How far have we come since the birth of pop music as we know it?
Fifty years ago, somebody looking for recorded music in his or her life had limited options: the radio, the record store, and the jukebox - all of which were fueled by the only practical musical medium, the vinyl disc. Thus, those who controlled the means of vinyl production and distribution had an effective monopoly of music production. Businessmen and music enthusiasts jumped at the chance to be at the top of the pops, starting labels and production companies.
Since the record industry was still far from an exact science, there was great parity within the nascent market. On one hand, there were moguls in the charts - amply-equipped men like Berry Gordy (Tamla/Motown), Ahmet Ertegün (Atlantic Records), and Sam Phillips (Sun Records) who built their early success on impeccable taste, musical experience, and business sense. On the other hand, there were also independent dark horses experiencing their own chart success. Perhaps the finest example of such an individual is Joe Meek, an Englishman who cut several #1 records (the most famous of which is 1962's "Telstar") from his apartment above a leather store. It is no surprise that the 1960s are considered the golden age for pop music - a competitive marketplace is a productive one, and at no time was the marketplace more saturated with talent.
We know the rest of the story. The big fish ate the littler ones, labels consolidated, and the parity that characterized the early pop market gradually eroded. Today, the "Big Four" - EMI, Warner, Sony BMG, and Universal - enjoy a stranglehold on mainstream production and distribution.
But the market has fundamentally changed. The consumer is no longer bound to the vinyl disc as the exclusive musical medium. In the digital age, the consumer is no longer bound to a physical musical medium at all. It has caused problems for an industry whose business model was solely based on its ability to produce, distribute, and market this precious media. CD sales and radio audiences have plummeted, major labels are slowly collapsing, and litigious fingers are pointing.
At the same time, a growing number of modest independent labels flourish. The bulk of them capitalize on a shifting trend in the marketplace: as more and more consumers switch from physical to digital media, they inevitably turn to the Internet as their source - be it legal or illegal - for music. Since any label or artist is free to distribute music on the Internet as they see fit, the digital movement has redemocratized the music marketplace to a large extent.
But if the traditional role of the record label is obsolete, then what service do labels provide to the consumer in the modern era? Furthermore, why do new labels continue to spring up despite the rapid disappearance of the traditional record market? A crowded marketplace is also a confusing one. Telling a consumer to search for new and exciting music on MySpace is about as effective as telling an oil prospector to search for his fortune in the ground. In the past, labels proved their mettle with branding. The bulk of consumers require guidance - a voucher for the quality of the music they listen to - and it was the role of labels to provide consumer confidence in the music they released. Blues fans knew, for example, that anything released on the Chess label was bound to be golden. Soul fans grew to trust anything on Staxx/Volt. Jazz-heads were acutely aware that anything on Blue Note was the best of the best.
These days, the monolithic Sony BMG, EMI, Warner, and Universal mean nothing to the consumer. Major labels simply do not inspire confidence in their wares any longer. Meanwhile, serious music outlets (and casual music consumers, for that matter) are taking increased notice with every new release by Matador, Sub Pop, Saddle Creek, Touch and Go, Load, Dischord...
The writing is on the wall for major labels - their numbered days dwindle with every generic pop album they release. Soon they will all implode, leaving a vacuum in their wake. How far have we come since the birth of pop music as we know it? Far enough that we're back where we started from.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Seatrain
A few days ago in my post about Elvis Presley's version of "Gentle on My Mind," I mentioned Seatrain in passing as a band that aptly utilized its country influences. The band's self titled album is entirely worth a listen - not only is it suitably (but not too) country, but it also blends influences ranging from blues and jazz to psychedelia.
I first heard Seatrain the same way I heard Donny Hathaway (and several other artists, for that matter): I discovered an old cassette tape my father had made from a friend's vinyl copy in the 70s. Eventually, I became so enamored of Sea Train (1969) that I sought out a used copy (it had been long out of print) in a Boston record store at the age of 13 or 14. It would be the first (but certainly not the last) album I would buy on vinyl. Several years later, I also picked up a CD copy on Ebay.
Seatrain's ability to merge American roots music with rock comes as no surprise. The band formed out of the ashes of The Blues Project, a New York band that was known for its competent electric interpretations of the blues. In fact, some consider the band's last album, Planned Obsolescence (1968), to be the first Seatrain record - the only original members of the Blues Project to play on the record were Roy Blumenfeld and Andy Kulberg, Seatrain's founders.
The track I'm posting today, "Sea Train," is the first track on their self-titled album. It's a nice synthesis of the band's strengths. The country influence is certainly on display - most noticeably in Richard Greene's fiddle playing and the vocal harmonies around the 1:57 mark. Don Kretmar's saxophone lines are rooted firmly in jazz. The lead vocals are decidedly bluesy. Finally, the psychedelic influence is most apparent during the fuzzed-out solo around 2:18 (I believe it's a saxophone) and the rather interesting ending.
I've never really gotten into the band's later albums (one of which, 1973's Marblehead Messenger, was produced by George Martin). The group abandoned its genre-bending after Sea Train in favor of a more unbridled country-rock approach. Nonetheless, Seatrain's first proper album remains an interesting statement of a band in transition. It will always be a sentimental favorite of mine.
I first heard Seatrain the same way I heard Donny Hathaway (and several other artists, for that matter): I discovered an old cassette tape my father had made from a friend's vinyl copy in the 70s. Eventually, I became so enamored of Sea Train (1969) that I sought out a used copy (it had been long out of print) in a Boston record store at the age of 13 or 14. It would be the first (but certainly not the last) album I would buy on vinyl. Several years later, I also picked up a CD copy on Ebay.
Always been fond of this one.
Seatrain's ability to merge American roots music with rock comes as no surprise. The band formed out of the ashes of The Blues Project, a New York band that was known for its competent electric interpretations of the blues. In fact, some consider the band's last album, Planned Obsolescence (1968), to be the first Seatrain record - the only original members of the Blues Project to play on the record were Roy Blumenfeld and Andy Kulberg, Seatrain's founders.
The track I'm posting today, "Sea Train," is the first track on their self-titled album. It's a nice synthesis of the band's strengths. The country influence is certainly on display - most noticeably in Richard Greene's fiddle playing and the vocal harmonies around the 1:57 mark. Don Kretmar's saxophone lines are rooted firmly in jazz. The lead vocals are decidedly bluesy. Finally, the psychedelic influence is most apparent during the fuzzed-out solo around 2:18 (I believe it's a saxophone) and the rather interesting ending.
I've never really gotten into the band's later albums (one of which, 1973's Marblehead Messenger, was produced by George Martin). The group abandoned its genre-bending after Sea Train in favor of a more unbridled country-rock approach. Nonetheless, Seatrain's first proper album remains an interesting statement of a band in transition. It will always be a sentimental favorite of mine.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Donny Hathaway
I think the first time I heard Donny Hathaway's Live (1972) was on an old cassette tape copied from the vinyl. The tape contained all of side A as well as the first track from side B, "Little Ghetto Boy." I don't recall there ever being an "adjustment period" with the record - it was one of those albums that hooked me pretty much immediately. Couldn't have come at a better time, either - I had recently gotten into Stevie Wonder (mostly Music of My Mind and Innervisions), and my appetite for soul was at unreasonable heights.
From what I can tell about Donny Hathaway, he was a terribly conflicted man. His albums present a full range of emotions - they contain moments of both mania ("Magnificent Sanctuary Band," "Love, Love, Love") and profound depression ("Giving Up," "Little Girl"). Historical evidence tells us that he was, in fact, manic depressive - his life was cut tragically short when he removed the glass from his 15th story window and jumped to his death in 1979. Anecdotal evidence I have gathered suggests that Hathaway was painfully shy - despite his stellar vocal abilities, he insisted on singing with his back to observers in the studio. I have also heard rumors that he was a closeted homosexual - which, if true, would certainly be a source of conflict for an artist rooted in Christian music tradition. Perhaps it was the aggregate of this overall tension and conflict that imbued Hathaway's music with such depth.
Regardless of the source of his music, the fact remains that Donny Hathaway never released a bad album. Each of his records has its own merits - from the elaborate arrangements of Extensions of a Man (1973) to the delicate sadness of Donny Hathaway (1971). However, of the four solo records released during his lifetime, I have always found Live to be the finest representation of his overall talent. Outside of the studio, Hathaway shines brightly as a pianist, vocalist, band-leader and showman. Furthermore, his backing band is utterly badass. Dare I say, this is one of the greatest live soul/R&B records of all time - it stands its ground with Sam Cooke's Live at the Harlem Square Club, James Brown's Live at the Apollo, and Otis Redding's Live in Europe.
Today, I have posted "Little Ghetto Boy," which is my favorite of all of his recordings. The studio version is off of the soundtrack for Come Back, Charleston Blue (1972), but is surpassed by this live version. Outside of Donny's fine vocals and work on the Wurlitzer piano, listen to Willie Weeks on the bass. I've been known to turn the treble all the way down on the record just to enjoy the bass line on this track - absolutely stunning. Silly good.
From what I can tell about Donny Hathaway, he was a terribly conflicted man. His albums present a full range of emotions - they contain moments of both mania ("Magnificent Sanctuary Band," "Love, Love, Love") and profound depression ("Giving Up," "Little Girl"). Historical evidence tells us that he was, in fact, manic depressive - his life was cut tragically short when he removed the glass from his 15th story window and jumped to his death in 1979. Anecdotal evidence I have gathered suggests that Hathaway was painfully shy - despite his stellar vocal abilities, he insisted on singing with his back to observers in the studio. I have also heard rumors that he was a closeted homosexual - which, if true, would certainly be a source of conflict for an artist rooted in Christian music tradition. Perhaps it was the aggregate of this overall tension and conflict that imbued Hathaway's music with such depth.
Regardless of the source of his music, the fact remains that Donny Hathaway never released a bad album. Each of his records has its own merits - from the elaborate arrangements of Extensions of a Man (1973) to the delicate sadness of Donny Hathaway (1971). However, of the four solo records released during his lifetime, I have always found Live to be the finest representation of his overall talent. Outside of the studio, Hathaway shines brightly as a pianist, vocalist, band-leader and showman. Furthermore, his backing band is utterly badass. Dare I say, this is one of the greatest live soul/R&B records of all time - it stands its ground with Sam Cooke's Live at the Harlem Square Club, James Brown's Live at the Apollo, and Otis Redding's Live in Europe.
Track this record down, damn it.
Today, I have posted "Little Ghetto Boy," which is my favorite of all of his recordings. The studio version is off of the soundtrack for Come Back, Charleston Blue (1972), but is surpassed by this live version. Outside of Donny's fine vocals and work on the Wurlitzer piano, listen to Willie Weeks on the bass. I've been known to turn the treble all the way down on the record just to enjoy the bass line on this track - absolutely stunning. Silly good.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Problem with American Idol
Allow me to be blunt: I despise American Idol. I have hated it since the day it started airing. When people began congregating around water coolers to discuss their favorite contestants, I was a safe distance away, trying to figure out what all the fuss was about. I have never understood the appeal of the show, its judges (Paula Abdul, you should probably lay off the drugs), or its contestants. Above all else, I have never understood the appeal of the music itself, which is polished to a sickening shine - the glare is painful.
But let's pretend for a moment that the music is the least offensive part of the show - I do not care to bore you with musical dissection of sterile pop, anyway. My biggest issue with the show is the culture it has created and the impression it has made on the country's music consumers and performers. Interestingly, the values that American Idol espouses are similar to those that have contributed to the ruin of major labels over the last ten years or so. In order to understand this, though, we need to take a look at the way talent was handled and developed during the golden era of pop music.
The main purpose of a label has always been consistent. It seeks out talent, provides that talent with necessary resources to develop musically, and promotes the talent to the masses. In the past, the labels relied heavily on the quality of the music to do the promotion for itself - radio stations were flooded with singles, and the songs that did the best were rewarded. Sure, there were other factors at work - "payola," management (both competent and incompetent), and press - but the beginning of the major label era was one marked by democracy. Such was the magic of the golden era - by and large, the best music received the most airplay, sales, and notoriety.
By 1979, this would all start to change. The Buggles famously lamented the situation in their hit, "Video Killed the Radio Star." No longer would the quality of music alone define success - in the new era, artists would be forced to place equal emphasis on their image as well. Madonna is a fine example of an artist who took advantage of the situation - flanked by dancers and elaborately choreographed stage shows, she was one of the first to pioneer the "new way." Labels also began to take advantage of the situation, realizing that while musical talent could often be elusive and difficult to control, image was more easily manufactured and manipulated. It was a slippery slope, but one that majors were glad to go down. As the years went on, the music part of the equation became less and less important to labels. The last ten years of mainstream pop music are testament to this - we've seen an influx of records made by "artists" whose images are more recognizable than their music. Britney Spears says hello from her mental hospital bed.
Where does American Idol fit into the equation? It imposes the new business model on the public. The show rewards those contestants whose images are most palatable to the public - not necessarily those who are most talented. Second of all, it reinforces the fact that corporations - not artists themselves - are in control of the music we hear. Mainstream artists no longer make themselves in garages and smoky clubs - they are made by faceless corporations and "industry professionals" based on the results of screen tests and public opinion polls having nothing to do with music. The show suggests to the public that a career in music has nothing to do with hard work or singular talent - rather, it is a "gift from the gods" based on general likability.
Herein lies the biggest problem with American Idol: it is the most visible symptom of a sick culture that chooses its mass art in the same way we chose our high school class presidents.
But let's pretend for a moment that the music is the least offensive part of the show - I do not care to bore you with musical dissection of sterile pop, anyway. My biggest issue with the show is the culture it has created and the impression it has made on the country's music consumers and performers. Interestingly, the values that American Idol espouses are similar to those that have contributed to the ruin of major labels over the last ten years or so. In order to understand this, though, we need to take a look at the way talent was handled and developed during the golden era of pop music.
The main purpose of a label has always been consistent. It seeks out talent, provides that talent with necessary resources to develop musically, and promotes the talent to the masses. In the past, the labels relied heavily on the quality of the music to do the promotion for itself - radio stations were flooded with singles, and the songs that did the best were rewarded. Sure, there were other factors at work - "payola," management (both competent and incompetent), and press - but the beginning of the major label era was one marked by democracy. Such was the magic of the golden era - by and large, the best music received the most airplay, sales, and notoriety.
By 1979, this would all start to change. The Buggles famously lamented the situation in their hit, "Video Killed the Radio Star." No longer would the quality of music alone define success - in the new era, artists would be forced to place equal emphasis on their image as well. Madonna is a fine example of an artist who took advantage of the situation - flanked by dancers and elaborately choreographed stage shows, she was one of the first to pioneer the "new way." Labels also began to take advantage of the situation, realizing that while musical talent could often be elusive and difficult to control, image was more easily manufactured and manipulated. It was a slippery slope, but one that majors were glad to go down. As the years went on, the music part of the equation became less and less important to labels. The last ten years of mainstream pop music are testament to this - we've seen an influx of records made by "artists" whose images are more recognizable than their music. Britney Spears says hello from her mental hospital bed.
Where does American Idol fit into the equation? It imposes the new business model on the public. The show rewards those contestants whose images are most palatable to the public - not necessarily those who are most talented. Second of all, it reinforces the fact that corporations - not artists themselves - are in control of the music we hear. Mainstream artists no longer make themselves in garages and smoky clubs - they are made by faceless corporations and "industry professionals" based on the results of screen tests and public opinion polls having nothing to do with music. The show suggests to the public that a career in music has nothing to do with hard work or singular talent - rather, it is a "gift from the gods" based on general likability.
Herein lies the biggest problem with American Idol: it is the most visible symptom of a sick culture that chooses its mass art in the same way we chose our high school class presidents.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Gentle on My Mind
My relationship with country music has always been somewhat of a strained one. On one hand, I do enjoy some country classics - I have a few Johnny Cash records, and I have a soft spot for some old Hank Williams every now and then. On the other hand, I've come to revile what country - more appropriately pop country - has become. Put it this way: if you locked me in a room with Shania Twain playing at full blast, I'd probably start cutting myself (deeply) after a couple of minutes. There's just something about the genre in it's purest form that makes me feel out of sorts. Perhaps it's due to circumstance. I've never lived anywhere that could be considered even remotely "country." I didn't grow up listening to folks plucking on a banjo with their friends (quite the contrary, I grew up listening to a Fender Rhodes piano). And while I'm sure there are some people out there who find comfort in a slow country drawl, I am not one of those individuals. In fact, I'm slightly put off by the "twang," as it were.
Still, I've never been able to completely pan the stuff, even though I actively enjoy so little of it. I think part of this is because I've grown to love a lot of music that proudly displays its country influences. For example, I've always gravitated towards good pedal steel work - "Pearl of the Quarter" by Steely Dan and "It Just Might Be a One Shot Deal" by Frank Zappa come to mind. I also enjoy tasteful fiddle work - most notably anything by Sugarcane Harris. Hell, I own quite a few records that sound almost country - some Byrds, some Flying Burrito Brothers, and the first Seatrain record being the examples that pop into my head. I'm always impressed by the things that rockers do with their country influences.
This brings me to From Elvis in Memphis (1969). Recorded at American Sound Studios in Memphis, the album sought to recapture the roots of Elvis' music - the blend of country, gospel, and blues that had defined him in his youth. Backed by a cast of ace session musicians (most notably Tommy Cogbill on bass), Presley proceeded to make what would be his last truly great album.
Today's selection is from this album: "Gentle on My Mind." The track was originally written by country artist John Hartford, who wrote the tune after seeing Dr. Zhivago for the first time. Glen Campbell subsequently recorded the song for a hit in 1968. Here, we see the two performing a VERY country duet of the track:
Elvis' version of the track is a radical reinterpretation. For one, the presence of the clavinet is rather interesting (though certainly not surprising, given that Memphis was a center of soul music at the time). Cogbill's bass work is also grounded in soul more than anything else (again not a surprise, given his work with Aretha Franklin). The Hammond organ and backing vocalists suggest a heavy gospel influence. Come to think of it, the only truly "country" aspects of the song are the twangy Fender Telecaster playing lead and the sporadic harmonica lines - and as far as I'm concerned, that's all the "country" it needs.
Still, I've never been able to completely pan the stuff, even though I actively enjoy so little of it. I think part of this is because I've grown to love a lot of music that proudly displays its country influences. For example, I've always gravitated towards good pedal steel work - "Pearl of the Quarter" by Steely Dan and "It Just Might Be a One Shot Deal" by Frank Zappa come to mind. I also enjoy tasteful fiddle work - most notably anything by Sugarcane Harris. Hell, I own quite a few records that sound almost country - some Byrds, some Flying Burrito Brothers, and the first Seatrain record being the examples that pop into my head. I'm always impressed by the things that rockers do with their country influences.
This brings me to From Elvis in Memphis (1969). Recorded at American Sound Studios in Memphis, the album sought to recapture the roots of Elvis' music - the blend of country, gospel, and blues that had defined him in his youth. Backed by a cast of ace session musicians (most notably Tommy Cogbill on bass), Presley proceeded to make what would be his last truly great album.
Today's selection is from this album: "Gentle on My Mind." The track was originally written by country artist John Hartford, who wrote the tune after seeing Dr. Zhivago for the first time. Glen Campbell subsequently recorded the song for a hit in 1968. Here, we see the two performing a VERY country duet of the track:
Not my steez. But a great song is a great song...
Elvis' version of the track is a radical reinterpretation. For one, the presence of the clavinet is rather interesting (though certainly not surprising, given that Memphis was a center of soul music at the time). Cogbill's bass work is also grounded in soul more than anything else (again not a surprise, given his work with Aretha Franklin). The Hammond organ and backing vocalists suggest a heavy gospel influence. Come to think of it, the only truly "country" aspects of the song are the twangy Fender Telecaster playing lead and the sporadic harmonica lines - and as far as I'm concerned, that's all the "country" it needs.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Blond
In January, I posted about Studio, a record by Swedish group the Tages. A reminder: Studio should be on your list of records to hear - it's holds up nicely against contemporaneous offerings by the Kinks, Pretty Things, and Zombies, among others. I still think it's criminal that the album never charted in the UK or the States.
In 1968, the Tages broke up when lead singer Tommy Blom left the group. The remaining members formed Blond and rushed into the studio to record an album. The result was 1969's The Lilac Years, a record that would be the band's only statement. In comparison to Studio, The Lilac Years is somewhat evolved - while the band retained its impeccable melodic sense and songwriting in Blom's absence, the general sound of the group became slightly more progressive. There was a greater prevalence of piano, and the arrangements were generally bigger and more adventurous. Furthermore, The Lilac Years was not as stylistically consistent - whereas Studio sat firmly in the mod rock camp, the sole Blond album had great diversity. There are tracks with arrangements reminiscent of Scott Walker ("Deep Inside My Heart," "The Lilac Years"), proto-glam (the opening "Six White Horses"), and "brass rock" in the vein of early Blood, Sweat & Tears ("Don't You Forget the Lady"). Apparently, the band had something of an identity crisis in the wake of the Tages split. As testament to this, here's a clip of Blond covering "The Weight" by the Band. Actually pretty decent:
Today, I'm posting two tracks. First, "Like A Woman" off of Studio - it gives you a nice Tages/Blond point of comparison, and it's also one hell of a song. Second, "Sailing Across the Ocean" from The Lilac Years.
I cannot reiterate enough: find yourself a copy of Studio. And while you're at it, why not give The Lilac Years a look as well?
In 1968, the Tages broke up when lead singer Tommy Blom left the group. The remaining members formed Blond and rushed into the studio to record an album. The result was 1969's The Lilac Years, a record that would be the band's only statement. In comparison to Studio, The Lilac Years is somewhat evolved - while the band retained its impeccable melodic sense and songwriting in Blom's absence, the general sound of the group became slightly more progressive. There was a greater prevalence of piano, and the arrangements were generally bigger and more adventurous. Furthermore, The Lilac Years was not as stylistically consistent - whereas Studio sat firmly in the mod rock camp, the sole Blond album had great diversity. There are tracks with arrangements reminiscent of Scott Walker ("Deep Inside My Heart," "The Lilac Years"), proto-glam (the opening "Six White Horses"), and "brass rock" in the vein of early Blood, Sweat & Tears ("Don't You Forget the Lady"). Apparently, the band had something of an identity crisis in the wake of the Tages split. As testament to this, here's a clip of Blond covering "The Weight" by the Band. Actually pretty decent:
Today, I'm posting two tracks. First, "Like A Woman" off of Studio - it gives you a nice Tages/Blond point of comparison, and it's also one hell of a song. Second, "Sailing Across the Ocean" from The Lilac Years.
I cannot reiterate enough: find yourself a copy of Studio. And while you're at it, why not give The Lilac Years a look as well?
Friday, February 22, 2008
Love for Eric Dolphy
I've always found that days as miserable as today (for those of you outside of the Northeast US: it's snowing pretty hard right now) are ideal for jazz. Snow seems to bring with it a deafening silence of sorts, and jazz seems best suited to break the silence.
Today's media centers around two of the greatest sax (woodwind in general, really) players of all time: John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy. While Coltrane is typically seen as the king of his instrument (second perhaps only to Charlie Parker), Dolphy receives slightly less attention. It has been said about Dolphy's playing that it was "too outside to be in, but too inside to be out" - that is, his improvisational sensibilities were too avant-garde to be readily consumed by much of the public, but were also too grounded in convention to be considered completely avant-garde. As far as I'm concerned, this is what made him so brilliant - he had the ability to make you feel entirely uncomfortable and pacified in the same breath. Here, we see Dolphy and Coltrane in a quintet together performing "My Favorite Things." Coltrane is on soprano sax, and Dolphy is on flute - note their different approaches to playing over the same chord changes.
As far as I'm concerned, Eric Dolphy is one of the guys to listen to in 60s jazz. His work with Charles Mingus is particularly astounding - no surprise, given that one of Mingus' best traits was his ability to extract the very best from every musician with whom he worked. For those of you who are interested, might I suggest Mingus at Antibes - a wonderful introduction to the work of both Dolphy and Mingus. For those of you who are more adventurous, check out Dolphy's 1964 solo effort, Out to Lunch.
Today's media centers around two of the greatest sax (woodwind in general, really) players of all time: John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy. While Coltrane is typically seen as the king of his instrument (second perhaps only to Charlie Parker), Dolphy receives slightly less attention. It has been said about Dolphy's playing that it was "too outside to be in, but too inside to be out" - that is, his improvisational sensibilities were too avant-garde to be readily consumed by much of the public, but were also too grounded in convention to be considered completely avant-garde. As far as I'm concerned, this is what made him so brilliant - he had the ability to make you feel entirely uncomfortable and pacified in the same breath. Here, we see Dolphy and Coltrane in a quintet together performing "My Favorite Things." Coltrane is on soprano sax, and Dolphy is on flute - note their different approaches to playing over the same chord changes.
As far as I'm concerned, Eric Dolphy is one of the guys to listen to in 60s jazz. His work with Charles Mingus is particularly astounding - no surprise, given that one of Mingus' best traits was his ability to extract the very best from every musician with whom he worked. For those of you who are interested, might I suggest Mingus at Antibes - a wonderful introduction to the work of both Dolphy and Mingus. For those of you who are more adventurous, check out Dolphy's 1964 solo effort, Out to Lunch.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Humanizing the Beatles
For those of us who grew up listening to our parents' vinyl copies of the Beatles, the band is nothing less than a monolithic presence. We did not have the benefit of having watched the band evolve in real time, nor a full understanding of the cultural milieu from which it sprung. All we had were records, films (some of which are animated), and the steadfast assertions of many critics and listeners (myself included) that the band was the finest the world has seen since the rock 'n' roll era began. As such, we tend to put the Beatles on a pedestal, treating them less like a band of individuals and more like a group of folk heroes. Hell, the first visual representation I saw of the band was in the form of the animated Yellow Submarine, a film that endowed the band's music with magical liberating powers. These guys are rock 'n' roll Paul Bunyan figures to much of my generation, and I suspect that they will remain as such for generations to come. The pity is that this folk hero status has, to a large extent, stripped the band of its humanity.
The task of humanizing the Beatles was something I stumbled upon accidentally. A long while ago - several years before the Anthology series was released - a friend of my father's made a cassette copy of a Beatles bootleg (which, after doing research a number of years later, turned out to be Glyn Johns' Get Back mixes). Much of the bootleg contained similar versions of the songs from Let it Be (in fact, some of the versions on the bootleg later appeared on Let it Be... Naked). It also contained a couple of tracks I had not heard before - including some very off-the-cuff cuts. Having only heard the band's proper records (which are models of studio perfection), I was shocked to hear an aborted half-assed version of "Save the Last Dance for Me" in which nobody knew the lyrics. "These were the Beatles, as well," I thought, "studio perfectionists, but fuck-offs like the rest of us." I wore the cassette out completely within a year or two, playing it incessantly. It finally died in my Walkman one fateful day while I was mowing the lawn. I would not hear its contents again until nearly ten years later - with a little help from a Russian MP3 site, of course.
My experience with the tape led me to seek out as many Beatles bootlegs as I could - a difficult prospect in the days long before MP3s ruled the world, but quite a bit easier now. Today, I've amassed a fairly large amount of them - my pride and joy being a 17 disc compilation of the Get Back sessions. There is no better way to study the evolution of the music - or the evolution of the group dynamic, for that matter - than by listening to these unreleased recordings.
Today, I am posting three separate items. First - a video of the Beatles performing "Besame Mucho" during the Get Back sessions. The song had been part of the band's repertoire during its early days in Hamburg, Germany. Here, they reprise a sloppy and sluggish version over eight years after they originally played it to German club patrons. Note Paul's faux-operatic singing:
I am also posting "Rocker/Save the Last Dance for Me," the track that sparked my fascination with Beatles bootlegs in the first place. The Rhodes piano player is Billy Preston, who accompanied the band for much of the Get Back sessions.
Finally, in the "odds and ends" department, I'm posting a clip from the "Think for Yourself" sessions. It's a short one involving all studio chatter. Most interesting: around 17 seconds into the track, John Lennon can be heard singing "Do you want to hold a penis" off mic to the tune of "Do You Want to Know a Secret." Amazing the band was able to get any work done...
The task of humanizing the Beatles was something I stumbled upon accidentally. A long while ago - several years before the Anthology series was released - a friend of my father's made a cassette copy of a Beatles bootleg (which, after doing research a number of years later, turned out to be Glyn Johns' Get Back mixes). Much of the bootleg contained similar versions of the songs from Let it Be (in fact, some of the versions on the bootleg later appeared on Let it Be... Naked). It also contained a couple of tracks I had not heard before - including some very off-the-cuff cuts. Having only heard the band's proper records (which are models of studio perfection), I was shocked to hear an aborted half-assed version of "Save the Last Dance for Me" in which nobody knew the lyrics. "These were the Beatles, as well," I thought, "studio perfectionists, but fuck-offs like the rest of us." I wore the cassette out completely within a year or two, playing it incessantly. It finally died in my Walkman one fateful day while I was mowing the lawn. I would not hear its contents again until nearly ten years later - with a little help from a Russian MP3 site, of course.
My experience with the tape led me to seek out as many Beatles bootlegs as I could - a difficult prospect in the days long before MP3s ruled the world, but quite a bit easier now. Today, I've amassed a fairly large amount of them - my pride and joy being a 17 disc compilation of the Get Back sessions. There is no better way to study the evolution of the music - or the evolution of the group dynamic, for that matter - than by listening to these unreleased recordings.
Today, I am posting three separate items. First - a video of the Beatles performing "Besame Mucho" during the Get Back sessions. The song had been part of the band's repertoire during its early days in Hamburg, Germany. Here, they reprise a sloppy and sluggish version over eight years after they originally played it to German club patrons. Note Paul's faux-operatic singing:
I am also posting "Rocker/Save the Last Dance for Me," the track that sparked my fascination with Beatles bootlegs in the first place. The Rhodes piano player is Billy Preston, who accompanied the band for much of the Get Back sessions.
Finally, in the "odds and ends" department, I'm posting a clip from the "Think for Yourself" sessions. It's a short one involving all studio chatter. Most interesting: around 17 seconds into the track, John Lennon can be heard singing "Do you want to hold a penis" off mic to the tune of "Do You Want to Know a Secret." Amazing the band was able to get any work done...
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Misunderstood
Late in his life, legendary BBC DJ John Peel would often be asked during interviews about the greatest shows he'd ever seen. One band always made the list: The Misunderstood. Peel discovered the band before his BBC days as he was working radio in San Bernadino, CA. Hailing from nearby Riverside, The Misunderstood so impressed Peel that he offered to personally manage them. He then convinced the group to move to London and take on guitarist Tony Hill. It was here that the band's all-too-brief career came to full fruition.
Driven by the deep vocals of Rick Brown and the distorted steel guitar of Glenn Ross Campbell, the band proceeded to kick London's ass. Their music and stage show (which included a rather elaborate lighting display) would influence the nascent London psychedelic scene, which included admirers such as Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett. The band released its first single, "I Can Take You to the Sun" in December of 1966 to great critical acclaim. To this day, it is considered one of the finest psychedelic pop singles of all time.
Unfortunately, at the height of its popularity, the band was fractured by circumstance as Rick Brown was drafted for Vietnam. The Misunderstood left under thirty minutes of recorded material from their London period, all of which sounds ahead of its time. Who knows what would have been if the band had remained intact during the height of London's psychedelic era?
Today, I'm posting two tracks: "I Can Take You to the Sun," their classic single, and "Find a Hidden Door," my personal favorite. The latter is notable for its frequent stopping and starting on a dime, as well as the layered vocals during some of those breaks.
Driven by the deep vocals of Rick Brown and the distorted steel guitar of Glenn Ross Campbell, the band proceeded to kick London's ass. Their music and stage show (which included a rather elaborate lighting display) would influence the nascent London psychedelic scene, which included admirers such as Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett. The band released its first single, "I Can Take You to the Sun" in December of 1966 to great critical acclaim. To this day, it is considered one of the finest psychedelic pop singles of all time.
Unfortunately, at the height of its popularity, the band was fractured by circumstance as Rick Brown was drafted for Vietnam. The Misunderstood left under thirty minutes of recorded material from their London period, all of which sounds ahead of its time. Who knows what would have been if the band had remained intact during the height of London's psychedelic era?
Today, I'm posting two tracks: "I Can Take You to the Sun," their classic single, and "Find a Hidden Door," my personal favorite. The latter is notable for its frequent stopping and starting on a dime, as well as the layered vocals during some of those breaks.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Makeup Artists
A few days ago, I found myself coming up with a list of bands and artists that wear (or have worn) excessive makeup on stage. I had intended to prove that "makeup bands" were all uniformly crappy. However, as the list grew, the facts became a little more complicated. In order to reach some hard conclusions, I was going to to have to do some serious research...
The Hello People, to my knowledge, were one of the first bands (if not the first) to don full makeup for their performances. Originating in New York's Greenwich Village, the band was the brainchild of producer Lou Futterman and French mime artist Etienne De Crux. The concept (I shit you not): mime/rock fusion. The band played its shows as French street performers, performing mime routines between songs and making sure never to speak to the audience. Their music itself was fairly forgettable, never making the charts. Despite this, the band somehow managed to land a couple of television appearances (among them: a gig on The Tonight Show).
Later, The Hello People backed none other than Todd Rundgren on tour in the 70s (no doubt a result of Rundgren's own affinity for makeup... not to mention his gratuitous use of drugs).
The Hello People's music was nothing special, yet they managed to get on The Tonight Show. We can safely assume that the makeup gimmick probably fueled this appearance - not to mention any other success that the band experienced.
This was the primary wrench in the gears when I made my original list. How could I criticize "makeup bands" and still unapologetically listen to The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust with a clear conscience? Bowie very conspicuously donned makeup for his public appearances during the glam period, evoking both the ire of conservative Brits and the admiration of young music fans. Bowie's use of makeup eventually faded away as his career evolved. However, he did resurrect it from time to time - most notably on the video for "Ashes to Ashes" and his appearance with a young Jennifer Connelly in The Labyrinth.
Select Instances of Gratuitous Makeup Use
THE HELLO PEOPLE (Consistent use, 1967 - 1975)
The Hello People bring their ridiculous mimery to Teen Time
The Hello People bring their ridiculous mimery to Teen Time
The Hello People, to my knowledge, were one of the first bands (if not the first) to don full makeup for their performances. Originating in New York's Greenwich Village, the band was the brainchild of producer Lou Futterman and French mime artist Etienne De Crux. The concept (I shit you not): mime/rock fusion. The band played its shows as French street performers, performing mime routines between songs and making sure never to speak to the audience. Their music itself was fairly forgettable, never making the charts. Despite this, the band somehow managed to land a couple of television appearances (among them: a gig on The Tonight Show).
Later, The Hello People backed none other than Todd Rundgren on tour in the 70s (no doubt a result of Rundgren's own affinity for makeup... not to mention his gratuitous use of drugs).
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
The Hello People's music was nothing special, yet they managed to get on The Tonight Show. We can safely assume that the makeup gimmick probably fueled this appearance - not to mention any other success that the band experienced.
DAVID BOWIE (Consistent use, 1972 - 1975. Sporadic use thereafter)
Bowie done up for the Aladdin Sane cover
This was the primary wrench in the gears when I made my original list. How could I criticize "makeup bands" and still unapologetically listen to The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust with a clear conscience? Bowie very conspicuously donned makeup for his public appearances during the glam period, evoking both the ire of conservative Brits and the admiration of young music fans. Bowie's use of makeup eventually faded away as his career evolved. However, he did resurrect it from time to time - most notably on the video for "Ashes to Ashes" and his appearance with a young Jennifer Connelly in The Labyrinth.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
While Bowie most certainly received an extraordinary amount of attention for his use of makeup, one could make the argument that he would have achieved comparable fame based on the strength of his "makeup period" albums (all of which are uniformly considered classics by both critics and casual listeners alike). However, the makeup most certainly did further Bowie's popularity and public image.
Alice Cooper's use of makeup is, like his music itself, very much tied into the desire to playfully shock audiences. His campy stage shows are known for resembling cheap horror flicks, and often involve excessive use of props such as guillotines and boa constrictors. His makeup seems to be a nod to his B-lot horror movie aesthetic.
Alice Cooper's stage show - not specifically his makeup - is what propelled him to success (along with a couple of legitimate radio hits along the way). However, the makeup was most certainly a large part of the package. We can assume that Cooper is more recognizable to the public because of his consistent application of the face paint. Could Alice Cooper have succeeded without the makeup? Perhaps - his stage show was bizarre enough without it. But it certainly ties the whole thing together nicely.
ALICE COOPER (Consistent use, 1969 - present)
"School's Out" in the early 70s
"School's Out" in the early 70s
Alice Cooper's use of makeup is, like his music itself, very much tied into the desire to playfully shock audiences. His campy stage shows are known for resembling cheap horror flicks, and often involve excessive use of props such as guillotines and boa constrictors. His makeup seems to be a nod to his B-lot horror movie aesthetic.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
Alice Cooper's stage show - not specifically his makeup - is what propelled him to success (along with a couple of legitimate radio hits along the way). However, the makeup was most certainly a large part of the package. We can assume that Cooper is more recognizable to the public because of his consistent application of the face paint. Could Alice Cooper have succeeded without the makeup? Perhaps - his stage show was bizarre enough without it. But it certainly ties the whole thing together nicely.
KISS (Consistent use, 1973 - present)
KISS puts on a show...
KISS puts on a show...There are legions of people out there who adore KISS. I'm not one of them, so I can't comment from experience. However, I have a theory about KISS fans. I don't think I've ever caught somebody actually listening to a KISS record, and due to this, I've always assumed that fans of the band were attracted more to the stage show gimmicks than the music itself. And what a stage show it is - leather suits, face paint, blood and fire spitting, etc...
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
The identity of KISS is fundamentally tied into its use of makeup - one cannot divorce the band from the face paint. Furthermore, none of the band's albums are considered "classics," nor did any of them sell particularly well. Still, the band has a devoted following. We can only assume this is because of their ridiculous stage show - something that is made possible by the makeup. Does KISS achieve any of its success without the face paint? Absolutely not.
Much like Alice Cooper, seminal punk band The Misfits often wore makeup to further their campy horror-film aesthetic. Unlike Cooper, however, the Misfits did not rely on an overly elaborate stage show to entertain people - they were content to let their music do that. Furthermore, the makeup was not consistently employed.
THE MISFITS (Sporadic use, 1977 - 1983)
All decked out.
All decked out.
Much like Alice Cooper, seminal punk band The Misfits often wore makeup to further their campy horror-film aesthetic. Unlike Cooper, however, the Misfits did not rely on an overly elaborate stage show to entertain people - they were content to let their music do that. Furthermore, the makeup was not consistently employed.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
One could argue that the Misfits' devilocks were more recognizable and distinct than their makeup use. However, the makeup certainly did further the band's horror-punk aesthetic. This said, the band's early records are influential and well-loved. Would the Misfits have succeeded without the makeup? Absolutely - but they may not have become as iconic as they are now.
SLIPKNOT (No use)
They're a MASK band, not a makeup band. How I was mistaken.
They're a MASK band, not a makeup band. How I was mistaken.
I was under the impression that Slipknot employed the makeup gimmick. What else could explain the band's popularity? The music isn't exactly memorable, that's for damned sure. But I was wrong about the makeup use. Apparently, two-dimensional makeup is not enough to salvage this pathetic excuse for a metal band. No - they opt for masks, makeup's three-dimensional cousin. That third dimension really puts them over the edge, I guess.
THE EFFECT OF MASKS
Would this band have received any publicity if it weren't for its use of the mask gimmick? The answer is a resounding "no."
MARILYN MANSON (Consistent use, 1994 - present)
Love the whole "Willy Wonka meets the Joker" aesthetic.
Love the whole "Willy Wonka meets the Joker" aesthetic.
Unlike the Misfits or Alice Cooper (both used "shock tactics" as elements of their respective aesthetics), Marilyn Manson's aesthetic is shock. As a result, his makeup is employed in a half-horror, half-gender-confused manner. Manson's makeup and stage show have been freaking out Christian fundamentalists for years now. I assume that if the fundamentalists actually bothered to listen to the music, that would freak them out as well.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
Marilyn Manson did have a couple of chart-toppers at his peak. But was his exposure to the masses a result of his great songwriting? No. It was undoubtedly a result of his "unique" stage persona, which has always been far more marketable than any song he could possibly write. Without the makeup, there is no Marilyn Manson.
INSANE CLOWN POSSE (Consistent use, 1988 - present)
Violent J sheds some light on the origin of ICP's makeup in a 1995 interview.
According to the video interview above, the "insane clown" makeup is an artistic statement that likens the posse and its fans to a group of carnival freaks. Point taken, Violent J. But your music still treads "water in a sea of retarded sexuality and bad poetry" (to borrow from This is Spinal Tap).
These guys have garnered a huge cult following (comprised of fans known as "juggalos"), and I would be willing to bet that it has little to do with their music. What is the Insane Clown Posse without the makeup? Two white guys from Detroit, that's what.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
These guys have garnered a huge cult following (comprised of fans known as "juggalos"), and I would be willing to bet that it has little to do with their music. What is the Insane Clown Posse without the makeup? Two white guys from Detroit, that's what.
GOOD CHARLOTTE (Sporadic use, 1996 - present)
Note that the non-makeup-wearing members are relegated to the far corners of the photo.
Note that the non-makeup-wearing members are relegated to the far corners of the photo.As if it weren't already bad enough that these guys are polluting our airwaves, they also have the audacity to claim a punk rock lineage. Good Charlotte have made their fortune convincing 14 year-old girls that they're really punk rock. The makeup surely proves it, right? A little anecdote about the band from a friend: a number of years ago, Benji Madden (guitar/vocals in Good Charlotte) goes to CBGB after a show - he's all decked out in his makeup. While there, he meets up with Toby Morse, the frontman for New York hardcore mainstays H2O - a band that Benji idolizes. Morse and his friends (including NYC hardcore godfathers Freddy "Madball", Jimmy Gestapo, etc.) proceed to spend the evening lacing into Benji for his makeup-wearing, saying such things as "Ohhh, don't cry, little emo boy! Are you sad? Awww, poor emo boy's going to cry!" He stands there and takes it as Toby and Co. spend the entire night ripping him a new asshole. The next day, Benji appears on TRL with his band - sans makeup and wearing an H2O tee shirt. Talk about lack of a backbone...
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
Good Charlotte's ability to make music for a living is directly linked to their ability to convince teenagers (many of which don't know any better) that they're really edgy punk rockers. Obviously, the makeup is a part of this - as are the piercings and tattoos.
CHRISTINA AGUILERA (Consistent use, 1999 - present)
Somewhere behind several layers of powder is a human being.
Somewhere behind several layers of powder is a human being.Perhaps this is a bit unfair of me. Christina is, after all, a pop diva. She is expected to wear makeup all the time. But have you seen the extent of it? It's as if she's trying to look like a Nicaraguan prostitute.
This is actually a tough one. Obviously, the makeup increases Christina's visibility - it's hard not to notice her. But at the same time, she possesses perhaps the best voice of anyone in her "pop diva" genre - running circles around the likes of Britney Spears. In all likelihood, Aguilera would be fine (dare I say, better off?) without the makeup. Her voice is unique enough that it would probably have propelled her to success regardless.
Boy George began his career with Culture Club in the early 80s, becoming the first artist since the Beatles to have three Billboard #1 singles from a debut record. George was the focal point of the group, enchanting the public with his voice and confusing people with his manner of dress. Clearly, George himself was not confused - he was sleeping with his drummer, Jon Moss, after all - and he dressed the part. As such, Boy George's use of makeup has always struck me as a genuine expression of his sexuality as opposed to a showbiz gimmick.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
This is actually a tough one. Obviously, the makeup increases Christina's visibility - it's hard not to notice her. But at the same time, she possesses perhaps the best voice of anyone in her "pop diva" genre - running circles around the likes of Britney Spears. In all likelihood, Aguilera would be fine (dare I say, better off?) without the makeup. Her voice is unique enough that it would probably have propelled her to success regardless.
BOY GEORGE (Consistent use, 1981 - present)
Brazenly homosexual. I think that was the point, though.
Boy George began his career with Culture Club in the early 80s, becoming the first artist since the Beatles to have three Billboard #1 singles from a debut record. George was the focal point of the group, enchanting the public with his voice and confusing people with his manner of dress. Clearly, George himself was not confused - he was sleeping with his drummer, Jon Moss, after all - and he dressed the part. As such, Boy George's use of makeup has always struck me as a genuine expression of his sexuality as opposed to a showbiz gimmick.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
It's difficult to say how much of an effect the makeup had on Boy George's career. Obviously, his music was tremendously successful - one doesn't score three #1 hits solely based on image alone. Nonetheless, Culture Club most certainly did benefit from the controversy stirred up by George's gender-bending. Would the band have been as successful without George's makeup? Given the band's sound and the era in which they debuted, probably.
ROBERT SMITH (Semi-consistent use, 1976 - present)
It's the Crow! No, wait. It's the frontman from the Cure.
It's the Crow! No, wait. It's the frontman from the Cure.During his time with the Cure, Robert Smith often dressed in a fashion that could only be identified as "goth." To complement this style of dress, he also donned makeup on stage. Certainly this made sense, given that much of the band's recorded output could be considered "goth rock." Regardless of the genre, the Cure's first albums are considered classics in some circles.
THE EFFECT OF MAKEUP
One can safely say that Robert Smith's makeup was not integral to the success of the Cure. Certainly, it led the band to be identified with "goth rock" (though their music is on the fringes of the genre). However, the Cure's music - not Smith's image - was what drove the band to its success.
Conclusions on Makeup Use in Music
While I had hoped to find a constant thread between the various "makeup artists" on the list, it was impossible - David Bowie has about as much in common with Good Charlotte as I do with Ted Nugent. There are bands that use makeup, and then there are "makeup bands." While the former can be good, examples of the latter are rarely good.
Makeup is the anabolic steroid of the music world - it has the capacity to turn untalented fringe artists into household names. It also does a hell of a job covering up musical inadequacies, since most people seem not to care about songwriting when a rock and roll clown is nancing around in front of them.
Final conclusion: bands who rely on makeup as a crutch are not worth your time.
Makeup is the anabolic steroid of the music world - it has the capacity to turn untalented fringe artists into household names. It also does a hell of a job covering up musical inadequacies, since most people seem not to care about songwriting when a rock and roll clown is nancing around in front of them.
Final conclusion: bands who rely on makeup as a crutch are not worth your time.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Another Concept Album
I do not recall where I first heard of Miss Butters (1968) by the Family Tree, a short-lived band featuring Bob Segarini (who later became popular in Canadian rock circles). I was probably browsing somebody's internet list of "psychedelic records you've never heard" and decided to track down the record.
Miss Butters is a rather interesting record from a number of perspectives. The record is a one-off from the band - this is particularly impressive, as very few artists debuted with concept albums (the one I can think of, off the top of my head, is Frank Zappa's Freak Out), and even fewer artists released concept albums as their sole statements. Musically speaking, it's clear that the band had some "big budget" ideas, but were not provided with the money necessary to realize them properly. The orchestral parts on the record sound rather thin and poorly recorded. Listen, for example, to the horns around that come in around the 23 second mark on "Birthday" (posted below) - clearly, the band had envisioned them as a grandiose fanfare to herald the birth of Miss Butters, the eponymous hero of the concept album - they sound underwhelming and flaccid. It seems that the band lacked the means to rent out entire orchestral sections, and instead had to rely on individual players to flesh out its vision. Nonetheless, that doesn't take away from the fact that it is a very focused vision. On the parts that they could flesh out properly, the band shined brightly. The harmonies are particularly impressive, suggesting that there was some significant arranging talent behind the Family Tree. The song itself is also very well written, with several twists and turns running seamlessly into one another.
"Birthday" is the first track on the record (which, like all concept albums, should be experienced as a whole to fully appreciate it), and is fair representative of the whole work.
Miss Butters is a rather interesting record from a number of perspectives. The record is a one-off from the band - this is particularly impressive, as very few artists debuted with concept albums (the one I can think of, off the top of my head, is Frank Zappa's Freak Out), and even fewer artists released concept albums as their sole statements. Musically speaking, it's clear that the band had some "big budget" ideas, but were not provided with the money necessary to realize them properly. The orchestral parts on the record sound rather thin and poorly recorded. Listen, for example, to the horns around that come in around the 23 second mark on "Birthday" (posted below) - clearly, the band had envisioned them as a grandiose fanfare to herald the birth of Miss Butters, the eponymous hero of the concept album - they sound underwhelming and flaccid. It seems that the band lacked the means to rent out entire orchestral sections, and instead had to rely on individual players to flesh out its vision. Nonetheless, that doesn't take away from the fact that it is a very focused vision. On the parts that they could flesh out properly, the band shined brightly. The harmonies are particularly impressive, suggesting that there was some significant arranging talent behind the Family Tree. The song itself is also very well written, with several twists and turns running seamlessly into one another.
"Birthday" is the first track on the record (which, like all concept albums, should be experienced as a whole to fully appreciate it), and is fair representative of the whole work.Thursday, February 14, 2008
Flowers for a Lady
In honor of Valentine's Day this year, my post today is "Flowers for a Lady," a track off of Charles Mingus' 1974 record Mingus Moves. Incidentally, the track actually is not actually written by Mingus himself - it's written by his saxophonist at the time, George Adams.
I was speaking with a friend yesterday in regards to my MP3some Mingus dilemma. My biggest problem is that Mingus' best work (in my mind) comes off of The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (1963) and Let My Children Hear Music (1972) - both records that are meant to be experienced as complete works of art. To post a single track from either record, my friend said, would be like "cutting up a child." I heartily agreed. Unless I can find a way to post the entire albums, you will hear no part of either of them here. This will not stop me, however, from very strongly suggesting that you track down both of the records - The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady in particular. They will change your preconceived notions of what jazz is and can be.
Mingus Moves is from Mingus' late period. While he's best known for his late 50s/early 60s work with Eric Dolphy, his later work is often overlooked. Though it doesn't contain a lot of the controlled chaos for which he was most famous, Mingus nonetheless continued to put out great material until his death in 1979.
I was speaking with a friend yesterday in regards to my MP3some Mingus dilemma. My biggest problem is that Mingus' best work (in my mind) comes off of The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (1963) and Let My Children Hear Music (1972) - both records that are meant to be experienced as complete works of art. To post a single track from either record, my friend said, would be like "cutting up a child." I heartily agreed. Unless I can find a way to post the entire albums, you will hear no part of either of them here. This will not stop me, however, from very strongly suggesting that you track down both of the records - The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady in particular. They will change your preconceived notions of what jazz is and can be.
Mingus Moves is from Mingus' late period. While he's best known for his late 50s/early 60s work with Eric Dolphy, his later work is often overlooked. Though it doesn't contain a lot of the controlled chaos for which he was most famous, Mingus nonetheless continued to put out great material until his death in 1979.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Making Nice with the 80s
A home-made friendship collage for the worst decade of the 20th CenturyI'm not going to mince words here: the 80s really sucked. There was a recession, Reagan, Thatcher, Chernobyl, an attempt or two by the Christian right to censor music, horrid fashion, Flashdance, the birth of MTV, the birth of the Fox network, the assassination of John Lennon, etc., etc., etc.
Then again, there were some OK things. Like DeLoreans. And... and... Well, there were DeLoreans.
Still, in my mind, all of this stuff is secondary to the insanely shitty mainstream music that came out during the decade. As if it weren't bad enough that the populace was subjected to the whims of a senile neocon, it was also duped into believing that cheap synthesizers, gated snare drums, and guys in spandex constituted legitimate pop music. Even worse - this was a time when music's actual legends hit rock bottom. Bob Dylan, David Bowie, James Brown, the Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder - the excesses and warped aesthetics of the 80s turned their once-brilliant art into raw sewage. This was, bar none, the worst decade for pop music in recorded history.
The "We Are the World" video illustrates just how many things were profoundly wrong with the 80s.
But I've decided to make nice with the 80s today (as the subject of this post would suggest). Having been born during the illustrious decade, I figure it's not right to spew forth such hateful things all the time. Today, I'm going to force myself to come up with a list of five songs that actually benefit from the 80s pop aesthetic. The following are songs that actually use the era's production values to their advantage:
#5
The Police - Synchronicity II
The Police - Synchronicity II
Outside of the 80s, a snare drum would never sound that huge. A synth sound like the one at the top of the song just wouldn't exist. Nor would the reverb on Sting's voice or the weird guitar effects during the break. Could you picture this song being produced in any other era? I thought not.
#4
David Bowie - Ashes to Ashes
David Bowie - Ashes to Ashes
Though the Thin White Duke took a serious nose dive in the 80s ("Let's Dance," anyone?), he opened the decade with 1980's Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps), which is actually a fantastic record (It's so good, in fact, that I suspect he completed the bulk of it in 1979). Then again, could you imagine that bass tone coming out of any other decade? Or that piano tone? How about the video? This is a rarity: Bowie doing the 80s aesthetic correctly.
#3
Simple Minds - Don't You Forget About Me
Fondly remembered by an entire generation as the theme from The Breakfast Club, this song is a true classic of its era. That snare drum has "1987" written all over it. So does the synth that comes in during the chorus. Would anybody outside of the 80s use such a cheesy sound? Not unless they were feeling really nostalgic. Give the band credit where it's due, though: it works.
#2
Tears for Fears - Everybody Wants to Rule the World
Even ten years after its initial release, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" retained its poignancy as the opening song for Dennis Miller Live (which began airing in 1994) - proof that the 80s aesthetic was tastefully utilized in this track. The main "80s culprits" in the mix: 1) The track is awash in very dated sounding synths. 2) The vocal reverb is about as dated as it gets. Nonetheless, the track as a whole still sounds fresh.
#1
A-Ha - Take on Me
Everything about this song is a product of its era. The snare sound, the cheesy synths, the vocal sounds ("I'll be gone...") - hell, even the tempo and beat are clichés. The video is something that would only fly in the 80s. But there's something about this track that sets it apart from the rest. A-Ha might not have had any success after this song, but they nonetheless managed to gracefully utilize an aesthetic that was marked by its lack of grace.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
the Pretty Things
The story of the Pretty Things is actually intertwined with that of the Rolling Stones. Originally a member of the Stones (first as a guitarist and then as a bassist), Dick Taylor founded the Pretty Things with vocalist Phil May in 1964. Initially, the band was a hard R&B act reminiscent of Jagger & Co. However, while the Stones stayed true to their rootsy beginnings (only embracing pop psychedelia for brief semi-successful stretches), the Pretty Things enthusiastically threw themselves into the burgeoning mod-psych scene with 1967's Emotions.
It was not until 1968, though, that the band truly hit its stride with SF Sorrow, a concept album that ranks among the most influential of the 60s. If nothing else, it was almost certainly a point of reference for the Who as they worked on 1969's Tommy. Today's upload is "Bracelets of Fingers," the second track on the record. I've posted it for two reasons: 1) Lovely harmonies. 2) I'm a sucker for anything in 3/4 or 6/8.
Also worth tracking down: Parachute, the band's 1970 effort. The first side of the record is particularly stunning.
It was not until 1968, though, that the band truly hit its stride with SF Sorrow, a concept album that ranks among the most influential of the 60s. If nothing else, it was almost certainly a point of reference for the Who as they worked on 1969's Tommy. Today's upload is "Bracelets of Fingers," the second track on the record. I've posted it for two reasons: 1) Lovely harmonies. 2) I'm a sucker for anything in 3/4 or 6/8.
Also worth tracking down: Parachute, the band's 1970 effort. The first side of the record is particularly stunning.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Index
Of my entire record collection, The Index (1967) maybe be the most personally endearing album I own.
Hailing from the Detroit area, the Index was comprised of three teenage members playing guitar, bass, and drums, respectively. The band opened for regional acts and played a mix of covers and original material at local parties. Eventually, the guitar player left for Yale, but continued to return home sporadically to play. This album was recorded on whim in a basement (my original guess was a warehouse, but I suppose that's close enough). I have previously described the record as sounding "like garage rock on Xanax" - a description I still stand by.
Aside from the music (which is great in its own way), the beauty of the album lies in its earnestness. These guys were not professional musicians or producers, and their record was clearly a labor of love. From the perspective of somebody who grew up playing in shitty garage bands, this has particular resonance. It's like listening to a rehearsal tape that inexplicably turned out fucking great.
I would suggest you track down the record, which contains spectacular covers of "Eight Miles High" by the Byrds, "You Keep Me Hangin' On" by the Supremes, and several originals. I have uploaded one of those originals, "Fire Eyes."
Hailing from the Detroit area, the Index was comprised of three teenage members playing guitar, bass, and drums, respectively. The band opened for regional acts and played a mix of covers and original material at local parties. Eventually, the guitar player left for Yale, but continued to return home sporadically to play. This album was recorded on whim in a basement (my original guess was a warehouse, but I suppose that's close enough). I have previously described the record as sounding "like garage rock on Xanax" - a description I still stand by.
Aside from the music (which is great in its own way), the beauty of the album lies in its earnestness. These guys were not professional musicians or producers, and their record was clearly a labor of love. From the perspective of somebody who grew up playing in shitty garage bands, this has particular resonance. It's like listening to a rehearsal tape that inexplicably turned out fucking great.
I would suggest you track down the record, which contains spectacular covers of "Eight Miles High" by the Byrds, "You Keep Me Hangin' On" by the Supremes, and several originals. I have uploaded one of those originals, "Fire Eyes."
Friday, February 8, 2008
Psychedelic! Exotic! Sultry!
Yesterday evening, a friend of mine sent me a video of the Flower Travellin' Band, a late-60s/early 70s psych/hard rock outfit from Japan. I was impressed by the track. I'll probably grab a record this weekend. The band looked entertaining in its heyday:
I remarked that my biggest problem with the Japanese rock music I've heard is that it seems too content to ape American music in a very one-dimensional fashion. That is, most of the Japanese rock bands I've heard don't really put their own spin on the genre - they just try to do it in a more "extreme" fashion. "Give me an electric koto or something," I said to my friend. "Make it uniquely Japanese." Not that great Japanese music doesn't exist - it does - but so much of it is wrapped up in sounding like something it's not.
Of course, there's nothing wrong with borrowing influences. Os Mutantes, for example, were an encyclopedia of American and British rock influences. What made them special was the uniqueness with which they blended these influences with their own native music.
The example I gave my friend, however, was Erkin Koray, a Turkish artist. I've always loved the fact that Koray's music rocks hard for its era, yet retains a very distinctly Turkish sound. It's the perfect bridge between Western pop psychedelia and Eastern traditional music. Here, we see a video for "Mesafeler," a song that appeared on Koray's first album (which was actually a collection of singles spanning 1967-1973). Dig the whole psychedelic-striptease thing:
In addition, I have uploaded "Istemem," one of Erkin Koray's most well-known tracks. Its Eastern roots are very apparent, both in the vocals and lead guitar.
I remarked that my biggest problem with the Japanese rock music I've heard is that it seems too content to ape American music in a very one-dimensional fashion. That is, most of the Japanese rock bands I've heard don't really put their own spin on the genre - they just try to do it in a more "extreme" fashion. "Give me an electric koto or something," I said to my friend. "Make it uniquely Japanese." Not that great Japanese music doesn't exist - it does - but so much of it is wrapped up in sounding like something it's not.
Of course, there's nothing wrong with borrowing influences. Os Mutantes, for example, were an encyclopedia of American and British rock influences. What made them special was the uniqueness with which they blended these influences with their own native music.
The example I gave my friend, however, was Erkin Koray, a Turkish artist. I've always loved the fact that Koray's music rocks hard for its era, yet retains a very distinctly Turkish sound. It's the perfect bridge between Western pop psychedelia and Eastern traditional music. Here, we see a video for "Mesafeler," a song that appeared on Koray's first album (which was actually a collection of singles spanning 1967-1973). Dig the whole psychedelic-striptease thing:
In addition, I have uploaded "Istemem," one of Erkin Koray's most well-known tracks. Its Eastern roots are very apparent, both in the vocals and lead guitar.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
The Outsiders
Continuing the trend of northern European artists, today's post comes from Amsterdam ca. 1968.
The Outsiders were a Dutch band fronted by Wally Tax. In 1968, they released CQ, which many people have come to consider one of the finest psychedelic/garage LPs of all-time. While today's track (the first on the record) is a straightforward rocker, it belies the diverse nature of the rest of the record. Overall, CQ is strong mod-rock that alternates between fury and pensiveness. It deserves a listen in its entirety.
The Outsiders were a Dutch band fronted by Wally Tax. In 1968, they released CQ, which many people have come to consider one of the finest psychedelic/garage LPs of all-time. While today's track (the first on the record) is a straightforward rocker, it belies the diverse nature of the rest of the record. Overall, CQ is strong mod-rock that alternates between fury and pensiveness. It deserves a listen in its entirety.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Savage Rose
Before I get into anything music related, I'd just like to mention how happy I am that Mitt Romney took a beating in the primaries yesterday. He's got the charm and class of a used car salesman. Anyway...
Apologies for the lack of posting in the past few days. I've been dealing with a brief illness that pretty much knocked the life out of me. The only good thing that came out of this illness: endless amounts of time to look for new [old] music. My biggest find: The Savage Rose, a Danish band that started in the late 60s but has maintained its native popularity through today.
While the band's sound has apparently been very malleable throughout the years (I wouldn't know, as I've only heard their first two records), the initial incarnation was vaguely psychedelic and jazzy. Apparently, the band's lineup has also been rather malleable - the only constants being pianist Thomas Koppel (the son Danish composer and professor Herman Koppel) and Annisette, a woman whose voice is hard to forget once you've heard it.
The track I've posted today is from their second album, 1968's In the Plain. Of particular note: Alex Riel's phenomenal drum work (he would later go on to record with such jazz legends as Bill Evans, Donald Byrd, and Stephane Grappelli) and Annisette's wailing vocals.
Apologies for the lack of posting in the past few days. I've been dealing with a brief illness that pretty much knocked the life out of me. The only good thing that came out of this illness: endless amounts of time to look for new [old] music. My biggest find: The Savage Rose, a Danish band that started in the late 60s but has maintained its native popularity through today.
While the band's sound has apparently been very malleable throughout the years (I wouldn't know, as I've only heard their first two records), the initial incarnation was vaguely psychedelic and jazzy. Apparently, the band's lineup has also been rather malleable - the only constants being pianist Thomas Koppel (the son Danish composer and professor Herman Koppel) and Annisette, a woman whose voice is hard to forget once you've heard it.
The track I've posted today is from their second album, 1968's In the Plain. Of particular note: Alex Riel's phenomenal drum work (he would later go on to record with such jazz legends as Bill Evans, Donald Byrd, and Stephane Grappelli) and Annisette's wailing vocals.
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