he just played Beatles songs but then he would be a sad nostalgia act. He instead created a whole new group with its own set of classic songs. Complain if you want but I dare you to sit through the best of Wings' singles and not tap your foot or hum or smile.

And that's what Saturday was, over 2 hours of singing and foot tapping and guilty pleasures. When I heard the opening chimes to "Let Em In" a smile broke out upon my face as I started to sing along with 50,000 people. McCartney is one of the few surviving rock legends that can still do that. Love Bowie but his catalog, as great as it is, doesn't lend itself to that. Neither does Dylan's. Elton might if his hit to cheese ratio wasn't so bad.

MJC is right in that the artist's musical statement is the recording. It should be (and often is) the perfect representation of what the artist wanted to give to the public. Most concerts fail because the artist can't give you more than a flawed version of what they recorded in the first place. But in those instances when the concert is a shared experience, it can become more than the recording and therefore worthwhile.

I told many a friend that I had to go and see this show. Macca's getting older and just like when I saw Johnny Cash, you never know when the tour stops for good and the record is all you have.

The Rubble that is the Music "Industry" aka A Walk through Best Buy and Borders.....

2011-03-20T17:22:00.000-04:00

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil - For I have walked this path before and survived unscathed. The names still ring out, The Wiz, HMV, Tower Records, Virgin and now Borders has been added to the role call of the now dead and soon to be forgotten ...."

That was part of what I was thinking as I walked through Borders going out of business sale at their Park Avenue location. Actually, I was not thinking about the 23rd Psalm (that came to me as I sat at the computer to write but work with me) but I have done the box store death march on many occasions....

Now don't get me wrong - on the short-term "I'm a greedy bastard" level, picking through the rubble of a dying box store isn't the worst thing in the world. I'm always ready to grab some imports or pricey music books at a fraction of their price.

Also, I must admit, it's not like Borders going belly up really affects the shopping patterns of music collecting freaks like MJC and myself. There are so many ways to get music in today's world. Between Amazon, iTunes (which I refuse to use since I have an extreme aversion to being Steve Job's bitch -which I'll happily explain why in a later post coming to computer screens near you), and the surviving local record stores, there are plenty of places to get what I want.
In fact, current technology has dropped the cost of recording to the point that it seems that everyone is in a band and putting out music (and according to much of the music press they all apparently live in a 20 block stretch of Brooklyn). While it may be harder to sort the wheat from the chaff, we can at least say there is actually plenty of wheat to be found.
That said, there was something to be said for being in a store and starting up a conversation with a complete stranger and sharing thoughts about music.......or at least there is for those of us who like talking in general and like talking about music in particular.

It wasn't always the staff, since Tower, Borders, etc didn't make a habit of hiring people who were really into music but I have definitely have had great conversations (and recommendations) in the stores that are slowly fading from existence. The remaining big store and online options don't really lend themselves to that type of experience (I don't see a deep, lasting conversation breaking out in a Walmart but hey, I could be wrong).
Think about it - Amazon and that Apple online store that shall not be named (or at least not in this particular post) are great if you know what you are looking for. Other than the fact that both websites' interfaces kind of blow, it all sounds lovely in theory - you are comfortably sitting at home, typing in the name of the artist whose music you want and downloading albums and tracks to your computer. You can even listen to a sample of what you want before you buy. No muss, no fuss, efficient .....and absolutely soul killing.
One - most people buy what they already know, so once they run through the artists that they are familiar with they make the big leap to the artists that pop up under the "If you bought this, you may like these". It's a nice feature in theory but the results often are a bit flawed. For example, if you like, let's say Radiohead, these programs will assume that you might like Travis, the Stereophonics, and Coldplay. Which is certainly quite possible but it doesn't necessarily take the radical step of suggesting an exploration into the music of let's say Can, Neu! and the Pixies.

Two - What works for selling books (i.e. a picture and a description and a few reviews) isn't quite as enticing for music. While both the music and publishing industries are still navigating their way through the changes brought on by the last century (namely the Internet putting a gaping hole in their profit margins) at least in publishing people aren't buying 1/3 of a book. Whether it is online or in a store, a book is still sold intact but not so with music.

While it is great for the consumer, having people cherry pick the best tracks for downloading has gutted the revenue stream for the big record companies. Not that I necessarily have lots of pity for them after they spent most of the 1990s raping their customer base by charging $14 - $18 for a single CD when they would have still made a killing charging $10.....but as an entity they occasionally have some use (or at least we like to think so). Anyway, back to big box store corpses....

Ever try to look for music in a Best Buy? I know they aren't going belly up just yet but they are a great example of why these types of stores are failing to get your music dollar. First off, the Apple gift cards and products take up more space than the actual music racks. When you do hit the CD racks, there is no real rhyme or reason to the layout. The "hot" new releases (which is usually a lot of gristle since it is only the big labels' product that is being pushed) are first, followed by sections for Hip Hop, Rock, etc. I imagine that it would be ok if organized on a semi-annual basis or were less shallow in quality than your standard puddle. I think I may actually display more CDs in my living room than they do in their store. It reminds me of visits to Kmart in the early 1980s when they had all the discount tapes stacked up near the registers - stuff like Conway Twitty best of, George Thorogood Alive, Kiss Destroyer for $3.99. Certainly was cheap but wasn't exactly where I became a fan of music.

And I guess that's the problem. Borders, Waldenbooks, and Barnes and Noble displaced the local bookstores and the little retailers that actually knew the product they selling. Tower, Virgin, and Walmart did a number on the little music stores until Amazon and Apple choked them into submission. And now, for most of us, instead of going to a store and dealing with a person whose opinion you trust for music and books (or even stumbling into one), you end up logging on and waiting for a delivery. At least with Borders, Tower, etc - there was a place to gather and maybe run into that person (be they employee or civilian) who personally introduces you to your next favorite band or book.

And that's not going to happen sitting at home, now is it?

A Mock Mixtape: "Soundtracks n' Tracks"

2011-03-01T10:00:00.003-05:00

Soundtracks n’ Tracks is a mixtape I compiled in 2008 for CD, and it runs just shy of 80 minutes. Like many I’ve compiled, it was meant to amuse and entertain at a dinner party hosted by my sister & husband. Amusement being the priority.

Thoughts about the dinner fare, audience, or mood were not at the top of my thematic list for consideration when compiling Soundtracks n’ Tracks. In fact they weren’t on the list at all. The thematic skeleton is the title; otherwise, the compilation process followed my usual modus operandi.

This is a handful of songs that I was listening to at the time, and I arranged them in an order that sounded good to my ear. To others, it’s probably some good, bad, and funky music that may appeal, appall, and amuse an audience.

And the title? It’s literal: some of the songs are sourced from soundtracks (mostly TV themes), and the rest are just tracks. I think this is one of my most satisfying mixes, which is why I’ve chosen it as the inaugural “Mock Mixtape”.

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SOUNDTRACKS N' TRACKS by various artists

1. Theme from The A-Team by Mike Post

How does one NOT start a mixtape with a theme like this?

2. Shock the Monkey by Don Ho

See my File Under Cover post from October 14, 2008.

3. Touch Me I’m Sick by Mudhoney

Best song to came out of a Washington State garage since The Sonics’ “Psycho”.

4. Throw Aggi Off the Bridge by Black Tambourine

Like the typewriter scene from Slackers, played by the J&MC.

5. Outta-Space by Billy Preston

Is there any song featuring a Clavinet that isn’t funky?

6. Highly Illogical by Leonard Nimoy

Is there a truer assessment of Nimoy’s sidebar as a singer?

7. Woke Up This Morning by Alabama 3

You don’t need to see The Sopranos to dig this. (I’ve never seen The Sopranos.)

8. Who’re You? by Fela Kuti

Perhaps no one, if you’ve never heard the entirety of Fela’s London Scene.

9. Goody Two-Shoes by Adam Ant

A Burundi Beat for tapping feet. Features synth-horns and other nonsense.

10. Pyschobilly Stomp by The Meteors

What Duane Eddy might sound like if played by Link Wray & Dick Dale.

11. Stella Theme by Craig Wedren

Sounds nothing like Stella’s comedy, which is what you would expect.

12. Ringo by Lorne Greene

See my A Dollar’s Worth of Big Bad Ballads post from September 10, 2010.

13. Closet Marine by Pissed Jeans

If you live in Allentown, PA, and don’t sound this angry, get your head checked.

14. A Little Bit More by Jamie Lidell

I admit I heard this in a Target advert, but their ad-men know a good hook.

15. Romantic Rights by Death From Above 1979

I should’ve heard this before seeing Human Giant, but I didn’t.

16. The Gambler by Kenny Rogers

C’mon, everybody, sing along. You know you want to.

17. Thickfreakness by The Black Keys

There just wasn’t an extant English word fit to describe this song.

18. Overkill by Colin Hay

Wherein is revealed, minus sax and the 1980s, that Hay is a skilled songsmith.

19. Rubba Dub by Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry

As much fun to play as it is to say.

20. Ring of Fire by Tom Jones

See my File Under Cover post from October 14, 2008.

21. Losing Touch With My Mind by Spacemen 3

Sounds so much like taking drugs, you’ll think you’ve taken drugs to it.

22. Reno 911! Theme (Second Version) by Craig Wedren

Wedren slides the original version into a stone-cold classic TV theme.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

A Mock Mixtape Manifesto

2011-02-25T13:20:00.004-05:00

I should be writing a long overdue “5 from 10” installment right now. I keep putting it off, not for want of knowing what 5 albums to choose (they’re already chosen), but rather a first sentence for the prologue. Without that sentence, the rest of my thoughts about the state of the album in the 1990s and the chosen albums in particular, are a bunch of dependent clauses, and adjectives attached to nothing in particular.

It’s a common problem, and one that worsens if I re-read anything I’ve written. I have no idea how I wrote them. O, I can see how I wrote them – the sentences are there to remind me. What’s mystifying is how I arrived at a point where I could write them. It seems as possible as saying I’m satisfied with the results – and the possibility of that is limited to the simile I just wrote to insinuate it’s not.

I’m never satisfied with what I’ve written, nor how I’ve written it. At best, I’m satisfied that I’ve written it, and that if I won’t be satisfied with the what and how of it, at least the satisfaction having done it is enough for me to follow through with posting it.

“(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” indeed.

I’m confronted by this dilemma each time I set about writing, and my inclination is to procrastinate. It’s why my contributions to TGTB&TF are so infrequent. Imagining what to write is easier than writing what’s imagined, so I imagine that when I do write something I’ve not imagined it before writing it.

I did not imagine I’d write what I just wrote, for example.

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In the music industry, a contractual obligation often takes the form of a live recording, a bromidic compilation, or a mash-up of both, released in lieu of an album of newly-recorded material. It’s usually filler or fodder; a placeholder between two phases of a career, synopsizing the one and presaging the other, or the fizzle of once-sparkling career.

When I started writing this post, what I imagined (TGTB&TF being about Mainman’s and my opinions about music and the tangential) was something easy, having the better qualities of the contractual obligation: a stopgap post between more creative endeavors that extricate TGTB&TF from an unsatisfactory contract with silence.

The theme? The mixtape; in the broadest sense, that unique art of making one’s own music compilations. The purpose? To post a list of songs that I’d compiled for friends, family, or, once upon a time before the DIGITAL PERFORMANCE RIGHT IN SOUND RECORDINGS ACT OF 1995 and DIGITAL MILLENNIUM COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1998 made it impossible, an audience on internet radio. The goal? Getting around said Digital Acts by sharing once again for an audience (assuming more than my family and friends are reading this) a mix of music without violating any copyright law, and, providing some much needed filler here at TGTB&TF, while I finally get around to writing another “5 from 10” installment, and Mainman gets around to writing… well something.

What I imagined as a one-off now seems like a good way to occasionally post new content on TGTB&TF by mining the past.

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I enjoy sharing home-compiled mixes. I’ve been doing it from the era when mixtapes were actually tapes, through the advent and decline of the CDR and Internet Radio, and into the age of the mp3, iPod, and Podcast, and I can say the same for Mainman – who as regular readers know also paid his dues as a DJ and station manager at Tufts University’s freeform WMFO.

We once compiled an exhaustive 10-volume set of custom “Car Tape” mixes, each volume having a corresponding number of cassettes comprising it. Someday, Mainman and me should co-author a post about them.

As for my mixtapes, these days they are digital playlists or CDRs. I have a stockpile of blank cassette tapes, got at a discount during the last days of Tower Records, but few would-be recipients have a cassette player. The medium, however, is the only thing that’s changed about my compilation method.

Single, unifying themes rarely trouble my mixtapes beyond their titles: the songs contained therein may, and most likely do, not have anything in common with one another. Ambient moods, should they coalesce, are unintentional, and, dismissing abstractions that could make music of words, I consider spoken or sung language to be secondary to music, so lyrical similarities are less likely than jarring linguistic contrasts.

Indeterminacy is my preferred method of creation, although there are two factors which have more than less attained the constancy of rule: how well does one song play into another, and what are my current listening tastes?

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With apologies to the many artists who could use the cash from record sales, and censure to the few who support excessive copyright protection with a mind bent on ensuring only their own millions (at the cost of the wider audience those artists without millions could obtain if their music was easier to distribute), I hold that freedom to share music is as essential to the nature of music as the need to express it; and necessary for the broad exposure of their art that most musicians can’t afford.

That TGTB&TF can’t share the sound content mixtapes without facing liability we can’t afford reflects a sorry state of musical affairs. We can, however, share the content in the abstract – so the “mixtapes” I’ll feature in these occasional posts will be virtual.

If you feel compelled to listen, the mock mixtape is a starting point. Search out the songs, put them together, and you’ll hear a rewarding 80-minutes of music. Even if you don’t, you might discover a song and/or an artist or two, by name, that piques the curiosity of your inner ear.

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The first installment of A Mock Mixtape will appear on Tuesday, March 1st, 2011.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

Apropos of a Question…

2010-12-30T12:00:00.002-05:00

Mainman called me the other evening, to ask my opinion of Roxy Music – a band about whom we’ve never really had much of a discussion in the past. I already forget why he was asking, and I suspect I sounded preoccupied when he called, at least I’m guessing I did, because most of the time I couldn’t tell you if I did or didn’t. I was having a dinner of tandoori chicken, saag, and samosa with a Yuengling Lager, and watching an episode from Flight of The Conchords’ second season.* None of that would usually stop me from engaging in a conversation about music with Mainman. Are we left to assume I don’t have an opinion about Roxy Music?

Not likely. I have an opinion about everything that’s worth having an opinion about, and if I don’t have an opinion about something, it’s because my opinion is that something isn’t worth having an opinion about. So basically, I have an opinion about everything... including Roxy Music.

I considered calling Mainman back. Then I considered sending an email. Then I thought, why not a one-off for TGTB&TF? So, here goes...

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My fondness for Roxy Music doesn’t go much beyond their second LP, For Your Pleasure... but that one’s so good record to my ears I’d rank it among the 20 best albums of the 1970s.

“Virginia Plain,” issued as a single circa Roxy’s debut album, and the debut album itself are worthy contenders, but Roxy Music’s reputation stands on the second album. It was Brian Eno’s last record with the band, and you can hear why throughout: the “non-musician” (at the time) wages sonic warfare against Bryan Ferry’s ostentatious lead vox, and without any apparent irony, the contingent of Roxy’s musicians follow his lead. It starts off immediately in album opener, “Do The Strand”, and never really lets up after that, attempting to upstage Ferry whenever and wherever it has the opportunity. Which is mostly everywhere.

What is ironic is that over the din, Ferry parlays in peak form. Fighting back against the Eno-led sabotage, Ferry’s preening makes perfect sense: a highly stylized voice doing its best (and sometimes doing one better) to be heard. And how. On the post-Eno Roxy records (Siren being the best of the lot), Ferry’s Pop pretensions take hold and, without the combative agitation of Eno’s furious ego, turn the band into something less than the sum of its parts.

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It may not be too surprising to discover that the most effective Bryan Ferry vocals after Eno left Roxy Music were by... Eno. Two passing parodies in particular on his first solo outing (Here Come the Warm Jets), “The Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch” and “Dead Finks Don’t Talk”, work just as Ferry’s own voice did on For Your Pleasure.

But then, why wouldn’t they? Featuring all of Roxy Music minus Ferry, Here Come the Warm Jets is what the band would (or should?) have sounded like, had it been Ferry’s lot to quit the band instead of Eno... or the band’s lot to quit Ferry. It’s the best album after For Your Pleasure that Roxy Music never officially made.

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In the end, Eno’s path was a lot like his Oblique Strategies, and perhaps it was Ferry’s more focused direction, and driven determination to turn Roxy Music into a “buffed-to-a-sheen” Art-Pop outfit, that kept the band in his corner. Eno has always been more of instigator than a leader in the traditional sense, and a clever one; but an instigator rarely fronts a band, and if he does, it isn’t for very long. Eno’s instigation on For Your Pleasure gave Roxy Music a career-defining one-of-a-kind gem, because it instigated Ferry to defend his ego. And from the sound of that record, it was hard work.

For Your Pleasure is the sound of nerves on edge, tempers barely in check, egos pushed to the edge, civility ready to snap: tense, taut stuff that Roxy Music never equaled, but didn’t have to. With just one album, they left a legacy that’s worth talking about.

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*[Apropos of nothing other than this passing reference, I still contend that musically-speaking, Flight of The Conchords rank alongside the Bonzo’s in the annals of serious comedic craft (see my FoTC: Sincere Irony). Freed from the obligation of writing for their former HBO series, perhaps they’ll take time to write more of the stuff that went onto their first album; stuff that was ten years in the making, and well worth the wait.]

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Frownland"

2010-12-20T08:30:00.002-05:00

I’ve not made a habit of writing obituaries for music luminaries, despite the loss of a lot of them during the time I’ve written for TGTB&TF. Perhaps it’s that I’d rather not “commemorate” the loss of those who’ve already insured their lives against such a loss by leaving us all something that’s able to do what they could not: live on. Or perhaps it's because so many have died, that if Mainman and me spent our time penning obits, we’d have no time for contributing anything else to TGTB&TF? (As if months don’t go by when neither of us contribute anything at all!)

I’ll say it’s the former reason, because that sounds best. And because, it’s closer to the truth. An artist’s best work is the part of his life that’s worth remembering; and the better it is, the harder it will be to forget.

An artist’s death pales in comparison to his accomplishments.

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Such is the case for Don Van Vliet (1941-2010), who died on Friday. As Captain Beefheart, Van Vliet lives on in his epic masterpiece, 1969’s Trout Mask Replica, a record regarded by many as avant-garde, experimental, or “unlistenable.”

The latter is as unfair a judgment as the former are unfair to pigeonholing it as such, and I’d recommend that anyone approaching it do so by way of the Captain’s first LP, Safe As Milk (Buddah, 1967). It’s something of a Rosetta Stone of the influences that would encompass a wider range of expression in Trout Mask Replica’s 28 tracks, from the subtle complexities of Delta Blues to the overt art of Free Jazz, with a few shanties, Folk & Pop twists, and other ephemera.*

Of course, the real irony is that what really proves Trout Mask Replica to be a thoroughly listenable record is the act of listening to it - again, and again, and again. Yes, there are tracks which will defy the taste of many; but for every dissonant skronk-and-screech fest like “Hair Pie: Bake 1” or “Pena” there’s a “Moonlight On Vermont”, “China Pig”, and “When Big Joan Sets Up”; all of which, despite their names, contain hooks you’ll find yourself wanting to listen to again - and hearing in your head when you’re not. Get past the outre harmonic clash of opener “Frownland”, and you’ll be rewarded with the riffage of closer “Veteran’s Day Poppy”, and have a lot of fun in between as the Captain regales you with wordplay worthy of Lewis Carroll and e.e. cummings.

There are other Captain Beefheart records worth of your time; ones that will ensure Van Vliet’s physical death remains a rather minor, uneventful part of his life & legacy: the aforementioned Safe As Milk, plus Clear Spot(Reprise, 1972), and Doc At the Radar Station (Virgin, 1980), as well as a vocal incarnation as “Willie The Pimp” on Frank Zappa’s Hot Rats (Bizarre, 1969).

(* It’s not surprising, given Van Vliet’s influences, that a comprehensive box set of Beefheart’s work, Grow Fins, was released on the late John Fahey’s Revenent label. Fahey, like Van Vliet, had a broad musical taste, reflected not only in his solo work, but the choice selections of the Revenent label, which has released titles by artists as diverse as Delta Blues pioneer Charley Patton, maverick Rockabilly Charlie Feathers, and classical-trained Jazz experimentalist Cecil Taylor.)

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I’m also pleased to remind readers that in my ongoing series, 5 from 10, I chose Trout Mask Replica as one of five records from the 1960’s which are worthy of being called timeless. What I had to say about the record then serves a fitting end to this post now, so here it is:

A lot has been written already about [Trout Mask Replica]. A lot will continue to be written about [it]. It exists somewhere between the realms of cult & critical popularity, and that of popular disdain. The folks who dig it can’t understand why the folks who don’t can’t understand why anyone would dig it. And that breeds folks of a fourth sort, who will grow up to be more folks who dig the record... or don’t. Most of all these folks have written or will write something trying to make the other side understand. However, arguments, like appearances, can be deceptive. Is Trout Mask Replica a radically complex work of art, unparalleled in the annals of Rock History, or just a lot of gibberish & noise passing itself off as a radically complex work of art? Are the folks who don’t get it just not smart enough to appreciate its complexity, or are those who think they are just a bunch of dupes? What makes Trout Mask Replica so engaging - so compelling - are the very things most often lost in archives of commentary about it: an inviting playfulness & agreeable independence. Forget the treatises on the technical complexities, Don Van Vliet’s “8-octave” vocal range, and metaphorical meanings. Don’t get lost in the history of the record’s making, either; in the stories about Van Vliet’s monomaniacal vision, or the tales of disagreement between Vliet’s & Zappa’s ideas of what the record was supposed to be and how it ought to be marketed. What’s left, after removing those distractions, is a record of sound disassociation, where words are reconfigured into phrases that distort the meanings they once had, and instruments are released from the monotony of melody. It’s Dada reconfigured for the future: an absurdity that makes listening to it so intriguing. It is, to quote the Captain, “Fast & bulbous.”

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

100 Great 20th Century Musicians (The List)

2010-11-19T11:00:00.002-05:00

In Part 1 of this post, prompted by the hubris of VH1’s “100 Greatest Artists”, I established some criteria for 100 Great Musicians of the 20th Century . Now, in Part 2, I’m presenting a list based on those criteria.

I probably don’t need to mention it, but the list is arranged alphabetically, by band name or surname. The first artist in the list is the one with a name that’s near the top of alphabet; the last, the one with a name that’s near the bottom. Every artist in the list got there for reasons as close to equal as can be – because as artists, they’re important, and not because one of them is necessarily greater than another, or all the rest.

Just one last thing before I start: I’m only listing the artists. I’ve stated the criteria, and I’m asking you to have confidence that I’ve met them. (VH1 asked a whole lot more – they didn’t even bother to give you their criteria! And such is the case with many another list-maker.) Some of these artists are “usual suspects”; others may come as surprise (but probably not); and of course, the inclusion (and exclusion) of at least handful (or more) will provoke debate.

Maybe someday I’ll revisit this list for a new series of detailed posts, but until then, I’ll bet that you can probably find a wealth of information about each of these artists faster than it takes to slough off one of my posts, and see for yourself whether or not they deserve it...

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1. 13th Floor Elevators
2. Louis Armstrong
3. Béla Bartók
4. The Beach Boys
5. The Beatles
6. Chuck Berry
7. Big Star
8. Black Sabbath
9. David Bowie
10. James Brown
11. The Byrds
12. John Cage
13. Can
14. Captain Beefheart
15. The Carter Family
16. Johnny Cash
17. The Clash
18. Ornette Coleman
19. John Coltrane
20. Sam Cooke
21. Elvis Costello
22. Dick Dale
23. Miles Davis
24. Bo Diddley
25. Bob Dylan
26. Eric B. & Rakim
27. Aretha Franklin
28. Marvin Gaye
29. Dizzy Gillespie
30. Grandmaster Flash
31. Al Green
32. Peter Green
33. Woody Guthrie
34. Merle Haggard
35. Hall & Oates
36. Isaac Hayes
37. The Jimi Hendrix Experience
38. Billie Holiday
39. Buddy Holly
40. Charles Ives
41. Mahalia Jackson
42. Blind Lemon Jefferson
43. Daniel Johnston
44. Joy Division/New Order
45. King Crimson
46. The Kinks
47. Kraftwerk
48. Fela Ransome Kuti
49. Led Zeppelin
50. Ennio Morricone
51. Little Richard
52. Love
53. Henry Mancini
54. Bob Marley & The Wailers
55. Massive Attack
56. Beny Moré
57. Motörhead
58. Thelonious Monk
59. The Mothers Of Invention
60. Mudhoney
61. My Bloody Valentine
62. Willie Nelson
63. Charlie Parker
64. Parliament/Funkadelic
65. Gram Parsons
66. Harry Partch
67. Charley Patton
68. Les Paul
69. Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry
70. Elvis Presley
71. Prince
72. Prince Buster
73. Public Enemy
74. Tito Puente
75. R.E.M.
76. Radiohead
77. Ramones
78. Otis Redding
79. The Rolling Stones
80. Run-D.M.C.
81. Arnold Schoenberg
82. Ravi Shankar
83. Frank Sinatra
84. Sly & The Family Stone
85. The Smiths
86. Sonic Youth
87. Steely Dan
88. Karlheinz Stockhausen
89. The Stooges
90. Donna Summer
91. Igor Stravinsky
92. Talking Heads
93. Townes Van Zandt
94. The Velvet Underground
95. Tom Waits
96. Muddy Waters
97. Hank Williams Sr.
98. Stevie Wonder
99. La Monte Young
100. Neil Young

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Let the debate begin...

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

WMFU's 2010 Record & CD Fair (or the "Gathering of the Tribes")

2010-11-09T07:33:00.001-05:00

Once a year, WMFU (the "sister" freeform station to my beloved WMFO) has what may be the biggest and best record fair in the United States. This yearly fundraiser is the type of record fair that guys from Japan fly in for the weekend in order to find that one rare 78 rpm blue records they've been dying to get their hands on. Yeah, it seems like a bit of a hassle in a world where you can go online and order what I want but some of us need to hold, touch and smell this type of purchase. When dealing with expensive vinyl purchases, it is nice to give it a once over before you plop down that hard-earned cash. I had the pleasure of going last year and this year MJC came up to join in on the fun.

We, being the greedy, evil bastards that we are, opted for the $25.00 early entry, 3 day pass (we needed time to case the joint and see which dealers had the best offerings and it's all for a good cause, right?)

This being the second time for me, it was a different experience. Once you get over the sugar rush of being in a room filled with music and the thought that buried treasure lies under every table, you realize what the draw really is. This epiphany came while talking to Rob Sheffield (an editor at Rolling Stone and occasional VH-1 talking head) http://www.robsheffield.com/ . I bumped into him and I asked him if there were particular records he was looking for. His response (and I'm going to have to paraphrase our conversation because I'm getting old and my memory isn't what it used to be) was while he was definitely going to do a little shopping (he was intrigued by the vinyl copy of INXS' Kick I came across) that the draw was the atmosphere. He said it was like being at a wedding. You come to this place full of people you know and have run into before and others you don't and you all get along because you are there for the same reason - the music.

Rob's words were on point. During my trips through the miles of aisles, I ran into Ted Leo (of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - http://www.tedleo.com/ ) and truth be known, fellow former video store worker. He and I worked together at a DC video store years ago and it was great to catch up with him in person. He's the same great guy he was in the Nineties, just a bit more successful and well-known. Prior to Ted, I also chatted with The Roots' drummer, ?love - an known audiophile and a big hit among the record dealers as evidenced by the milk crate of records he was toting around. (Please note this should end the name-dropping portion of this post)

Mixed in with those guys were the record dealers that I had encountered the year before, new dealers from all over the country, and people looking for that record they had to have. Where else but a record fair would you have the guys looking for Big Black's - Songs about Fucking bumping shoulders with guys with miner's lamps digging through old Bessie Smith 78s and a fight doesn't break out? It's the atmosphere.

Truth be told, I didn't get a single record that was on my list but I walked away with 20 records I definitely wanted (or didn't know I wanted but love all the same) and got to hang with old friends and make some new ones. Just like a wedding, without the open bar and the random drunken hookup but hey, can't have everything right?

100 Great 20th Century Musicians (The Criteria)

2010-11-05T13:45:00.003-04:00

I think I’ve said all I need to say about the art of composing lists in my three-part series from June 2010, On Lists...and that Rolling Stone One. The third part of that series identified these five basic mistakes to avoid:

1. Ranking the components

2. Stretching the criteria

3. Ignoring the “Rule of Three”

4. Choosing the Right x, but Wrong y

5. Claiming to be superlative

These mistakes can be stated in any order; all have equal weight, and avoided together, help a list at least appear to be balanced... something that the subject of Mainman’s post on September 22,2010 (VH1 100 Greatest Artists – Yeah Right.......) is quite definitively not.

Mainman closed his post with a challenge to either “defend VH1 if you can or...make your own” list. The bigger challenge, of course, would be to defend VH1; I can’t, so I’m going to settle for making my own list.

Big surprise, right?

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So what might a balanced list look like, if it really meant to compile one hundred of the greatest artists in music?

Well, first there’s the titular dilemma: the list ought to compile “great” artists. To VH1’s credit, they did include quite a few artists that are among the greatest; but to claim that a mere list of 100 are the greatest leaves out too many who might be just as great, maybe greater, but perhaps not quite as popular – or, in the case of VH1’s list, artists who have actually been innovative.

Which brings us to the matter of criteria. VH1 appears to have none.

VH1 is a “Popular” (if not necessarily popular) music network, so I’ll presume that by “artists” they mean musicians who perform music in a Popular idiom; a presumption the list supports, by way of revealing that by “Popular” music, VH1 means Rock, R&B, and Hip-Hop.

Those appear to be the only criteria which are both moderately consistent AND existent. If there ARE other criteria, then only VH1 knows what they are (although the list implies that, actually, they don’t).

A balanced list ought to have some established criteria; criteria which, even if not stated, ought to be easily deduced from the resulting list. Here are five I think ought to work:

1. The history of music is quite long, but that of recordings relatively short, so I’d consider only artists who were contemporary with recordings of their work – artists from the 20th and 21st Centuries.

2. To represent a diverse range of 20th Century music without getting in over my head, the artists ought to be drawn from the principal genres of 20th Century Western music* in Popular, Classical, and sundry international idioms that were Western-influenced. Blues, Country, Electronica, Folk, Jazz, Hip-Hop/Rap, R&B/Soul, Rock & Roll, and so-called “World” music influenced by those genres would all be considered; as well as the Avant-garde, neo-Classical, Modern, etc.

* We may be living in the 21st Century, but 20th Century styles still dominate our music.

3. Following from the second criterion, musicians who play music as well as those who compose it ought to be considered. Songwriters aren’t excluded, but to be in the running, they must compose the music behind their lyrics.

4. To refine the wide range of artists that span over 100 years and numerous genres and styles into a list of just 100, I’d make the following stipulations:

(a) The artist’s work should be (or have been) an important force of innovation and/or influence over a genre (or more likely, a stylistic iteration of a particular genre) – in other words, a “game changer”,

AND/OR

(b) have produced a consistent oeuvre. (Some great artists compensate a resilient library of sound where they lack innovation or influence, and that’s what makes them great.)

5. Applying the “Rule Of Three” to the fourth criterion:

(a) I’d want to ensure that no more than three artists for a particular stylistic iteration (or in some cases, an entire genre) is represented,

AND

(b) I’d define a “consistent oeuvre” to be composed of no less than three consistent, recorded works (singles, long-players, and/or compositions) by an artist.

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There is one caveat about those criteria that might not be immediately obvious, and may be controversial: they should be applied to artists, not entertainers.

An artist might, on purpose or by chance, create something of aesthetic integrity that also entertains; but an entertainer rarely creates entertainment that has aesthetic integrity, except by accident.

So, a list of great artists should consider record sales, hits, or popularity only as criteria to be avoided. By chance, a great artist might happen to sell a lot of records (which inevitably is tied to the record being a “hit,” and hence means the artist is, for a time at least, popular), but typically, lists that apply such criteria for weight are popularity contests, not measures of artistic greatness.

Most great artists create something that’s really worthwhile and ingenious – a commodity with no real use-value.

But there are people who have a way of turning zero use-value into valuable millions – an old hat trick that’s mimicked by those who believe profit’s just another mode of creativity. The fact, however, is that profit is something others make from creativity, and often at the expense of those who do the actual creating; although some artists are versatile enough to exploit their own work. The former quality is deplorable; the latter can be forgiven.

The value of great art is fixed within an object of art by the creative integrity that goes into it. Money neither enhances nor diminishes that value; it merely reflects poorly on an artist’s personal integrity, should it become the primary motivation for creating art. Since art’s the thing by which to judge the artist, however, I wouldn’t exclude an otherwise great one for making millions off it, even if I tend to hold them in less regard personally.

They have enough money not to care what I think anyway.

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Now, having bothered to establish criteria, I might as well apply them...

(to be continued)

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

At the 2010 WFMU Record Fair

2010-10-31T10:00:00.002-04:00

I traveled to NYC the weekend of October 22-24, 2010 to join Mainman in attendance at the 2010 WFMU Record Fair. There’s a lot I could say about the experience, but I’m already two weeks late posting this, so I’m keeping it short and focused. I’ll leave a more robust opinion of the show to Mainman.

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The Fair’s large enough to guarantee you’ll come away happy, and probably surprised. I went with a “wish list,” and it mostly was just that: records I wished were there, but mostly weren’t. Most of what I left with were LPs I’d forgotten to add to it, like The Heartbreakers’ L.A.M.F. (Track Records pressing) and a deep groove, mono pressing of Horace Silver & The Jazz Messengers on Blue Note.

I found several of the albums on my list. Three of them I bought, including an original pressing of The Modern Lovers on Home of The Hits. A few others had restrictive price tags, so I passed. Of that lot, $125 for a fair, original Canadian pressing of Johnny Burnette’s Rock & Roll Trio wasn’t so bad, but at a show as large as the Fair, the same amount easily nets five times as many equally desirable records in VG+ to NM.

In general, though, I’d say that the time spent compiling such a list, noting its album specifics, comparing previous sale prices, and mapping which show tables had dealers whose goods might yield a match, is less productive than spending the entirety of the show digging through as many of the crates as possible. There’s something more satisfying about stumbling across a hard-to-find record you weren’t specifically looking for, buried somewhere you’d never have thought to find it if you were, than failing to locate a record you wanted, in all the places you expected you’d find it.

(Mainman will attest to this: he went without a list, and came away with a few winners despite it.)

I’m not complaining about what I did find, but I suspect I missed a lot more by being too focused on the list. One distinct advantage of the WFMU Record Fair is that there’s SO many records there, it’s possible to always just walk-up and browse something, no matter the size of the crowd. There’s never a good reason NOT to be browsing. Smaller fairs, like the tri-annual D.C. Record Fair, offer some impressive stock, but require a modicum of patience. Now heading into it’s third year, the D.C. Record Fair seems to be overcoming its 2009 deficiencies (small space, few dealers) by playing to its advantage (a sizeable turnout). The 2010 shows were hosted in larger digs, and attracted double the vendors, but you’ll still find yourself edging in sideways or waiting in a line to peruse the wares of any given vendor.

The irony, of course, is that it makes more sense to target your interests at a smaller show, where you only have a few hours to browse, and need to account for time-in-waiting to do it, than it does at a three day show, with enough stock to ensure you’re always browsing something, even while you wait to browse something else.

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There were a few disappointments. A record dealer trawling for re-sales beat me to a copy of Motörhead’s Ace Of Spades, and I waited too long to decide if an original Philips pressing of The Open Mind (an obscure 1968 album by a band that might best be described as the British Blue Cheer) was worth the asking price. I also passed on a complete set of Pierre Fournier’s Arkiv recordings of Bach’s cello sonatas, which at $90 turns out would have been quite a deal.

For every disappointment, however, I was reminded of a past success as I found albums I already own, tagged for three-to-four times more than I’d paid - like an original pressing of the The Blasters’ American Music on Rollin’ Rock Records. The only difference I could see between the $25 copy I bought at a Lehigh Valley Music Expo earlier this month and the $125 copy at the Fair was a tiny bit of corner damage to the sleeve on my copy.

Such finds made me wonder: Is it time to reconsider my status as just a record buyer?

I thought about it on my bus ride home, and concluded that for now (and likely until I duplicate my entire collection), having records in order to listen to them again and again is worth more than the price I might get from selling them. Although if I did sell records, I doubt I’d be so irritated that a copy of Ace Of Spades, within my reach, was plucked by someone else who just wanted to re-sell it. C’est la vie.

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There’s another WFMU Record Fair next October. I’ll be there, without a list, ready to browse, and more mindful of anyone with “Record Show Dealer” tag on his shirt who isn’t behind a table selling records.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

Why the Eagles???

2010-10-10T10:10:00.001-04:00

This was originally going to be a post about how I came across the Eagles' (yeah, those Eagles) first album (The Eagles) and their last legitimate one (The Long Run) in my never-ending search for buried treasure in the dollar bins of my favorite NYC record stores. That post may have to wait a bit.....

I was all set to make cracks about how the first record was a watered down version of Mike Nesmith's (of Monkees fame and the real father of MTV - which perhaps is a dubious honor but does deserve some of the credit) First and Second National Band with bits of Gram Parsons sprinkled on top. Which would have immediately been followed by one-liners about how you could feel the coked up vibe of The Long Run and that even the runout groove on that record sounds like someone was hoovering up pharmaceuticals. But then the Austin City Limits Festival (ACL) http://www.aclfestival.com/ decided to make them the headliners of the 2010 festival and I had to get up on my soapbox....

Now I love ACL - In my opinion, it's one of the (if not the best) music festivals in the US. Easier to deal with (in so far as getting to the shows and not spending time stuck in traffic) than Coachella, a better mix of artists than most of its domestic competition and years of experience put it ahead of the pack. Feel free to check my posts on the 2008 festival here - http://goodbadfunkymusic.blogspot.com/2009/10/joys-of-concertgoing-austin-city-limits.html .

That doesn't mean they are perfect. ACL does a great job of putting together a diverse mix of artists for their festivals. Any given year, you will see a few new bands on the rise, some regional acts (especially in the realms of gospel and funk) that could make a power move and lots of brand name acts on their way up (or down) fame's slippery slope. If I fault the ACL organizers for anything, it's their choice in headliners.

In their defense, since the festival is the last major festival in the States for the year, a lot of your bigger acts have done the summer tour circuit and are actively engaged in the "world" part of their world tours. I don't know if that necessarily excuses them for making the Eagles the act to close out 2010's festival but timing certainly cuts down their options.

Don't get me wrong, I couldn't defend the Eagles exclusion from the VH-1 Greatest Artists listing in my prior post. They do have some good, maybe even great albums (and no, their Greatest Hits records don't count since all they really show is that the Eagles were really good at crafting quality singles) but they are the Eagles and it's hard to escape what that means.

When I think of Austin City Limits, I think of a show that has no problem balancing the line between rising stars, established acts and iconic figures. The Eagles have hits, are (or were huge) in their day, and certainly would bring a crowd. It's just for me, something about their selection doesn't sit right. Maybe in the back of my mind they are too slick an act to close out the fest. If you were going to go for big and old in the way of headliners, why not Neil Young or Springsteen (I haven't forgotten Dylan but he headlined a few years ago). Both would bring crowds and wouldn't feel like a crass bid to sell tickets. Why not Willie Nelson, who would be a perfect fit?

Hell, at this point, my opinion doesn't matter. As I type these words, the Eagles are probably on stage and launching into the opening chords of "Desperado" or "Life in the Fast Lane". All I can do is hope that the Eagles this year means that few years of great headliners is around the corner for 2011 - 2014.

I can dream, right?

VH1 100 Greatest Artists - Yeah Right.......

2010-09-22T20:21:00.017-04:00

Lists are big business. Magazines love them and so does VH1. Their latest attempt is to create a list of the 100 Greatest Artists. Obviously there will be errors since they don't employ the tried and true list-making methods of Mainman and the Musical Jolly Chimp as mentioned in prior posts, ie -this one

http://goodbadfunkymusic.blogspot.com/2010/05/me-and-mojo-magazine.html . But hey nobody's perfect......

Let's look at this "list" and I'll break down some of the flaws.....and I'm sure MJC will jump in on this topic with his own views at some point......

100 Alicia Keys
99 Hall & Oates
98 Depeche Mode
97 Pretenders
96 Journey
95 OutKast
94 Mariah Carey
93 Pearl Jam
92 LL Cool J
91 Green Day
90 Elvis Costello
89 Beastie Boys
88 Bee Gees
87 George Michael
86 N.W.A.
85 The Band
84 Curtis Mayfield
83 Earth, Wind and Fire
82 Steely Dan
81 ABBA
80 Mary J. Blige
79 Eminem
78 Judas Priest
77 Lynyrd Skynyrd
76 Run-D.M.C.
75 Rush
74 The Cure
73 Van Morrison
72 Janis Joplin
71 R.E.M.
70 Def Leppard
69 Tupac Shakur
68 Otis Redding
67 Coldplay
66 Justin Timberlake
65 The Doors
64 Talking Heads
63 Notorious B.I.G.
62 Genesis
61 Cream
60 Whitney Houston
59 Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
58 Cheap Trick
57 Iggy & The Stooges
56 KISS
55 Peter Gabriel
54 Public Enemy
53 Little Richard
52 Beyoncé
51 Billy Joel
50 Sade
49 Parliament-Funkadelic
48 Rage Against The Machine
47 Jay-Z
46 Ramones
45 Al Green
44 Joni Mitchell
43 Ray Charles
42 Metallica
41 Van Halen
40 The Police
39 The Kinks
38 Sly & The Family Stone
37 Fleetwood Mac
36 Paul McCartney
35 Johnny Cash
34 Tina Turner
33 Guns N’ Roses
32 Black Sabbath
31 John Lennon
30 Aerosmith
29 Radiohead
28 Elton John
27 Aretha Franklin
26 Neil Young
25 Chuck Berry
24 The Velvet Underground
23 AC/DC
22 The Clash
21 Bruce Springsteen
20 Marvin Gaye
19 U2
18 Pink Floyd
17 Queen
16 Madonna
15 The Beach Boys
14 Nirvana
13 The Who
12 David Bowie
11 Bob Marley
10 Stevie Wonder
09 James Brown
08 Elvis Presley
07 Prince
06 Jimi Hendrix
05 Rolling Stones
04 Led Zeppelin
03 Bob Dylan
02 Michael Jackson
01 The Beatles

Now, a lot of the list is solid no-brainer stuff - The Beatles, Stones, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, etc are easy. Any list of the greatest artists that they wouldn't make would be invalid on basic principle.

One) I can't get a good gauge of VH1's criteria. How is that Alicia Keys, Coldplay and Justin Timberlake make this list of the greatest but the Eagles and Bon Jovi (neither of which I'm overly fond of but sales and longevity alone would put them in the running for a place on the list) get nothing? Depeche Mode make it in at 98 (and they have the songs and time in the game to put them in the mix) but no Buzzcocks, Joy Division, the Jam or the Smiths? Really now?

I have no problem with Keys and Timberlake in general. They have talent and given enough time maybe they would deserve entry but in my personal opinion I would stick them in an "up and comers" category (yeah, it's weak but give me time and I'll think of a better name). Coldplay though, not so much. Radiohead made the list so do I really need their third-rate idiot cousin? For me, no band with only 5-6 years in the game should be on a "Greatest of All Time list". Many bands can make one great album but that doesn't mean you should get on a greatest artists of all time list (or I'd be campaigning for the La's, the Stone Roses, and the Voidoids).

Two) If you are going to list Greatest Artists, shouldn't you make it clear that what genres you are excluding? I would imagine that Blues and Jazz didn't make the cut for this list. That's the only reason you could give me that guys like Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Charles Mingus, Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf didn't make the list and gristle like Journey and Def Leppard did (and don't get me started on how Frank Sinatra apparently doesn't exist for purposes of this list). Again, both Journey and Def Lep had hits and fans, but a real Greatest artists' list has to have standards and I can't have them in and bands like Blur, the Pixies, CCR, Jerry Lee Lewis, the Temptations on the outs.....

Three) Let's go back to the gristle and "What the F?" selections - The list has too many "What the F?" acts that pop up. Good but not great acts or acts with a name that don't have the career to deserve to be on the list of "the greatest". (Yeah, George Michael, I'm looking at you). Especially when you think of the groups that didn't make the cut. For example, Sade and Tina Turner are great but are they better than the Supremes? Groups like Green Day and Rage Against the Machine are fine but if the Buzzcocks and the Sex Pistols don't get in then not so much - at least until they do a lot more). Earth, Wind and Fire are cool but you don't really need them if you have Sly and the Family Stone, P-Funk, and James Brown. Even KISS and Judas Priest, who obviously have a name and a history but I would pick them over Iron Maiden? Hell, I probably wouldn't have put Lennon and McCartney on the list as solo artists and I love them both. My rational is that they both get in as Beatles and I need the space for Buddy Holly and the Byrds.

Anyway, enough name dropping. You've seen the list so defend VH1 if you can or man up and make your own.

Until next time.....

Mainman's Bookshelf or "A Selection of the "Platters" that Matter...."

2010-09-18T16:13:00.004-04:00

Granted we aren't actually talking about platters but books but I figure you get the idea...

As a fan of music, I read books on music all of the time. Today, I'm going to share a little of what I've been reading of late.

First up is This Must Be the Place - The Adventures of the Talking Heads in the 20th Century by David Bowman. I picked this book up while I was on the Cape with my family. All I have to say is God bless yard sales and used book stores. It made up for the early nights and rainy days that make New England weather oh so special. Anyway, the book covers the group from their individual childhoods through after the breakup. I can't say it was a great read but it did give me a taste of why the breakup was as bitter as it was. David Byrne wanted to move forward for good or for ill - depending on what you think of his solo career and Tina Weymouth (more so than her husband, Chris Frantz or Jerry Harrison) blamed and one might go so far to say, hated Byrne for it. She also begrudged Byrne his perceived role in the band. Since David Byrne was the lead singer, lead guitarist, and lead lyricist for the band, many fans felt the others were basically his sidemen. The first Tom Tom Club record and Harrison's production work would seem show that everyone in the group brought something to the table but hey, that's just me. I wouldn't say buy it, but if you found it in a library, I'm sure there are worse things you could be reading....

...like Joe Nick Patoski and Bill Crawford's book on Stevie Ray Vaughan - Caught in the Crossfire. Like the Talking Heads bio, Stevie (or SRV) is another great subject. You would think that if you were writing about a guy who was perhaps the legitimate guitar heir to Jimi Hendrix, someone who survived an epic battle with drugs and alcohol, and after becoming clean, died in a tragic helicopter crash, you would be golden, right? Your story arc is laid out and your subject is deceased so he can't make a career legacy mistake ala Clapton or Rod Stewart (and yes, MJC and I will have to take a bat to Rod at some point but alas that is for another day) that would change the perception of the artist. Well, you might think that but you would be dead wrong.

Caught has some solid interviews and does tell SRV's life story but it drags in a way that it shouldn't. This book needed someone with a little more style. It reads like a long newspaper obit and that is just a shame.

Now if Simon Reynolds, MOJO contributor and the author of Rip It Up and Start Again - Postpunk 1978 - 1984 had written the Stevie Ray bio, I'm sure it would have been a better read. Reynolds's book focuses on that period of time right after punk broke. It's a time full of groups like Public Image Limited (PIL), the Gang of Four, Pere Ubu, and Throbbing Gristle to name a few (The Fall, Joy Division, the Ska revival, Devo and Wire figure into this tale as well). Each chapter of the book basically focuses on a different post punk movement and the bands that were a part of it. Some bands, like PIL, get more than one chapter. Organizing the sections this way, helps the book from getting bogged down and keeps the writing fresh. In many ways, the post punk era is actually more interesting and less rigid than the supposed freedom of Punk and its three chords and a cloud of dust. The Clash were on triple-secret probation after London Calling and Sandinista broke that unwritten rule. Rip It Up covers a time that needs a little more love and affection. I highly recommend the era and the book.

The final book in some ways covers a similarly unloved time - 70's Disco. Turn the Beat Around - The Secret History of Disco by Peter Shapiro gives this "universally derided" musical form its proper due. While disco has done much to earn its "derided" status, much came from that time that we take for granted today. Hell, the DJ, dance clubs, and remix culture comes directly from disco. DJs like David Mancuso, Frankie Knuckles, and Larry Levan all come from this era. What makes this book a quality read for me is the fact the book focuses on the times as a whole and delves into the societal changes that were also occurring. The book covers the nascent hip hop scene, as well as the economic changes in NYC that made it a cheap breeding ground for rap, punk and disco. Now granted, I found out more about the gay club scene in 1970s NYC than I really wanted to know but, hey, that's where a lot of the best DJs were working and it was that energy that drove much of disco. Pair this book up with Rip It Up and you'll get a great sense that the 70's weren't quite the wasteland we've been told.

Read them and see......

A Dollar’s Worth of Big Bad Ballads

2010-09-10T09:00:00.001-04:00

I’d like to share a brief story with you, so that you can join Mainman (and anyone else who has heard me tell it before) in wishing I’d stop retelling it. It goes like this:

For my high school prom, I wrote-in “Ringo” as my choice for a “theme song.” Then the prom committee chose some Billy Joel song instead, so I skipped the prom.

I’ve forgotten the name of the Billy Joel song (and haven’t felt inclined to look it up). It was a Top 40 ballad at or around the time. As for skipping the prom, that’s always been the dénouement. What other reason would someone who suggested “Ringo” as a prom theme song possibly have? No one to go with? Certainly not.

I’m pretty sure as many people in my graduating class knew what “Ringo” was as would have gone with me to the prom.

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Growing up, I was exposed to music the average age of which was proportionate to the generational gap between me and my parents, and I heard Lorne Greene’s 1964 hit only slightly less than contemporary hits because I heard many other once-popular hits like “Ringo” so much, much more.

Hearing “Ringo” once in a lifetime may much, much more than some would ever care to hear it, but in October 1964, enough people listened and liked it enough to put it at the top of the Billboard Charts for a week.

A discerning listener might ask, Why? The answer, should one go looking for it, winds its way along like Kierkegaard, to an absurd place that can only be escaped by a leap of faith.

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If popular taste is a reliable indicator of the human condition, is “Ringo” really its Genesis 22? I don’t think so. “Ringo” may be an oddity among Billboard #1’s, but that only makes it an oddity among other oddities, and it’s certainly not the oddest.

I am not kidding.

Consider 1960, when “Running Bear”, by Johnny Preston, featured this chorus:

Running Bear loved Little White Dove
With a Love big as the sky.

The song spent three weeks at No. 1., from January 18 through February 1. My Dad has a copy of the original 45 r.p.m. I’d have never guessed it charted at all.

Later that year (the week of October 10), Larry Verne’s “Mr. Custer” and it’s backdrop of war chants topped Billboard’s pole position. Ever heard it? I have. How? My Dad has an original pressing of the single.

Now jump ahead fourteen years. It’s 1974, and another type of running bare propels Ray Stevens to the top of the charts. It took three weeks (May 18 to June 1) for “Band On The Run” to finally end Stevens’ “Streak” – yet Paul McCartney & Wings’ decidedly sophisticated example of Pop craft (three memorable hooks in one song!) lasted only a week before it was outlasted by Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods. Yes, “Billy, Don’t Be A Hero” spent two weeks at No. 1.

Is “Ringo” really that odd? If you still think so, should I also mention that less than a year before “The Streak” Cher’s “Half Breed” was No. 1 for two straight weeks (October 6-13, 1973)? And that it was another hit single featuring a backdrop of war chants?

These are known facts. Check the charts for yourself.

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Let’s consider another fact: Lorne Greene wasn’t the only actor to talk his way to the top of the charts. Jimmy Dean’s spoken ballad, “Big Bad John”, spent five weeks there in 1961 (Nov. 6 through Dec. 4). And like “Big Bad John”, “Ringo” leaves its listeners to linger over a tomb.

Nor was “Ringo” the first Cowboy-styled ballad to hit Number 1. Marty Robbins’ “El Paso” got there first, during the first two weeks of 1960.

Yet thematically, “Ringo” stands alone among its closest cousins. There’s no working class hero nor foolhardy romantic at the center of its story. We’re saddened by the death of Dean’s hero, but awed by his sacrifice; and no matter how suicidal Robbins’ nameless cowboy seems as he makes his last ride to Rosa’s Cantina, his love for Feleena is the stuff of doomed obsession that’s destroyed civilizations and civilians (and fascinated audiences) from Homer to Shakespeare to Oshima.

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But what do we feel for Ringo, and the nameless narrator who tells his story?

Finding Ringo near death from a shot to the back, he saves his life. After the second verse, they part ways:

I took to law, and wore a star
While he spread terror near and far
With lead and blood he gained such fame
All through the West they feared the name of Ringo.

The good deed of our narrator seems to have abetted many bad ones, which leaves us wondering if a little less good will would have prevented them. Gaining fame “with lead and blood” does not suggest that Ringo spared many lives in his reign of terror, although it’s probably safe to say he shot no one in the back.

Our narrator eventually confronts Ringo, who outguns him but,

He slowly lowered his gun and then
He said to me “We’re even, friend”
And at last I understood
That there was still a spark of good in Ringo.

This is a strange way to even accounts, by any standard. Once finding him near death, the narrator saved Ringo’s life, and Ringo later repays him by sparing the narrator’s. That “spark of good” seems to be Ringo’s respect for the American Tradition of motivational self-interest, which the narrator duly honors at the expense of his own:

The story spread throughout the land
That I had beaten Ringo’s hand
And it was just the years they say
That made me put my guns away
But on his grave they can’t explain
The tarnished star above the name of Ringo.

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For me, though, “Ringo” is a Revisionist Western ballad, a story one third High Noon and Ride the High Country, and two-thirds Per un pugno di dollari, all compressed into 3 minutes and 14 seconds of hearty narrative. There are no heroes per se, just a lone sheriff, an outlaw, and a touch of humor found in the most unintentional places, such as the six couplets that comprise the fifth verse of “Ringo”:

They said my speed was next to none
But my lightning draw had just begun
When I heard a blast that stung my wrist
The gun went flying from my fist
And I was looking down the bore
Of the deadly .44 of Ringo.

I can’t not think of an early scene in Fistful of Dollars whenever I hear this verse. In that scene, a cemetery shoot-out between town rivals the Rojos and Baxters, there is a split second in which a gunslinger jumps from behind the cover of boulder into full view on the screen, then drops off-screen, felled by a bullet. The action occupies about four or five frames of film at best (you have to pause and advance frame-by-frame to actually see what happens), but the effect is high comedy once you realize its there.

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Like “Ringo”, which rewards those inclined to the absurd with atypical humor, the selection of $1 vinyl at the Record & Tape Exchange (Fairfax, VA), rewards those inclined to patience with atypical bargains. The dollar bin at RTX (as the Exchange is known its regulars) has lately grown from a handful of crates scattered along the floor to about a third of the store’s vinyl offerings.

What’s not changed, though, is the chance of finding something worth having for a $1. It’s still pretty good – depending, of course, on what you happen to think is worth having for a $1. For the total cost of $6 over several visits, I’ve left with slightly bruised but not battered original pressings of:

Sinatra’s Songs For Swingin’ Lovers (mono pressing),

Deep Purple In Rock,

Sincerely (by the Dwight Twilley Band, a Power Pop treasure),

The Four Freshman & Five Trombones (mono pressing),

the Joe Meek-produced (and very trippy) Telstar LP (mono pressing), and

Hear, My Dear (a double album!)

None has a skip, and of the lot, only Telstar has audible hiss (although it doesn’t detract from the music; see my ...vinyl indeterminacy... post of 05/15/09). And those are only a few examples of my finds.

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But, getting back on topic...

About two months ago, I was one hour into rifling through the RTX dollar bin when I pulled out a pristine mono copy of Welcome To The Ponderosa, the Lorne Greene LP from which “Ringo” was excerpted (so the rumor goes) to cash-in on the popularity of the Beatles.

I did not put it back. The album promised “an evening of songs and stories with Lorne Greene,” and “Ringo” was among them.

Returning home, I brandished the album and announced I’d be spending the promised evening with Mr. Greene and his songs and stories. My wife declined to join me, probably because, to emphasize the “importance” of my find, I repeated my time-worn tale of “Ringo” and the prom.

Like I said, anyone who knows me has heard the story, and probably hopes I’ll stop telling it. Much like anyone still reading this is hoping I will stop writing it.

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So, let me wrap it up.

The late Jimmy Dean may have inspired this post’s titular pun, but Welcome To The Ponderosa IS brimming with big bad ballads. Far from an evening’s worth, they’re at least delivered with the baritone gravitas of an actor who, as a “singer,” mostly does not take himself too seriously (as, say, fellow actor Richard Harris), nor too comically (as, say, certain original Star Trek alums).

That’s because Greene mostly remains an actor, delivering not only the lines of the album’s nine tracks, but the brief spoken word preludes that precede all but one of them, “Ghost Riders In the Sky.” Not surprisingly, that’s the one track in which he does, perhaps, take himself a bit too seriously as a singer, with unintentionally comical results.

For that reason, it’s also probably the most entertaining track after “Ringo”. Unlike album closer, “Saga Of The Ponderosa”, which at just a mere 30 seconds into its nearly 6 minute run already feels like twice the amount of time it’s taken to get there from the album opener, “Bonanza”.

The album’s other odd entertainments, the riffy “Blue Guitar” and the iffy “Sand”, fall between “Ringo” and “Saga Of The Ponderosa” (in running order and ironic enjoyment), which makes the first side of the album superfluous by comparison. I’d recommend anyone that anyone else wishing to spend about thirty indulgent minutes in an evening of stories and songs with Lorne Greene skip right to side two after spinning the brief, excitable vocal rendition of the theme from “Bonanza”.

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Now, if a desire to send this one post-haste from the top of the page doesn’t prompt Mainman to offer-up some more of his own opinions on considerably better subject matter soon, then I don’t know what will.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

When Good Bands Make Bad Songs - U2 and "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses"

2010-07-20T19:00:00.007-04:00

"You're dangerous 'cause you're honest

You're dangerous, you don't know what you want

Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot

For any spirit to haunt"

These lyrics don't look as bad in print as they sound when sung but they are part of the steaming pile that is U2's "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses". This track can be found on what is my favorite U2 album - Achtung Baby and it singlehandledly brings this great album to a screeching halt....at least until the far superior "So Cruel" kicks in.

Welcome to the first of what I hope will be many posts on the tracks that take a little luster off of otherwise brilliant records. Nobody's perfect and in these posts, we will attempt to examine the fossilized remnants that stink up a potentially perfect record.

First, a little back story on Achtung Baby. It was the record that followed U2's film "Rattle and Hum" and quotes from Bono that "they had to "go away and..... just dream it all up again". In the three years that passed, the Berlin Wall collapsed, "Madchester" and bands like the Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses were in full swing and all of these different influences would find their way into the album that would herald U2's return. If The Unforgettable Fire and The Joshua Tree tapped into the dream that was America, Achtung Baby would tap into the reality that was now Europe. The new U2 would be powered by industrial strength bass and drums and the Edge's famously layered licks would be brittle and fragmented. Add in some of the best lyrics of Bono's career and the band had the mix in place to create what was arguably the finest record they would ever make.

Now that I'm done with the ass-kissing, it's time to break out the pimp hand and lay the smack down on the misery that is "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses" (herefore to be referred to as Who's Gonna...). You might ask yourself, why does Mainman dislike it so?

Simple - a song can survive weak lyrics so long as the music kicks ass. Think most metal songs - do you really care what Lemmy is singing in the average Motorhead song? So long as the band is playing full throttle and sound like they will burn and pillage your town, the song will hold up. Songs can also survive weak arrangements - but only if the lyrics are top-notch. No song can survive both (and yes U2, you know I'm looking at you).

The band sounds like it doesn't wants to commit to this thing. They basically stake Bono out in front on this bad boy with only some half-ass lyrics to protect him. Works brilliantly earlier in the album on a track like "One" but the lyrics on that song are so strong Bono could sing them accappella and they would still pack a punch.

But when you are coming at a listener with this -

You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left in a beach
Well, you tell me things I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach

Hey hey sha la la
Hey hey sha la la

Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee?

...and pair it up with half assed, tenative playing you are going to town with pockets full of nothing. Truth be told, parts of "Who's Gonna..." actually work - the bridge and the chorus would be solid in a much better song but there is only so much you can do when you are choking on that much gristle.
Basically "Who's Gonna..." is a Pandora's box of suck for the album. Every mistake and misstep that U2 could have made on the rest of the songs are confined within its grooves. Don't believe me, play Achtung Baby and skip from "Until the End of the World" to "So Cruel" and see what could have been.

In U2's defense, there are 12 mixes of this song so at least they knew it stank on ice and tried to fix it. Somehow it still ended up on the album when it would have been better as a B-side or buried deep, deep, deep in their archives. In fact, their cover of Lou Reed's "Satellite of Love" or their version of Cole Porter's "Night and Day" would have been far better inclusions but perhaps this track just makes us all appreciate the rest of the album that much more.

Until next time......

...and that Rolling Stone one (Pt. 3)

2010-06-04T10:00:00.003-04:00

(Concluded from ...and that Rolling Stone one (Pt. 2), posted 3 June 2010.)

The kind words I offered in Part 2 of this post should repay any debt I owe to the Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years for improving my taste in music, so let’s get down to brass tacks.

The list has some serious flaws.

Mainman touched on most of them: a proliferation of albums by the same artists, a discernible lack of stylistic variety, and a handful of cases of “right artist, wrong record.”

In short, the list reeks of editorial favoritism. A list with no less than five albums apiece by Bruce Springsteen and the Rolling Stones, four by Talking Heads, and much more than handful of two or three apiece by other artists, does not suggest objective criteria.

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To be fair, a bit of subjectivity goes into all lists. It’s an inevitable criterion, even when the Hand of God himself compiles them. Ask yourself, who but a prejudiced God would compile a “Top 10” list in which Thou shalt have no other gods but me comes in at No. 1 (and then goes on to include a few more similarly God-centric rules before the list is through)?

The trick is to be subtle about it, if you want a convincing list. You’d think an omnipotent God, who really oughtn’t to be jealous of other gods in the first place, would’ve figured that one out; but seeing as he didn’t, we oughtn’t to be surprised that neither did the editors of Rolling Stone (ca. 1987).

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But let’s do this properly, shall we? Here’s my “Five Things You Oughtn’t Do When Compiling a List” list (I learned them all from the Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years, and they generally apply to lists of 100 items or less; the larger the list, the more freedom you have to bend the rules!)

5. Don’t claim to be “Best Ever, Period” or “Greatest.”

Instead, identify the definitive criteria you’ve used to filter your choices, and use a word like “essential” or “top” to name the list. The criteria admits the expected bias up-front, without undermining objective credibility. And calling the list something less than the best or the greatest suggests that importance is afoot, without invoking the inflexibility of being absolute, which nothing ever is anyway.

Rolling Stone actually got this one right, so enough said.

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4. Don’t “stretch” your criteria.

Once you’ve established your criteria, don’t make a choice “fit” by stretching those rules beyond what you can reasonably justify. One or two exceptions might be warranted, but allowing too many will lessen your list’s objective credibility.

Rolling Stone actually got this one right, too. Well, mostly right.

The list purported to rate albums released in a 20-year range (1967-87), and every one in it was within that range, even Between the Buttons (though barely). So far so good.

Being compiled by the editors of a music magazine mostly concerned with the Rock and Pop music, the list chose Rock and Pop albums. No Country, Folk, Jazz, Blues, and Classical, World, etc. – unless, like a Bourbon, they were part of a blend that’s at least 51% Rock or Pop.

The “Pop” criterion accounts for the inclusion of 9 albums by R&B artists, including Al Green’s Call Me (included in my own “5 from 10”: The 1970s, posted July 8, 2009).

A bit more delicate is the “51% mandate.”

After listening to albums like The Harder They Come, Bitches Brew, and Sweetheart of the Rodeo, it’s hard to argue they don’t comply with it; but the inclusion of “fused” styles like Jazz-Rock, Reggae, or Country-Rock in so short a list doesn’t necessarily help the list’s ostensible objectivity if you’ve already ignored the “Rule Of Three” (which I’ll get to soon). When 70% of a list’s albums are by repeat artists, the scattering of one-off albums like The Harder They Come, Bitches Brew, and Sweetheart of the Rodeo makes it look as though someone thought, “Hey, if we ‘represent’ World Music, Jazz, and Country in here, then maybe no one’ll notice all the Springsteen, Rolling Stones, and Talking Heads albums!”

Everyone will notice. Better to make room for more by cutting the number of albums by the same artists to less.

Now we get to the testy question of what’s meant by “album.” Does it mean an LP conceived, recorded, packaged, and released as a coherent whole – in other words, NOT a collection of previously released material from other sources? Or is it simply meant to be synonymous with “long player”?

It appears Rolling Stone meant album in the broader sense, since 7 compilations make the list. Then again, since only 7 of them appear in a list of 100, it’s conceivable that the stricter use was meant instead, allowing for a few exceptions.

Certainly, all but two of the compilations – Sly & the Family Stone’s Greatest Hits, The Who’s Meaty, Beaty, Big & Bouncy – turn the sum of their disparate parts into a thematic whole. Yet if “album” was meant in the strict sense, then why choose a compilation, no matter how coherent it is, when an actual album will do? Why The Harder They Come, when Marcus Garvey, Super Ape, Two Sevens Clash, or even Catch A Fire would have sufficed? Why Changesonebowie when there’s Hunky Dory or Low? Why The Basement Tapes when there’s already two Dylan and Band albums apiece?

The only two compilations in the list that seem to have any merit for being there under those circumstances are Nuggets and History of Otis Redding.

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3. Don’t go wrong when you’re so close to right.

This, as Mainman put it, is the “right artist, wrong album” quandary; although sometimes it’s a case of wrong artist and wrong album for a particular style. An album is not necessarily the best of the lot just because it’s by a familiar artist or band; has some famous songs on it; was incredibly influential; and/or represents a style of music.

The editors of Rolling Stone repeated this mistake more times than I’d like to count. The most egregious of them, Mainman has already cited: Raw Power instead of Funhouse.

[Full disclosure: Funhouse also made my “5 from 10”: The 1970s.]

Here are a few more incredulous examples:

Nebraska is absent, trumped by no fewer than five Springsteen albums?

2 – yes, 2! – Graham Parker albums, but no Down By The Jetty?

The Velvet Underground & Nico’s on the list, so why Loaded?

Really, Roxy Music’s Siren is better than For Your Pleasure?

Bitches Brew’s seminal, but doesn’t Can’s Tago Mago do it better?

Wouldn’t Rod Stewart be better represented fronting the Faces?

I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight, not Fairport’s Liege & Lief?

3 by Neil Young, and two aren’t On The Beach & Time Fades Away?

When they get it right, they get it right. Tonight’s The Night is Neil Young’s best album, and a worthy inclusion in the list. Dylan’s purple period (1965-66) may be out of the running, but Blood On the Tracks is the best of his post-Blonde On Blonde albums. And though Steely Dan made but two (barely) imperfect albums between 1972-80, Katy Lied isn’t one of them, and offers a helping of the Dan in their prime that holds-up rather well, even against other Steely Dan albums: a bold and well-thought choice.

But too often, the Rolling Stone editors got it wrong.

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2. Don’t Ignore the “Rule of Three”.
Mainman codified this rule as “The Law of Diminishing Returns” in one of his early posts on TGTB&TF (31 March 2008), and I seconded him in a post on 3 April 2008. In short, if an artist lasts long enough to deliver three or more albums, then the average number of good albums they’ll make is three.

Keeping that rule in mind, it’s usually in the best interest of your list to limit the number of albums by any artist to one or two if your listing 100 albums or less; otherwise, you risk of overplaying your hand, and flubbing your bluff (that you’re being “objective,” that is). In shorter lists, the criteria ought to do this for you; in longer lists, you’ll have more room for repeat inclusion.

The Rolling Stone editors violated this rule so many times, and with such wanton disregard for the laws of decency, they ought to have been placed on some sort of registry.

Really, that bad? Consider EXHIBIT A:

By 1987, Bruce Springsteen had released 8 proper albums, and four of them (three of which made the list) would qualify him as an exception to the “Rule of Three”. He took his time recording them, averaging two years between each one. They’re fairly tight, with a few clunkers that always somehow seem placed just so, on purpose, as if to keep the albums from being too bourgeois for the working class heroes, local losers, and middle-aged misfits who inhabit them.

In other words, they’re eight solidly built albums, dated in places, but usually in spite of, rather than lack of, their craft. Some have aged better than others, but none have expired.

And all but three of them made the Rolling Stone list!

Contrary to the compliments I’ve just paid the first 15 years of Springsteen’s studio oeuvre, and what they might lead you to think, no artist is that good. Roughly two-thirds of Springsteen’s catalog rates nearly a tenth of the Top 100 albums over a period of 20 years? His albums may be stellar, but when compared to 20-years worth of others’ albums, then filtered into the Top 100 best of that range? There aren’t at least four other albums released between 1967 and 1987, not already in the list, that aren’t better than The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle, Darkness On the Edge of Town, The River, and Born In the U.S.A.? Where do I begin? Well, Funhouse and Tago Mago are two obvious choices of so many more.

Clearly, Springsteen had friends among the editors at Rolling Stone in 1987, even if he didn’t know it. Otherwise, of the Springsteen albums that “made the cut,” only Born To Run would have been found worthy of inclusion in the list; its blend of big ballads, Pop paeans, and straight-ahead Rock & Roll captured the essence of Springsteen’s mythical America. Though better still would have been the bleak reality of Nebraska – notable in the list only by its unexplainable absence.

Enough to convince you? No? Then I present EXHIBIT B:

The Rolling Stones also rate five albums. Combined with Springsteen’s count, that gives these two artists a dominate edge, occupying a full tenth of the Top 100 Albums of 1967-87!

Yes, the Stones are also exceptions to the “Rule Of Three,” and yes, the four albums that prove it made the list. But this isn’t supposed to be a list of the best Stones albums of the last 20 years, any more than one of the best Springsteen albums of the last 20 years, though the Rolling Stone editors would need a creative argument to prove it wasn’t.

Once again, you’d think that in a twenty year range there’d be other albums, not in the list, that are better than at least two of the Stones’ best four. And you’d be right again. You might also think, “Including any Stones album recorded prior to Beggars Banquet is quite a corker!” And indeed it is.

It’s not that the Stones made weak albums prior to 1968, if we consider only their U.K. output. (London Records mangled their U.S. albums in a way similar to, though not as bad, as Capitol butchered the Beatles’.) But what they did best in the studio, when they weren’t cutting singles, was cut credible, usually consistent, homage albums. Between the Buttons was one of them, derivative of Dylan; leaving one to ponder if the editors of Rolling Stone included it for any other reason than thinking it was the next best thing to, say, Blonde On Blonde, so why not?

Still not enough? Very well, witness EXHIBIT C:

The Talking Heads rate four albums, and handful of artists have two or three apiece, including but not limited to: Aretha Franklin, Elvis Costello, The Beatles, Dylan, Neil Young, Michael Jackson, Graham Parker & The Rumour (yes, really), and Sly & The Family Stone. In fact, a cursory scan of the list reveals that only 30% of the albums comprising it are by artists who only appear once (and two are compilations of various artists). That leaves a list that’s 70% composed of albums by repeat artists, including the 10% by Springsteen and the Stones.

As good as most of the included albums are, and as consistent as most of the artists who recorded them were between 1967 and 1987, it’s hard not think about what the 70% monopoly forces out of the list. No Tom Waits. No Can. No Small Faces (or Faces). No Black Sabbath. No Gram Parsons (Sweetheart of the Rodeo barely counts!) No King Crimson. No Kraftwerk. No Isaac Hayes. No AC/DC. No Suicide. No Queen. No Parliament or Funkadelic. No Smiths. No a lot of others.

And two albums by Graham Parker & The Rumour.

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1. Don’t Rank It!
This is simple. Can hierarchy, and list the albums alphabetically by the artists’ names or album titles, or in chronological order by year of the albums’ release.

Even the most efficient, objective statistical method of arranging the selections in a hierarchical order can be massaged to obtain desired results. Even if the best efforts have been made to keep the ratings honest, there’ll be theories about how honest they really are.

Arranging your list in a chronological or alphabetical order won’t reflect any opinion other than that of preferring either chronological or alphabetical order – which has no bearing on the appearance of objectivity. That leaves your audience free to focus on the deeper matters of what’s been included in the list and why, rather than bickering over why album x appears before album c.

The editors at Rolling Stone thought differently, and decided they’d arrange the albums in their list according to their popularity (or some such scale)... leading some folks, who have too much time to spend looking at such things, to sit around and waste even more time explaining why a list that’s over thirty years old even matters anymore.

Blame it on the Stone.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

...and that Rolling Stone one (Pt. 2)

2010-06-03T08:00:00.001-04:00

(Continued from On Lists… (Pt. 1), posted 1 June 2010)

Maybe you’ve never heard of the Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years, or forgot all about it until Mainman reminded you. Either way, if you think it’s passé you wouldn’t be completely wrong. It’s a dated list, certainly; but like expired milk, there’s something about it that compels a sniff, just to be sure.

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To recap what Mainman’s already written about it, the Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years was published in the September & October editions of Rolling Stone in 1987, as part of the magazine’s 20th anniversary celebration. What he only intimated was that it also coincided with the 20th anniversary of the “Summer of Love.”

[Full disclosure here: My opinion on that “era” is on record in my prelude to “5 from 10” – The 1960s, posted 6 February 2009.]

Looking back on the list now, it seems the Rolling Stone editors wanted to have their cake and eat it, too; that otherwise clichéd adage seeming appropriate here, since cakes go with celebrations (like anniversary’s), and after 20 years in print Rolling Stone was already something of a cliché itself. How else to explain placing Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band at the top of the bill, followed by Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols, if not having a go at commemorating AND alienating the flawed idealism of ’67, whence the magazine came?

In 2010, including Sgt. Pepper’s and/or Bollocks in a Top 100 list that isn’t compiling the most influential albums, the most overrated albums, the most influential overrated albums, the most overrated influential albums, or someone’s personal taste, ought to be suspect. Yes, both are significant albums; but less so as LPs than for their cultural impact and lasting influence. As albums go, the 13th Floor Elevators’ Easter Everywhere is a better Psychedelic concept LP, and The Second Annual Report of Throbbing Gristle a more de rigueur punk album.

In any case, in 1987, pairing any Beatles album with the Sex Pistols’ only legitimate one, was going to stir some heated debate. Placing Bollocks after Sgt. Pepper’s (and before the Rolling Stones’ Exile On Main St., I should add) intimated it was almost as good as The Beatles (and better than the Rolling Stones).

[Full disclosure, again: I included Exile On Main St. in my “5 from 10” – The 1970s”, posted 8 July 2009.]

Seriously? Well, at the time, Beatles nostalgia was as high as the band when they cut their landmark LP; and the Stones were as much an institution as the Beatles, being then only a mere seven years into the now 30-year enterprise of outliving their legacy. The critical re-evaluation of the Pistols, on the other hand, consisted pretty much of the high placement of their only album in the Rolling Stone list.

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Mainman gets credit, if he wants to take it, for bringing the entire list to my attention, about a year after it was published. Until he did, I’d only heard of it’s “controversial” placement of Bollocks. Whether or not he made the photocopy (now lost) of the list that I had for years escapes me, but I’ll second him on this: we certainly did hunt down the albums in it.

And I’ll throw in this, too: I’m pretty sure I bagged all of them first. Which, even if it’s not true, ought at least to assuage any guilt Mainman feels about having ever thought the list “cool” enough to photocopy and hunt down, as should this: I still own a copy, either on CD, vinyl, or mp3, of every album in the list! Even Southside Johnny’s Hearts of Stone! (I have it in mp3.)

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If it’s not clear by now, I’m NOT cool, avant-garde, or anything that would suggest my taste’s are ahead of or better than the status quo. If I was any of those things in 1987, I’d have discovered Trout Mask Replica before reading about in the Rolling Stone list. And if was any of them now, I’d certainly not tell you that I have every album in the list; admit I found out about Trout Mask Replica from it; nor that I included Trout Mask Replica in my “5 from 10” – The 1960s (posted 20 February 2009).

I’m no aging hipster, either. Just aging, and doing a bang-up job of sounding like I am, too, I hope. So here’s the rest of it: if it weren’t for that Rolling Stone list, I’d have taken longer to discover not only Trout Mask Replica, but also,

What’s Going On (I’d only heard the album’s singles up to that point);

Bitches Brew;

the soundtrack to The Harder They Come; and

the original Nuggets collection, of which I knew about a third of the songs already, thanks to my Dad’s collection of vintage 45s, but had no idea they’d been compiled in 1972 on one incredible – and by 1987, long deleted – album.

Nuggets, in fact, was the prize in my hunt for the albums in the list, not least because it was one of only two albums in it that, at the time, were no longer in print. (The other was, and still is, History of Otis Redding.) I eventually found it at a record show in Allentown, PA, in 1989 – a pristine promo copy that I still have. It’s the first time I can recall the thrill of finding a real vinyl treasure, and I owe the search for it to that Rolling Stone list.

But spend enough time studying a list, hunting down what’s in it, and then listening to what you’ve found, and you’ll start asking yourself some questions... some you maybe should have asked at the “studying” phase, before you set about spending your money.

Such as?

I’ll tell you in Part 3, and the not-so-stunning conclusion of this post...

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

On Lists... (Pt 1)

2010-06-01T10:21:00.003-04:00

Whether or not I am “the real listmaker of the team,” as Mainman claimed in his last post, might be debatable. I’m not sure how “real” my lists are.

Over the years, I’ve compiled several. “MJC’s 100 Essential Albums,” “MJC’s 50 Essential Compilations,” “MJC’s Essential Noise,” the “MJC Essential 300,” and others, all for my own mollification. Being somewhat averse to randomness, I find that a good list is the best way to filter my music library into accessible categories. Makes it easier for me to choose my next listening pleasure that way.

None of those lists made it to TGTB&TF. It’s too easy to compile a list of music I like, slap a title on it claiming it’s “essential” or “the best of” something, and expect you to believe I’ve some sort of authority to make that claim. Sharing it that way would be like running 60 minutes of commercial advertisements at and calling it “The Evening News.”

A great list is as unlikely as its contents are to live-up to superlatives; call it “the all-time greatest” or “the best of all time,” but what’s in it are the dreams of tastemakers, reactionaries, editors, or corporate shills. Sometimes, all of them.

A good list, on the other hand, is a public service. It tells you what’s in it, explains how what’s in it got there, and argues why what’s in it is good enough (or bad enough!) to be there. You can decide from the evidence whether or what’s in it is worth your time, or your hard-earned.

Mind, the best of the good aren’t free from the dreams of tastemakers, reactionaries, editors and corporate shills; but at least they attempt to flush those dreams out of the pipe, filter them through a little reality, and come away with some credibility.

Most of my lists might mollify me, but that really doesn’t make them much of a public service.

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I’ve indulged in my share of others’ lists, and the best of them have contributed to my own preferences. Most of them are still indulgent of a particular taste, albeit a collective one, in which the subjective flavors blend together to give the list a tang of objectivity.

Two such lists are the Rolling Stone Top 100 Rock Albums (Dec. 1997) and MOJO Magazine’s The 100 Greatest Albums Ever Made (Aug. 1995); the latter despite its misleading title. A lot of the same albums make it into both lists, which suggests their respective claims might not be complete fabrications. Of course, when you learn that both of them were compiled by Europeans, you might begin to wonder if there wasn’t some taste-mongering between the editorial staffs. Taken individually, though, the spread of albums in each of these lists ranges wider than most, within the limits of their criteria. They are close to being good lists, but sadly, without the original issues in which they appeared, all that remains for most of the world are the lists themselves. You’re left to take them at face value, or question the reason behind each choice.

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For a look at what the nearest list to genuine greatness could be, I’d recommend The MOJO Collection: The Ultimate Music Companion – which is really a list in book form, now in its 4th edition, put together by full-time and freelance writers for MOJO Magazine. Yes, there are some questionable entries, a mess of bad editing (the 3rd Edition duplicates one entry wholesale!), a dash criteria violations, and a hint of nepotism flavoring the lot; but for a “list” that includes over 700 titles, it delivers a bang-up spread of albums, which together make for a pretty good history of the LP.

I modeled the idea for my ongoing “5 from 10” series (the only lists I’ve actually made for TGTB&TF) on The MOJO Collection model. Rather than follow that latter’s expansive approach, however, the “5 from 10” lists are an exercise in minimalism. They’re a bit harder to compile than lists of 50, 100, 300 or 700 titles, but also more rewarding.

The pleasant irony in small lists is that they give the question “Why did you include a, b, c, d & e?” higher priority than “Why did you leave f through z out?” With five albums per list, the club already admits it’s exclusive; so what is it about the few that made the cut that’s worthy of being included?

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The Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years list, name-checked by Mainman in his last post, is one that, in retrospect, raises neither question. The answers, it seems, are obvious. My first encounter with this particular list was also my first encounter with a “critics list,” so it was a bit like hearing a critically-acclaimed record for the first time. I initially gave it the benefit of the doubt; then I discovered where it went wrong; and now I can reflect on its influence.

Which I’ll start to do when I return with Part 2 of this post...

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

Me and MOJO magazine.......

2010-05-24T13:45:00.000-04:00

In my last post I mentioned MOJO music magazine. Today I'm going to delve a little deeper into what is still my favorite print source of music info .......

I started reading MOJO in the mid-90's when I lived in Washington DC. Among other things, I was the bassist in a band down there.......

(Yes, I was in a band. Played bass, sang and everything. It helps me be even more judgmental when I see bands today. Can I still play? Good question. Let's just say I'm working on it and move on, shall we?)

During one of the many iterations of this band, we had a lead singer (and resident songwriter) named Michael. I won't throw in his last name to allow him some sort of anonymity and freedom from prosecution. He could be a handful at times but he definitely had talent and was/is a far better writer than I could hope to be.

Anyway, Michael, being far less of a packrat than yours truly, had some music magazines he had picked up in his travels and knowing my love of music, decided to pass on to me. May have been the nicest thing he's ever done for me...that and spot me a few drinks in Shepherd's Bush, London but again I digress....

What struck me about MOJO was how different it seemed from Rolling Stone and Spin, the two music magazines that got me through high school. I loved RS (short for Rolling Stone because you don't actually think I'm going to type that whole title over and over again do you?). It had cool lists (or so I thought) and had a great historical pedigree. Spin not so much, but I certainly knew it existed. I kind of looked at Spin like RS's weak sister publication - the pages seemed flimsier, the writing too cool for school and the layouts looked like someone had made the bold move from smoking weed and doing blow to mainlining angel dust and guzzling absinthe, just to see what would happen. I probably still have my favorite Rolling Stone magazine issues hidden somewhere but Spin didn't seem to be worth saving. You gave it a glance and you gave it away.

It was only later that I saw the obvious flaws in Rolling Stone magazine. That list of the 100 Greatest Albums that seemed oh so cool when I was in high school (MJC can confirm that we actively hunted down the records on that list - because they had to be cool if RS took the time to mention them, right?) . While MJC is the real list maker of the team, there are certain things we both agree on, like the fact that you have to put a limit to how many albums from a particular artist or group can have on your list if you want to give it any sort of validity. Why might you ask?

Here is the list that MJC and I thought was the coolest when we were in high school - (Don't hate. We were young and didn't know any better)

Rolling Stone Top 100 Albums Of The Last 20 Years
September & October 1987 Editions (As Part Of The 20th Anniversary Celebration Of The Magazine) - (courtesy of http://www.rocklistmusic.co.uk/rstone.html#albums )

1. The Beatles - Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
2. The Sex Pistols - Never Mind The Bollocks
3. The Rolling Stones - Exile On Main Street
4. John Lennon - Plastic Ono Band
5. Jimi Hendrix Experience - Are You Experienced?
6. David Bowie - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust
7. Van Morrison - Astral Weeks
8. Bruce Springsteen - Born To Run
9. The Beatles - The Beatles
10. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
11. Elvis Costello - This Year's Model
12. Bob Dylan - Blood On The Tracks
13. Bob Dylan & The Band - The Basement Tapes
14. The Clash - London Calling
15. The Rolling Stones - Beggars Banquet
16. Patti Smith - Horses
17. The Beatles - Abbey Road
18. The Rolling Stones - Let It Bleed
19. The Band - The Band
20. Prince - Dirty Mind
21. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground And Nico
22. The Who - Who's Next
23. Derek & The Dominos - Layla
24. Richard & Linda Thompson - Shoot Out The Lights
25. The Doors - The Doors
26. Neil Young - Tonight's The Night
27. The Clash - The Clash
28. Bruce Springsteen - Born In The U.S.A.
29. Evis Costello - My Aim Is True
30. Sly & The Family Stone - There's A Riot Goin' On
31. The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers
32. The Velvet Underground - Loaded
33. Captain Beefheart And The Magic Band - Trout Mask Replica
34. Rod Stewart - Every Picture Tells A Story
35. Pink Floyd - The Dark Side Of The Moon
36. Creedence Clearwater Revival - Willy And The Poor Boys
37. Stevie Wonder - Innervisions
38. Television - Marquee Moon
39. Prince - Purple Rain
40. Bruce Springsteen - Darkness On The Edge Of Town
41. The Band - Music From Big Pink
42. The Pretenders - Pretenders
43. Creedence Clearwater Revival - Green River
44. Jefferson Airplane - Surrealistic Pillow
45. Graham Parker - Squeezing Out Sparks
46. Joni Mitchell - Blue
47. Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin Iv
48. Aretha Franklin - Lady Soul
49. Randy Newman - 12 Songs
50. Big Brother And The Holding Company - Cheap Thrills
51. Bruce Springsteen - The Wild, The Innocent And The E Street Shuffle
52. The Modern Lovers - The Modern Lovers
53. Talking Heads - Remain In Light
54. Graham Parker - Howlin Wind
55. The New York Dolls - New York Dolls
56. Paul Simon - Graceland
57. Talking Heads - More Songs About Buildings And Food
58. R.E.M. - Murmur
59. Van Morrison - Moondance
60. Original Soundtrack - The Harder They Come
61. John Lennon - Imagine
62. Jimi Hendrix Experience - Electric Ladyland
63. Bruce Springsteen - The River
64. Stevie Wonder - Talking Book
65. Elvis Costello And The Attractions - Get Happy!!
66. Neil Young And Crazy Horse - Rust Never Sleeps
67. Bob Dylan - John Wesley Harding
68. Michael Jackson - Off The Wall
69. Ramones - Ramones
70. The Rolling Stones - Between The Buttons
71. Neil Young - After The Goldrush
72. Fleetwood Mac - Rumours
73. Todd Rundgren - Something/Anything
74. Crosby, Stills And Nash - Crosby, Stills And Nash
75. Al Green - Call Me
76. Elvis Presley - From Elvis In Memphis
77. The Mothers Of Invention - We're Only In It For The Money
78. Sly And The Family Stone - Greatest Hits
79. Pink Floyd - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn
80. Talking Heads - Talking Heads: 77
81. Miles Davis - Bitches Brew
82. The Byrds - Sweetheart Of The Rodeo
83. Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin Ii
84. Roxy Music - Siren
85. Michael Jackson - Thriller
86. Richard And Linda Thompson - I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight
87. Sly And The Family Stone - Stand!
88. Iggy And The Stooges - Raw Power
89. Randy Newman - Sail Away
90. Various Artists - Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From The First Psychadelic Era, 1965-1968
91. Aretha Franklin - I Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You
92. Southside Johnny And The Asbury Jukes - Hearts Of Stone
93. Simon And Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Waters
94. Talking Heads - Fear Of Music
95. Otis Redding - History Of Otis Redding
96. David Bowie - Changesonebowie
97. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground
98. Steely Dan - Katy Lied
99. The Who - Meaty Beaty Big And Bouncy
100. T.Rex - Electric Warrior

Looking at this list in 2010 there are obvious problems. Even if you accept the premise that this is only a 20 year stretch (1967 - 1987) and the reviewers who made this list were all probably smoked out ex-hippies, there are is a fair bit of right artist, wrong album - especially in case of Bowie, the Stooges and VU (please note that Funhouse is the Stooges' best album and any best of rock and roll list that doesn't have it in their top ten is nothing if not suspect....small rant but it's a big deal) and some glaring omissions. Somehow Can, Joy Division, the Kinks Smiths, Neu, Buzzcocks, PIL, Upsetters,et al don't merit any mention? Really? And don't try and use the excuse that it's strictly a rock list as it does include Bitches Brew.

These, let's call them "oversights", are compounded by the fact that albums by the Beatles (yes, I'm including Lennon's two solo records - get over it), the Stones, Springsteen, Dylan, and Costello make up at least 25% of that Top 100 list. I love those groups but I'm not killing my top 100 list with 5 Rolling Stones albums - Between the Buttons is good but come on now. If someone forced these lazy bastard reviewers to have no more than two of any artist/band's albums (no matter how great the band) maybe the Buzzcocks's Singles Going Steady or Burning Spear's - Marcus Garvey get a little love.

Now MOJO does pretty much the same thing as RS (top 100 lists, record reviews, stories on the making of seminal albums, bios of an important band or artist). They just do it better. A MOJO article on Parliament Funkadelic is twice as long and far more informative than its equivalent in RS. It will include pictures I haven't seen and multiple interviews from different sources. The comparison between the articles is almost like the difference between a college freshman's History paper and a graduate student's Master's Thesis. Both offer teach but one is just bringing more to the table.

That isn't to say that MOJO is perfect. There has been a noticeable slip in the quality of its articles over the past few years. It used to be that nearly every article in an issue was a treasure trove of info. Now it's still good but there have been issues where the subjects are weak and the revelations are thin. MOJO overemphasizes certain bands - Oasis, Dylan and the Beatles probably have gotten two covers each year for the past 5 and even Rolling Stone doesn't do that. But I forgive them if only because they have improved my musically journey immensely and are still a pleasure to read.

Anyway, there is only so much I can say about it. Perhaps it's better if you give it a look yourself and you can tell me what you think -

http://www.mojo4music.com/

Until next time..........

So What's Up?

2010-05-11T08:49:00.011-04:00

Happy 2010! Yeah, I know it's May and a quarter of the year has gone by but I have to start somewhere, right? I've been quiet for a while and I would be lying if I said I had a really good excuse so let's not kid each other and move on.....

Anyway, during my self-imposed hiatus, I've still indulged in my love of buying old, dusty records - apparently in an attempt to give myself the asthma I've longed for all of my life, reading about music and seeing shows. I even managed to listen to some music once in a while. Scary.

Since the dried-out husk that was terrestrial radio is on life support, I've been forced to find new ways to learn about that ever-changing music scene that I hear so much about and hear so little of. In a bit of disclosure, MJC and myself spend lots of time listening to music that's older than we are (Yes, I know, big surprise). If not for MOJO magazine (diminished in stature but still one of the best music magazines on the planet), we might both be quite happy listening to the mixes we made in the mid-Nineties (if some prick had stolen them from my car a few years back). Actually, I'm quite sure we would be listening to different stuff, I just can't guarantee it would be new.....

Now I can't speak for how MJC does it (I'm sure he'll be happy to tell you if you ask him nicely) but of late I've added two new weapons to my arsenal and have dusted off two more.

1. Waxpoetics - http://www.waxpoetics.com/ I'm trying to figure out how I've lived without this magazine in my life for so long. Let's just rundown the cover stories for a few of the past issues:

#40 - The Ohio Players (with a side of Smokey Robinson)

#39 - Fela Kuti, Tony Allen and Ghanaian music

#38 - Curtis Mayfield, Spike Lee and a long feature on European film music libraries (the ones that rappers in the know have been beat mining for years)

#36 - The Brazil issue ('nuff said)

Yeah, I know the bulk of that is old but every issue has featured something I personally love and wanted to learn more about (and in their defense - they cover new hip hop and other music as well). And their record store is sweet - http://digital.waxpoetics.com/ . To paraphrase the great Dave Chappelle as Rick James "I wish I had more hands.....so I could give it four thumbs up!"

2. Speaking of thumbs takes me to Weapon #2 - Sound Opinions from Chicago Public Radio http://www.soundopinions.org/

Based out of the land that gave us Siskel and Ebert, Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot (the hosts of Sound Opinions) are music critics at competing Chicago newspapers (the Siskel and Ebert comparisons just keep on coming). They host a weekly show covering the ins and outs of music and whether they are exploring a genre, reviewing new releases or debating the merits of a Desert Island classic, they always give me a reason to listen and I don't find myself saying that often nowadays.

3. Pitchfork - Yeah, that Pitchfork http://pitchfork.com/ . Where the reviews often seem like they are based on how cool the artist thinks they are and they seem to take a bit too much pleasure in their taste maker status. While those criticisms still ring true, they do work to stay on top of a lot of what is going on and their "best of lists" are far better (and edgier) than their equivalents in Rolling Stone and Mojo (and yes I hate to admit it). It's a tool that I don't want to rely on but I love that it's there.....just in case.

4. NPR Music (in general) and - All Songs Considered (in particular). Last on this list but definitely not least. I don't listen as often as I should and I feel guilty about going to NPR for music (seems stodgy somehow) but it's still one of the best sources for a good interview or a performance from an artist, old or new. http://www.npr.org/music . Just like Pitchfork (only better) on the Swiss Army knife scale of utility.

Anyway, I'm out for now but I promise I won't be gone for long.....

"5 from 10": The 1980s

2010-04-07T08:00:00.001-04:00

“[W]hen genres like the Blues, Country and Folk had played-out into a lock groove, Rock played on, borrowing wherever and from whatever it could – including, as usual, itself – to adapt to new and expanding audiences... [and] a brand new hybrid – the first since Rock & Roll debuted in the mid-195os – appeared at the dawn of the new decade, and by 1989 had re-invested the flagging fortunes of R&B and turned a profit that would leave Rock & Roll struggling, for the first time, to compete.”

- from “5 From 10”: The 1980s (Prelude)

Five Essential LPs from the 1980s
(ordered by year of release)

1. Gyrate by Pylon (DB Records DB-54, 1980)

A lot of great music from the 1980s falls under the broad category of “Alternative” or “Alt-Rock.” A disparate array of styles comprise it; College Rock, Jangle Pop, Neo-Psychedelia, Paisley Underground, Goth Rock, Hardcore, Power Pop and C-86 are but a few. Every album in “5 From 10” for the 1980s could have been culled from the Alt-Rock collective – and three of them were, starting here. Pylon came out Athens, Georgia, a few steps behind The B-52’s and several ahead R.E.M., but sounded unlike either of them. Similar? Sure. It’s easy to imagine hearing Fred Schneider’s staccato over Pylon’s danceable angularity, and a familiar jangle under its surface. But that devalues Pylon’s real worth. Vanessa Briscoe’s punk-fueled screams, bridging the extremes of Yoko & early Siouxsie, are tuned distinctly to the rest of Pylon’s post-punk-pop-art-rock riffage. Gyrate is a missing link between late-1970s punk venom, its Roxy-est cross-decade post punk, and the intellectual edge of early 1980s college rock: That’s what makes it such an impressive – and definitive – album. It bespeaks its influences as it speaks for a lot of Alt-Rock that succeeded it. The dB’s, R.E.M., and other Power-Pop-centric bands of the early 1980s followed – and in the case of R.E.M. overtook – its lead, while the Smith’s marriage of sonic brevity and lyrical extremes isn’t too dissimilar from Pylon’s clean chaos. Such similarity is not so much a matter of popular authority – Pylon weren’t widely popular with the masses – as it is one of foresight. Gyrate may not have had a wide sphere of influence at the time of its release – but the success of the bands who knew about it make it sound like one now.

Track Listing

Side One: Volume – Feast On My Heart – Precaution – Weather Radio – Weather Radio – The Human Body – Read A Book / Side Two: Driving School – Gravity – Danger – Working Is No Problem – Stop It

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2. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Eurythmics
(RCA AFL1-4681, 1982)

Having peaked in the 1970s, Soul music in the 1980s descended to artists who paid homage to those who’d reached the summit. For a few years it meandered along a plateau of accomplished tributes, but by the decade’s end it was stuck in a canyon of tired pastiche. Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This), with its blend of Annie Lennox’s infectiously ice-soul vox and calculated programming of Dave Stewart’s electro-pop, offered a way out, had the right audience listened. To be sure, this is not “proper” Soul; nor, despite the commercial success of it’s eponymous single & excess of pulsing beats, is it truly a Pop record (to its credit). It’s something of an experimental, minimalist mash-up that echoes the halcyon days of Soul as it predicts the rise of Synth-Pop... without dragging along the baggage of either. The extremes are laid bare in a forward-from-the-past rendition of Sam & Dave’s 1968 groover, “Wrap It Up”, and the backwards-to-the-future minimalism of Lennox & Stewart’s original “Somebody Told Me”. Throughout, Lennox’s voice plays to, and between, those extremes, shifting with the pulsing light & dark of Stewart’s synthesized sounds – which are quite distinct from the predictable Fairlight tones that cropped-up everywhere in the 1980s and dated many an otherwise impeccable record, like Kate Bush’s The Dreaming (which would otherwise beat out Sweet Dreams for sheer inventiveness and ingenuity). Primitive by comparison to the Electro-Pop of the 1990s & beyond, Eurythmics somehow managed the irony of being more soulful – and occasionally funkier – than their contemporaries with Sweet Dreams, and raised the bar for the future.

Track Listing
Side One: Love Is A Stranger – I’ve Got An Angel – Wrap It Up – I Could Give You (A Mirror) – The Walk / Side Two: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These) – Jennifer – This Is The House – Somebody Told Me – The City Never Sleeps

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3. Yip/Jump Music by Daniel Johnston
(handmade cassette, 1983)

Yip/Jump Music is pure D.I.Y., recorded by Johnston direct to cassette in the living room of his sister’s apartment, and personally handed to anyone in the Austin, TX, area who’d accept it. Johnston’s obsessive need to fulfill a vision against all odds led him to create music that, despite the lower-than-lo-fi qualities that might otherwise inoculate listeners against it, proves to be rather infectious. Yip/Jump Music is the best example of Johnston’s awkward yet enticing sound. Containing twenty original tracks, all sung by Johnston in his naive & cracking-yet-confident voice, mostly self-accompanied on a chord organ & tuneless ukulele (hand-claps, a shaky trumpet, a See-And-Say toy, and even a tape recorder make appearances as well), it’s a work of singular, if compulsive, intuition. Johnston’s favorite - some might say obsessive - themes (The Beatles, Casper The Friendly Ghost, movies, Christianity & emotional pain) “jump” from extreme highs to despondent lows (“I Live For Love” into “Almost Got Hit By A Truck”, or “The Beatles” into “Sorry Entertainer”), while occasionally sustaining a particular mood (the descending line of hope from universal to personal in the penultimate tetraology “God”, “Love Defined”, “Museum of Love” & “Rarely”). While these sudden shifts may seem jarring, they’re carried in a surprising & sustained continuity by the minimal arrangement of the accompanying sounds. The result is an aural representation of the creative process: an intimate process in which experience & personal belief are transformed into a universal, public expression manifested as a coherent whole. In the process, Johnston even manages to present the theme at the heart of his work in the coupling of “Sweetheart” with the a-capella allegory “King Kong”, two songs which explore in a manner simultaneously light-hearted & psychologically introspective that favorite of Blakean themes, the conflict between childhood’s innocence & maturity’s experience. Operating free from any creative roadblocks (aside from his own psychological troubles); in a personal form untainted by pre-conceived notions of either mainstream OR avant-garde aesthetic conceits, Johnston was able to deliver a work of troubled innocence, disparate experience, and emotional integrity in the most unlikely of circumstances. Quite simply, a creative triumph.

Track Listing
Side One: Chord Organ Blues – The Beatles – Sorry Entertainer – Speeding Motocycle – Casper The Friendly Ghost – Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Your Grievances – Danny Don’t Rapp – Sweet Heart – King Kong / Side Two: The Creature/3rd Chair – I Live For Love – Almost Got Hit By A Truck – Worried Shoes – Dead Lover’s Twisted Heart – Rocket Ship – God – Love Defined – Museum Of Love – Rarely – I Remember Painfully

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4. Locust Abortion Technician by Butthole Surfers
(Touch ’N Go TG-19, 1987)

If American Hardcore of the early 1980s meant to pummel the status quo – any status quo – into submission, then Butthole Surfers meant to terminate the plague of every status quo, including Hardcore. Locust Abortion Technician provides as good a titular manifesto for their desire as it does a sonic one to the ears of anyone willing to listen. As if the band’s name didn’t make it obvious enough, the album’s title & its kitschy front cover (never mind the back, which offered no further album credits but plenty more offense) made clear Butthole Surfers’ intent to alienate the weak of heart, enrage all moral crusaders, and probably piss-off every tastemaker too – because by 1987, no less than in 1957, 1967, and 1977, the vanguard of alternatives to Pop music was decided by tastemakers. On the other hand, for those already alienated by everyone and everything, the pointed offense of Locust Abortion Technician is a lone & worthy cause to unite behind: it’s one of the best statements of convivial hostility ever put to wax. Behind all the offensive gestures – and to a large degree within them – is a rather playful set of sonic experiments in subversity. Album opener “Sweet Loaf”, a relatively tame but twice as voluminous twist on Black Sabbath’s “Sweet Leaf”, the seditious pop of side one’s closer, “Human Cannonball”, and the talk show excerpts that pepper the coda of “22 Going On 23”, are the relative standards between which a handful of extreme riffs, distortions, and noise test the limits of open-mindedness... and prove limitlessly entertaining for those who pass the test. An uncompromising record for the uncompromised, Locust Abortion Technician might be the Trout Mask Replica of the 1980s – which makes it, like Trout Mask Replica, a record of a certain state of mind, rather than a particular place in time. In other words, timeless.

Track Listing
Side One: Sweet Loaf – Graveyard – Pittsburgh To Lebanon – Weber – Hay – Human Cannonball / Side Two: U.S.S.A – The O-Men – Kuntz – Graveyard – 22 Going On 23

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5. 3 Feet High and Rising by De La Soul
(Tommy Boy TBLP-1019, 1989)

The 1980s found most established brands of American music in the doldrums, and even the one that pushed through seemed at times to be have ceased catching wind, getting by on reserve engines. No wonder, then, that the decade was the first since the 1950s & the arrival of Rock & Roll to see a new brand genre emerge. But after a compressed ten-year run from underground sensation to suburban mainstream, Hip-Hop seemed strained, ready to drift. Some might say that’s thanks to the lawsuit over just one of De La Soul’s copious samples (the Turtles’ “You Showed Me”), on this, their debut LP. The Turtles’ won, which didn’t make things easier for a genre that relied on creative recycling. Hip-Hop borrowed whatever inspired it, but in a far more inventive way than, say, a Blues artist might nick “Walkin’ Blues” or a Rock artist the Bo Diddley beat. It’s more of a musique concrete for the masses. Growing out of DJ parties in the Bronx of the late 1970s, Hip-Hop borrowed the breakbeats, breakdowns, and everything else in between from whatever records it found; grooved on it; and then added its own version of a Sound System Toaster – the MC. If there’s any fault to be found with 3 Feet High and Rising, it’s that De La Soul’s sampling is so dense, so complex, so subtle, so ingenious, that it’s damn near impossible for anyone to make a better Hip-Hop album. One of a trio of brilliant, sample-laden records – Public Enemy’s It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (Def Jam, 1988) & The Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique (Capitol, 1989) are the others – it trumps its partners by balancing their thematic extremes (militant social conscience & carpe diem rhymes) and borrowing from a far wider source of material. There’s Pop from the 60s (the aforementioned “You Showed Me”), 70s (Steely Dan’s “Peg”), and 80s (Hall & Oates “”I Can’t Go For That”); classic R&B & Soul (“Stand By Me”, “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay”); Funk (Sly & The Family Stone’s “Poet”, Parliament’s “Little Ol’ Country Boy”); Country (“Three Feet High and Rising” by Johnny Cash); Jazz (“13 (Death March)” by Wes Montgomery & Jimmy Smith); the soundtrack to ABC’s Schoolhouse Rock (Bob Dorough’s “Three Is a Magic Number”); fellow rappers (too many to name); and many, many others. And that lawsuit? De La Soul’s use of sampling is so subtle, so re-inventive, that blaming its outcome on copyright owners who had too much free time on their hands (and spent too much of it in the past) seems more reasonable than blaming De La Soul for their creative use of copyrights. With 3 Feet High and Rising, De La Soul used their time to reinvent the past. Maybe their effort cost the future; but to make a record this good, maybe it was worth it.

Track Listing
Side One: Intro – The Magic Number – Change In Speak – Cool Breeze On The Rocks – Can U Keep A Secret? – Jenifa Taught Me (Derwin’s Revenge) – Ghetto Thang – Transmitting Live From Mars – Eye Know – Take It Off – A Little Bit Of Soap – Tread Water / Side Two: Potholes In My Lawn – Say No Go – Do As De La Does – Plug Tunin’ – De La Orgee -Buddy – Description – Me, Myself and I – This Is A Recording 4 Living In A Fulltime Era (L.I.F.E.) – I Can Do Anything (Delacratic) – D.A.I.S.Y. Age

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Well, there you have them, the five essential albums of the 1980s. Now on to the challenge of selecting five essential, and timeless, albums from the 1990s – a decade in which the album, as a format, nearly died...

- The Musical Jolly Chimp

"5 From 10" - The 1980s (Prelude)

2010-03-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

The 1980s, at first glance, appear to offer little in the way of timeless albums. Jazz and Folk never really recovered from the experiments of the 1970s. The Blues were still the Blues, more-or-less – still electrified, but a bit too polished and not quite electrifying. The best Country artists saw little need to change the good thing that Willie & Waylon had started, which had more “country” in it than the slick suburban product Nashville continued to churn out. And Soul... well, how to improve what Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, and Al Green had collectively perfected in the 1970s?

With those styles offering a handful of competent but undistinguished albums throughout the 1980s, the search for the most timeless ones must look to that decades’ latest renewal of Rock & Roll... and an entirely new genre.

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Here’s a round-up of where most genres stood by the 1980s:

The best post-Fusion Jazz turned back the clock: think Wynton Marsalis’ brand of Trad or his brother’s nod to the New Thing on Contemporary Jazz. The worst of it went ISO crossover success and got lost somewhere in realm of Kenny G – a long way from 1959, when an odd-time experiment could crack the Top 40.

The Anti-Folk of Billy Bragg pushed Folk into the post-Punk world, but his debut, Life’s a Riot with Spy vs. Spy (Charisma, 1983), was a manifesto few others followed. The Peter, Paul & Mary template of the 1960s Folk Revival – competent & conscientious, but lacking the conviction of a Guthrie, Seeger, or Dylan – was de rigueur. Tracy Chapman (Elektra, 1985) was the template of the 1980s Folk Album.

Similarly, the slick urbanity of Robert Cray lent a Chapmanesque commerciality to the Blues. The late Stevie Ray Vaughan turned out some of the most compelling Blues at times, but for the most part further blurred the lines between Blues & Rock with a virtuosity equal parts King (Albert, that is) & Hendrix.

In Country, two albums from the previous decade, Guy Clark’s Old No. 1 (RCA, 1975) & Gram Parsons’ Grievous Angel (Reprise, 1973), were now cornerstones of the genre’s best albums: Lyle Lovett’s Pontiac (MCA/Curb, 1987), Steve Earle’s Copperhead Road (Uni, 1988), and the confessional Country-Folk of Lucinda Williams eponymous LP from 1988 (Rough Trade Records). Even Nashville conceded, for a time, bringing in the likes of erstwhile “outsiders” like Rodney Crowell to record Outlaw-tinged mainstream like Diamonds & Dirt (Columbia, 1988).

And Soul? The consistency of Smokey Robinson’s Warm Thoughts (Motown, 1980) or Anita Baker’s Rapture (Elektra, 1986) – two of the decade’s best albums in that genre – was as smooth, and about as satisfying, as Soft-Serve: delicious enough, but not as good as the real thing. The funkier side of the 1970s, borrowed to good effect by Prince at times, proved more invigorating, but no more innovative, than the most daring experiments of, say, Funkadelic’s 1976 template, One Nation Under a Groove.

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That left Rock & Roll.

Rock’s splintering into New Wave, Hardcore, and College/Alt Rock in the 1980s proved once again that it was the English language of music – more agreeable to adapting elements from other genres than limiting itself to the elements from which it was formed. Like English, Rock & Roll had evolved from other long-established “languages” – primarily Blues & Country – which, despite sharing connections to African & Celtic Folk forms (and some surprisingly similar lyrical themes), remained more ruggedly independent, less collaborative, and ultimately more alienating genres. The success of Rock’s first borrowings was invested in its collective character, and that investment insured its future.

So it was that when genres like the Blues, Country and Folk had played-out into a lock-groove, Rock played on, borrowing wherever and from whatever it could – including, as usual, from itself – to adapt to new and expanding audiences.

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But Rock & Roll wasn’t alone. A brand new hybrid – the first since Rock & Roll debuted in the mid-1950s – appeared at the dawn of the new decade, and by 1989 had fully re-invested the flagging fortunes of R&B, and turned a profit that would leave Rock & Roll struggling, for the first time, to compete.

Hip-Hop had arrived.

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Be sure to watch for my next installment of “5 From 10,” to learn which albums make the cut for the 1980s....

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Freedom of Choice", Conclusion

2009-11-30T10:00:00.001-05:00

(continued from “Freedom of Choice”, Pt. 4)

[Y]ou are wrong [that album-centered concerts do little for us].
Two reasons:
1) Playing the entire album often gives artists an excuse to play lesser-known songs that aren’t often played live. Two great examples: Springsteen’s “The Price You Pay” (from “The River”) and “Meeting Across the River” (from “Born to Run”).
2) It’s just like attending a musical or opera. You know what songs are coming up and in what order there, but that doesn’t make them any less powerful.

– reader’s comment on Full album concerts do nothing for us

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Fans might prefer full album concerts even if artists weren’t offering them. They might have nostalgic reasons... but, contrary to the argument at the heart of Chris Richards’ article, Frozen in their tracks, is it possible they simply prefer predictability?

Then again, for fans of an artist’s oeuvre, it might be they don’t care whether they hear a career retrospective or highlight, as long as they get to see their favorite artist perform.

In any case, the quote at the head of the post reflected a generally favorable opinion toward the full album concert experience, from readers of a follow-up opinion piece (Full album concerts do little for us) to Chris Richards’ original article.

It also offers me a way to finally wrap-up this discussion.

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Regarding the reader’s second point, I’ll reiterate what I wrote in Part 2: With some exceptions, most albums are not built on a narrative, as musicals or operas are. So, defending an artist’s decision to play an entire album in concert by comparing the album to a musical or opera is a moot point – the Who’s Tommy or Pink Floyd’s The Wall being a few obvious exceptions.

(I should also add, however, that I could attend any musical and almost any opera and not have the slightest clue what the song order was, unless I chose to read the program! And I doubt I’m alone in conceding this.)

The first point, on the other hand, opens a new case in defense of playing an entire album in concert, with which Chris Richards almost agrees:

Fans were elated when Springsteen announced plans to perform his albums on tour this fall. He blasted through his 1975 breakout “Born To Run” at a Verzion Center gig [in Washington, D.C.] earlier this month [November, 2009].... The album segment of the show was merely the entrée in a 160-minute, multi-course meal.

Yet, he adds that

the concept’s fatal flaw felt palpable as Springsteen worked through a dynamic reading of “Backstreets.” His band surged and soared, but the crowd seemed distant, as if holding its collective breath for the next track – and the evening’s scripted climax – “Born to Run.”

I wasn’t at the show, so I’ll take Richards’ at his word when he reports the crowd’s removal from the drama of “Backstreets”. But is including an entire album as a part, rather than the focus, of a concert really a fatal flaw?

The inclusion of a full-length album, in its entirety, as part of a fuller show seems to keep with Richards’ ideal of a concert’s “of the moment” experience. Maybe Springsteen did announce he’d be performing his albums, and maybe that sort of mellows the surprise element. Yet if Springsteen didn’t announced which albums he’d be performing at which shows, then attendees of the Verizon Center concert still got a surprise.

Richards admits his gripe is minor, but then gets to his point:

[I]f a perennial thriller like Springsteen has to embrace this approach to boost his latest tour, is there hope for anyone else?

There’s no telling at this point whether or not Springsteen’s latest tour would have fared worse had he not announced his intent to include an entire album in each show.

It’s a fair question, but regardless of the answer, whether or not the album-as-concert trend continues is probably going to depend on a certain freedom of choice: Does an audience want to see an artist, an entertainer, or a bit of both... and does an artist want to give them that choice?

Leaving my readers to also decide whether or not, like Swift, I’ve been “trying an experiment very frequent among modern authors, which is to write upon nothing, when the subject is utterly exhausted to let the pen still move on.”

I think I’ve left it move on quite enough now.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Freedom of Choice", Pt. 4

2009-11-25T13:30:00.001-05:00

(continued from “Freedom of Choice”, Pt. 3)

“You wrote the songs and people want to hear them again and the market calls you or you sort of ask the market to take you again. In the case of the Pixies it was definitely a case of the market asking us to come back. It’s just what you do as a musician or performer.”

– Frank Black, quoted in Full album concerts do nothing for us

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Here’s a valid question, then:

Would a contemporary band, playing the entirety of their most recent full-length recording in sequence, pervert the live experience?

I suggested (in Part 1) that “[a]n album played live... may have a preset sequence of songs, but each of them might sound quite different from how the audience expects them to sound.” To say that a live show loses its unpredictability, its magical, real-time spontaneity, just because an artist chooses to play an entire album in sequence, ignores that possibility.

So what’s wrong with a band playing all of their latest album in concert, song-for-song?

Nothing, really.

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But then is it true that an album actually represents the artist’s intent, or is the album merely once aspect of it?

If the spontaneity remains in the live set, then there’s still a distinct line drawn between the album-in-concert and album-as-studio creation experiences that keeps both fresh... and I’d have to concede that an artists intent isn’t limited to the studio creation.

Bob Dylan’s reinterpreted his songs in concert for most of his career, as if he wished to prove that “intent” as a fixed idea is something only the audience expects. If Dylan, on the road in ’66, had done nothing but reinterpret Blonde On Blonde live in its sequential order, it’s quite unlikely the album would be any less perfect, while each live performance would be something unique in itself.

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So why would Steely Dan playing all of Aja, Devo all of Q: Are We Not Men? or the Pixies all of Doolittle in 2009 diminish the value of the original albums?

It might not, but it’s still not the same as if Steely Dan, Devo, or the Pixies had done the same when the albums were first released, either. These are albums that are, respectively, 32, 31, and 20-years old in 2009. And since the trend in question concerns this sort of revisiting, the better question to ask is,

Why, at this distance in time, do fans want to see these albums played live?

Whether it’s because they’ve not seen the band perform live before, because they’ll be hearing their favorite album by that band, or because of both, the subtext is... because they’re feeling nostalgic.

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All of us have valued moments, and things we associate with them that can unlock their memories – for me, Tom Waits’ Raindogs unlocks a trove of my fondest memories of college, because it was the soundtrack that preceded, included, or followed so many of them. And while seeing a band or artist years-after-the-fact might not excite the memory so much as stir regret (seeing Shane MacGowan live, I was sorry I’d been unable to see The Pogues circa Rum, Sodomy & The Lash), it’s sometimes worth the risk (the Sex Pistols’ 1996 reunion – the “Filthy Lucre Tour” – let the band finally play a show, rather than put one on. The songs didn’t suffer in the least, and the Pistols were actually better for the wear of 20 years.)

Nostalgia for an album, transported from memory to the stage, removes any variable elements of why we’re nostalgic for it, and cements the album and performer into a time that neither the live rendition nor stage appearance can recapture. Would hearing Waits play the songs from Raindogs live, in their album sequence, unlock the same memories for me as when I hear them from his album? No, because my memories are linked to how the songs sound on the album.

Whether people feel a unique connection to a particular album, or simply like the predictability of knowing what they’re going to hear, the trend they’re feeding runs the risk of creating a sad pantomime of past glory.

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Art, regardless of any tenable fixed qualities, is primarily fluid; yet art obtains that fluidity by being a fixed element. An album recorded in 1978 may bear characteristics of its time, yet be timeless in its ability to influence; which it can do precisely because it can be returned to again, and again, and again, in the exact form in which it first appeared.

The same cannot be said of artists. The band that recorded an album in 1978 may be comprised of the same members in 2009, but it’s not the same band that’s captured on that album. Neither that band nor that album has changed since 1978. The band playing that same album live in 2009 has changed, and seeing them play it only reminds us that the album being played is 31 years old; the members of the band playing it are each more than 31 years old; and that we were either too young to experience both when they were contemporary, or are looking to recapture an experience that’s 31 years old.

A band that hits the road after n-plus years isn’t going to avoid the inevitable reality of being a band that’s been around for n-plus years – but if they choose to play the songs from a single album in sequence, they’re likely to look as if they owe those years to that album’s longevity, rather then their own.

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Of course, a lot of artists do owe their place in music history to an album or two. The Sex Pistols made only one, and the “Filthy Lucre Tour” didn’t avoid that truth: audiences heard all of Never Mind the Bollocks, though not in its original album sequence. Devo are best remembered for the two albums they’ve been touring lately. Doolittle is a full fourth of the Pixies entire album catalog. Steely Dan are better known to the masses for a clutch of hits from their collective albums, rather than the albums themselves.

But all of them could offer more.

The Pistols did, including the clutch of B-sides and oddities that never made it their only album.

Devo’s “other” albums may not be as consistent as Q: Are We Not Men? and Freedom of Choice, but they’re not lacking for a songs worth hearing, either. Let’s not forget their brilliant devo-structions of Sam Cooke’s “Workin’ in a Coalmine” and Johnny Rivers’ “Secret Agent Man.”

The Pixies would be far better by a blend of offerings from Come On Pilgrim, Surfer Rosa, and Doolittle.

And Steely Dan? Why peg their career on just Aja, when they made albums in the 1970s of a consistency surpassing almost all of their contemporaries?

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The choice of performing an entire album, rather than career retrospective, probably comes down to what the Pistols were all-too-eager to admit back in 1996, and what Frank Black has been honest enough to admit in print, although not in terms as concise as the Pistols.

In the cold light of Black’s reasoning, everything I’ve written so far feels like an exercise in futility. There’s nothing I can add now that would better explain why the trend of playing classic albums live is hot... except to say that he succinctly blurs the question of who ought to shoulder the blame:

1) Would the artists be doing this if the audience wasn’t willing to buy it?

2) Would the audience be demanding to buy it if it didn’t know it was for sale?

(to be continued)

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Freedom of Choice", Pt. 3

2009-11-24T13:00:00.001-05:00

(continued from “Freedom of Choice”, Pt. 2)

Fans of a certain generation are still mourning the death of the album format, giving these [albums-played-live] shows a certain Irish wake-like quality.

– Chris Richards, Frozen in their tracks

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I’ve experienced the real-time magic of a live performance, by performers who cast quite a spell on stage. Booker T & The MGs, the Reverend Horton Heat, David Byrne, Cecil Taylor, Lyle Lovett, the Sex Pistols, and Scotty Moore with Lee Rocker are a few of them. Some were touring behind an album, others were in it for nostalgia, and one of them outright said it was for some filthy lucre.

None of them, however, were touring an album – the trend in question, that appears to be inextricably rooted in nostalgia AND lucre. Under those circumstances, if asked to choose between hearing an album on vinyl or seeing it played live, I’d choose to spend the lucre on the vinyl, and indulge my nostalgia time-after-time-after-time.

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Albums like Q: Are We Not Men? Aja, Doolittle, and countless others are alive and well on vinyl, on CD, on MP3. So is the album format.

Those “[f]ans of a certain generation” to whom Richards alludes were born around the advent of the album format; came of age during its commercial peak; and drifted into the doldrums of middle-age-crises with the decline of its commercial viability. They might they be in mourning, but here’s the thing:

I spend so much time in independent record shops (or anywhere that’s selling used records) that I ought to work at one. Among the folks I’ve encountered there who could say the same – as well as those who did and do – there’s a distinct interest in unadulterated, full-length long-players by artists who were their age thirty, forty, fifty, sixty years ago... and by artists who are their age now, or younger. Which isn’t surprising, as the indie shops rely heavily on the album format for about 80% percent of their business.

So?

The generational appeal of the album format is largely secondary to other reasons. Some folks enjoy it for its aesthetic integrity, as recorded music’s Gesamtkunstwerk. Some turn to it because it rebels against the Digital Age that their youth has made them an unwilling part of. Others have a combination of both reasons, including one’s I’ve not mentioned.

The album format isn’t dead; it’s evolving. What those “fans of a certain generation” are mourning is the passing of their album format.

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Now, celebrating the life of someone who’s just died, the Irish way, might be one of the most lively methods of mourning. Nostalgia is as much an intoxicant as that other indulgence familiar to wakes; yet while drowning sorrow in whisky sounds like a good idea, a flood of drunken, public nostalgia plays out sadder than getting it out in one good, long solitary cry.

In a way, then, the trend of album-centered tours does resemble an Irish wake – sure, it may be sad to sit at home by yourself and play your favorite album, but there’s something inevitably sadder about seeing the band that recorded that album 30 years ago play it live 30 years later, to an audience of people who are so eager to recapture something they either missed or miss that they’d rather spend a few hours forgetting its time has passed into a memory that can’t be reanimated.

That’s not to say it might not be fun while it lasts – but make sure that the hangover is worth it.

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The trend depends on fans’ nostalgia for its success, rather than on the success or failure of album format. Under those circumstances, the “nostalgization” of certain albums doesn’t limit itself by generation, either.

Nostalgia may seek to recapture a particular time and place, but that time and that place can be any time and any place in the life of the person who’s nostalgic. It’s as likely for someone born in 1988 to feel nostalgic for a classic Devo album, as it is someone who was in their teens when that album was first released.

When we try to recreate or relive that time and place, however, the rules change...

(to be continued)

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Freedom of Choice", Pt. 2

2009-11-20T11:00:00.002-05:00

(continued from “Freedom of Choice”, Pt. 1)

“To hear the album the way the artist intended you to hear it, in a live setting – I thought it was really interesting,” says [U.K. music festival All Tomorrow’s Party’s] founder Barry Hogan....

– as quoted by Chris Richards, Frozen in their tracks

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Is playing an entire album, in sequence, how the artist intended it to be heard?

Consider Tommy (Decca, 1969). Conceived as a “rock opera,” it made sense for The Who to tour the album. The song sequence followed its libretto (even if the narrative itself was a bit vague in parts); its musical arrangement wasn’t difficult to reproduce on stage; and judging from the evidence on the Deluxe Edition CD-reissue of Live At Leeds, Tommy played live was a more powerful experience than playing the album.

When an album’s song sequence is built on a narrative, the narrative, not the sequence of songs, is the foundation of the artist’s intent. The album’s song cycle is generally followed, but it can be altered in the interest of the narrative. Several songs from Tommy, like the lengthy instrumental “Underture” that closed the album’s second side, were routinely dropped during live performances; and Roger Waters made changes to the sequence and performance of songs from The Wall when he performed it in Berlin in 1990. Since the artist’s primary intent for the album was to tell a story in song, these alterations can add some variety to the album’s live performance, without perverting the album’s integrity.

Although narrative and sequencing are not always the only criteria in play. Tommy translated almost flawlessly into an energetic, live performance, but three years later the Who’s second rock opera, Quadrophenia, “suffered” from a reliance on studio wizardry that, in 1973, made the album difficult to conjure live without sacrificing some of it’s integrity. On the other hand, roughly seven years later, all that prevented Pink Floyd from translating The Wall into a conceptually, if not financially, successful live show on more than just a few occasions were production costs, and the band’s disintegration...

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But Chris Richards’s article is addressing the trend of playing songs which were never intended to be played live exactly as they were sequenced on a studio album; a trend that stakes the album as a concert, rather than a source for the repertoire that feeds a live performance.

Albums like those by Devo, Steely Dan, The Pixies, and many, many more, are not unified by narratives. What unifies them is a certain quality that transcends a transferable narrative, making it integral to the album recording itself.

Q: Are We Not Men... is loosely arranged around Devo’s titular concept of human devolution. The album’s mid-point track (“Jocko Homo”) is its axis, but there’s nary a narrative uniting it to the album’s otherwise disparate songs; no linear connection making it essential for the album to be performed live in its exact order. What makes them cohere on record is how they’re woven into the fabric of the album.

The unifying concept behind Aja gets more vague: its songs merely exude a sensuous, quasi-exotic vibe that’s best crystallized in the album’s title... and is the pinnacle of Fagen & Becker’s studio perfection. Play the songs in their sequenced order live on stage and call the sum total Aja, but without that unifying vibe – a uniquely studio creation – what you’re hearing is not Aja.

With Doolittle, conceptual unity has disintegrated... yet, there’s a pervasive (or is it invasive?) connection there: It’s a perfect sequence of crunchy pop songs. So what’s to keep The Pixies from playing it live if there’s not even a concept? Nothing, really... except a certain understanding that it’s perfection is in being a product of the studio, and it’s unity – it’s claim to be an album – rests on that perfection.

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An album, if it’s good, is conceived and executed as a fixed product, typically one that takes advantage of studio technology in order to perfect the artist’s fullest vision. To suggest that you can hear an album in a live setting “the way the artist intended you to hear it” is paradoxical. If the artist bothered to record an album in a studio, then the finished product is how the artist intended you to hear it.

There are cases – too many of them – when an engineer, producer, record company, etc., hijacks a project and compromises the artist’s intent, but when an album does meet the artist’s expectation, then the “performance” of that album is what’s heard when the album’s played. Playing it’s songs live in their album sequence is a rendering, not a performance.

That general rule of intent goes for any album that happens to be a “live” recording as well: once it’s been committed to the static format, it becomes a fixed performance, and to intentionally reproduced the original set list in a new live setting is still a rendering.

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Devo, Steely Dan, and the Pixies are not the only performers Richards mentions. Slint has “paced through ‘Spiderland’”; Sonic Youth has “churned out ‘Daydream Nation’”; and Gza has “reanimated ‘Liquid Swords’”.

The verbs are not flattering. But I’d like close-out this installment of “Freedom of Choice” with a short digression, to defend another of the otherwise guilty parties mentioned, against one unfair charge.

In his list of artists who have “taken their best albums to the stage,” Richards includes studio wizard extraordinaire Todd Rundgren, who “was recently in Rockville [MD] to present his 1973 prog-rock odyssey, ‘A Wizard, A True Star.’”

A Wizard is definitely one of Todd’s best... but pledging its allegiance to the Progressive Rock standard? With a side of belated but brilliant psychedelic pastiche and another of an equally mind-bending serving of Philly-style Blue-eyed Soul cut through with Nazzish riff-rock, A Wizard is hardly the stuff of Prog...

(to be continued)

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"Freedom of Choice," Pt. 1

2009-11-19T13:00:00.001-05:00

I’ve been preoccupied late with inventorying my music library. Or rather, updating the inventory. Over the past 18 months, I’ve traded- and cashed-in about one-third of my CDs, and acquired slightly less than that in vinyl, most of which replaced CD copies. What I didn’t do was revise my extant inventory as I went. What I was left with was a huge list of CD titles I no longer owned, or now owned on vinyl instead. Back in October I finally got around to the revision, and it’s taken me until now to get it in proper order. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with the details of the process. I mention it only as an attempted explanation of my extended absence from TGTB&TF....

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This month (November 2009, if you’re reading this months from now) in Washington, D.C., three bands are playing some of their best-loved albums live, song-for-song. At the Club 9:30, Devo just played Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo! (Nov. 15th) & Freedom of Choice (Nov. 16th); and later this month, at DAR Constitution Hall, Steely Dan will play Aja (Nov. 22nd) & The Royal Scam, (Nov. 23rd), followed a few days later by The Pixies playing all of Doolittle (Nov. 30th & Dec. 1).

Flat ticket prices for the Devo shows were $45 per night. For the Dan, the range is $68-$140 per ticket, per night. The Pixies offer a flat price of $53.50 per ticket, per night. Expect some mayhem as fans attempt to line up for $53.50 Pixies seats that would have netted $140 for the Dan... unless the D.A.R. have gotten their act together since I saw Flight of The Conchords play the Hall back in April (see my Flight of the Conchords: Sincere Irony (2) post from June 16, 2009).

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I briefly considered getting tickets for the first of the two Devo shows when they were announced in mid-October, but decided against it. A vague doubt gnawed at me:

Q: Are These Events Worth It?
A: We refer to a Washington Post article...

The article appeared on Sunday, November 15, 2009, in advance of the first Devo show. It’s headline, Frozen in their tracks: When a live show copies the album song-for-song, why not stay home? The byline attributed it to Post staff writer Chris Richards.

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News writers rarely choose their own headlines, but whoever chose Richards’ got it right. Here’s what Richards’ says of the live renditions of albums in their entirety:

This trend isn’t just exhausted, it feels like a cruel perversion of a concert’s real-time magic. Live music might be the last bastion of unpredictability in today's hypercurated mediascape: a fleeting opportunity to experience something unfiltered, spontaneous and really real. Instead, we’re paying to see... rock stars behave like iPods. And with no “shuffle” function!

The subtext of Richards’ argument was the root of my reluctance to buy those Devo tickets. Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo! is an album that I spin repeatedly, without diminishing returns. It has an enduring idiosyncratic, and somewhat disturbing charm – played out over the sociopolitical devolution of the last three decades, its misanthropic undertones have increased their currency!

Why, then, invest such consistent returns in one evening of nostalgia? Did a predictable set list – starting with “Uncontrollable Urge”, peak with “Jocko Homo” and concluding with “Shrivel Up” – mean a verbatim performance of each song? Couldn’t each song contain a spark of spontaneous, real-time magic, when played live?

There was a rub in Richards’ reasoning: it assumed the determining factor of chance at a concert was not knowing what’s going to be played, and ignored the uncertainty of how its going to be played. A “shuffle” function may call-up a song at random, but that song is going to sound just the same next time around. An album played live, on the other hand, may have a preset sequence of songs, but each of them might sound quite different from how the audience expects them to sound.

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That slight nuance didn’t diminish the appeal of Richards’ conclusion, however. It just took a different route to get there.

Announcing the intent to play an entire album in concert would obviously spoil any unpredictability as far as what songs will be played and when – especially if that album was as familiar as Freedom Of Choice, Aja, or Doolittle – even if a spark of spontaneity remained in how they would be played. But there was a second rub in that spark of spontaneity.

An album is rarely unfiltered, and certainly not spontaneous. But neither, on its surface, is a concert. Unless the performers have no pre-planned set list, spontaneity is an illusion; they know exactly which songs they are going to play, and in what order they’re going to play them. But what may happen during or between those songs can be spontaneous – and that’s where an album diverges. Any spontaneity that may have lent to its recording is fixed when the final master is approved and becomes a permanent part of the finished work, repeating itself every time the album’s played.

Songs from an album may feed the live repertoire (just as live performance may provide proving grounds for material that will comprise a new album), but playing an album as a concert is anathema to the integrity of the album itself.

Or so it might seem...

(to be continued)

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

"The Joys of Concertgoing" - Austin City Limits Festival 2008 (The Last Festival of the Summer) Part 3 of 3

2009-10-06T07:27:00.005-04:00

Keep in mind that most of this review was written while I was at the 2008 Austin City Limits Festival or shortly after I returned. Don't worry, this covers the last day of the festival so I'll be back to my normal rambling and only slightly late posts soon enough....

Sunday was a quiet day. Not in the sense that it wasn't filled with music but you could feel the cocoon of the prior days pull back and the world of office work lurking around the corner.....like most Sundays.

My Sunday started late (the reason why may have to be another "non-music" blog post) so the first act I took in Okkervil River. O River (I'm feeling a bit lazy so allow me to abbreviate) sounds like Springsteen circa "Born to Run". When I get to their show they were doing a cover of the Beach Boys - Sloop John D. They put on a decent show but didn't amaze me. Perhaps because I couldn't lock in on their sound the way I did for some of the other acts.

I spent more time wandering around on Sunday than I did on the other days of the festival. Maybe there was less music that I was clamoring to see or maybe since I knew my time in Austin was coming to a close, I decided to take in more of the scene.

As I mentioned in my first Austin post. There was no real generational gap. You had 12 year olds playing in sprinklers, 60 year olds sitting on lawn chairs, college kids dancing and 40 years olds who hitchhiked from neighboring states all co-mingling on one festival site. I've said it before but it bears repeating - there was a Cali hippy vibe mixed with a Midwestern sensibility which I must admit trumps the Northeast entitlement I usually run into when I attend festivals closer to my home base. The locals appeared to be sweet/good people who were proud of their city and what it had to offer. Less assholery goes a long way I guess.

I heard a couple acts (the sound of Blues Traveller wafted to me from somewhere) but the only act I really wanted to see was the Raconteurs. I am ashamed to say that I have never seen the White Stripes so this was my first chance to see Jack White.

Let me say that Jack White appears to be a trooper. He apparently had a sore throat and a slipped disc in the neck still put on a great show.

The Raconteurs are a fun band, Jack White howling, shrill guitar leads, Brendan Benson's voice in lockstep with White or singing leads on his white. Jack Lawrence or "Little Jack" doesn't rally fit in visually (with his haircut and long face reminded me of Marilyn Manson without the makeup and his glasses reminding me of Buddy Holly and Elvis Costello's love child) but he did his part on his bass and the drummer (whose name escapes me and I'm too lazy to look up at this point) was a solid little power plant and apparently a multi-instrumentalist to boot.

The Foo Fighters closed the festival and the night out but I opted to skip them watching them (No offense, Dave Grohl but it had been a long three days) and get a jump on my walk but I could still hear them as made my way back downtown.

"The Joys of Concertgoing" - Austin City Limits Festival 2008 (The Last Festival of the Summer) Part 2 of 3

2009-10-05T00:33:00.021-04:00

Just like the last post, keep in mind that most of this review was written while I was at the 2008 Austin City Limits Festival or shortly after I returned. When this is all done I'll grace you with my friends' reviews from this year's ACL (and yes, that would be 2009) but if only if you are good......
Day 2 started out peacefully enough. The first act I took in was Jose Gonzalez. You may have seen him in the excellent TV program From the Basement which is the brainchild of producer, Nigel Godrich (perhaps best known for his work with Radiohead, Paul McCartney, and Beck).
You can check out the website here http://www.fromthebasement.tv/artists).
Mr. Gonzales was excellent. He took the stage with some sparse accompaniment (his guitar and vocals paired up with congas and handclaps). He has an early Nick Drakey kind of sound, which really worked in an outdoor venue.

The Lee Boys were next. They were a funk band from FLA entirely made up of six brothers and nephews. They put in some solid work and had a great attitude. I’d love to see them in a small bar on their home turf.

I didn’t have to move in order to see the next group on my list, Eli “Paperboy” Reed and the True Loves since they were set to appear on the exact same stage. I must admit that I'd never heard their music, but had just been reading about them in my favorite music mag, MOJO (I’ll do a full post on me and that mag at some point….promise). Eli and his crew were a tight band. In all honesty, they were more on the one than the better known Sharon Jones and the Daptones. Amusingly enough, the Daptones were also appearing at the 2008 ACL and I actually passed them up to see the True Loves. Why, do you ask? I’ve already seen Sharon, etc a few times and even though I got burned on the prior day’s N.E.R.D./David Byrne selection, I wasn’t going to let that one bad move change my game plans. BTW - If you want to know more about my take on Sharon, here is a link to the first post I ever did for this blog. Ahhh. Memories……

http://goodbadfunkymusic.blogspot.com/2008/02/joys-of-concertgoing.html

Anyway, back to Eli….

My notes for the True Loves performance are as follows –

“Band is tight (tighter that S. Jones), guitarist and bassist are sweet and the horns are tasty. Eli has a good voice that age will only make better.”

My quick take on the difference between the two bands is fairly simple – The Daptones are more funky (think 70s era James Brown), the True Loves are more soulful (think Booker T & the MGs). Both bands are worth seeing, it just depends on what you are more in the mood for.

CSS (their full name is Cansei de Ser Sexy) which I’m told/have read translates to “Tired of Being Sexy” was next on my list. Unfortunately, when I saw their set, they must have also been tired of being funky. The drums and bass were solid but the rest of the sound was thin. I really wanted them to be the Happy Mondays and they weren't doing it for me.

As I made my way to one of the bands I really wanted to see, I heard Black Joe Lewis, a local soul shouter (as he is described in the official ACL 2008 program). I might have lingered a bit as he did sound good but the band I was heading was one of the reasons I came to Austin.

Spiritualized

The fact that Jason Pierce was standing on a stage in Austin was just an awesome sight. He’s been high on music’s “potential drug casualty” chart for most of this band’s existence and already almost died on several occasions. If you don’t already know this band you probably get out more (Unless of course you are happy listening to Coldplay rip off The Bends era Radiohead and early U2. If that is the case, stay home and away from me.....please....I'm begging you. Spiritualized's sound tend toward sonic landscapes awash with gospel choirs overlaid with searing rock guitars and that should be enticement enough.

When I look at my notes (I love how I played at being a professional and stood taking notes during a concert) all that is listed in my miserable scrawl is “Amazing”. ‘Nuff Ced. By the way, the wasted looking figure you see in the photo at the top of the post - that would be Mr. Pierce or J. Spaceman depending on his mood and level of drug consumption.

There are no notes for the rest of the day but I do remember that the night ended with John Fogerty, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, and Beck. I saw all of Fogerty’s set – solid, good mix of hits, and he sounded great but I kind of expected this from him so it wasn’t a surprise.

As I found was often the case at ACL is that you have to make hard choices. Beck was on one end of the festival grounds and Plant and Krauss were on the other with roughly similar start times. I figured that Plant and Krauss was the better choice as what really were the odds of them touring together again? I sit here today still happy with that choice. Plant and Krauss were in fine form and they and their band made for a beautiful night. Plant even tapped into his past and broke out a ¼ time version of Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog”that it took a little while for the audience to pick up on.

At some point I found a spot between the two performances and just listened to the songs go back and forth. Tracks I knew from Plant and Krauss’s “Raising Sand” went toe to toe with a nice selection of Beck’s hits and I think they came out with a TKO at the end of the night.

Actually my night at the 2nd day of ACL 2008 really ended with Beck’s “Lost Cause”. I spent a lot of time with that song during a difficult breakup and it was a good a song as any for me to start my walk back to town to rest up for the next day’s aural delights…..

I’m out...

"The Joys of Concertgoing" - Austin City Limits Festival 2008 (The Last Festival of the Summer) Part 1

2009-10-02T04:56:00.000-04:00

Now that Fall has started to descend on the East Coast, it's a perfect time to post my musings on my trip to Austin to see the Austin City Limits Festival last year (especially as the 2009 lineup will take the stage today...) . Actually the perfect time would have been right after I came back but hey, shit happens........

Keep in mind that most of this review was written while I was at the festival or shortly after I returned. Let's just chalk the delay up to a real bad case of writer's block and move on, shall we?

Austin City Limits Festival, ACL, by whatever name you decided to call it, it was the last concert of the summer of 2008. Yeah, it's held in late September. Yeah, kids are back in school. Hell, there were people in town who actually traveled to Austin to sit and watch a football game (Absurd to me but true). None of it matters, as it was 90 degrees, I'm stuffing tacos in my grill and watching great bands play outside. Screw the date, it seems like summer to me and that's all that matters....

Pre-Game: My trip to Austin was fairly easy, fly to Chicago, catch a connecting flight to Austin and grab a cab to the hotel. I opted to fly in the day before the ACL so I could get a feel for the town (or at least the part nearest to my hotel and that served drinks). In many ways it reminded me of Bourbon Street in New Orleans (you know, guys hawking $2 drinks, drunk, noisy people, attractive over (and under) dressed girls, etc with the important distinction that the bar bands in Austin were much better that those in the Big Easy (if only for the fact that they weren't playing crap 80's hair metal band covers and were working on some blues and old school country instead). Anyway, enough on that, let's go to the shows -

Highlights of ACL 2008 -

Getting the festival site is a joy. I would easily rank ACL as the easiest festival site I've had the pleasure to go to. Having had the joy of being stuck in traffic for literally half a day trying to get to one of the early Lollapaloozas (yeah Charles Town,WV, I'm talking about you) and the pleasure of queueing up for hours for a ferry ride to and from All Points West '08, the fact that a short line and a short bus ride was all that stood between me and great music was a pleasant surprise.

Another was the mood of the town in general and the festivalgoers in particular. I have never seen such a pleasant, multi-generational crowd at a music festival before. I saw grandparents with their kids and grandkids taking in the different acts. I didn't see Granny or Grandpop headbanging or throwing back brew but it was nice to have them present. I must admit it was better than some of the whiny, spoiled S.O.B.s that I dealt with at All Points West. Anyway, back to the music....

With over 100 acts there was no way I could see everything. I cherrypicked the acts I thought give me the best bang for the buck. That said, good sounds or bad performances could sway my resolve.

The first act I saw was The Jones Family Singers on the WaMu Stage (I guess I should mention that each stage has the name of its sponsor but I'm thinking that there won't be a WaMu stage this year so I figured I should memorialize it). They were an excellent gospel group from Bay City, Texas. At this point, my appreciation of gospel only really extends to Mahalia Jackson but these guys were good and well worth a listen.

Next up was Christopher Denny, who wasn't on my list of acts to see but caught my attention as I was passing by. They are a tight sounding crew from Arkansas. Denny had the quavering vocals that remind me of the long departed Roy Orbison. I don't know if they would inspire me buy a record but they were a pleasant listen.

This was followed up by the Brooklyn based Yeasayer (Amusingly enough, even though I live in the New York area, I had only heard of them but had never seen them). In their performance I could hear elements of David Byrne, Animal Collective, and New Order (during their cocaine period) with the exception of one song that reminded me of Lindsey Buckingham and Fleetwood Mac circa Tusk . Their setup of keys, bass, and vocals gave them a full sound that they could pull back from for something sparser.

Sticking with NYC bands, I made my way to the stage hosting Vampire Weekend. I must admit that I wasn't expecting that much from them and they delivered. I have the record, I have seen them on TV, and now having seen them live, I can't escape the impression that they are basically a cross between Paul Simon's Graceland and early Talking Heads with a lot less engaging stage presence. Which is fine in small doses but the source material is far better.

I watched their set thinking two things -

1. "What are they going to do for their next record? "....combine the Brazilian sound of Simon's "Rhythm of the Saints" with Talking Heads' "Little Creatures"?

2. They may need some Captain Beefheart drug therapy before starting work on their second album. To explain - I've read that Beefheart basically made prisoners of the Magic Band while they were making the Trout Mask Replica album. It was like boot camp with psychedelics. Perhaps Brian (Dr. Rock) Eno could help us out with this one...........

Anyway, enough with bashing young men with more money and fame than myself....for now -

Next up was M.Ward and Gogol Bordello. They weren't playing together. I could just hear them both at the same time as I decided that I needed to relax and the small creek next to festival location provided a perfect place for a little rest. M. Ward sounded ok but Gogol sounded much better. Need to see them for real at some point.

Followed up my "quiet" time with a visit to Hot Chip's performance. They had a great sound and moved the crowd. I came away thinking that I need to listen to them more and they definitely made me forget about V. Weekend (not like that was hard).

And yes, I realize that I am bashing them again. I couldn't even make it through two paragraphs without reaching for the bat......

Ended up skipping David Byrne to see N.E.R.D. because I figured let's give something new a chance and ended up regretting it as their show wasn't really anything more than a revised version of LL Cool J in the early Eighties. I was expecting much more from them. Thankfully, David did me a solid and played a great set in Brooklyn's Prospect Park in '09 so I was able to atone for my mistake (which you can read about below).

http://goodbadfunkymusic.blogspot.com/2009/06/joys-of-concertgoing-david-byrne-in.html

I heard but did not see Antibalas. What hit my ears was ok but they didn't really do enough for me in the funk department to make me hunker down for the full set.

Local boy Alejandro Escovedo was far more interesting (he seemed to be Austin's Bruce Springsteen) but only saw a small portion of his show because this overwhelming compulsion dragged me to witness the spectacle that is ......

The Mars Volta

They easily were the best band had seen/heard at the festival that day.

Let me give you a taste of what I wrote immediately after seeing their performance -

"They throw out energy like they were channeling Led Zep and Black Sabbath in their respective primes. Mars Volta's vocalists sound like they could sub for Robert Plant and their guitar player laid waste to the assembled throngs over and over and over again. The band matched them, high for high. Worth the ticket all by themselves."

I'd like to add that on stage looked like they combined Carlos Santana (post-Woodstock with the spectacle that was 70's Neil Diamond) This is proof positive that I don't hate on young men with more money, fame, and in this case, talent, than me. I was almost gushing about them. But they gave me what I always seek to get from a concert, that feeling that I'm in the best place in the world at that moment because the music is taking me there. Most times, I'm disappointed but when it happens, it's all worth it.

There ends my first day at ACL 2008. You've waited patiently for damn near a year so you might as well stay tuned for the epic Day Two (which I can hopeful crank out before the 2010 festival starts up).

I'm out.......

"One Dollar Legacy"

2009-09-02T13:00:00.003-04:00

Once upon a time, a long time ago, for about six years, the dawn of a new musical era was Sun Records.

Label owner Sam Phillips’ played a significant role in the rise of electrified Blues, launching the careers of B.B. King, Howlin’ Wolf, and Ike Turner. He stirred Country & Western awake from the nightmare of Countrypolitan with the Ric-Tic beat of Johnny Cash & The Tennessee Two. And although it remains unsettled, the case of Phillips’ singular influence on the rise of Rock & Roll from 1956-58 has some pretty strong evidence to back it.

First Rockabilly record?
Arguably Elvis Presley’s Country-fried cover of Arthur Crudup’s “That’s All Right”, 1956.

First Rockabilly record to chart nationally in Billboard’s Top 10?
Definitely Carl Perkins’ “Blue Suede Shoes.”

First Rock & Roll personality to stir international controversy?
Incontrovertibly Jerry Lee Lewis.

Sure, Rockabilly is not exactly Rock & Roll – that brand, in its original form, was trademarked by the likes of Bo Diddley, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry – but its unholy union of righteous Country and ribald Blues raised the standard of rebellion that’s been carried by each of the genre’s subsequent ground-breaking styles. And while Jerry Lee’s initial string of Sun singles earn him a place alongside Bo, Little Richard, and Chuck as an innovator, his behavior both onstage and off excelled even Little Richard, codifying the blueprint for Rock & Roll nihilism.

Case closed?

It should be, but...

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Sun Records’ legacy was founded on the product Sam Phillips’ put to tape at his Memphis Recording Service Studio between 1952 and 1958, and built on the lasting influence of those recordings for fifty more years. In that time, the worst damage done to it was wrought by Phillips’ himself, who after 1958 began following trends rather than setting them – or with the release of Sherry Crane’s “Winnie the Parakeet,” abandoning any semblance of reason altogether.

Until a year ago.

That is the amount of time that has elapsed since “Million Dollar Quartet” took to the stage in Chicago, won glowing accolades from audiences and critics, and earned a pending premiere in New York City – according to a September 1st, 2009, article in the Washington Post, “’Million Dollar Quartet’ Headed to Broadway.”

Preceded by a definite article, the Million Dollar Quartet usually refers to a semi-chance meeting at Sam Phillips’ studio in 1958 between three big names on the Sun roster – Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash – and Elvis Presley, who had departed the label for RCA Victor two years earlier. Presley stopped by to pay a visit to his old boss, and finding two willing musicians (Johnny Cash only stayed long enough for a photo op – hence the “quartet”), sat down for an inspired, free-wheeling jam while Phillips’ let the tapes roll. In Sun folklore, it’s the stuff of legend. Historically, it’s probably the last time Elvis sounds like he’s having genuine fun – before his fame, fortune and foibles led to an increasingly more isolated, unstrung, and unhappy isolation from reality. Musically, it’s a delight to hear.

Now, as all participants but one (Lewis) in the original Million Dollar Quartet session are deceased (Phillips & Cash included), rave reviews and huge turnouts might be expected if the Million Dollar Quartet about to head to Broadway was the same. It’s unlikely that a run on Broadway, which enjoys recycling the integrity out of just about anything, could tarnish the miracle of the entire Quartet performing live in 2009, under Sam Phillips’ direction.

The miracle of resurrection not being likely, I lowered my expectations, and hoped for a lesser one: that the word “Broadway” might not imply “Musical.”

It was an abject lesson in the futility of optimism – and a blunt reminder that nothing, in the end, is sacred. Not that I mind encountering evidence that the latter is true. I’d just like it to be a little less offensive to my taste.

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If, like me, you hadn’t heard – and haven’t yet figured it out – Million Dollar Quartet is a musical, appropriated from story and songs of the original Million Dollar Quartet. Adaptation is the word usually favored, but appropriation is more accurate. It is also a more polite way of qualifying the milieu in which Musicals are conjured, than, say comparing it to H.P. Lovecraft’s “Reanimator” tales.

(Which someone must have turned into a musical by now.)

To be fair, though, a “Reanimator” comparison would push the envelope of accuracy. The “musical” might be a format in which, among other things, an otherwise peacefully resting work of art is reanimated, but for some reason the reanimation, rather than wreaking revenge for being returned to life in a ghastly shell of its former self, rewards Herbert West with cash harvest.

It might have something to do with the musical’s ability to dress its recreations in Panglossian attire, exorcise their demons of integrity, and pretend all is for the best on a stage where the best is absent. Creativity, ingenuity, and originality are left outside the door (if they were brought at all) of the musical theater, where banality is the raison d’être.

Case in point, this quote from the co-director of Million Dollar Quartet! [I’ve added the exclamation point, which is standard shorthand for “The Musical”]:

“I actually didn't know much about that era, but I had heard of this night. When I saw the material, adding the fact that it is true, it is an amazing story.”

Translation: It WILL be an amazing story, just as soon as it can be set to song.

Does the “story” of Million Dollar Quartet! share even a single “fact” with the true story of the Million Dollar Quartet other than a few names? Being a musical, it’s not unreasonable to expect it does not, nor that it ought to. Musicals do not share: they appropriate. And while it’s one thing to take a story and set it to song (only some laws of good taste are violated), it’s rather inappropriate for the songs to expropriate music that was already available in a more credible format.

Such is the case with Million Dollar Quartet!

“‘Well, the opening number is “Blue Suede Shoes,”’ [co-director Eric] Schaeffer said; much of the rest of the evening consists of music that paved the way for the rock explosion. ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,’ ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ ‘Fever’ and ‘Sixteen Tons’ are all in the mix.”

Imagine, if you will, a song as demonically possessed* as Jerry Lee Lewis’ original cut of “Great Balls Of Fire” refracted through Sondheim. Impossible? Try adding an exclamation point:

“Great Balls of Fire!”
(Merde!)

The difference, of course, is that Lewis made you feel an exclamation point, to such an extent that it’s likely censors wouldn’t allow it in the title. In a musical, an exclamation point is more like Viagra.

That expired.

Years ago.

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Some fans of Sun Records might forgive Million Dollar Quartet! if it shines some of its commercial light on the Million Dollar Quartet, and by extension the label’s legacy. Colin Escott, for one, must have thought this – it’s hard to imagine that Escott, the Sun Records historian who, on the evidence of liner notes he’s penned for nearly every significant reissue of Sun material, has a deep-felt appreciation for the integrity of the original music, would be the co-author of the book on which Million Dollar Quartet! is based for any other reason. Whether or not Shelby Singleton, who since 1969 has owned the rights to the entire Sun catalog (except Elvis’ material, which was sold to RCA Victor in 1956), is thinking beyond making more cash on the licensing is more doubtful.

Will someone who attends Million Dollar Quartet! actually rush out to buy Carl Perkins’ Original Sun Greatest Hits or Jerry Lee Lewis’ 18 Original Sun Greatest Hits on the strength of the musical’s versions of some of their songs? Maybe. Or will they grab a copy of the “Original Score” instead? More likely. But to expect they might seek out the work of other Sun artists whose material hasn’t been “interpreted” in the musical, or invest their hard-earned in Billy Lee Riley, Sonny Burgess, or Howlin’ Wolf compilations, will probably remain in dreams – to quote another Sun artist who actually might have preferred that people forget his tenure at the label.

One needs to ask apologists: If it requires a musical to raise awareness, then is that awareness really necessary? The influence wielded by Sun Records’ original catalog, including the recordings of the Million Dollar Quartet, speaks for itself.

Then again, there is one small caveat for Sam Phillips’ legacy: “Winnie the Parakeet” doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

* Lewis himself invites the perception of demonic possession, in a studio conversation with Sam Phillips that preceded the master take, and was captured on tape. It is included, in its proper sequential order, in Bear Family Records’ Classic box set, which compiles all of The Killer’s Sun recordings.

"Bin Browsing..." NYC (Pt. 2a) Mainman Edition

2009-08-28T12:10:00.004-04:00

As MJC detailed in his prior post, we did a little record shopping or "bin browsing" as it were, when he visited me in NYC for my most recent birthday.

MJC also mentioned, we have different approaches when it comes to record shopping. He has a fairly well defined list of the records he's looking for. As with most things, Mainman has no real method to his madness.

Well, actually that's not true. There are a few titles I'm definitely trying to acquire (the names of which I will keep to myself as I'm not really looking for competition, I'm joking ......but not really). For the most part, I'm quite happy hitting the dollar bin.

Why, you may ask? The honest truth is that often there is more bang for the buck (literally and figuratively) in the cheap stacks.

For example, the dollar bin netted me the following highlights -

Rick James - Cold Blooded (not his best record, which would be Street Songs (boasting both Give It to Me and Super Freak on the same album easily makes it the runaway champ in this particular tussle)
Van Halen's MCMLXXXIV (or 1984 for those of you who are a little slow)
The Cars' self titled debut album - You'll recognize the tracks because 5 of them are on their Greatest hits comp. Basically the Cars' Thriller.......
The Bluesbreakers with eric clapton - As mentioned in MJC's sister post, one of eric clapton's (I've decided no more capitals for the minor god) better records and certainly worth owning.
Rod Stewart - Foot Loose & Fancy Free (the tracks Hot Legs, You're in My Heart, and Rod's cover of You Keep Me Hanging On come immediately to mind as standouts)
Jefferson Airplane's - After Bathing At Baxter's
Keely Smith - I Wish You Love (in glorious Mono). Wife and singing partner of Louis Prima who is perhap's better known as the Jungle Book's King Louie, or as the original singer on Jump, Jive and Wail and Just a Gigolo. Don't let the fact that I spent more time describing Mr. Prima than I did Keely scare you. I enjoyed listening to her record and didn't miss her husband once.
Frank Sinatra/Count Basie - It Might as Well be Swing (arranged by Quincy Jones). Nuff said.
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Himself (which features the 70s hit Alone Again, Naturally) which is reason enough to spend the $1 (the fact that he kind of comes off like a lesser version of Wings' era Paul McCartney was an added bonus)
Elton John - Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy. Elton in his 70s prime. Came with the fan club invite and lyrics sheet
Soft Cell - 12" of Tainted Love/Where Did Our Love Go (In many ways the highlight of my bday bin diving was finding this beauty. The B-Side has one scratch that I hope to repair with some TLC but the mint condition A side is priceless.

For me, this list (abbreviated because some of my purchases were more than a dollar and others I haven't listened to as of yet so I can't give you a real opinion of them just yet) shows the advantage of the dollar bin for those who just want to listen to something new. Obviously not new in the it is the latest release kind of way (especially as most of the albums are from the 60s and 70s). It's simply that the list above cost me less than buying one new release, increased the overall quality of my music collection, and I guarantee that there are more hits to be found on my list than any new CD around today.

Also, I've found that many records are not in the discount bin because anything is wrong with them. The Elton John, Cars and Rod Stewart records I picked up were near mint. Often it's just that the store has multiple copies of the record in their stacks and they are priced to move. Unlike your "average" joe, stores are buying in bulk from estate states, djs, other stores going belly up, etc. That copy of James Taylor's Sweet Baby James (and yes I scored a copy of that album as well) may be mint but millions of copies were pressed and record stores are much better off focusing on profiling and moving the rarer gems. Along with that, some records end up in the 99 cent/$1 bin because the album doesn't fit the store's persona. I picked up a pretty good mono copy of Frank Sinatra's Songs for Swingin' Lovers in the 99 cent bin at Kim's in NYC but part of that was because that store is more focused on indie rock and imports. The average NYU student isn't going to drop much on a record like that....at least not in Kim's.

Anyway, all this writing is interrupting my music listening. MJC and I hit a store in Quakertown's Q-Mart this past Sunday and I haven't listened to any of my finds yet. I think I need to hear Sly Stone's Small Talk right about now.

P.S. Just to show that I'm not a cheap bastard. I did pick up an import copy of Issac Hayes' (may he rest in peace) Truck Turner soundtrack for $25.00 a few days ago. It too was worth the price of admission........

The Who At Kilburn 1977: '77 - '69 and Keith Moon

2009-08-24T07:45:00.010-04:00

It's funny how time slips away.....and not only in Al Green songs.

Christmas 2008, I acquired the Who at Kilburn DVD. I caught a glimpse of it on PBS one night and I had to have it once it was officially released. Old footage of the Who with Keith Moon? How can I pass that up?

So why the italicized and bold "I"? Because the Who were the first band I really loved. Not to say there haven't been others - Sly Stone, Prince, Radiohead, Funkadelic, Talking Heads, Al Green, Public Enemy, Wu-Tang Clan, The Clash, Jimi Hendrix.... at this point, the list goes on and on. But just like girlfriends (or boyfriends if that is more your thing) you always have a special place in your heart for your first one. That place may be warm and fuzzy or cold and damp, depending on how things went down but I digress.

Why, of all the bands I could have chosen, did I pick the Who? Amusingly enough, it was all because of a book.

At this late date, I don't actually recall the book's name but I do remember that I found it in my high school library. It was all about British bands from the Sixties. It had band bio/histories, a discography, etc. It covered the usual suspects, like the Beatles and the Stones, lesser lights like the Dave Clark Five, Herman's Hermits and the two hidden gems on the 60's British Music scene - The Who and the Kinks.

I say hidden gems because while both groups achieved a fair amount of fame and fortune in the States, they are both poorly served by radio airplay. I've mentioned before that for many Americans, the Kinks' entire recorded output could be distilled to All Day and All of the Night, You Really Got Me, and Lola. The Who's might be only a little more expansive with My Generation, Pinball Wizard, Won't Get Fooled Again and Who are You (thanks, CSI). All I will say is this, if those songs are all you know of these bands you are really missing out on some amazing music. Records like The Who's Quadrophenia, and Sell Out or the Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society or Something Else are among the best albums the British Isles ever produced. People often get mired in the eternal Lennon vs. McCartney argument, which is amusing and all but a case can easily be made that Pete Townshend of the Who and Ray Davies of the Kinks were just as good if not better songwriters. However, that's probably a discussion for another day so let's get back to digging the Who.....(I'm quite sure that me or MJC will give the Kinks their due at some point)

So anyway, in this unnamed, nearly forgotten book that probably still resides in my high school library, the description of the Who was so enticing, so alluring, with all of its talk of "power and volume" and how the Who were in some ways the first "punk" band with songs like My Generation and Substitute, I had to track them down and give them a listen. Thanks to this mystery book's discography, I made the wise decision to pick up Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy.

Wow. Great pickup. There is probably no better single disc primer for a band (The Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady does come close). I can honestly say the album (actually tape in this instance) blew my mind. Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy highlighted every facet of the Who that had me seek them out in the first place. Much more musical firepower than the Beatles and the Stones with lyrics to match. The only Beatle whose instrumental prowess could keep him in the running would be McCartney (but John "The Ox" Entwistle would probably take him) and probably none of the original members of the Stones would make the cut. Watts and Ringo are great for the bands they were in but Moon in his prime and at that time had no equal as a rock drummer. Townshend had been quoted at the time as saying that the Beatles made great sounding records but that the Who would blow them off the stage. When you listen to tracks like I Can't Explain, My Generation, I Can See for Miles, The Seeker, etc there can be no doubt. With the exception of Hendrix and Cream (bands built around virtuoso musicians) the Who probably didn't meet their instrumental match until the emergence of Led Zeppelin in the late 60s.

Don't believe me? Watch this clip of the Who doing "A Quick One" on the Rolling Stones' Rock and Roll Circus (especially the final third). Rumor has it that The Stones didn't release it because the Who so throughly blew them away.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlBip8CV1P8

But the Who came to the table with more than musical prowess. With Townshend at their helm, they crafted brilliant gems, where the music, lyrics and themes all had deeper meanings. They did the first concept album (The Who Sell Out) and the first rock opera (Tommy) but when you listen to the lyrics of songs like I'm One or Sea and the Sand (Quadrophenia) or damn near any track on Who by Numbers , there is also the element of the personal deeply embedded in the words. You might not be Peter Townshend but you can relate to what he is saying via the big voice of Roger Daltrey.

The big guns on the British scene at the time, the Beatles and the Stones, rarely wrote songs that were personal. In the case of the Beatles, they didn't travel that road until they broke up (Lennon's early solo work being the best example). With the Stones, Jagger created a stage showman's persona and rarely do his lyrics give you a peek behind the curtain. Townshend's lyrics, on the other hand, tapped into the struggles of youth and growing up, which always gave his songs something that the listener could tap into and identify with.

Now of course, none of this has much to do with the Kilburn DVD but I do ramble on occasion (or often, depending on whom you ask).

So what was my take on the Kilburn '77 DVD? It was good in spots, heartbreaking in others but a worthwhile purchase if you are a Who fan. If you aren't, there are better DVDs to catch a glimpse of the Who in their prime.

Briefly, the story of this performance is rooted in a must watch DVD for anyone into rock music, i.e. The Kids Are Alright or "TKAA". TKAA is a documentary on the Who that is easily one of the best in the genre. The concert captured in Kilburn was filmed because the director of the documentary, felt that he didn't have any footage of the Who in the mid to late 70s and wanted some footage of songs like Baba O' Reilly and Won't Get Fooled Again to wrap up "Kids". So the Who, after a year and a half lay off, reconvened to film the needed tracks. The layoff resulted in rust for Daltrey, Townshend and Entwistle but for Moon it was tragic. The drinking and drug usage that he was so famous for didn't stop when the Who went on hiatus but just got worse. In fact the only thing he stopped doing during that time was playing the drums. He went from being an irrepresible bundle of energy that powered the band in their prime to a fat, sodden shell of his former self, struggling to play even the easiest of drum patterns. Moon was so out of shape that this footage was scrapped and another performance was later filmed and used instead. Moon never regained the form that had made him famous and he died before the film was released.

So, with such a sad backstory and other viewing options on the market, why would I recommend this DVD? One, I'm a big Who fan so I love any chance to see them play but more importantly, Kilburn comes with a second DVD that contains the Who's London Coliseum concert from 1969. That, even with so-so video and audio quality, is worth the price of admission. It's basically a video companion to the Live at Leeds album as it is one of the only videos of them touring at that time. It features a young, healthy (though probably on something sort of chemical) Keith, songs from Tommy, Pete windmilling, Daltrey screaming and thunder ringing out from Entwistle's bass amps. What more could you ask for?

"It Might Get Loud"

2009-08-05T09:02:00.003-04:00

A friend did me a solid and got me into an early screening of the upcoming documentary "It Might Get Loud", which chronicles a meeting between three iconic guitar players (The Edge, Jimmy Page, and Jack White), where they discuss with the viewer (and each other) how they got where they are and give us a little taste of their collective chops.

When I first heard about this project, other than being happy that they wisely avoided pulling Clapton into this (Page is the better choice for a multitude of reasons), I wondered how they selected the particular participants.

Watching it unfold cleared much of that up. One obvious reason is that they all come from different eras and styles of playing - The Edge coming in at the tail end of punk, Page, having been on the scene from rock and roll's adolescence into its unruly teenage years, and White, the youngest of the three but well-steeped in the oldest and darkest of the blues.

The doc follows each guitarist to places of importance to them. The Edge goes back to the school where U2 formed and played their early gigs and the house where much of "War' was crafted, White goes to Detroit and his farm in Nashville and breaks out some of the guitars that he's loved including a Kay that looks like it was involved in a high-speed collision with a wall but that he can still draw amazing sounds from and Page takes us to Headley Grange, so we can see the hallway were "When the Levee Breaks" was recorded"

Some of the highlights of the doc for me were -

Jimmy Page playing "Ramble On" and showing the viewer "light and shade, whisper to the thunder" and his obviously glee while listening to Link Wray's "Rumble"
Jack White constructing a primitive guitar on the porch of his Nashville farm and crafting howling licks with a bit of wire, a strip of wood, some nails and a bottle. He sums it all up with the brilliant line "Who says you need to buy a guitar?"
The Edge showing how simple and yet complex his sound is.
The three of them watching each other play and trying to figure out what the others were doing (especially as they attempt a cover of The Band's "The Weight").

It's not a perfect documentary. I might have tightened it up a bit with a shorter running time and the Edge seems a little dull in comparison to White and Page but it made for a pleasant evening (as did the company) and I learned a lot from it as well, which I'd like to think is the point. I'd would definitely see it again.

For your amusement/to lure you in I've attached the link to the trailer. Give it a watch and a listen and tell me what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rl9iS2egnC0

"Bin Browsing..." NYC (Pt. 2)

2009-07-31T09:30:00.001-04:00

Finally, the follow-up to my July 2008 bin browsing expedition in NYC with Mainman, which I wrote about in a post waaay back on September 15, 2008. This year, the dates were July 24th & 25th, 2009...

Once again, we averaged a “working day” of indie store browsing, hitting one in the Bronx and four in the East Village. My sights were set, as usual, on vinyl - but this time, no list. Last year I learned that what I thought was in my best interest (making a list so I could “pretend” I was going to search only those racks most likely to contain titles of interest), was not. Of the records I found, only two were on my list. The rest weren’t, but should have been.

Comes the question, however: What did I miss?

So, to minimize my regrets this year, I decided against artificial search parameters. My only limitation would be time. Of which, sadly, there wasn’t enough. I was, however, amply rewarded for the time I had.

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Harmony Records (1625 Unionport Rd., Bronx)
First stop was on Friday, July 24th, Bronx. Mainman had visited Harmony Records two months ago, and was pleased with what he’d found, so it was high on his list of recommendations. With an ironic caveat: the stock has no harmony - but sometimes there are great rewards in disharmony. Mainman was not kidding. Harmony’s stock is “arranged” in milk crates and on shelves that line the shop’s north wall, and in more crates running the length under the counter opposite. As Mainman explained, a lot of Harmony’s stock is acquired in bulk, from estate sales, auctions, and the like, and goes out on the floor “as is:” in the condition, and boxes, it came in. Mostly. There’s also new stock added to the mix. Browsing Harmony Records is like listening to Webern’s Op. 9 without any understanding the mathematical formality behind it - or to use a better simile, like uncovering a dusty box of 78 RPM records in the attic of an old Kansas farmhouse: you might be surprised how little a semblance of order matters in order to enjoy an experience. Sadly, I found no genuine surprises at Harmony - a near-mint copy of the Isley’s 3 + 3 and a decent pressing of the Allman Bros. Band’s Eat A Peach are fine, but not really finds. However, even if nothing out of the ordinary appeared this time, it was fun scanning a wall of vinyl, not knowing what’s waiting for you. Who knows what will be here next time?

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Other Music (15 E. 4th St., NYC)
This was the first stop in the East Village on Saturday, July 25th, and my second visit to this mainstay of Mainman’s. Other Music was part of last year’s rounds, and as I noted then, they carry a limited stock of vinyl, and most of it is in reissues. I’ve a fetish for original pressings myself, but when it comes to finding an affordable copy of Black Monk Time, The Story of Moondog, or Anne Briggs, reissues trump it. I have daily access to several superb indie shops in Washington, DC, which cater in reissues, however, so I didn’t want to expend energy carrying back a stack got in NYC. I found a few decent titles in the slim but carefully vetted bins of used vinyl, but nothing as fine as the copy of Roscoe Mitchell’s Sound I picked-up last year. I decided to peruse the CD offerings, and located a reissue of Meic Stevens’ Gwymon, a record that if mentioned at all, usually occurs in the same breath as Outlander, Stevens’ only major-label release (on Warner Bros.), and a much-sought collectors item. (Note for the curious: it’s been reissued twice on CD, and the Water Records version was also at Outer Music.) Calling Stevens the Welsh Bob Dylan doesn’t really give him the credit he deserves, but it at least gives folks who’ve never heard of him a general point of reference. I recommend Gwymon over Outlander, by the by. No complaints from me for a store that keeps it in stock, either. If you’re in the market for hard-to-find or obscure CD releases, check out Other Music.

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Good Records NYC (218 E. 5th St., NYC)
Mainman raided their Dollar Bin, while I went through the main racks. Mainman also left with more finds than I did, but such is the nature of having (a) an eclectic taste in music and (b) about twelve crates of dollar bargains to root through. Mainman was even kind enough to contribute a copy of Headhunters to my loot - though he kept a copy of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton for himself. By Clapton standards, probably the best record this minor god has played on, and one I wouldn’t mind having on vinyl. Lucky for me, though, I already have a copy of follow-up A Hard Road, in which the superior talent of Peter Green takes Clapton’s place. More to the point, however: Good Records has nicely organized bins all around, in a well-lit, temperate browsing environment with a moderate but knowledgeable selection of vinyl. Everything here is finely attuned to intense leisurely browsing: my favorite type. I came away with a mono pressing of Coltrane’s Live At Birdland, Holgar Czukay’s Movies, and an original Def Jam pressing of It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, to name a few. And by the time I got to the dollar bin, I still managed to uncover a copy of the soundtrack to National Lampoon’s “Vacation” that Mainmain must have overlooked. Good Records indeed.

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Tropicalia In Furs (304 E. 5th St., NYC)
Their cash-only policy is my only complaint. It’s not that I don’t admire a small business that won’t play the credit game: I do. But by the time we arrived at Tropicalia In Furs, I was a bit short on cash, which cost me a copy of the original 1968 Philips pressing of the Tropicalia LP. I’d have rather parted with the cash, than the opportunity to get that record, but so it goes. A copy of The dB’s Stands for Decibels proved more affordable, and since it’s an album that has eluded me since the last time I saw, but was beaten to, a copy of it, I left the shop happy. (For good measure, I also accepted the invitation to purchase a copy of Kiss’ Destroyer from TIF’s dollar bin. It is certainly no substitute for a pristine copy of Tropicalia, but for a buck it’s a fine guilty pleasure. And adds no profit to Gene Simmons’ conservative coffers.)

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Gimmie Gimmie Records (325 E. 5th St., NYC)
By now, we were as short of time as I was of cash. Thankfully, Gimmie Gimmie Records accepts credit, because in what little time we had (the annual social gathering for in honor of Mainman’s birthday awaited - and by now we had about 5 lbs. of vinyl between us to carry there, so having less time to browse for more vinyl was probably a good thing), I was able to snag copies of Pacific Ocean Blue (Dennis Wilson) and A Hard Days’ Night (UK mono pressing) almost as soon as we walked through the door - the latter snagged for me by Mainman while I was digging the Reggae bins for an elusive copy of The Upsetter’s Super Ape (sadly, not found). Nevertheless, I’m left wondering what else I might have gotten had I stayed longer. It’s quite a nagging question, as there was a lot of stock. I think I’ll have to plan another visit to NYC in less than a year’s time - this time with more time to spare for record shops in the East Village!

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp

MGMT - July 1 @ the Prospect Park Bandshell, Brooklyn, NY

2009-07-13T10:52:00.001-04:00

MGMT (captured in action above) have been part of the slew of popular, or shall we say hip, NYC bands that have garnered so much attention these past few years. This would include bands like Sharon Jones and the Daptones, Yeasayer (whom I reviewed in action at '08's All Points West Festival), and Vampire Weekend, who I've reviewed in my, as of yet, unpublished account of last year's Austin City Limits Festival. (I imagine I should really get to finishing that post before this year's festival commences).

Please note - one should almost say Brooklyn because it feels like they are kicking out one new band a day but basically NYC is one big happy city with four.....ok, five boroughs (Staten Island, I'll give you a pass if only for generating the Wu-Tang Clan, but you are skating on thin ice and might get your borough pass revoked).

Anyway, back to MGMT. While Vampire Weekend may have garnered more press and adulation, MGMT has shown itself to be the more interesting group. MGMT's track Time to Pretend has more creative moments than anything found in Vampire Weekend's self-titled debut.

I think what sold people on Vampire Weekend (and I promise, this will be short as this post is supposed to be about MGMT) is the familiarity of its sound. It comes across as the bastard son of Paul Simon's Graceland and later period Talking Heads. Listening to the album and seeing them live, they never threw me a curve, never played a note that really surprised me, or made me curious as to what would come next. It's not a bad album but it doesn't inspire confidence that a masterpiece awaits in their future.

MGMT are their polar opposite. They too wear their influences on their sleeves but it is a coat of many colors. I can hear strains of the Kinks, Bowie, the Stones, LCD Soundsystem and late 70's disco (to name a few) in their sound but there is more to them than what they have borrowed. These influences mingle with keys that come off like a crosswired Casio audio preset and lyrics that manage to sound wistful, world weary and naive all at the same time. MGMT could strip down their sound and go acoustic or decide that they want to use the accursed Autotune for their next album and it wouldn't surprise me. And that is a good thing.

At this point, I don't know that I have much to say about their live show. I loved it, as did the crowd but they only have one album to draw from. They have a great sound, an energetic stage presence and I look forward to seeing and hearing what they do next. MGMT are currently in that mid-tour/we are working on the album stretch that many new artists find themselves in early in their career. Basically not enough cash to take the year off and still glorying in the fact that they can play bigger venues - but I will concede that I have high hopes for the end result. Whatever that may be.

Real West: 5 Snappy Synopses

2009-07-10T11:00:00.000-04:00

I have just finished listening to five new songs by Real West. Real West? Yes. If you haven’t heard them, you should. Currently, there are three ways that can be done:

1. Buy...
...a copy of their independently-released debut, War Is a Wonderful Thing, at CDbaby.

2. Listen...
...to The Dark Ride EP on Last FM and their five latest songs, now streaming at http://www.myspace.com/realwest.

3. Visit...
...the greater Allentown, PA, area to catch a performance (check out http://www.myspace.com/realwest for scheduled shows & venues).

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Why should you bother?

Well, to keep things simple, let’s say that the style known as Pop is of two types: the manufactured kind, and the professional kind.

The former is product of the sort that ignores timeless qualities in favor of a quick profit, and quickly turns to blight. There’s little use naming any performers who fit this type. Whether they’re popular now, or had been several years ago, the chances in either case are that by the time you read this they’re just a tired & tasteless joke. Or just tired & tasteless.

The latter sort of Pop, however, is small batch bourbon: carefully crafted & finely mellowed, it ages well. Examples in this category have earned their recognition - Sinatra in the 1950s; Pet Sounds-era Beach Boys in the 1960s; Steely Dan in the 1970s; Elvis Costello in the mid-1980s; Blur in the 1990s, circa Parklife.

And for the Noughties: Real West.

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Evolving from a neo-Rockabilly genesis into the Poplitical provocateurs of their formative years, to Pop-experimentalists of a short-lived but fallow transition period that saw the expansion of their musical template, Real West have arrived as exceptional craftsmen of song & sound in a very professional period of precise Pop.

For now, at least.

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And why is that?

Because Real West are like a road trip: arriving isn’t important, getting there is. And from what I hear, they’re always on the way to somewhere else.

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So, to help you enjoy the latest stretch - or perhaps get properly started? - on the Real West road, here’s a bit of what you can expect from their five most recent offerings:

“Ex-Teenager's Love Story”
Elvis Is Back-meets-Sunday at The Village Vanguard.

“Redwood City”
Progressive Pop with impressive chord changes.

“Summer Job”
A 1970s FM hit in 2009!

“Sunshine Soldiers”
Classic Real West fitted in the new Real West fashion.

“What is the Sound of One Piano Crashing?”
A clever use of 16 seconds!

~ The Musical Jolly Chimp