I first heard of Todd Rundgren from two sources. 1) A K-Tel Battle of the Bands cassette I owned as a kid that contained a track by Nazz (Rundgren's band) 2) My father, who still refers to the 1973 Rundgren show he saw as the only concert he's ever walked out of. "It was the most masturbatory piece of shit I've ever seen," he fondly remembers. I was always confused by his statement. "Hello It's Me," the Nazz track with which I was familiar, was a well-written track. On top of this, I've always read favorable reviews of Rundgren's abilities as a songwriter, producer, arranger, and guitarist.
I became further confused when a trusted friend introduced me to A Wizard, A True Star, Rundgren's 1973 solo record. Sure, it's meandering and a little against the grain for a pop album, but there are some great songs on the record. I couldn't believe that my father, who usually has pretty damned good taste in music, was repulsed by the concert he saw from the same era. Again I asked him about the show, and again he further elaborated: "It was masturbatory shit. He didn't even have a band with him. He was prancing around the stage, jumping from instrument to instrument, playing along with his album. And when he stopped from time to time, he just kept talking about how he played every instrument on the damned record."
Dad, I finally know what you were talking about. I've discovered a clip of Rundgren from the Wizard tour, and it's every bit as shitty as my father suggested:
A few things of note: 1) Rundgren's one-piece outfit. 2) Around the 29 second mark, he decides to run a lap around his piano. Why the hell not? 3) His resemblance to Celine Dion. I don't know if this is worse for Todd or Celine, but neither of them look too good in the first place. 4) Is he brandishing a scepter for the duration of the song?
Apparently, this is what happens when you surround somebody with yes-men and give him more acid and coke than he can handle.
As proof of Rundgren's musical ability (if you'll believe me after seeing the stage-show spectacle), I have uploaded "Zen Archer," a track from A Wizard, A True Star. The album's actually worth a listen (or even multiple).
I always find it tremendously satisfying when "teen idols" - the people the entertainment industry puts forth as pinnacles of normalcy and mass appeal - become slightly warped. I don't take as much pleasure from those who end up as truly screwed-up individuals - it's a little disturbing, for example, to think of how many belt-beatings it took to turn Michael Jackson into the thing he is now - rather, I derive most of my satisfaction from those whose artistic intentions become more subversive in time. I suppose the best modern example would be Justin Timberlake. To call his work with *NSYNC tripe would be a gross understatement. Yet, all of his boy-band sins were forgiven the moment he appeared with his dick in a box on SNL.
The ultimate example of such a figure, however, is Scott Walker. In the mid-60s, Walker was a member of the Walker Brothers, a pop group whose zenith of popularity in Britain rivaled that of the Beatles. With Scott as their lead singer, the Walker Brothers charted their biggest hit with "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore":
Subsequently, Walker grew tired of the teen pop scene and began recording his own solo records. These records (particularly the first four - Scott 1, 2, 3, and 4) are extraordinarily unique, combining bombastic arrangements, Scott's crooning voice, and often bizarre subjects. The example I am providing is "The Seventh Seal," the first track off of Scott 4 (considered by many - me included - to be his finest record). The song is a reference to the classic Ingmar Bergman film of the same name, and the lyrics are essentially a plot summary.
Fairport Convention arrived on the British folk scene in 1967 as a shadow of what it would become. Best remembered for its later albums with Sandy Denny that fused folk, rock, jazz, and country elements, Fairport initially resembled an English Byrds. Not to suggest that this was a bad thing. The original Fairport featured the vocals of Judy Dyble, whose ethereal voice (while more limited than that of Denny) is tragically overlooked in the pantheon of English female vocalists.
In addition to great songwriting and vocals, Fairport also featured the tasteful (and often stunning) guitar work of Richard Thompson. The quality of Thompson's playing becomes even more apparent in a live setting as opposed to studio recordings.
Here we see the band performing "Time Will Show the Wiser" during its early period:
Perhaps some of you are familiar with the old Muppet Show sketch in which two alien-looking creatures sing "Mah Na Mah Na" with a bearded guy in sunglasses. It's pretty classic:
While browsing for new records over the weekend, I came upon an interesting tidbit about the origins of the sketch: turns out that the track was not, in fact, a Muppet original. The composer is Piero Umiliani, and it initially appeared on the soundtrack of an Italian film, Svezia, Inferno e Paradiso. The film is a pseudo-documentary focusing on "corrupt" sexual mores in Sweden during the late 60s. Apparently, such subjects were shocking to heavily-Catholic Italy.
Ah, to have been alive in 1968 Stockholm...
The version of the song from the film is fairly different from our beloved Muppet version. It features a lounge-bossa arrangement, vaguely reminiscent of Walter Wanderley (whose work I rather like), complete with a Hammond B3 driving the song. It's a rather jaunty little number - the perfect accompaniment for footage of gorgeous Swedish women prancing about. And essentially, that's exactly how it's used in the film:
I have also uploaded the complete track for those who wish to hear the whole thing.
It was only a matter of time before I featured some Zappa on my blog. I've been listening to him since I was about 11 or 12 (thanks to my father's spectacular record collection), and his work (well, his early work) has always been a fascination of mine.
A note or two about FZ before we delve in, however. First of all, my understanding has always been that Zappa was, at heart, a Modern composer whose lack of formal training or pedigree made it extraordinarily difficult (if not impossible) to have his compositions performed. As a result, he was forced to parlay his abilities into the dominant genre of his era. In interviews, he mentions that he never wrote a rock song until he was in his twenties - he had written primarily chamber music up until that point. Think about this for a second. Imagine informing another Modern composer - say Stravinsky, Schoenberg, or Stockhausen - that he would have to abandon his art and start writing music for a teenage audience that had grown up on the likes of "Wooly Bully." It's this tension that makes Zappa's work such a treat to me.
I am featuring two Zappa clips today. The first is a television commercial for his 1969 record, Uncle Meat. The track accompanying the commercial is "Sleeping in a Jar," a short piece from the album. In addition to his work as a composer, FZ was also a film-maker (though admittedly not a very conventional one)...
The second clip is Zappa's 1969 promo video for perhaps his most famous composition, "Peaches En Regalia" (Hot Rats, 1969):
A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend of mine when he mentioned a McCartney song he had stuck in his head: "Wonderful Christmastime." He sung the hook, and I had the song in my head for the next 48 hours. I hadn't even heard the track, just my friend's solo rendition as we walked through the supermarket. I've always had something of a love-hate relationship with Paul McCartney. Not that I actually know the guy.
As a Beatles fan, I have been forced to reckon with Sir Paul's prowess as a songwriter. While the bulk (60% - 70%?) of my favorite tracks are Lennon compositions, there are moments when I have to tip my hat to Macca - most notably on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. And "Yesterday." Much of Abbey Road. "I've Got A Feeling." Magical Mystery Tour... On top of his abilities as a songwriter, he's also perhaps my favorite pop bass player of all time outside of Motown. His melodic sense is nearly superhuman.
Nonetheless, I've always liked to believe that McCartney's success with the Beatles was a function of his being kept in check by Lennon. It's a claim I've always supported by rolling out Paul's solo records in comparison to Lennon's. While Lennon was exploring the darkest and most personal recesses of his soul ("God," "Mother," "How Do You Sleep," etc), McCartney played the role of candy-man, giving his audiences endearing pop music thatwas readily consumable. This is perhaps the worst aspect of Paul's songwriting - it's so sweet and so well done that you can't help but enjoy it. It's as if he's taunting us with his music: "Yeah. I know it's candy. See if I care. You're still going to eat it, and you're going to fucking like it."
I suppose my biggest problem with McCartney is that he strikes me as being entirely in love with himself to a degree normally reserved for the likes of Roger Waters. It makes me feel guilty for liking his music, almost to the point that it's painful for me to listen. "How can I possibly like this," I say to myself as "Band on the Run" plays. "The guy is such an overwhelming tool..." As a result, I've largely kept myself away from his solo records. They're the musical equivalent to McDonalds - easy going down, but ultimately leaving you unfulfilled and feeling like hell. Not to mention feeling guilty that you went there in the first place.
But I've found an alternative.
I recently read about Emitt Rhodes - specifically about his uncanny similarity to McCartney - and decided to give his 1970 self-titled record a listen. I'm very impressed. Everything about this record screams "McCartney" - the songwriting, the arrangements, even the guy's voice is a dead ringer for Paul's. New pastime: playing some of the Rhodes record to unsuspecting friends and convincing them that it's a lost Macca outtake. It's not a hard sell, either.
Finally, I can indulge my "sweet tooth" without feeling so damned guilty. This is a very enjoyable record, and it's more honest than anything Paul has done post-Beatles. Some of you may also recognize Rhodes' name from the Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack - his stripped down "Lullabye" (also from his self-titled record) is featured. I have uploaded my favorite track from Emitt Rhodes (1970), "With My Face on the Floor," for your enjoyment.
A couple of days ago, I stumbled upon a record by the Tages, a Swedish band from the mid 60's. I had heard the record briefly mentioned by a few sources - it was favorably compared to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - and decided to track it down for myself. I've got to say, I'm shocked and appalled. How could I possibly go this long without any knowledge of Studio (1967 or 1968, depending on the source), a gem in an era of gems?
Studio is mid-60's album of very high quality. It is laden with short (and exceptionally well-written) pop songs that couple competent rock arrangements with moments of ornate orchestration. While by no means a mirror of its influences, the album is reminiscent of everything from the Kinks (perhaps the best point of comparison) to the Left Banke, Beatles, and Pretty Things. Also of note are the lyrics (despite the record being from Sweden, the band's lead singer was British), which are at times rather edgy for the time period (have a listen to the linked file for an example).
I have been listening to this record incessantly, and am horrified that it never managed to chart in the UK or US. As far as I'm concerned, it's on par with SF Sorrow or any of the Kinks' contemporaneous albums. Always a shame when great art goes unnoticed...
There's a lot to love about Brazilian music. I've always been a huge fan of bossa nova, and have spent many long hours listening to the work of Antonio Carlos Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes, among others. From the perspective of a songwriter, if find there's very little out there that can match the classic bossa in terms of harmonic sophistication.
As much as I have always been impressed by the sheer musicality of bossa nova, it's Brazil's status as a musical melting pot that has kept me continually fascinated. At no time was this status more apparent than the late 60s. Artists fused elements of bossa, American and British psychedelic rock, African music, and Brazilian traditional folk to create something that was far greater than the sum of its parts. Most impressive: this free-spirited fusion was also actively political - and it was achieved during a period of rigid military dictatorship in the country. As American artists fancied themselves revolutionaries in their opposition to Vietnam, their contemporaries in Brazil were being imprisoned for anti-government activities.
Things have changed quite a bit for the key figures on the scene these days. Os Mutantes recently completed a successful reunion tour that brought them through the United States, among other places. 35+ years after their exile from Brazil, Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil are internationally recognized as two of the world's foremost songwriters and activists. Gil is now the Brazilian cultural minister, in fact.
As impressive as their achievements have been, the music still speaks loudest. It sounds radical and groundbreaking even by today's standards. Imagine how it would have sounded in 1969...
Here is Gilberto Gil's "2.001" (from his 1969 self-titled record) as an example:
Additionally, it is interesting to note that the scene was rather tightly-knit. Collaboration rather than competition was the norm among the nation's finest musicians. Here is evidence: Os Mutantes covering "2.001" live with Gilberto Gil (their recorded version can be found - sans Gil - on their second record, Mutantes).
The first time I ever heard Captain Beefheart was when I commandeered my father's old vinyl copy of Frank Zappa's Hot Rats. I was about 12 at the time, and put on the record knowing only "Peaches En Regalia." I was fairly certain that the rest of the record was along the same lines as the track I knew - an instrumental. For the most part, I was correct. The glaring exception was "Willie the Pimp," a track featuring Beefheart on vocals. I remember being in awe of the sheer filth the man could coax out of his vocal cords.
Several years later, I got my hands on a copy of Beefheart's classic, Trout Mask Replica, which I won't even attempt to describe. I will say, however, that it kicked my ass in ways that most "normal" records can only dream of. Those of you who are feeling adventurous owe it a listen. It is tremendously rewarding, but requires a significant time investment. And for those of you who prefer your music to be a little less abstract, I suggest a listen to Safe as Milk, Beefheart's first record. It's far far more accessible than its younger brother.
Below are all three parts of an excellent 1997 BBC documentary on the Captain, which I have listed in order from top to bottom.
As regular readers of Mp3some well know, I try to keep my postings strictly musical in nature. Aside from my belief that long-standing Republican dynasties and bad mainstream music go hand in hand (see: 1980 - 1988, 2000 - 2008), politics and music usually don't mix in my mind. However, I have decided in the wake of the New Hampshire primary to deliver a political endorsement. I am not under the impression that my opinions will have any bearings on your own decisions, and I do not expect to change any minds. This said, in the off chance that I might change some minds, I am writing.
First things first: I am a terribly cynical individual. In general, I view politicians with a vast amount of contempt. I tolerate and mildly support those individuals who work towards my own agenda, and scoff at the rest as pandering fools (which isn't to say that the ones I do tolerate aren't pandering fools - they've just done a decent job of pandering to me, and so I accept them). This said, for the first time in my life, I am genuinely excited about a presidential candidate. I do not feel as if I am being pandered to, nor as if I am choosing a lesser of two (or in the case of the primaries, the least of several) evils. For the first time, I understand what it must have felt like to see RFK running in '68. I am speaking, of course, of Barack Obama and his candidacy. In a political landscape characterized by fear mongering, sloganeering, and hard-headed partisanship, Mr. Obama has remained a force insistent upon adhering to principles of positivity, intelligent discussion, and pragmatism. If there is anybody who can reverse the course of this country after the last eight years with a belligerent ape at the helm, I believe it is Obama.
Consider this cynic charmed. Rarely are mainstream candidates this good. We ought to take advantage of this situation by electing him. On another note: if you're a registered Republican, will you do us all a favor and do what you can to make sure Mitt Romney doesn't get the nomination? As a former Massachusetts resident, I saw what Romney's strong leadership consisted of: a load of broken promises, position changes, and a style of governance that was horribly out of step with his state's populace. Not that I voted for him in the first place. Mitt Romney is the most dangerous man currently running for president (with Mike Huckabee close behind), and he must be stopped.
Anyway, enough of this political missive. Back to the music.
In the days before college students checked Pitchfork on a daily basis for their "what should I think is cool" cues (for the record: I enjoy reading Pitchfork, but despise individuals who treat it as the online version of the indie Bible), I searched for new music on Epitonic.com. This was way back around 2001. Among the bands I discovered was Lenola, a group that had apparently been a Philadelphia fixture since the mid-90's. They had just released Treat Me to Some Life, their fourth entry in what would be a five album discography. I somehow tracked down a copy of the record, and was pleasantly surprised. It was a nice amalgamation of influences, the songs were well written, and the vocals were unique enough to keep me interested.
Subsequently, I researched the band's back catalog, hoping to find more of the same good music. A few listens to their older material suggested that the band had evolved - while I certainly didn't dislike any of their previous records, none of them could hold a candle to Treat Me to Some Life. I eagerly anticipated what would be their final album, Sharks and Flames. Again, it was apparent that the band had further evolved - their final album was a sprawling 2-disc affair with (as I recall) more electronic flourishes than their earlier material. I was slightly disappointed - the album was by no means poor, I'm just personally averse to electronics in my rock music. I would have to be content with their magnum opus, Treat Me to Some Life.
Today, the main songwriters from Lenola are in a new band, Like a Fox. They seem to have picked up where Lenola left off, recording succinct pop songs with an increased emphasis on electronics. I can't say I care for the material all too much - certainly not as much as I care for my favorite Lenola release, at least.
Nonetheless, I still listen to Treat Me to Some Life with fair regularity. Below is a video for the first track on the record, "First Floor Killer."
Hailing from San Francisco in 1966, Moby Grape was a band that should have become a household name. Their 1967 self-titled debut record plays like a greatest hits album, rivaling the Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow as the era's definitive "San Francisco record." Unfortunately, due to circumstances both in and out of the band's control, the record was largely overlooked by mainstream audiences. Furthermore, the events following the release of the debut seem as if they were scripted for a This Is Spinal Tap sequel.
Perhaps the first sign that things were about to go awry came when the band took a photo for their album cover:
On top of the endless bungling from the label/management end, the band began to have its own internal problems. Being from San Francisco in the mid-late 60s, it goes without saying that Moby Grape indulged in their fair share of substances. Unfortunately, they indulged in more than that - they were charged with "contributing to the delinquency of minors" by the San Francisco police - apparently, the band liked 'em young.
On top of this, Skip Spence, perhaps the band's most talented member, became one of the first American acid casualties and lost his mind. Evidence of his insanity can be found on his 1969 solo record, Oar.
Despite all of the ridiculousness surrounding Moby Grape, we still have their debut record, which remains a powerful reminder of the band's unrealized promise. We also have a scattering of concert recordings here and there. Below is some footage of the band performing "Hey Grandma" and "Sitting by the Window" live on television. Note the final verse in "Hey Grandma": "Robitussin makes me feel so fine..." Apparently, while their hippie peers were smoking schwag, these guys were robo-tripping. That explains a lot.
Apologies to those of you who have been regularly checking the blog during my holiday break. I will return to my regularly-scheduled posting on the 7th.
In the meantime, I have uploaded a new track for your listening pleasure: "See and Don't See," the first track off of Marie "Queenie" Lyons' record, Soul Fever. A friend of mine asked me today if I had discovered any new music lately, and this was one of the first tracks that came to mind. I described Lyons to him as sounding "like the product of a bizarre lesbian pregnancy involving Aretha Franklin and Janis Joplin."
I stand by that comparison.
For what it's worth, the rest of the record is just as good as this track. Certainly worth tracking down if you can find it.
All tracks are posted out of love and admiration. The links are valid for a limited amount of time or downloads (seven days or 100 downloads, whichever comes first).
If you hold the copyright to any of the mp3s posted here and would like them removed, please contact me and they will be removed as soon as possible.
