MP3some

MP3some Radio

2008-06-23T10:04:00.004-04:00

Two things today, only one of which is music-related.

First of all, it saddens me to report that George Carlin has died at the age of 71. Mr. Carlin, along with Richard Pryor, was one of my two favorite modern comics. Though I never got to see him live (I had talked about doing so since I was about 16, but never found myself in the right circumstance to do so), Carlin and his HBO specials never failed to crack me up. I have posted his 1982 special, Carlin at Carnegie Hall, for your enjoyment.

On the musical end, I do have an offering: MP3some Radio. That's right, I'm now running an internet radio station out of my apartment. While I cannot guarantee its hours of operation (weekdays 9-5, typically) and reliability (depends on the number of listeners and general internet traffic), I can vouch for the excellence of the music. The station playlist consists of 16+ hours of handpicked tracks in different styles (jazz and Classical have been omitted for continuity's sake), and continues to expand. Enjoy.

Dr. John, the Night Tripper

2008-05-28T20:40:00.000-04:00

The first time I came in contact with Dr. John's work was on an after-hours TV special in which he and Harry Connick, Jr. did a live duet of "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans":

In the wake of the Hurricane, this song has become rather poignant.

Coupled with my musical naivety (I was about 7 or 8 when I saw the duet), the low-key delivery of the track led me to believe that Dr. John was something of a crooner. Perhaps he was not a conventional crooner - his voice is certainly not silky smooth like those of Sinatra, Bing Crosby, or Tony Bennett - but I figured he'd be more in the vein of a Lou Rawls. That is, I figured he'd be one of those rare guys who parlayed his unique rasp into a decently successful career singing blues/R&B and jazz standards.

This, of course, made it even more shocking when I heard Gris Gris (1968) for the first time many years later. When I threw on "Gris Gris Gumbo Ya Ya," the opening track, I was expecting a grittier (and perhaps Cajun-influenced) version of Scott Walker. Instead, I was greeted by a lecherous saxophone line followed by a croaked: "They call me Dr. John, I'm known as the Night Tripper." This was not a conventional record, let alone a fulfillment of my apparently unrealistic expectations. Despite my immediate enjoyment of the music, it was very clear that it would take several listens for me to fully understand the record. And listen I did.

The most impressive aspect of Gris Gris, I found, was its propensity to resist any sort of meaningful classification. It was certainly very much influenced by the culture of New Orleans (most obviously, the title of the record comes from Voodoo/Creole traditions), but it was not Cajun or Zydeco music. It carried trappings of jazz and soul, but it was clearly not a record in either genre. It was damned funky, but not in the sense that Curtis Mayfield or The Meters were funky. It even showed the influence of contemporary psychedelic albums, despite it being the farthest thing away from a conventional psychedelic record. Indeed, it seems easier to describe what Gris Gris is not as opposed to what it is.

Dr. John: Freaking out the squares since 1940.

Today's post is "Mama Roux," a fine representation of the ridiculousness on display throughout Gris Gris. First and foremost, listen to the synergistic bass/keys tone in the left channel. Also note that the drum kit is taking a supporting role to the cowbell and timbales. Dr. John's vocal is stellar (despite its tendency to descend into sporadic periods of gibberish), but also pay attention to the backing vocalists supporting the song in any way they can - from the "Mama Roux" refrain to the percussive noises about halfway through the track. Much like Gris Gris as a whole, this track is anything but conventional, though oddly catchy nonetheless.

Mama Roux

Michael Brown Gets His Due

2008-05-27T08:00:00.001-04:00

I have returned. Despite an increasing workload, I'm hoping to get back into a rhythm of posting with regularity. I'm also hoping to continue the site's expansion. In addition to adding more writers, there are also plans to add a podcast. But we'll cross those bridges when we come to them. In the meantime, let's get back to the music, shall we?

Perhaps some of you are familiar with the song "Walk Away Renée." It seemed to be in permanent rotation on the local oldies stations (103.3 Boston and 101.5 Providence, for those keeping track) when I was a kid, and I was always a fan. It's a fine piece of melancholy baroque pop, complete with string section, harpsichord, and some well-arranged vocal harmonies during the choruses. A video clip is provided below:

Great song. Pathetic video.

I had always assumed that The Left Banke, the band behind the single in question, was something of a one (actually two - their single "Pretty Ballerina" also experienced some success) hit wonder. Which is why, upon picking up a copy of Walk Away Renée/Pretty Ballerina (1967), I was not expecting an impressive album. Of course, my assumptions were entirely incorrect. The songs on the album share the same quality of songwriting, production, and arrangements of the singles. A link to one of those tracks, "She May Call You Up Tonight," is below. Like "Walk Away Renée," this track features some very well-arranged harmonies and flawless songwriting.

Usually, records that prominently display the names of singles on the front cover
are chiefly comprised of subpar filler tracks. This, however, is an exception.

She May Call You Up Tonight

Unfortunately, the original Left Banke lineup was together for only one album. Primary songwriter Michael Brown moved on to form Montage, picking up right where his old band left off. Montage's 1969 self-titled record features the same sophisticated writing and arrangements that characterized the Left Banke's best material. "The Song Is Love," linked below for your enjoyment, is a fine example of Montage's brilliance. Listen to the way that band conforms to the the lyric during the intro/chorus - the passage is in an odd 7/8 time signature, yet sounds seamless and natural. Note the use of what sounds like an RMI piano in lieu of a harpsichord. Take a few listens to appreciate the quality of the songwriting itself. In a mere minute and 47 seconds of baroque sunshine pop, Brown manages to seamlessly include: an infectious chorus/hook, a couple of verses with some nice chord changes (not to mention some beautifully-arranged backing vocals), a perfect bridge (Mr. Brown, it appears, was the bridge master - I don't believe he ever wrote any that were less than stellar), and even a brass solo section. This is how it's done, boys and girls.

"Have you ever seen that movie Tron?"

The Song Is Love

Again, after a single album, Brown moved on to another project. And yet again, Brown returned to form, writing and arranging more symphonic pop with Stories. "Kathleen," linked below, is a good representative track from their self-titled record. The arrangements are slightly watered-down in comparison to Brown's earlier work, but nonetheless retain his distinct flair. The recording quality is excellent, allowing the orchestral arrangements to come alive. Of course, the songwriting is impeccable.

Wow.

Kathleen

Is it just me, or does Michael Brown turn everything he touches into flawless Baroque pop? This guy should be producing Belle and Sebastian...

Thank You, Lou Pearlman - Epilogue

2008-05-21T12:55:00.003-04:00

First things first, my apologies to those who have been checking the site regularly. I've been trying to sort out a bunch of things in the last few weeks, and the blog has suffered as a result. The good news is that things look to be clearing up a bit, and I'm hoping to start posting again on a regular schedule very soon.

In the meantime, I wanted to point out that Lou Pearlman was sentenced today to 25 years in prison. I'm ecstatic. A few months ago, I wrote a piece about Pearlman when he initially pleaded guilty to charges of fraud. I lamented that the plea bargain would likely spare him extensive jail time. Apparently, I was wrong - 25 years is quite a long while.

Granted, they're not going to stick Lou in real prison. He, like most white-collar criminals, will not be subjected to the cell-block beatings and "man love" that he so deserves. I'm also certain that he'll be paroled sooner rather than later, leaving him plenty of free time to attempt his next artistically-bankrupt endeavor. The difference is that this time around, nobody in their right mind will trust him. Everyone - from the talent he solicits to the consumers and businessmen to whom he peddles his product - will be acutely aware that they are dealing with Lou Pearlman, the convicted swindler. Furthermore, the major label system under which Pearlman made the bulk of his money should (fingers crossed) have collapsed entirely by the time he finds himself a free man.

Today's 25 year sentence will not erase "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" from the 1998 Billboard charts, nor will it prevent "Summer Girls" from appearing on a television-advertised Hot Hits of the 90s compilation some ten years from now. It should, however, put a damper on Pearlman's ability to take any of his future projects to the mainstream. And that, as far as I'm concerned, makes all the difference.

Spectrum

2008-05-02T22:24:00.007-04:00

As shown by my previous post, I really, really like the trio format. Saxophone-bass-drums (David Murray's The Hill with Joe Chambers and Richard Davis, with Davis playing arco during most of his solos). Piano-bass-drums (Ellington's Money Jungle with Mingus and Roach - Mingus' playing reflects he looks on the album cover - angry and out of step - but in a good way). Even three guitars - Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin & Paco De Lucia's Friday Night in San Francisco (a tad wanky -you'll exhaust yourself trying to keep up with what's being played). I suppose I'm drawn to this format because it allows for a music that is subdued and exploratory. For a rainy day. Generally. Today's selection is an exception to that rule.

The Organ Trio

Above you will see pictured the 1959 album "A Dynamic New Sound," one of guitarist Wes Montogmery's first albums under his own name. Incredibly tasteful guitar solos with organ (Melvin Rhyne) and drum (Paul Parker) accompaniment. The album cover says it all - the guitarist is fully illustrated, while the drummer and the organist are but a few quick brush strokes.

Flash forward ten years.

Ten years of rhythmic invention, if not ten years in recording technology. 1969. The record: Emergency! Here, all three players simultaneously fill a lead role. A very loud lead role. While the composition is credited to the guitarist (John McLaughlin) and the record is under the drummer's (Tony Williams) name, on this track, it is the organist (Larry Young) who has the most inventive solos. The whole is the sum of consistently shifting parts. This is music-as-argument.

1970 saw the release of the band's final album under its original lineup, (turn it over). By the following year, McLaughlin had left the group to follow Sri Chinmoy and to form his own group, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, which would use the same interplay dynamics, though with much better recording technology at hand, to achieve critical and commercial success. Williams and Young (who now went by the name Khalid Yasin) added two additional percussionists, a guitarist, and an upright bassist (Ron Carter on record, Joony Booth on tour) for the (perhaps tellingly titled?) album Ego. With so many percussionists, there's almost an Art Ensemble of Chicago vibe to these proceedings, minus Lester Bowie:

Tony Williams Lifetime - "Big Nick," live ca. 1971

Williams, however, is simply brilliant in this clip, backing Stan Getz:

Tony Williams ("Captain Marvel" band) - "Fiesta," drum solo, live 1972

Spectrum

Second Movement

2008-05-02T08:00:00.005-04:00

Soul jazz done right.

Pianist/vocalist Les McCann and saxophonist Eddie Harris first recorded together at the 1969 Montreaux Jazz Festival. Apparently, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision - Harris had not rehearsed at all with McCann, and was following along with the material by watching his collaborator's hands on the piano. Nonetheless, the resulting album (Swiss Movement) was a resounding success, even yielding what would become a soul-jazz classic, the platinum single "Compared to What." It was a performance perfectly suited to McCann's penchant for spontaneity, though perhaps ill-suited to Harris' obsessive perfectionism.

The Les McCann Trio, Eddie Harris, and Benny Bailey
perform "Compared to What" at Montreaux, part 1.

"Compared to What," part 2.

Two years removed from their Montreaux success, Les and Eddie reunited in the studio to produce a second album, 1971's Second Movement. While the record would end up a largely-forgotten affair, its quality was nonetheless on par with its older brother. This isn't to say that the contents of Second Movement are a rehashing of the original set - quite the contrary, it seems that McCann and Harris used the time in the studio to advance their sound. For one, McCann switched from acoustic to electric piano, manning the Rhodes as expertly as he did the grand at Montreaux. Bassist Jerry Jemmott followed suit for the bulk of the record, wielding the electric Fender bass with much aplomb. The switch brought the group further into soul territory, and the song selection reflected such a change - two of the five tracks were vocally driven, even incorporating a group of female backup singers. "Carry on Brother," for example, is socially conscious piece propelled by McCann's vocal, Jemmott's solid bass, and studio legend Cornell Dupree's rhythm guitar work - not to mention Harris' burning electric sax. "Universal Prisoner" is a ballad featuring McCann's rich voice, ethereal Rhodes, and some gorgeous chord changes. The closing track, "Samia," is a subtle ballad driven by Leroy Vinnegar's upright bass and some delicate interplay between the Rhodes and sax.

Today's upload is "Shorty Rides Again," the first track on the record. A friend of mine who knows McCann has told me that "Shorty" is the guy who "gets wtih your woman while you're out of town." It is also the most upbeat track on the record, and perhaps the most interesting form a jazz perspective. Note Harris' ridiculous tone on his electrified saxophone, as well as McCann's Rhodes playing. Listen around the 7:00 mark when McCann starts berating "Shorty" over the closing groove. Doesn't get much better than this.

Shorty Rides Again

Reading the Tea Leaves

2008-04-30T21:45:00.007-04:00

Bill Frisell - East/West

Keith Jarrett - Somewhere Before

Why would anyone want to cover a Dylan song without the lyrics? I suppose there's the pop notoriety - it's what led Wes Montgomery and George Benson to cover the Beatles. What led Miles Davis to record version after version of Cyndi Lauper's "Time after Time." The audience "knows what to expect" when presented with pop material. But it can also be alienated if the presentation varies too greatly from these expectations.
So even without the lyrics, any artist covering Dylan has to shoulder the cultural baggage of the material. Or else let it carry them away.
Other than that they are both renditions of Dylan songs performed live by trios, today's selections could not be any more different. Bill Frisell, guitarist, tends to exert a lead role in his expansive take on "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall," while Keith Jarrett, pianist, alternates with the bass player Charlie Haden between leading and comping in his take on "My Back Pages."

My Back Pages

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

Mingus at Antibes

2008-04-30T08:00:00.001-04:00

Phenomenal players, phenomenal compositions, and a phenomenal leader -
the three pillars of an unforgettable jazz record.

Yesterday, I wrote on a record that derived its brilliance almost solely from the exceptional improvisational abilities of its musicians. In doing so, I also alluded to jazz that derives its brilliance from structure rather than instrumental virtuosity. This is not to suggest that it's a perpetual either/or situation with jazz, though. Today's offering, Charles Mingus' Mingus at Antibes (released 1976, recorded 1960), in fact features both varieties of brilliance.

From the perspective of talent, it's difficult to compete with Mingus' early-60s band. First of all, there was Mingus himself hopping between bass (his natural instrument) and piano. As a bass player, Mingus may not have been as subtle or versatile as Paul Chambers or Ron Carter, but he could swing like no other - perfect for propelling his groups into states of harmonically-induced ecstasy. Completing Mingus' rhythm section was Dannie Richmond, his "personal drummer." The two worked together almost exclusively, developing a close musical relationship that would last over two decades. Ted Curson (trumpet) and Booker Ervin (tenor saxophone) - both excellent soloists in their own right - rounded off the horn section. Finally, Eric Dolphy (woodwinds) provided the melodic and improvisational backbone, using his masterful abilities to bring Mingus' compositions to new heights. This was a solid group to say the least, bolstered not only by exceptional talent, but constant touring and recording as well.

From the perspective of structure and leadership, Mingus had no peer. Jazz is a quintessentially American form, and Mingus treated it as such, lacing his compositions with hints of blues, gospel, and folk. Additionally, he had an uncanny ability to get the most from his musicians. Such an ability came at the expense of his reputation, however. Mingus was known in some circles as an uncompromising taskmaster. Nonetheless, it's hard to argue with results - many of the musicians who worked with him over the years had their finest moments under his tutelage.

Today's upload is "Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting." The studio version of the song comes from Mingus' legendary Blues & Roots (1960), but this live version is superior to my ears. Note the structural prowess on this one - the song is firmly rooted in jazz, though it is based around a blues progression and utilizes elements of gospel spirituals. Listen to the break around 6:20 when the band drops out, adds handclaps, and Mingus starts playing the role of preacher, shouting "Rain down fire!" Also listen to Dolphy's solo at the 3:06 mark, which is significant for two reasons: 1) it's Eric freaking Dolphy doing his thing, which always shines brightly. 2) You can hear Mingus prodding Dolphy as he plays. This is most apparent around the 3:30 mark as Dolphy completes a phrase, Mingus calls "Think about it, Eric," and Dolphy responds with an even more ridiculous phrase. One can only imagine how electrifying this was in person...

Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting

Organ Grinder Swing

2008-04-29T08:00:00.001-04:00

I've listened to this album so much over the years
that I can practically sing every one of the solos.

One of the beautiful aspects of jazz is the varying source (or, in many cases, sources) of its brilliance. Sometimes, the source of the brilliance comes from the compositions themselves - for example, a complex Duke Ellington piece. Other times, the source of the brilliance is the combined instrumental prowess of those playing - if you put several virtuosos in a room together and ask them to play, the result will naturally scintillate. Jimmy Smith's Organ Grinder Swing (1965) is a fine example of the latter variety of brilliance.

I first discovered the album on one of my father's old cassette tapes when I was around 13 years old. Immediately struck by the obscenely talented players on the record, I listened to the tape incessantly. It was no surprise to me that Jimmy Smith was regarded by some as the 8th wonder of the world. His playing, a fusion of blues, gospel, and jazz, was unlike anything I had ever heard. The story goes that before he started playing professionally, Smith spent nearly a year locked in a warehouse honing his sound:

“I got my organ from a loan shark had it shipped to the warehouse. I stayed in that warehouse, I would say, six months to a year. I would do just like the guys do—take my lunch, then I'd go and set down at this beast. Nobody showed me anything, man, so I had to fiddle around with my stops." (Jazz Organ Stories: Jimmy Smith, Pete Fallico)

All of that time alone in the warehouse must have worked wonders - he emerged from his time in seclusion playing the Hammond like nobody before him.

This is not to say that the beauty of Organ Grinder Swing originates solely from Smith, however. While his masterful organ playing is at the center of the record (he is, of course, the leader), equal credit must also be given to the session sidemen for their contributions. For one, Grady Tate (drums) lays the perfect foundation for the album - his playing is at once innovative and steady, keeping things interesting while setting an unwavering pace. Furthermore, Kenny Burrell (guitar) puts forth a stunning effort as well, comping admirably and putting forth a few solos that give Wes Montgomery (himself one of Smith's major collaborators) a run for his money.

Today's selection is "Greensleeves," the fourth track on the record. In my mind, it's the most impressive cut on Organ Grinder Swing - a jazz waltz with phenomenal solos from both Smith and Burrell, as well as some propulsive drumming from Tate. Listen to the way that Kenny Burrell comes into his first solo (1:13) with a brilliant ascending line. Also listen to his impeccable phrasing later in the solo (1:40), particularly his lovely incorporation of some very tasteful arpeggios around the 1:46 mark. This is textbook jazz guitar playing, boys and girls. Also listen for Smith's ridiculous organ pyrotechnics, which are impossible to miss. Love his ability to go absolutely batshit crazy, then rein it in on a dime - you'll find a good example of this around 4:54 when he switches from some very quick and chaotic phrasing to a more melodic style and then back again. Lovers of the Hammond organ: this album is for you.

Greensleeves

"Pablo"

2008-04-28T22:29:00.001-04:00

A few words of (self) introduction. Much like Kid Gloves, I live for music, though I must confess with me it's (only slightly) more a hobby. For the past few years, that music has, by-and-large, been jazz.

"I like to think of myself as a muse-ician, somebody who makes magic with the muses." - Joe McPhee, 2003 interview with Fred Jung

Joe McPhee, saxophonist, trumpeter, and composer of my first musical offering for this blog, operates out of Poughkeepsie, New York. He records for a Swiss record label, Hathut Records, which was seemingly founded to ensure the distribution of his earliest live recordings. It is safe to say he is, and will remain, an outsider to "popular music."

This is not to say that McPhee refrains from recording music grounded in popular forms. One of his earliest releases, Nation Time, recorded at Vassar College in the late sixties, in honor of future New Jersey poet laureate Amiri Baraka, sounds quite like the missing link between the methods of Nuggets and (though I for one am sick of this album being trotted out for comparisons) the practice of Bitches Brew. Recently, he could be found adding his squeaks and squalls to that erstwhile bathroom classic "Louie Louie," on last year's modestly titled Two Bands and a Legend, which found him sandwiched between two Norwegian groups, one "jazz" (The Thing) the other "garage rock" (Cato Salsa Experience).

In 1982, McPhee, with a trio of French collaborators (bassist François Méchali, reedist André Jaume, and electric guitarist Raymond Boni) recorded the album Oleo, for Hat Hut. The title track, their take on Sonny Rollins' composition, stands the original version's hard bop on its face - without a drummer, each member of the quartet is invited to participate equally, to keep time or avoid it altogether. Equal participation is also the name of the game on the track offered, McPhee's composition "Pablo." Jaume's clarinet and Mechali's bass dance about each other, as Boni's guitar jangles reappear at key junctures, and and McPhee's sax states and then improvises upon the theme, finding the bridge between chamber music and the blues.

Pablo

Blues' Blues

2008-04-28T08:00:00.001-04:00

Recommended for jazz fans and pimps everywhere.

I thought it appropriate to begin Jazz Week with the record that started me on jazz in the first place. Back in the day, my father used to keep his vinyl collection stashed away in the darkest recesses of the basement. Finding new records for me was like mining - I'd crouch through confined spaces with a flashlight, retrieve whichever albums would strike my fancy at the moment, and eventually emerge dusty and victorious with a handful of wax. Unfortunately, the mining ventures were something of a hit or miss affair - I had never heard of most of the artists in the collection, so my selections were essentially at random. Now and then, my old man would submit to my nagging and peruse the collection himself for a few gems. Blue Mitchell's Blues' Blues (1972) was one of these records.

In retrospect. the album is nothing all that special - just a standard above-average soul/jazz session - but is nonetheless very listenable. Hard bop veteran Mitchell (trumpet, flugelhorn) leads the session featuring such tried and true session veterans as John Mayall (harmonica) and Joe Sample (keys), producing some very solid grooves. Extensive use of the wah pedal makes this a rather funky session, with the tone falling somewhere in the realm of what I refer to as "porn jazz." This is the kind of music that makes you want to don a pair of multi-colored short shorts, tease your hair into an afro, and play some three on three with an ABA ball. Or perhaps strut around with a cane, fur coat, and feathered fedora.

Today's post is the fourth track on the record, "Granite and Concrete." Its straightforward structure and soulful tone are fairly representative of the album as a whole. Note the ever-present wah guitar propelling the track, as well as some nice solos by both Mitchell and Joe Sample on Rhodes (around 6:33). Apologies for the somewhat spotty quality - the mp3 is a vinyl transfer.

Granite and Concrete

Changes

2008-04-24T14:52:00.003-04:00

My friends,

The time has come to expand MP3some.

I have taken quite a shine to this blog thing. Still, I have found myself frustrated with the site's current format. There's only so much ground I can cover by writing five small essays a week, both in terms of breadth and depth.

I am fortunate to have some very talented friends whose tastes, writing abilities, and musical knowledge I respect immensely. It is from these friends of mine, in fact, that I have discovered many of my favorite records. Fairly recently, I began thinking about inviting some of them to contribute to the site. After a few weeks of contemplation, I decided to go through with it. My hope is to transform MP3some from the chronicle of one man's relationship with music into a broader center of good taste and incisive criticism. Of course, I will still be writing my own pieces much in the same way I always have. However, my writing will now be joined by the work of others as well.

On that note, I'd like to introduce Sam Baden, MP3some's jazz columnist and first major addition. I've known Sam for a while now, and every time we get together turns into a listening party (or an extended conversation about records). His knowledge of the genre is wide (spanning from the conventional to the avant garde), and his writing is fantastic. Monday will mark the beginning of the expanded edition of MP3some, and it will kick off with the beginning of Jazz Week. Both Sam and I will be writing on a different album every day and providing tracks for your appreciation.

Be on the lookout for new writers and features, and thanks for reading.

Until Monday.

- Kid Gloves

Ogden's Nut Gone Flake

2008-04-22T08:00:00.003-04:00

I first discovered the Small Faces on a British Invasion compilation when I was around eight years old. Even then, my tastes were skewed towards the psychedelic end of things - my favorite tracks on the record were "Pictures of Matchstick Men" by the Status Quo and "Itchycoo Park" by the Small Faces. I found the latter of the two songs to be particularly well crafted. Not only was it a well-written song, but it was impeccably produced (fantastic tones all around, particularly on the organ and bass) and arranged. Embellished with the tasteful use of such studio trickery as phased drums, "Itchycoo Park" epitomized to me the essence of "psychedelic." Despite my appreciation for the track, I didn't hear a full Small Faces record until I got my hands on Ogden's Nut Gone Flake (1968) over a decade later.

The Small Faces mime "Itchycoo Park." Is it just me, or does
the drummer look like he's playing in his underwear?

Fronted by vocalist Steve Marriott and bassist Ronnie Lane, The Small Faces were quite popular in the UK, charting such hits as "Itchycoo Park" and "Sha La La La Lee." For some reason or another (I blame poor promotion), the band never caught on in the States, charting only as high #16 with "Itchycoo Park." A quintessential mod act, the Small Faces were primarily an R&B outfit until recording Ogden's Nut Gone Flake, which is considered a masterpiece of the psychedelic era.

From the beginning of the album, one gets the sense that the band was trying to do something entirely different from its single-based work. Indeed, Ogden's Nut Gone Flake is something of a concept album. The title (and opening) track is an overture of sorts - it is a 2.5 minute instrumental featuring a piano (with a wah on it) and string section. "Long Agos and Worlds Apart" is a lovely slice of psychedelia, complete with ethereal organ and stereo-panned backing vocals. "Lazy Sunday" is an infectious (if a little bizarre) pop song featuring a Wurlitzer piano and Steve Marriott in the guise of an English youth. The entire second side of the record is devoted to a musical narrative of "Happiness Stan," complete with utterly nonsensical spoken-word portions - one would assume that some potent hallucinogens were involved in its making. The most curious aspect of the record, however, is its cover, a circular replica of an old chewing tobacco tin. Of course, having found a digital copy before a vinyl copy, I had no idea how unique the artwork was when I initially heard the album. Just one of the downsides of the digital era, I suppose...

You just can't package an mp3 in a replica tobacco tin...

Today's upload is "Afterglow of Your Love," the second track on Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. On top of it being my favorite song on the record, it is also the track best suited to stand on its own outside of the album. It is most notable for its soaring chorus, which features both a fantastic Hammond organ line and some tasteful two-part harmonies. Listen as well to the lazy psychedelic intro - one would not expect whistling and slurred crooning to lead into such a powerhouse track, but it does nonetheless.

Afterglow of Your Love

Ja, dä ä dä

2008-04-21T08:00:00.003-04:00

Part of the adventure that comes with listening to foreign bands is the guesswork that goes into defining their respective influences. Of course, we have our own English-language music with which to compare the foreign stuff, but rarely do we consider the home-grown influences of these foreign acts. The most recent example I can provide is Dungen, whose Ta Det Lugnt (2004) drew instant comparisons to The Who Sell Out (1967). Not that The Who Sell Out is a poor point of comparison (the records do, in fact, have many similarities), but I tend to believe that for a Swedish band that sings in its native tongue, there are probably quite a few indigenous influences in play as well. The problem then becomes pinpointing those influences.

A month ago, I stumbled upon a Swedish record that I believe must have been on Dungen's turntable during the making of Ta Det Lugnt. The culprit: Ja, dä ä dä (1969), Pugh Rogefeldt's debut album. A rocker who sang in Swedish (unlike contemporaries such as the Tages), Pugh would go on to have several hits in his native country. The similarities between his record and Dungen's are too numerous to ignore. Both records begin with drum solos, both of which are recorded in a similar manner - the drum kits are rather natural sounding, with room mics rather than close mics doing the trick. The lead guitar tone on the albums is also strikingly similar - there are moments on Ja dä ä dä when you will swear you're listening to a Dungen's Reine Fiske on guitar. Even the vocal tones are similar - it would not surprise me if Gustav Ejstes lifted his singing style from Pugh.

Today's post is "Här Kommen Natten," the second track on Ja, dä ä dä. Dungen fans will recognize the familiar guitar tone from the start, as well as Pugh's similar vocal stylings. Dungen comparisons aside, though, this is a record that stands out on its own. Far from just a Swedish-language curiosity, Ja, dä ä dä is a fine piece of psych/folk/prog that deserves your attention.

You've got to respect the mustache.

Här Kommen Natten

Play It Cool

2008-04-17T18:50:00.000-04:00

From my experience, there are two levels of blues appreciation. The first level is an understanding of the structures and tropes of the genre. Since the blues is a very traditional and structurally consistent form of music, it behooves any listener to familiarize himself with the "baseline" - that is, to know the genre in its most elemental form. The second level is an appreciation of artists and how they manipulate that traditional structure to make it their own. It is this second level that separates blues listeners - most can agree on the genre's merits on a basic level, but there is often disagreement as to who interprets the form most passionately and/or intelligently. Everyone, it seems, has his or her own blues guy - an artist whose take on the genre resonates most with the individual listener. For some, a Lightnin' Hopkins or Robert Johnson fulfills the need for a pure and unadulterated take on the form. Some prefer the high-energy cuts of a Bo Diddley or Chuck Berry. For others, a Little Walter or Memphis Slim answers the call for an instrument other than guitar as a lead voice. Still for many more, an Eric Clapton or Jimi Hendrix puts the genre in a more palatable and easily accessible rock form. My blues guy is Freddie King.

I initially discovered Freddie King's work as I searched a pile of my father's old records for jazz. Up until this point (I was 11 or 12 at the time), I had a very limited sense of the blues. I was, of course, familiar with the likes of Hendrix and Clapton, but had never taken the time to delve into anything that had not been filtered through a heavy filter of psychedelic rock. That changed when I was confronted by Freddie King is a Blues Master (1969), King's first Cotillion LP, staring me in the face. Literally. The album cover is a photo of the artist, Gibson ES-335 in hand, looking straight ahead while broadly smiling at the camera. Deciding to expand my record search to include blues as well as jazz, I picked up the album and threw it on the turntable.

You can't say "no" to a guy like this.

Perhaps what immediately drew me to King were his arrangements. This was not a blues-rock album, but it was nonetheless very accessible to my rock-accustomed ears - at the root of the record was the interplay between electric bass, electric guitar, piano, organ, drums, and occasional horns. Furthermore, unlike much of the earlier blues that I had heard, the LP was impeccably recorded. In retrospect, though, I think what kept me coming back to Freddie King is a Blues Master was the sheer amount of tone on the record. Every element had its own unique color - from the tinkling piano to the mournful organ to King's tremendously soulful vocal and biting guitar. When I began seriously playing the guitar several years later, it would be Freddie King's tone that inspired me to get a semi-hollow guitar of my own.

Today's track is the first song on the LP, "Play It Cool." It is my favorite blues track of all time - this song is what made me take a broader interest in the genre as a whole. Listen to King's fantastic solo at the 1:55 mark, which is stunning for both its poignancy and its economy. His phrasing is casual and uncomplicated, yet he extracts tremendous emotion from every note. This is all, of course, in addition to the fantastic lyric and vocal performance. When you're a 12 year-old boy, you tend to identify with lines like:

Now women look good these days
They can look sexy in so many ways
They can wear those dresses up above their knees and that'll make a man
Take his life away

In addition to the track, I am also posting a video of King playing unplugged at a prison in 1976, the year he died. The video quality (it looks like a VHS transfer) is somewhat spotty at times, but it was badass enough that I had to post it anyway. Love the shots of him playing to the inmates in solitary...

To have been an inmate...

Play It Cool

Sir Douglas Quintet + 2 = Honkey Blues

2008-04-17T12:00:00.002-04:00

The album in question
When I begin listening to an album, my first order of business (apart from deciding whether or not I actually enjoy the music on a superficial level) is classification: Where does the record come from? When was it made? What traditions does it see itself as being part of? The longer it takes me to answer these questions, the more fascinated I become with an album - nine times out of ten, a record that resists classification will be far more engaging than one that does not. To that end, I have been listening to Sir Douglas Quintet + 2 = Honkey Blues for a few solid weeks now, and I'm still not sure I fully understand it. I certainly enjoy it - I figured that out pretty quickly. I simply don't know how best to describe or classify it.

San Antonio's Sir Douglas Quintet was the project of country prodigy Doug Sahm. After a childhood and adolescence filled with radio sessions and club dates, Sahm was coaxed into forming his band in 1965 by producer Huey Meaux. Seeking to capitalize on the British Invasion, Meaux suggested the name "Sir Douglas Quintet" in an effort to sound more English. The band released its debut, The Best of the Sir Douglas Quintet, in 1966, charting a top 20 single with "She's About a Mover" - an organ-heavy blues number.

"Look, for me right now there are three groups: Butterfield, The Byrds, and the Sir Douglas Quintet." - Dylan

In 1968, the band released Sir Douglas Quintet + 2 = Honkey Blues. As the title would suggest, the album was rooted in blues. Given Doug Sahm's history (not to mention the fact that the band was from San Antonio), the record's country /folk influence was no surprise, either. What was a surprise, however, was Sahm's decision to bring in a five-piece horn section to augment the band - and not necessarily as one would expect. There were certainly songs on the record that utilized the horn section as expected on a blues/soul record - most notably "Are Inlaws Really Outlaws?" and "Can You Dig My Vibrations." What one could not have expected, however, was the sporadic influence of free jazz - a genre which was still young at the time. Throw in a bit of San Francisco psychedelia for good measure, and you've got a band that could seamlessly synthesize a number of American genres at will.

I'm so impressed with this album that I'm uploading two tracks today. The first is the more straightforward of the two: "Whole Lotta Peace of Mind." Right off the bat, the song seems to be pulling two directions at once - the country vibe of the fiddle meets the heavy delay effects of the psychedelic era, creating something all its own. The stew thickens as the horns enter around the 30 second mark and the harmonica makes an appearance soon after. It's like an unholy marriage of Seatrain and The Electric Flag. The second of the two tracks, "Song of Everything," is the more "challenging" - beginning with thirty seconds of chaotic horns and percussion before breaking into more traditional song structure, the cut displays Sir Douglas Quintet's affinity for free jazz.

Whole Lotta Peace of Mind

Song of Everything

Covers: An Idiot-Proof Guide

2008-04-14T08:00:00.004-04:00

Following my last post about the many different versions of "Codine," I began thinking about covers. For me, it's a rather polarizing subject. While there are, of course, many tastefully-done covers in the history of pop, there are also an equal (if not greater) number that fall flat on their faces. I began thinking of the characteristics of both tasteful and shameful covers, trying to distill them into a single document. What follows is my simple guide for original bands weighing whether or not to cover a song.

UNDER THE COVERS
How to tastefully select your cover repertoire

DO cover a song if...

Your cover alludes to an obscure or underground influence. This type of cover, which I will henceforth refer to as an "homage cover" has been employed since the rise of rock and roll. It serves a dual purpose: 1) It provides your audience with a point of reference from which to approach your music - an audience is far more apt to appreciate your music if it understands the lineage and traditions from which you sprung. 2) It is a form of "giving back" to your overlooked influences. The "homage cover" has its roots in the early days of rock, a time when it was common for bands to cover old blues, soul, and R&B tracks - songs that had been marginalized by mainstream audiences as "race music." The Rolling Stones' cover of "Little Red Rooster" is an example. By recording the Willie Dixon/Howlin' Wolf track, the band provided its audience with some listening guidance ("If you want to understand where we're coming from, have a listen to this"). It encouraged an entire generation of listeners to seriously confront a genre once considered entirely irrelevant, thus turning once-underground musicians into venerated icons. A later example can be found in Nirvana's unplugged cover of "Jesus Doesn't Want Me for a Sunbeam." By covering the Vaselines' track, Kurt Cobain paved his influence's way into the pop music canon.

Your cover is of a standard. The challenge here is defining "standard." There are, of course, actual standards - Gershwin's "Summertime" or Jobim's "Girl from Ipanema," for example. There are also broader cultural standards - for example, "God Bless America," "The Star Spangled Banner," "Happy Birthday," or "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The difficult category is that of "pop standard." There are some pop songs that, for some reason or another, have lended themselves well to reinterpretation. "Hey Joe," for example, has been covered by a number of people (Hendrix's most famous version was itself a cover). Martha and the Vandellas' "Dancing in the Street" is also a standard, with numerous cover versions (most notably the ultra-gay 1985 David Bowie/Mick Jagger take) springing up since its original 1964 release. Basic rule of thumb: if numerous other bands/artists have covered the song before, it's probably OK for you to do so as well.

The original version of the song that you're covering is completely unarranged. Folk songs have always been ripe for reinterpretation - their lyrics are usually quite good, their structures are typically well defined, and their sparse arrangements are blank canvasses for those wanting to expand upon them musically. Is it a surprise that so many of Bob Dylan's songs have been adeptly covered? Of course not - so many of Dylan's tracks are brilliant song skeletons, waiting to be adorned by others. "All Along the Watchtower," "Mr. Tambourine Man," "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" - all have been successfully and tastefully reinterpreted by other artists. At the same time, the idea of covering a fully-arranged Dylan song is foolish. Because the original artist has already fully realized the song, covering "Like a Rolling Stone" or "Hurricane" would be inadvisable and presumably unsuccessful.

Your version of the song is ironic or parodic. Parody can be a form of both homage and/or criticism. Either way, it is an interpretive form that has its place in the world of music. Zappa's "Flower Punk," for example, is a "Hey Joe" cover that incisively lampoons hippie culture. Nirvana's brief quote of "Let's Get Together" at the beginning of "Territorial Pissings" is yet another example. Richard Cheese makes a living covering pop hits as lounge standards. Parody isn't often the fast-track to artistic notoriety or success, but it certainly bears mentioning.

DO NOT cover a song if...

The song is canonical in its original form. This is the most vital of the cover commandments. Where is the logic behind covering a song that people already know and love in its original form? I'll answer this one for you: there is no logic behind it. Doing such a cover only succeeds in a) insulting the original version and b) making you or your band seem foolish. Do you remember several years ago when Alien Ant Farm covered "Smooth Criminal" by Michael Jackson? That was a great idea, wasn't it? Imagine the flawed thought process (if there was indeed a thought process) going into that one: "Let's cover a song by the King of Pop from the second highest-grossing record of all time. Maybe we can improve upon it." I'm sorry. I thought that a Quincy Jones production with 32 million album sales was something that, you know, couldn't really be improved upon by a group of nu-metal hacks from Riverside, CA. "Modernizing" a song that has already been etched into the public's musical consciousness - the tackiest variety of cover.

You intend on reproducing the song as it was originally performed. Obviously, this caveat (and entire manifesto, for that matter) does not apply to cover bands. Rather, this commandment is chiefly aimed at the American Idol crowd. If you're going out of the way to rip somebody's work off, you may as well present an original take. Do people want to hear an anonymous 18 year-old girl from Florida doing "Chain of Fools"? A 32 year-old insurance salesman covering "(Sittin' on the) Dock of the Bay"? Perhaps. These are, of course, American Idol viewers, not music consumers. But should they? Obviously not. Strip the interpretive component away from a cover and what do you have? Karaoke.

Codine

2008-04-09T08:00:00.002-04:00

The subject of today's post is a song written by folk artist Buffy Ste. Marie, a Canadian of Cree descent. Ste. Marie's story is somewhat typical of early-60s folk artists - despite her being largely unknown by the public, several of her songs were covered by a number of more famous artists. Perennial MP3some favorite Donovan (The Foppish Pansy himself) scored a hit with Ste. Marie's song "Universal Soldier," for example. Later, Joe Cocker and Jeniffer Warnes had a hit with another of her tracks, "Up Where We Belong." Needless to say, Buffy Ste. Marie had chops. She also has led quite an interesting life that has involved everything from Cree powwows to Bahá'í conferences to codeine addiction (about which she wrote today's song in question).

I initially heard "Codine" through an old friend of mine who introduced me to a version of the song from Distortions (1967) by The Litter. He called it "the best version of 'Codine' ever" - an assertion I was keen to believe, as I had never actually heard the song. My friend's status as a folk enthusiast hammered the point home ever further - if he preferred this version to the Ste. Marie version, I reasoned, it must be great. He put on the track, and I sat back. Four minutes and 32 seconds later, I was convinced - I may not have heard the other versions of the track, but this was the finest version of "Codine" in existence. In my mind, The Litter's strung-out take could have no rival.

Today, several years later, I set out to test my theory. I rounded up every version of "Codine" I could find for an overall assessment. I had already heard the version of the song by The Charlatans on the Nuggets comp, and was not very impressed - the band's uptempo waltz version did not seem very fitting for a song about opiate addiction. Gram Parsons' solo acoustic version from Another Side of This Life: The Lost Recordings of Gram Parsons, 1965-1966 was quite good (as is most of Parsons' recorded output), though it was ultimately damned by its sparseness. Parsons was a master at his craft - but a lone man with a guitar cannot compete with the intensity of the Litter's version. Donovan's version suffered a similar fate as Parsons'. Though Donovan's take is actually surprisingly good - perhaps even better than Parsons' version - it is completely unadorned. Next on the list was the Quicksilver Messenger Service. I was expecting the band to give the Litter a run for their money, but they did nothing of the sort. While their version was the most intense of the bunch (particularly from a vocal standpoint), it could not unseat the Litter from their "Codine" throne. Finally, I reached a 1969 version by Wizards from Kansas (whose work I had never heard before), which turned out to be the surprise of the group. Their version, driven by a wah guitar and some fantastic harmonies, was very good - still not good enough to compete with the Litter, but good enough that I was inspired to seek out the rest of the band's self-titled album.

At the end of my "Codine" survey, I realized that while the Litter was still at the top of the heap, all of the versions had their own merits - none were unpleasant. This was the mark of a truly great song, I figured - despite radical changes in arrangement, the track always held its own. My friend was correct - the Litter's version was indeed the best - but the credit here belonged to Buffy Ste. Marie for writing such a phenomenal song to begin with. Finally, it was time to appreciate Ste. Marie's own version:

Where it all started.

Today's post is the Litter's version of the song. And for those of you keeping track, I've also posted my ranking of "Codine" covers*:

The Litter
Wizards from Kansas
Donovan
Quicksilver Messenger Service
Gram Parsons
The Charlatans

* There are many conspicuously absent versions that I have not yet heard, including one by Janis Joplin and another by the Leaves. I still doubt they are superior to the Litter's rendition.

Codine

Man Man - Rabbit Habits

2008-04-08T08:00:00.002-04:00

The much-anticipated follow-up to Six Demon Bag.

Today, Man Man releases Rabbit Habits, their third studio album. I was fortunate enough to obtain an advance of the record, and was able to give it the couple weeks worth of listens necessary to have a review ready today. Two years removed from the stellar Six Demon Bag, my hope was for a record that pushed the band's sound forward while retaining the sense of conventional songwriting that made their last album so memorable. From that perspective, the record is only semi-successful - though perhaps my expectations were too heightened to begin with. Rabbit Habits is quite a good record with some very fine moments.

First and foremost, one gets the sense that Rabbit Habits was a record that was born out of the live experience rather than extensive studio experimentation - no surprise, particularly given the band's hectic touring schedule over the last couple of years. The jittery first track, "Mr. Jung Stuffed," is a fine example. Its beginning hook is a group vocal articulated over a Rhodes piano and sixteenth-note percussion. Eventually, the Rhodes and backing vocalists drop out, giving way to a verse featuring Honus Honus' vocals (which are spot on, per usual) and what appears to be his newest toy - an RMI piano or Rocksichord. The RMI makes several appearances throughout the album, and Honus Honus utilizes it tasteful, conjuring the spirit of another gritty-voiced pianist: Dr. John. The next two tracks follow the lead of "Mr. Jung Stuffed," delivering group vocal hooks at breakneck pace, embellished with the occasional stop on a dime - for those who are familiar with the band (particularly their live show), you will recognize them immediately as vintage Man Man.

"Big Trouble" is a sluggish Rhodes-heavy march with some very nicely arranged horns - it sounds like a drunken walk home to one's hotel room in the French Quarter. Like the tracks before it, the song incorporates the characteristic stops and group vocal interjections that make the band unique. "Doo Right" is a lovely solo piano/vocal piece, though one wishes the band had arranged it fully. As well as Honus Honus sells the track, the sparseness is almost to its detriment - one wonders how much more powerful the song may have been had Honus utilized the musicians at his disposal. The same can be said for the title track - though to be fair, the minimalism (piano, clarinet, and vocal) seems to work a little better on "Rabbit Habits" than it does on "Doo Right." "Easy Eats or Dirty Doctor Galapagos," on the other hand, adeptly plays to the strengths of the band, leaning on a thick arrangement and a horn hook that seems as though it were lifted from the house band in the Star Wars cantina.

The only failure on the album is "El Azteca," a track that sounds as if it's trying to approximate electronic music with live instrumentation. It's certainly interesting, but by no means a prudent use of the group's abilities. The song illustrates the album's most frustrating point - despite Man Man's tremendous musical talent, the band seems to have sporadic difficulties deciding when and how to apply that talent. At their best, Man Man is a moving band, capable of writing and arranging some heartbreaking songs. At their most generic, they are "circus rock" - an interesting and fun listen, but not extraordinarily memorable on a deep level. I cannot say that Rabbit Habits is a better record than its predecessor - it is not, as I had hoped, a great step forward. At the same time, it's not a step backwards, either. It strikes me as a record that will show its true colors in a live setting - in fact, I would guess that many of the songs on Rabbit Habits will outshine those from Six Demon Bag the next time I see the band.

Today's post is "Poor Jackie," an epic that stands as my personal favorite track on the album. It boasts the most graceful arrangement on the record, featuring a wonderful fiddle line and some hypnotic harpsichord in the right channel. The song flows beautifully, seamlessly incorporating the band's most unique elements without sounding like a cut-and-paste affair. Additionally, it is the most emotionally poignant piece on the record, recalling some of the finer moments on Six Demon Bag.

Poor Jackie

Kid Gloves Published by Third Party!

2008-04-07T10:53:00.002-04:00

For those of you who are interested, I have written a piece that appears on thefatherlife.com. The piece revolves around the merits of vinyl.

I'd like to extend a welcome to those joining me today from thefatherlife.com, and invite you to enjoy MP3some to the fullest extent.

Kim Fowley - Outrageous

2008-04-07T10:50:00.000-04:00

In my last post, I referenced Los Angeles freak-rocker Kim Fowley - specifically that Mudhoney vocalist Mark Arm's delivery was reminiscent of Fowley's. I figured it would be cruel of me to mention him and not expand further upon his work.

Kim Fowley came out of the same eclectic Los Angeles scene that gave us the likes of Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and Wild Man Fischer. Along with his aforementioned LA contemporaries, he shared a fascination with popular culture and an affinity for the absurd. Fowley spent much of the early 60s producing a string of cult 45s (some of which, unlike Zappa's early production work, actually did fairly well - the Hollywood Argyles' "Alley Oop" charted at #1, for example). In 1965, he released what would be one of the first singles ever to reference LSD, "The Trip/Big Sur." Later, he would move briefly to the UK, where he would continue producing (most notably the Soft Machine B-side, "Feelin' Reelin Squeelin'").

Upon his return to the West Coast, Fowley's solo career further blossomed with 1967's Love is Alive and Well. The album has not aged very well - aside from the often-bizarre lyrics, there is little to grasp on to from a musical or production perspective. It is a rather tongue-in-cheek take on the hippie culture (and music) of the time, though it is more staid than, say, Zappa's Freak Out (1966). "Flower City," for example, features a very standard rock arrangement backing Fowley as he drops stereotypical hippie lingo ("flowers," "love") to the tune of "Ode to Joy." Interesting stuff, but by no means essential.

When Outrageous was released just a year later in 1968, "freak rock" - hell, rock in general - had already gotten quite a bit freakier. Fowley's new album would reflect such a trend. Most notably, he had ditched the more melodic singing for a paranoid "bark." Furthermore, the arrangements were transformed from gentle West Coast psychedelic to trashy white blues/soul. Over the madness, Fowley ranted psychotically about everything from arson ("Wildfire") to getting busted by the cops ("Chinese Water Torture"), filling the spaces between with sexualized moans and heavy breathing. The absurdity was a recipe for poor sales and cult status. Today's post is the first track on the record, "Animal Man." It's notable for the groove (which sounds like something you'd expect from a more coherent Captain Beefheart) and for Fowley freaking the fuck out. This, my friends, is the way to kick off your Monday.

Aptly titled.

Animal Man

Touch Me I'm Sick

2008-04-04T08:00:00.002-04:00

When Nirvana burst on to the mainstream scene with Nevermind in 1991, it marked both the beginning and end of quite a few things. For one, it marked the beginning of a new era in rock - an era in which the grunge sound that had been stewing in Seattle for years would take center stage. It marked the beginning of alternative rock's reign as a mainstream radio staple. Finally, it ended the careers of cock-rockers everywhere, many of which would not be resurrected until VH1 started airing Behind the Music years later. Overnight, the members of Poison, Ratt, and Stryper (among countless others) would be looking for new work. Of course, the genre itself didn't spring up overnight - however instantaneous the effects of grunge were felt on a mainstream level, it was a movement with deep roots and influences that went back nearly a decade. Luckily for us, many of the successful Seattle bands were wont to tip their hats to the original influences - be it in concert (Nirvana covering the Wipers' "D-7" and inviting the Meat Puppets to play with them on their unplugged set, for example) or explicitly in interviews. Kurt Cobain himself seemed to particularly detest listeners who did not appreciate the history of his band and genre, kicking off the unplugged sessions by saying "This is off our first record, most people don't know it" before launching into "About a Girl" from Bleach (1989).

Cobain's concerns (particularly in the wake of his death) did not fall on deaf ears. Post-Nirvana, there has been a good deal of interest in the band's influences. Nonetheless, the popular sentiment remains that grunge was born with Nirvana. This could not be further from the truth. One could argue, for example, that the Melvins (who formed in 1983 when Cobain was just 16 years old) were the first true bearers of the genre's torch. Indeed, there are merits to this argument - lead singer/guitarist Buzz Osborne knew Cobain since he was 11 years old, and was certainly one of the biggest influences on the future rock icon. Furthermore, both Osborne and Melvins drummer Dale Crover were members of Cobain's first band, Fecal Matter.

For me, however, grunge begins with the release of Mudhoney's single "Touch Me I'm Sick"/"Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More." Mudhoney formed in 1988, and quickly signed to Sub Pop (whose first release had been Dry As a Bone by Green River - a band whose members would eventually form Mudhoney). Soon after, the band would release its debut EP, Superfuzz Bigmuff, along with the aforementioned single. The hallmark of the single is its all-out filthiness - something that must have been particularly shocking, especially given the fact that it was released at a time when overproduction and cleanliness in music was the norm. The B-side, "Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More," sounds like a Stooges outtake - complete with snarling vocals and a diving guitar line. However, the centerpiece of the single (and today's upload) is the A-side. One notices the filth almost immediately on "Touch Me I'm Sick" - even before the first notes of the track, we hear the buzzing of an overdriven amp. When the guitar does come in, it is shrouded in crackling distortion - the product of a Big Muff pedal. Mark Arm's vocals on the track are delivered in a fashion vaguely reminiscent of an overdriven Kim Fowley ca. "Animal Man." - though not all too similar from a tonal perspective, their phrasing seems cut from the same cloth. The finest (and filthiest) moment of the song comes during the final repetition of the chorus as Arm alters the refrain to "fuck me, I'm sick."

This is as grungy as it gets, boys and girls. Nevermind was one hell of an album, but it never sounded quite this dirty. You can find both the A and B side of the single on Superfuzz Bigmuff Plus Early Singles, an expanded edition of Mudhoney's first EP. It is essential listening for fans of Nirvana and the Stooges, as well as anyone seeking a little more unbridled filth in his or her life.

Pleasantly sullied.

Touch Me I'm Sick

H.P. Lovecraft Gets Its Due

2008-04-03T08:00:00.001-04:00

When one thinks of music in the late sixties, the mind usually wanders to the major scenes of the time. We think of San Francisco hippies with flowers in their hair, Los Angeles freaks, London mods, and gritty New York artists with heroin problems. It's easy to forget that every major city had its own take on the music of the era. In Philadelphia, Todd Rundgren was putting his own spin on psychedelic rock with Nazz. Detroit eschewed the peace and love entirely, instead opting for all-out brutal noise attacks. Canterbury, UK, was experimenting with a fusion of jazz and psychedelia.

The subject of today's post comes to us from one of these forgotten scenes - and from the "criminally under-appreciated" file, as well. H.P. Lovecraft formed in Chicago in 1967. Based around the dual vocal attack of guitarist George Edwards and organist Dave Michaels, and further embellished by Michaels' jazz chops, the band managed to make a name for itself in its home city. Their hastily-recorded 1967 self-titled debut was an amalgam of several disparate influences - from feelgood psychedelic pop (a cover of the Youngbloods' "Get Together" - which itself was a cover of a Chet Powers song), to folk standards ("Wayfaring Stranger"), to jazz ("That's How Much I Love You Baby (More or Less)." These influences were masterfully blended by the band, which managed to put its own stamp on everything without sounding like a group of rip-off artists.

Encouraged by the results of their first record, the band moved to San Francisco. It was there that they recorded H.P. Lovecraft II (1968), their finest studio effort. From the beginning acoustic 12-string notes of "Spin, Spin, Spin," one gets the sense that the band had matured quite a bit in the year between their first and second records. The song is completely devoid of drums, and the often-upbeat sound that characterized the band's first record is noticeably absent. The wind chimes, heavily effected vocals, and tinkling piano of "Electrollentando" take the departure even further, creating something of a psychedelic dreamscape. Indeed, it seems the band was trying to do something different on its second album - a claim that is certainly supported by their move to San Francisco. However, H.P. Lovecraft II is not a mere rehashing of the Bay Area scene of the time. Much like it did with their musical influences on the first record, the band put its own unique stamp on the San Francisco experience. Perhaps reflecting further influence of its namesake, H.P. Lovecraft's second album is wrapped in a strange darkness that is absent from most other San Francisco offerings. Today's post is "It's About Time," the second track on the LP. Despite the fairly positive lyrics, this is not sunshine pop. Note the instrumental interlude, laden with tape-delayed guitar and stereo-panned organ, coming to a rousing climax with a descending string line. You won't be finding this on a Moby Grape record.

Not to be judged by its cover.

It's About Time

Shudder

2008-04-02T23:12:00.002-04:00

I know that I typically refrain from excessively short posts, but this article caused me a serious amount of distress. Can this be true? Isn't everything that rock stands for inherently opposite everything that Republicanism stands for? Libertarianism I can see, but Republican rockers???

Cressida

2008-04-02T08:00:00.001-04:00

Among my closest friends, there's very little that arouses more musical revulsion than the word "prog." Not that my friends are opposed to progress in music (I like to think that by and large, they're a rather forward thinking bunch). Rather, they're put off by the progressive genre - and I can't necessarily blame them. As a whole, the genre is peppered with bands that have very little to say, yet take upwards of ten minutes per song to say it anyway. Furthermore, progressive bands often abused their musicianship to a masturbatory extent, and many of them also incorporated extraordinarily nerdy (read: dungeons and dragons) themes and lyrics. This is a genre that alienates quite a few people - it's too wanky for fans of song-based pop, too raw for classicists, and often not competent enough for jazz-heads.

Nonetheless, I will confess that I have a few favorites in the genre. King Crimson's first few records were all very solid (particularly their criminally underrated 1970 record, In the Wake of Poseidon). I've even been known to get into a little Emerson, Lake, and Palmer from time to time. Say what you will about their genre - Keith Emerson was a motherfucker of an organ player, and Greg Lake's voice is one of the strongest out there. Still, I'm generally put off by most prog "masterpieces" - a little too much style and far too little substance for my tastes.

Despite this, I'm fascinated with the origins of prog - specifically the genre's connection to psychedelic rock. As the psychedelic era came to a close, many bands sought to gradually expand the horizons of rock music by looking towards jazz and classical influences. Some incorporated horns, mellotrons, and woodwinds to augment their rock lineups. Others began basing their music around keyboards as opposed to guitars. Still more ditched traditional song structures entirely and tried their hands at writing improv-heavy instrumental suites. The bottom line is that the musical community didn't snap its fingers and suddenly start churning out music that sounded like peak era Rush or Genesis - rather, there was a short transition period between pop and what we've come to think of as prog. It's bands that straddled this line that particularly interest me - "proto-prog," if you will.

Among these bands is Cressida, an English group with trappings of both pop and prog. Existing only briefly from 1969 through 1971, Cressida managed to put out only two records before splitting up. Today's upload, "To Play Your Little Game" is the first track on their self-titled album, and it is fairly representative of the LP as a whole (most notably due to the fact that it's under four minutes long). The song seems to be undergoing something of an identity crisis. For one, the lyrics (which are quite poor, I might add) are squarely based in pop. The song structure is fairly normal - outside of the lack of a bridge, it's textbook pop structure. There is no excessive soloing. Still, the song is driven by a Hammond organ (which is pretty tastefully employed, save the wanky bit before the choruses) and much if it is in a frantically-paced 3/4 time signature. This is clearly not mainstream rock, but it's also not strict prog, either. It's quite a curiosity. And it's got one hell of a chorus, to boot. Also note the album cover, which looks as if it could have come from the height of the psychedelic era.

Cressida (1970)

To Play Your Little Game

The Foppish Pansy vs. Mr. Zimmerman

2008-04-01T08:00:00.002-04:00

Where can I get a coat (shawl? boa?) like Donovan's?

A while ago, I alluded to my affection for Donovan. I think in the context of the post, I called him a "foppish pansy" - a characterization I still stand by. Of course, clothing and toughness never enter the equation when it comes to choosing music. For this reason, I am perfectly content - nay, proud - to have several of the man's albums. Donovan's psychedelic folk pop is both pleasant and unique - much of it belongs in your record collection.

But there's something that upsets me about Donovan: the comparisons he's been receiving to Bob Dylan since he was 18. It's insulting to both artists. Superficial similarities aside (they were both young big-haired balladeers who listened to Woody Guthrie), there really isn't much in common between the two. When one decides to listen to Sunshine Superman (1966), he does not do so because he expects his mind to be blown by Donovan's stellar lyrics. Likewise, very few people throw on Highway 61 Revisited (1965) expecting pastoral prettiness. While Dylan was penning poignant social commentary and delivering it with trademark rasp, Donovan was quite content to write songs about being fed LSD by Mama Cass in San Francisco ("Fat Angel"). In retrospect, it is clear that the two were up to drastically different things. Yet, the music media of the era saw the need to compare the two of them - and even to pit them against one another. Hardly fair, really. One wonders who had the great idea in the first place: "Hey, this teen-aged Scot writes some really nice songs. Let's give him a complex by constantly comparing him to the voice of a fucking generation."

As if this weren't bad enough, Donovan himself seems to have added fuel to the fire since day one. Certainly, he idolized Dylan, and I suspect he also fancied the notion of friendly competition between the two of them. Perhaps Donovan saw Dylan as a peer. Dylan, on the other hand, saw Donovan as a minor annoyance - a man who wrote naive little ditties while he was out fighting the more important battles. His dismissive attitude is clearly on display in the video clip below, an excerpt from Don't Look Back.

"Eh."

Later in the documentary, the two finally meet and engage in something of a "song-off." Note that as a raw musician, Donovan is the more accomplished of the two - his voice and guitar playing are both technically better than his idol's. However, raw musical ability alone sometimes doesn't quite cut it - note Donovan's reaction during and after Dylan's rendition of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue."

"Go back to Glasgow, sissy."

You'd think that Donovan would have learned his lesson over the years, but he apparently has not. In his autobiography, Hurdy Gurdy Man, he states that while Dylan's lyrics are certainly better than his, "musically, I am more creative and influential." Creative, maybe - I might be able to give him that one. But more influential than Dylan? Mr. Leitch, perhaps all that acid you did with Cass is finally catching up to you.

But perhaps I am being too harsh here. Despite his penchant for talking out of his ass, I personally enjoy Donovan quite a bit. I prefer to see him for what he is (purveyor of damned fine psychedelic folk) as opposed to what he is not (the second coming of Bob Dylan). Today's post is "Celeste," the final track on Sunshine Superman. It's a fine example of what Donovan does best - and frankly, of something that Dylan never could (nor would) have done himself. Note the tasteful use of the sitar, as well as the mellotron. Also note the celeste solo in the middle - clever touch. This is a high point of psychedelic folk.

Celeste

A video of Donovan playing a stripped-down version by the side of a lake can be found here as well.

Paris 1919

2008-03-28T08:00:00.001-04:00

It's Friday, and I'm excited. After four days of explaining the trajectory of John Cale's early career, I finally feel as though I can do justice to Paris 1919 (1973) in writing.

Between the release of Vintage Violence and Paris 1919, Cale took two detours into the world of the experimental: a 1971 collaboration with minimalist Terry Riley, and his 1972 release, The Academy in Peril. Returning to his roots, it would seem that Cale was grounding himself. Regardless of his intent, the time off from pop certainly seemed to recharge him for his 1973 powerhouse record.

Cale's complaint with Vintage Violence was that it lacked personality, and one gets the sense that he intended to remedy this on his second pop album. It doesn't take long for his true self to shine through on Paris 1919 - the record begins with "Child's Christmas in Wales," which itself kicks off with an odd-metered line (I believe it's in 11) that immediately gives way to and eminently listenable verse. Backed by a descending bassline and sustaining Hammond organ, Cale's richly poetic lyrics nostalgically interpret Welsh poet Dylan Thomas' short story of the same name. I say "nostalgically" because one gets the sense that Thomas' Christmas recollections could in fact be Cale's and vice versa. Certainly, the lyrics (and the Thomas allusion) suggest that the song is set in WWI or post-WWI Wales - the mentions of Sebestapol and Adrianapolis (both WWI battles) confirm this. Nonetheless, Cale seems to be drawing upon the similarities between himself and Thomas - both Welsh artists - despite their being from such drastically different milieus. The song is by no means a literal interpretation of the story - there is something far greater than a simple retelling at work here.

Cale adopts period guise for the cover of Paris 1919

The album as a whole expands upon themes put forth in the opening track. Cale seems to be wrestling with epochs and locales seemingly so unlike his own, yet he approaches them with a striking personal familiarity. "Macbeth" removes the Shakespearian play from its Globe Theater origins and turns it into a spirited rock stomp. Cale yet again flexes his arranging muscles and classical chops on "Paris 1919," wrapping the post-war "gay Paree" of the Modernists in ornate orchestration. "Graham Greene" adeptly utilizes second-person perspective to situate the listener in the English moralist's world. Most impressive about the record: the music itself is so inviting and engrossing that one is apt to miss the thematic complexity almost entirely upon first listen.

The greatest beauty of Paris 1919 is its ability to find common ground with everything it touches - particularly its diverse and often grandiose themes, which are transformed from history textbook instances into remarkably accessible pop songs. The album's audience is not exempt from Cale's uncanny ability to relate to anything and anyone he pleases, and perhaps no track on the record exemplifies this more so than "Child's Christmas in Wales." It contains moments for all listeners: conservatory trained classicists, literate art students, and casual pop listeners alike.

Child's Christmas in Wales

John Cale, Casual Collaborator

2008-03-27T08:00:00.007-04:00

By 1970, with reputable producing, songwriting, and playing credits under his belt, John Cale was in a favorable position to work with whomever he pleased. Given his excellent taste, it was no surprise that he would choose to work with one of the most venerated names in music: Nick Drake. Of course, Drake was by no means a popular figure at the time - his records never sold well during his lifetime, and he had only released Five Leaves Left (1969) at the time of his collaboration with Cale.

The story goes that Cale heard Drake's work through producer Joe Boyd, with whom he was working on Nico's album Desertshore (1970). The subsequent events are detailed by Trevor Dann:

When John Cale heard Nick Drake's music he was enchanted. "He was a very quiet guy. It was very difficult to figure out what was going on in his mind. He made music with a real sensuality - very different from English folk music." So he persuaded Joe Boyd to let him play on the album. For a couple of days in the spring of 1970, Cale moved into Nick's Belsize Park flat and worked on two of his best songs, "Fly" and "Northern Sky." Joe Boyd remembers Nick being overawed by John Cale's fame and phenomenal musicality: "He was kinda trailing in his wake. I said, 'Are you happy with this, Nick', 'Yeh, yeh, I guess so yeh, yeh.'"

- Trevor Dann, Darker Than the Deepest Sea: The Search for Nick Drake (p. 144)

And so it was. Both "Fly" and "Northern Sky," classics from Bryter Layter (1970), would be arranged by the Drake/Cale tandem with Cale fleshing out the arrangements himself in the studio. As per usual, Cale's arrangements of both tracks were impeccable - he imbued the tracks with a suitable melancholy that perfectly complemented Drake's songwriting.

Today's post is "Fly." I found it difficult to choose between it and "Northern Sky," but ultimately chose the former due to its employment of Cale's trademark viola. Our hero is also playing harpsichord on the track.

Fly

John Cale, Solo Artist

2008-03-26T08:00:00.001-04:00

Let's have a look at John Cale's CV from the point at which he started work on Vintage Violence (1970), his first solo record:

1963 Student, Berkshire Music Center - Tanglewood
Following extensive music education at the University of London, was invited to study under Aaron Copland and Iannis Xanakis. Disallowed from performing any compositions, as the bulk were considered too abrasive (one of which involved taking an axe to a table).

1965 - 1968 Founding member/multi-instrumentalist, The Velvet Underground
Along with collaborator Lou Reed, oversaw New York's avant garde staple during its salad days. Forged ties with Andy Warhol. Contributed bass, viola and organ both live and in the studio. Was the chief architect behind the noise assault of White Light/White Heat. Asked to leave the band following co-founder's desire to write prettier songs.

1968 Producer/arranger, The Marble Index (Nico)
Adorned Nico's minimal Teutonic poetry and harmonium with orchestration. Despite the harmonium being out of tune with the rest of the instruments, the record was critically acclaimed.

1969 Producer, The Stooges (The Stooges)
Coaxed several raucous performances out of angsty Detroit teens The Stooges.

See the trend here? It seemed everything Cale touched was edgy, noisy, or even nearly unlistenable. Certainly, those who heard he was working on a record called Vintage Violence must have been expecting more of the same. Choirs of chainsaws, perhaps? Rusty blenders switching on and off rhythmically over a droning viola? A guitar feedback orchestra performing a symphony in quarter tones? Nobody would have batted an eyelid. Instead, Cale managed to surprise everybody - he made a conventional pop record.

Much in the way Lou Reed shocked Velvet Underground fans by following White Light/White Heat with the delicate The Velvet Underground (1969), John Cale provided his audience with a record filled with melodic and pastoral rock. Far from his work with the Velvets, Vintage Violence was filled with acoustic guitars, lap steel, and conventional song structures. From the spirited opening "Hello There" to the Spectoresque "Big White Cloud" to the downright jaunty "Adelaide," this was not the John Cale anybody was expecting. Apparently, it also surprised Cale. He would later remark in his autobiography that the album cover, featuring the his visage covered by a nylon stocking, was fairly symbolic of the album as a whole: "You're not seeing the personality."

"You're not seeing the personality."

Despite the artist's comments, I have always seen Vintage Violence as being thoroughly reflective of Cale. At its root, the album is a grand experiment - perhaps not in the sense that we usually think of, but certainly a radical one given the history of its creator. Here was a man with an established pedigree as an avant-gardist and classicist making a simple pastoral record. If nothing else, he was continuing to push his boundaries. From a musical perspective, the arrangements are all impeccable. The droning violas and distorted organs have been replaced with lap steel and reverb-drenched backing vocals, but they are evocative nonetheless. File Vintage Violence under "successful experiments."

Today's upload is "Gideon's Bible," my personal favorite track from the record (and one of my favorite tracks in general). Note that Cale's viola makes an appearance - you can hear it in the right channel of your stereo. Also listen for the tasteful use of the lap steel in the choruses (also in the right channel) - the more I listen, the more I'm tempted to buy one for myself...

Gideon's Bible

John Cale, Producer

2008-03-25T08:00:00.001-04:00

In the wake of his departure from the Velvet Underground, John Cale became something of a musical free agent. Armed with his pedigree as a classically trained musician and former member of the Velvets, he would not have to look very hard for new gigs. The first of such gigs was as producer and arranger of Nico's 1968 avant garde classic, The Marble Index. With Nico providing only Gothic lyrics and minimal harmonium accompaniment, it would be Cale's task to adorn the record with further instrumentation. The results were stunning, and The Marble Index would subsequently be considered an experimental classic. Below is a video collage for "Frozen Warnings," a track from the record. Note the thick (though evolving) drone that Cale created over Nico's poetry.

Avant folk? Experimental? Modern Classical? Nico's "Frozen Warnings"

Fresh from his sessions with Nico, John Cale was tapped to produce the debut album for the Stooges. Then relatively unknown outside of Detroit, Iggy Pop & Co had been signed to Elektra by an A&R scout who had seen the band opening for the MC5 (to whom he had also extended a recording contract). It seemed that if anyone would be able to capture the raw essence of the Stooges' live show, it would be Cale. Unfortunately, this did not turn out to be the case. The Stooges (1969) would become a classic album and spawn some of the band's most memorable songs ("1969," "I Wanna Be Your Dog"), but it sounds tame in comparison to the blown-out production of Fun House (1970) and Raw Power (1973). Though Cale most certainly coaxed some excellent performances out of the Stooges, none of his final mixes seemed to capture the raw angst of the group. As a result, these mixes were scrapped - the final master was mixed by Iggy Pop and Elektra president Jac Holzman. Four of Cale's original mixes would be released on a 2005 reissue of The Stooges, and I am providing one of them today: "I Wanna Be Your Dog." I have also included a video containing the album mix for comparison. Note that in comparison to the final album mix, the guitar is buried in Cale's mix. The percussion is much hotter, as is the bass. Not until the end of the track do we hear anything remotely approaching "in-your-face" guitar, and it comes in the form of a fuzz solo that is louder in the mix than Iggy's vocal.

The album version.

I Wanna Be Your Dog (Original John Cale Mix)

It's John Cale Appreciation Week!

2008-03-24T08:00:00.002-04:00

John Cale, Band Member

As of the last few weeks, I've been listening to quite a bit of John Cale's work. Most specifically, I've found myself under the spell of Paris 1919 (1973), perhaps his most acclaimed solo effort. I had intended to write on this album, but found myself with something of a dilemma. Part of my appreciation for Paris 1919 comes from my understanding of Cale's diverse output as a whole. To reduce the man's work to one track from one record, I figured, would cheapen it. How could I possibly convey the depth and breadth of Cale's influence? My solution: John Cale Appreciation Week. Conveniently, Mr. Cale was born in March, so I can use his 66th birthday as an excuse for such an endeavor. For the next week, I'll be examining the range of John Cale's work from 1967 - 1973 - a narrow span of time, to be sure, but a very productive period nonetheless.

The beginning of John Cale as a popular figure begins with his formation of the Velvet Underground, though he had been respected as a musician for years before. Born in Wales, Cale would take up the viola at a young age and eventually major in music at the University of London. He came to the States in 1963 after receiving a scholarship to study at Tanglewood with famed American composer Aaron Copland. Eventually, Cale fell into the New York avant garde scene with John Cage and La Monte Young, among others. It was through his connections to the New York underground that he met Lou Reed, with whom he formed the Velvet Underground in 1965.

Cale's contributions to the Velvets were numerous. He was most obviously an instrumentalist, playing everything from bass to viola and organ. He would also bring with him a number of avant garde ideals from his classical days - most notably his love of drones and noise. Such influences would show on both the band's debut, The Velvet Underground and Nico (1967) and White Light/White Heat (1968). The former would showcase a balanced approach, vacillating between Lou Reed's pop influences and Cale's experimentalism. The latter record, on the other hand, would be a study of the avant garde, culminating in the 17 minute noise jam of "Sister Ray" (on which Cale played a distorted electric organ). Both records, though hopeless flops from a commercial standpoint, are now considered among the most influential records in history. Brian Eno would later famously comment that while The Velvet Underground and Nico sold horribly, everyone who did hear the record ended up starting a band.

Following the experimental impulses (and horrid sales) of the band's first two records, Lou Reed began to gravitate towards a more pop oriented approach in his songwriting. The tension between he and Cale that had fueled the band's first two records was becoming less productive and more of a nuisance. Before embarking on sessions for the their third record, the Velvets gradually pushed John Cale out of the mix, replacing him with Doug Yule. This would mark the end of the band's most fervently experimental period. Cale's final recording sessions with the Velvet Underground occurred in February of 1968. During these sessions, the band cut "Hey Mr. Rain," a track that smacks of his influence. Prominently featuring the droning viola that was one of Cale's signatures with the Velvets, the song was not released until it was included on the outtakes retrospective VU in 1985. It is provided for you today.

In addition, I am including a video of the band writing "Sunday Morning," the opening track on The Velvet Underground and Nico. The film is accompanied by the final version of the song, which was co-written by Reed and Cale.

Is it just me, or does the mustached Cale look like Dave Navarro?

Hey Mr. Rain

Easter Everywhere

2008-03-19T08:00:00.003-04:00

Due to the upcoming Easter weekend (and the sorely needed break I am taking for its duration), I will be posting a little more erratically over the next week or so. I'm hoping the break will afford me some extra time to sleep and evaluate some new records. I'll still probably be posting in the interim, I'm just not certain of how consistently.

In the meantime, I felt it was appropriate to write on Easter Everywhere (1967), the 13th Floor Elevators' second record. Fronted by 19-year-old Roky Erickson, the Elevators formed in Austin, TX in 1965. They recorded their first album, The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators in 1966 - it would be the first time a band utilized the term "psychedelic" to describe their music. Not surprisingly, the album sleeve contained brazen endorsements of LSD. The music itself was fairly successful - "You're Gonna Miss Me," the album's single, made it as high as #55 on the charts. The follow-up to The Psychedelic Sounds of, 1967's Easter Everywhere, was a comparatively more mature effort. From the opening 8-minute opus, "Slip Inside this House," to the upbeat "She Lives," to a strung-out cover of Bob Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," the album rarely falters. It is considered one of the finest statements of the psychedelic era, despite never selling particularly well or producing any hit singles.

Unfortunately, the band's lifestyle eventually caught up with them. In 1968, Erickson was hospitalized after speaking gibberish. He was diagnosed as a schizophrenic (perhaps, as was the case with Syd Barrett, brought on by extensive use of LSD), subjected to ECT, and released. Later in 1969, Roky was caught in possession of a single joint. Due to the draconian Texas laws, he faced a ten year prison sentence - a punishment he avoided by pleading insanity. Sadly, this plea would lead to several more years of ECT and hospitalization, which he unsuccessfully attempted to escape several times. By the time he was released, the psychedelic era was long gone, the 13th Floor Elevators had broken up, and Roky was a shadow of his former self.

Today's upload is "Nobody to Love," one of my preferred tracks from Easter Everywhere. In addition, I've posted a video clip of the band miming "You're Gonna Miss Me" on television. Note that Tommy Hall, the band's lyricist, is playing an "electric jug" (it's actually a closely-miked "acoustic" jug) - this was a large part of the band's signature sound.

"Is this the 13th Floor?"

Nobody to Love

Revisiting Dungen

2008-03-18T08:00:00.002-04:00

It's been about four years since Dungen released Ta Det Lugnt, and I still have no idea what those Swedes are saying. Not that it makes much of a difference - the record is still fantastic, and I can sing most of the songs phonetically by now, anyway. Nonetheless, I often find myself wondering what they're singing about.

A little over a year ago, a Swedish intern began working at my office. We became fast friends, and I decided to ask him about the band. I was a little disappointed that he had never heard of Dungen (the bulk of the music he listened to was either American or British club pop/rap), but he was nonetheless glad to help me roughly translate some of the lyrics. We got a few lines into "Festival" when I asked him to stop. The rough translation went along the lines of "Festival makes me happy every single day." I could stand to hear no more. Perhaps it was the quality of the translation, but I began to fear that knowing what the songs meant might ruin my appreciation of the record. Even with Dungen's words reduced to unintelligible sounds and syllables, I loved the music. Why mess with such a beautiful thing?

Well, curiosity got the better of me again today. I began looking online for lyrical translations, and managed to find a few scattered here and there. For example, according to a poster here, the chorus to "Panda" is roughly translated as "Not everyone has it as good as you/I think you understand because I like her, too/How she is/Sometimes she gets angry/She was mine, but I guess you don't give a shit." Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

The fact remains that Ta Det Lugnt was a masterpiece when it was released nearly four years ago. Given the fact that I'm still researching translations of the Swedish lyrics, I would say it's aged pretty well. Today's post is "Panda," the first track on the album, and one of the finest indie singles of the last five years. For those of you who have not yet heard it, you're in for a treat.

If you have not done so already, spend some time with this record.

Panda

Oh yes, and I found something that might be of interest to the musicians out there: a website with the chords to many of Dungen's songs. Enjoy.

Their New Release Impending, Man Man Gets Love

2008-03-17T08:00:00.000-04:00

As regular readers of MP3some are aware, the bulk of the material about which I post is old - usually pre-1975. This has nothing to do with a lack of good modern music (there is quite a bit of it) and everything to do with my desire to know as much as possible about the golden era of pop. I do, in fact, listen to contemporary artists. For some reason, I'm just usually more excited about discovering old records than I am new ones. It's rare that news of a band's upcoming release gets me really excited - I think the last one I was really looking forward to was Tio Bitar, Dungen's 2007 follow-up to the stellar Ta Det Lugnt. It was a good record, but did not live up to my expectations. Perhaps I set the bar a little too high. Lately, however, I find myself eagerly awaiting a new album. Man Man is releasing Rabbit Habits, their follow-up to Six Demon Bag (2006), on April 8, and I am excited.

Man Man's defining characteristic is their ability to embrace both absurdity and emotional poignancy at once - a trick that precious few artists have mastered. As a devoted fan of Zappa and Beefheart, I deeply enjoy ridiculousness in music - but I will also readily acknowledge that the efforts of musical absurdists are typically affairs of the head, not the heart. No man is walking his daughter down the aisle to the disjointed melodies of Captain Beefheart. No heartbroken individual is throwing on Weasels Ripped My Flesh when he defeatedly sinks into his chair at the end of the day and pours himself a glass of bourbon. Man Man is a notable exception to the rule, however, and Six Demon Bag is testament to this. One minute, the record confronts you with delicate melodies and gut-wrenching lyrics over a slow piano waltz. The next, it serves you chants of "Mustache! Mustache! Mustache!" between Rhodes piano arpeggios and bursts of squawking horns. It's a thing of beauty - a record I'm comfortable giving to freak-rock enthusiasts and middle-of-the-road pop fans alike. I am hoping that Rabbit Habits will continue to walk the same fine line.

Today's upload is "Van Helsing Boombox," a track from Six Demon Bag. In addition to the album cut, I have also posted a video of Man Man performing the song live on Dutch television.

Rhodes piano = the way to Kid Gloves' heart.

Van Helsing Boombox

Theme from an Imaginary Western

2008-03-14T12:10:00.001-04:00

The first version of "Theme from and Imaginary Western" I heard was Mountain's live rendition from Woodstock. Leslie West introduced the song by mentioning it was written by Cream's Jack Bruce, then promptly launched into a spirited version. I was initially somewhat confused by the track - it did not sound like Cream at all. I chalked that up to the fact that it was Mountain (a poor man's Cream) playing the song.

Later, When my roommate and I semi-jokingly (well, I don't think it was a joke for him) got into Mountain's record, Climbing! (1970 - and love the title), I heard their album version of the song. "Theme from an Imaginary Western" was a highlight of the record for me - a well-written song with a nice Hammond organ in the background. It was not a favorite of my roommate, however, who preferred the band's riff-driven material. It still didn't sound like Cream, and I was still confused.

I eventually found a copy of Bruce's 1969 solo effort, Songs for a Tailor, and everything suddenly made sense. Far from the psychedelic blues of Cream, Songs for a Tailor is a nice amalgam of pop, folk, jazz, and even hints of country. It appears that Jack Bruce was something of a renaissance man. While fellow Cream member Eric Clapton was a guitar-slinging blues savant, Bruce's interests and abilities (he played bass, piano, organ, cello, and guitar on the record) were rather diverse. Songs for a Tailor reflects such diversity. In some ways, it reminds me of Blind Faith - sans the heavy blues guitar, of course. In other ways, it reminds me of No Other era Gene Clark - sans the spectacular production. The comparisons are by no means perfect, though. Jack Bruce is a unique artist with a sound all his own, and "Theme from an Imaginary Western" may well be his finest post-Cream piece of songwriting. It is the gem of his first solo record.

Mountain's version from the Cincinnati Pop Festival (1970).

Theme from an Imaginary Western

An Open Letter to John Mellencamp

2008-03-13T08:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Mr. Mellencamp (Mr. Cougar?),

I wanted to commend you for your political activism these days. It's good to see artists throwing themselves behind a good cause every now and then - particularly when it's a cause I can personally agree with. I know you had supported John Edwards - a good man, to be sure - for the Democratic nomination before he dropped out of the race. I also know that you recently chastised the McCain camp for using your songs during campaign events. It's good to see that you have clearly given thought to your platform, and have decided to take action when necessary. At the same time, I'm somewhat puzzled by your opposition to the war in Iraq. Don't get me wrong, I don't disagree with your opposition - I'll leave that to Mr. McCain - I'm just disappointed that your actions don't match up to your good intentions in regards to the subject.

Are you aware that the 2008 Chevy Silverado 1500 gets 14 miles per gallon? You must be, given the rigorous research you've done into every other issue behind which you've thrown yourself. Nonetheless, I still hear your "Our Country" song adorning Silverado commercials. Look - I work in music/advertising. I know how much money there is in licensing songs for use in commercials, especially when they air nationally. You probably made more money on Super Bowl Sunday than I have in my life. I can't criticize your desire to make money - hell, I could use a similar windfall myself. I can, however, criticize your willingness to throw your implicit support behind one of the gas-guzzling vehicles that contributes to our foreign oil dependency. If you believe - as I do - that the war in Iraq was about securing petroleum to slake our country's seemingly unending thirst, surely you must have some scruples about contributing to this problem. "This is our country," all right - big trucks with poor fuel efficiency for all! Do you not cringe every time you see your song on these ads? I certainly do.

Huzzah for big trucks!

While I'm riled up (and since this is, after all, an mp3 blog), I'd like to discuss your music as well. What's with the laziness? I understand the need to churn out mindless pop songs to sustain your lifestyle - again, I don't fault you for chasing the dollars with this whole "Our Country" thing - but did you really need to rewrite "Pink Houses" ["Ain't That America"]? I'll confess, I've never been a fan of "Pink Houses," but I'd also be the first to admit that there's some amount of depth to it. I don't particularly relate to (or enjoy, for that matter) your imagery of blue collar America, but it's there, and it's competent. Through this imagery, you managed to express the wildly differing versions of the American dream in a fairly graceful manner. You also managed to get some digs in there about the unjust class dynamics that are inherent in our American capitalist freedom - a point that I certainly appreciate, particularly in such an iconic pop song.

Back to this "Our Country" thing, though. Did you actually intend to record a dumbed-down version of "Pink Houses"? If so, you've certainly succeeded. You've taken everything that made your old hit unique and done away with it. That four-note guitar hook is gone. You got rid of that seething subtextual anger. You've replaced the earnest imagery with generic descriptions that seem lifted from a George Bush speech:

Well I can stand beside ideals I think are right
And I can stand beside the idea to stand and fight
I do believe there's a dream for everyone
This is our country

That sense of a common American dream is still there, only now it's explicitly stated. The independent-mindedness that made "Pink Houses" interesting (or in my case, tolerable) and quintessentially American is gone. You've traded it all in for an inoffensive "let's all be friends and rally around the flag" track.

There was a time when you held the title of "Springsteen of the Heartland" or "Poor Man's Bruce," but that has since faded. There was a time when you thumbed your nose at Ronald Reagan when he tried to use "Pink Houses" in a campaign ad. There was a time when you had something to say, even if I don't necessarily agree with how you said it. That was a long time ago - long before I learned to read, write, or listen to music with a critical ear.

You've had your fun, Mr. Mellencamp, but I think it may be time to hang up the old Fender Telecaster for good.

Sincerely,

Kid Gloves

The Sopwith Camel

2008-03-12T08:00:00.001-04:00

I mentioned The Sopwith Camel in passing during a previous post as one of the first bands I sought out on Napster. I had read that the Camel was the second band from San Francisco to get a major record deal (and the first to score a top 40 hit), and was determined to see what all the fuss was about. Unable to find any of the band's material in record stores, I turned to the new frontier of file sharing and had success.

What I first heard from the band (their top 40 single, "Hello Hello") did not impress me in the least. In fact, I remember being slightly put off by it. It sounded like it could have been a #1 single in 1925 - I could have sworn I'd heard it before on the soundtrack of A River Runs Through It. The only thing "modern" I could find about the song was the gently strummed electric guitar in the background. In retrospect, my initial impression of the track may have been a little short-sighted - indeed, many bands at the time were experimenting with retro styles. The Beatles would soon record the "White Album," upon which Paul McCartney would experiment with vintage pop ("Honey Pie," for example). The Lovin' Spoonful was dabbling in jug band music. Perhaps I was a little harsh to hold the arrangement of "Hello Hello" against the Sopwith Camel - it wasn't a poorly written song, it just wasn't what I was expecting from one of San Francisco's first major bands.

"Hello Hello" wasn't the most palatable thing I ever heard.

For some reason, I decided to continue my search of Sopwith Camel material. I figured that no band could possibly sustain the "Hello Hello" aesthetic over an entire album, let alone an entire career. However, this search was made difficult by the fact that the band only had two proper albums - one in 1967, and the other (a reunion album) in 1973. Given my opinion of the earlier material and the track record of San Francisco bands in the 70s (Jefferson Starship, anyone?), things did not look good for Sopwith Camel. I finally got hold of their reunion effort, 1973's The Miraculous Hump Returns from the Moon, I was ready to be sorely disappointed. For the most part, I was. The album as a whole did not hold up.

Nothing I can say will make this any funnier than it already is.

One track, however, reached uncommon heights of brilliance: "Fazon." I remember being hooked on the song the moment it started playing - its distant-sounding wah guitar combined with the opening saxophone line instantly drew me in. When the verse kicked in and revealed a fantastic bass groove, I was sold. To this day, I have no idea what - or who - "Fazon" is. All I know is that when the song starts playing, I can't help but nod my head and sing "Faaa - Faaa - Faaa - Fa - Fa - Fazon." Simply put, this is one of my jams - it has remained one of my favorite songs since the day I heard it a number of years ago.

I cannot say I listen to any Sopwith Camel outside of this single track. But based on the strength "Fazon" alone, I am comfortable calling myself a fan of the band. Songs this good are not accidents.

Fazon

SRC

2008-03-11T10:22:00.002-04:00

How musically influential was Detroit in the 60s? The city produced Motown, which would forever color pop aesthetics. It produced some of the groups from which punk rock and heavy metal would later claim lineage - most notably the Stooges and the MC5. Detroit would also produce its own brand of psychedelia that has since been largely forgotten. The most famous of these psychedelic acts was the Amboy Dukes, which featured a young Ted Nugent on guitar. Apparently, the arch-conservative Nuge was unaware that his band's first hit, "Journey to the Center of the Mind," was about drugs. Go figure.

However, of all Detroit's psychedelic acts, my personal favorite is SRC - Scott Richardson Case. Powered by the guitar/Hammond organ pyrotechnics of Gary and Glenn Quackenbush and the vocals of Scott Richardson, the band made a name for itself as one of the finest Detroit live acts of the era. Frequenting the Grande Ballroom (the venue where the MC5 recorded Kick Out the Jams) and opening for national touring acts such as Jimi Hendrix, SRC was rather well-liked by the local scene. Like most of the era's Detroit rock, the band's music was more "acid rock" than feel-good psychedelia - its darker themes, feedback-laden guitars, and rawer aesthetic provide a nice counterpoint to the contemporaneous hippy-dippy West Coast fare. Today's track is "Black Sheep," SRC's biggest hit from their self-titled record. Note the menacing sustained guitar during the breaks in the song - you won't be finding anything like that on a Scott McKenzie record.

SRC's first record. Apparently, it sounds great on vinyl. No surprises there.

Nowadays, things have changed in Detroit. We've traded Motown and the Stooges for the Insane Clown Posse and Kid Rock - pennies on the dollar, as far as I'm concerned. Regardless, we still have old records as proof of Detroit's moment in the sun - a time when the Motor City was a hub for forward-thinking music.

Black Sheep

Ronnie Von Gets His Due

2008-03-10T08:00:00.001-04:00

Today in musical circles outside of Brazil, Ronnie Von is best remembered as the man who introduced Os Mutantes to the masses. Certainly, he is deserving of such credit - his late-sixties television show, O Pequeno Mundo de Ronnie Von featured Mutantes as weekly performers during the band's infancy. However, the depth of Von's influence is far more significant than that of a mere television host.

Ronnie Von was a musician himself, and a rather successful one at that. While Brazilian musical sophisticates in the 60s typically opted either for Tropicália (Caetano Veloso, Gal Costa, Gilberto Gil, Os Mutantes, etc) or Bossa nova (Jobim, João Gilberto, Vinicius de Moraes) as their preferred genres, the mainstream masses were listening to "iê iê" - essentially the equivalent of teen pop. The genre's lyrics were uncomplicated, romantic, and inoffensive. Its music drew heavily from early American and British rock. It was within this genre that Von was a leading musical figure - so much so that he is still regarded by many as one of Brazil's finest popular singers ever. However, like much teen pop, "iê iê" was never regarded as being artistically substantive. While the Tropicalistas pushed the envelope, "iê iê" artists were candy makers, providing the masses with light pop.

From this milieu, Ronnie Von delivered his 1968 self-titled record. It was not his first record (nor his first self-titled record, for that matter), but it marked an interesting step for both him and the "iê iê" movement - it was an attempt to add more modern (well, modern for 1968) aesthetics to a genre that seemed to be stuck in the recent past. The album still sounds mainstream - it does still carry with it the schmaltz and cleanliness of big-budget pop. This said, it is nonetheless rather experimental for a straight pop album. Musically speaking, the arrangements and production are spotless. The record seems well informed by the symphonic pop of the era (The Walker Brothers being a point of comparison that comes to mind), and perhaps also the early work of the Tropicalistas. Regardless of the interesting leap forward, the record did not sell well - perhaps it was too "out there" for mainstream listeners, but too "inside" for the art scene. Indeed, the record seems to straddle such a line - it is unquestionably a pop record, though it carries some hallmarks of a more progressive effort.

When teen pop met Tropicalismo.

Today's post is "Esperança De Cantar," a track from the record. Note that the typical (though very competent) arrangement is punctuated by a fuzz guitar - a feature at home on a Gilberto Gil or Mutantes record, but surprising in a teen pop context.

Esperança De Cantar

Sly Stone

2008-03-07T09:56:00.002-05:00

Perhaps nobody better embodied the rise and fall of the 60s dream than Sly Stone. From idealistic and brilliant beginnings to a gradual burnout, Sly is best remembered for either his heyday or his downfall. Personally, I am most fascinated with his transitional period.

Following his success with Stand! (1969) and a memorable Woodstock performance, the demands began to pile up. Record executives demanded Sly's next big hit. Activists in the Black Panther Party demanded that he make his music "blacker" - starting with the de-integration of his band (similar pressure was also being placed on Jimi Hendrix at the time). Combined with the normal inter-band tension that constant touring and recording brings, these demands would start to wear on Sly.

By the time There's a Riot Goin' On came out in 1971, Sly Stone was a changed man. His optimistic dreams of the late 60s had deflated, and the drug problems that would characterize his later career had started to surface. Indeed, There's a Riot Goin' On is regarded by many as one of the ultimate "death of the 60s" records. I have characterized it in the past as sounding like a drug den, complete with poor lighting, scattered debris, and interjections of alternating pain and joy. Today's offering, "Love n' Haight" is the first track on the record. The album is completely worth tracking down, and is my favorite by Mr. Stone.

In addition, I am posting two videos from Sly's later period. The first is an interview with Mike Douglas in which he appears quite lucid (which is rather surprising for 1974). The second is a performance from the same television show - note that despite the years having taken their toll on him, Sly's immense talent still shines through.

Love the guy on the right.

Great song, brilliant man.

Love n' Haight

Thank You, Lou Pearlman

2008-03-06T08:00:00.003-05:00

Today in the "no surprises" department, Lou Pearlman will plead guilty to fraud. For those of you who aren't familiar with Mr. Pearlman's work, he is the "mastermind" behind such boy bands as the Backstreet Boys, N'Sync, LFO, O-Town, and a litany of other less successful "legitimate artists."

Looking like a plumper and more jovial version of Karl Rove,

Lou Pearlman is to blame for the late-90s boy band craze.

I can't say I'm shocked by this development. After all, Lou made his living (outside of creating businesses on paper and defrauding investors over a 20 year period, that is) by manufacturing musical acts, most of which had no actual talent, and none of which were organically formed. Much of the artificial shit-pop I was subjected to as a high school student had its genesis in Pearlman's bald head.

While I must say I'm tickled that he's being convicted of actual fraud, I'm somewhat upset that he cannot be tried for cultural swindling as well. This is an individual who convinced millions of screaming teenagers that five dancing boys with nominal vocal ability constituted music. This is an individual who stripped music of its spontaneity and dynamism, replacing it with carefully scripted contrivance and market-tested sheen. Teen pop has been a cultural phenomenon since the birth of the record industry, but never did it stoop as low as it did during the Pearlman era. The man had a key role in severely cheapening the art form most dear to me, and for that I can never forgive him.

Lou Pearlman's plea bargain will incriminate several other individuals involved in his web of lies. It will expose him to the public as the corrupt and immoral businessman that he is. On the same token, it will likely spare him extensive jail time. It may allow him to get back on his feet, sell his story, and live out the rest of his life comfortably before he finally succumbs to hypertension and/or congestive heart failure.

Most unfortunately, it will never repair the damage done to an entire generation of music consumers.

A Celebration of Kevin Ayers

2008-03-05T08:00:00.001-05:00

I first discovered Kevin Ayers in a fairly roundabout manner. When I was a freshman in college, I was desperate for information about a relatively new band at the time: the Walkmen (it was early 2002). I was searching the internet for examples of the band's music when I came upon a streaming radio show on which they had been guest DJs. I hoped that the band would have played a song or two of their own. As I recall, they did nothing of the sort - they were just playing a bunch of their favorite records. The Walkmen closed the show by spinning a song that I instantly fell for: "Song for Insane Times" by Kevin Ayers.

I remember being fascinated by the track. It was the first time I had heard an electric organ through a wah pedal. The drummer was playing what I considered to be the perfect hybrid between "jazz drums" and "rock drums" (he turned out to be Robert Wyatt). The musician in me was impressed by the chord changes. Finally, I was captivated by Ayers' voice - a rich baritone that seemed nonchalant to the point of sloth.

Indeed, Kevin Ayers' career (and his life as well) has been marked by meted doses of insouciance. Ayers was the son of a BBC producer. His parents divorced when he was young, and his mother remarried a British civil servant. He spent much of his childhood in Malaysia, where he developed a taste for the easygoing tropical lifestyle very early on. Eventually, he would move back to Canterbury, UK, where he fell into the burgeoning music scene. He was a founding member of the Soft Machine, leaving the group after recording one album and touring the US in support of Jimi Hendrix. Burned out by the hectic schedule, he would move to Majorca to decompress (the Softs would write a song about this, "As Long as He Lies Perfectly Still"). Only after an extended absence did he return to the music world to record his debut record, Joy of a Toy (1969).

Here's a song for 'clean machine Kevin Majorca'
He's found his own way to live in Majorca
Don't walk, don't drink
Don't talk, just think
Heaven on earth, he'll get there soon.

Kevin's highly unlikely to get ill
At least as long as he lies perfectly still
He eats brown rice
And fish, how nice -
Heaven on earth, he'll get there soon.

- from "As Long as He Lies Perfectly Still," The Soft Machine Volume Two (1969)

Joy of a Toy is a lovely record. Some of it is pleasantly pastoral ("Town Feeling," "The Clarietta Rag"), some of it ridiculously absurd ("Joy of a Toy Continued," "Oleh Oleh Bandu Bandong"). However wonderful the record is, the greatest highlight for me remains "Song for Insane Times" - backed by his former Soft Machine bandmates, Ayers lets rip with a beautiful piece of psychedelic-jazz-pop perfection.

In addition to "Song for Insane Times," I have also posted a video of "May I," a track on Ayers' second album, Shooting at the Moon (1970). Among the members of his band are Lol Coxhill (saxophone) and Mike Oldfield (bass).

Interesting group of guys...

Song for Insane Times

Epilogue: Subsequently, I did track down the Walkmen's debut record and loved it. They remain one of my favorite contemporary bands. In addition, "Song for Insane Times" inspired me to seek out the Soft Machine's first two records - both of which have since eclipsed Joy of a Toy for me. But that's a story for another day...

A Chronology of Music Piracy

2008-03-04T09:36:00.002-05:00

Since the beginning of the mp3 era, people have sought to use the internet as their own personal music library. Yet, it seems that every time the masses have "figured it out," the recording industry has showed up and put an end to the fun. What happens in the wake of such an event is always the same: after a month or two of lamenting that things will never be the same, music consumers discover a new means of file-sharing and the cycle starts anew. It's a game of cat and mouse that leaves the music industry fuming and consumers' hard drives clogged with mp3 files and obsolete file-sharing programs.

Today, I thought it would be nice to have a requiem for these obsolete applications/networks that brought us so much joy.

USENET (1979 - Present)

In the days before Napster, one of the few places to find pirated music and applications was on Usenet newsgroups. Newsgroups were essentially gigantic bulletin boards on which one could leave messages as well as large files. Unfortunately, Usenet peaked in popularity during a time before the widespread use of cable modems and DSL. This was fine if you were downloading a 10 mb rip of King's Quest V, but it was the kiss of death if you wanted to download entire albums. Nobody wanted to deal with 3+ hours of dropped connections and inconsistent download speeds.

Usenet is still very much alive, though not in wide use.

Things we learned: If this whole "internet" thing was going to catch on, the connections were going to need to be quite a bit faster.

Key tracks discovered: None. I was working with a 56K modem, and didn't have a profusion of hard drive space to begin with.

NAPSTER (1999 - 2001)

Introduced around the same time that high-speed internet started becoming commonplace.Napster was the first program that introduced the masses to the idea of free (albeit illegal) music. It was also the first program that brought the file sharing problem to the attention of major labels. The program worked very well before it became clogged with users, at which point, the main Napster servers became slow and unreliable. Third-party Napster servers sprung up to remedy this problem. Eventually, the recording industry shut down the program. It would later return as a legal version (a subscription service), though never experienced the success or popularity of its original incarnation.

Things we learned: Not only was file-sharing a viable means of obtaining records, but it was easier (and cheaper) than going to a record store. Furthermore, the selection was far better than your average Sam Goody. We also learned in the wake of the recording industry's anti-Napster campaign that Metallica just wasn't cool (though for the record, I had already known that for a very long while). Further proof of Metallica's lameness came with the release of 2003's St. Anger.

Key tracks discovered: Through the program, my initial interest in post-rock was sparked. The Swords Project's debut EP (which would have been impossible to obtain on the east coast at the time) and tracks from Mogwai's Ten Rapid (suggested to me by some Brits in a Napster chatroom) stick out in my mind. I also found "Fazon" by Sopwith Camel - a track that has since become a favorite - and got into surf rock for the first time. Most notably, I obtained an advance copy of Radiohead's Kid A about three months before its slated release - and bought it on the day it finally came out.

GNUTELLA (2000 - Present)

Following Napster's demise, Gnutella was promoted as the new frontier for file-sharing. Decentralized, massive, and supposedly easy to use, the program was supposed to be the savior. Unfortunately, it had its problems. For one, the searches never quite turned up as many results as Napster did. Furthermore, many (if not most) of the transfers were either slow or impossible to start in the first place. The network's inefficiency made it undesirable for serious music collectors.

Things we learned: Some degree of centralization is necessary for most P2P applications. Without it, we are faced with slow transfer speeds, fewer search results, and general inefficiency.

Key tracks discovered: None. Gnutella never really worked all that well for me, despite my best efforts. The only music I was able to find was mainstream pop. If I wanted that, I could have put on the radio.

AUDIOGALAXY (2001 - 2002)

To this day, I still miss Audiogalaxy. It may have been my favorite file-sharing program of all-time. The site's concept was excellent: the program itself was a little satellite application that ran in the background. All of the searching was done on the Audiogalaxy site. Users would select files for download in a queue, and Audiogalaxy would automatically connect them to the fastest possible download option. It was an extremely efficient and extensive database. Unfortunately, it was also perhaps the most blatantly illegal of all the P2P networks to date.

Things we learned: The greater the centralization, the more efficient and successful the network. Unfortunately, centralization was also the fastest way to being sued by the RIAA.

Key tracks discovered: Lots of odds and ends. Tons of post-rock and math rock, particularly from Chicago. I first heard tracks by Don Caballero, June of 44, the Shipping News, and the Mercury Program on Audiogalaxy.

SOULSEEK (2001 - Present)

The source for obscure music. Soulseek started as a community sharing avant garde and undergound music - particularly electronic music - and it has retained its independent edge. It was developed by Nir Arbel, a former member of the Napster team. The application isn't exactly the best place to find the new Linkin' Park record - though you're able to find mainstream material, there are far more efficient ways to do so from a file-sharing perspective. Perhaps Soulseek doesn't belong on this list, as it's not yet obsolete - nonetheless, I felt the need to address it.

Things we learned: The community aspect can make or break a file-sharing network. There are few people looking for mainstream pop on Soulseek's servers, and thus the server isn't clogged with junk.

Key tracks discovered: Lots of old music (psychedelic, soul, soundtrack) that hasn't been released on CD. Many vinyl rips. If you can't find a record in stores or on any other networks, chances are you'll eventually find it on Soulseek. You just need to know where (and when) to look.

BITTORRENT (2001 - Present)

On its own, the Bittorrent client does nothing. But coupled with a good tracker (OiNK and Demonoid were my favorites before they were shut down), it can be a force to be reckoned with. As such, Bittorrent itself does not seem to be in an legal danger - only the trackers that supply its users with content. The beauty of Bittorrent is that while there is no one centralized network, the client provides the opportunity for many different trackers to cater to their own specific user bases.

Things we learned: This one is still up in the air. OiNK and Demonoid have been shut down, but both look as if they may be back sooner rather than later (providing they find server space in a country sympathetic to their respective plights).

Key tracks discovered: I found an advance copy of TV on the Radio's Return to Cookie Mountain several months before its release on OiNK. This is probably my most significant Bittorrent coup.

LIMEWIRE (2001 - Present)

A traditional centralized P2P network, Limewire is most famous for its allowing users to download a file from multiple users at once. This technology makes for blazing fast download speeds. Unfortunately, the Limewire network is populated almost exclusively with mainstream pop, and its users have been targeted by RIAA lawsuits. Furthermore, due to the network's popularity, there are often viruses and irrelevant download links on its servers.

Things we learned: If you don't want to get sued, don't share your copies of Britney Spears albums on Limewire. Also, don't download any executable files.

Key tracks discovered: None. You don't look on Limewire for new music, you look for songs that everybody already knows.

Zappa vs. Mainstream Radio

2008-03-03T11:36:00.002-05:00

Given Frank Zappa's penchant for making unconventional music, it is no surprise that he never scored any smash hit singles on mainstream radio. This didn't stop him from attempting, however. He described the situation during a 1968 concert in Boston (I've added boldface type for emphasis):

Now we got desperate a few months ago and uh, because we thought nobody liked us. And uh, we're also pissed off at the fact that people won't play our records on the radio, and we didn't know whether or not it was 'cause our music was crappy or because somebody really knew what the words to the songs meant... However boys and girls, the people who run the radio stations are on the watch, you know, for our records, when they come in as soon as somebody sends a single to the radio station with our name on it they either melt it, break it, stomp on it or send it in an envelope directly back to the record company from which it came with a threatening note. But we said, "What the heck? Why can't we be just like other teen-age rock & roll bands -- outside of the fact that we're all over thirty -- and go and cut a single record and try and get the sucker on the radio?" So what we did was we went into a professional recording studio in New York City in the middle of the night for two nights in a row and also a Saturday afternoon for mixing and cranked out two miserable teen-age type records with words that couldn't possibly offend anybody and uh they're reasonably singable -- by any group other than the Mothers Of Invention -- and uh, they're teen-age boy-girl type songs. And so they're being released this week. I would expect to be able to add these to our list of smash flops very shortly.

- Frank Zappa, The Ark, 1968

The single Zappa was referring to was "My Guitar"/"Valarie," and it did in fact tank as he had anticipated - though not in the form he had anticipated. "Valarie" would never be released as a B-side - "My Guitar" would be accompanied by "Dog Breath" on 45. Later, a reworked version of "My Guitar" would appear on Zappa's classic 1970 album, Weasels Ripped My Flesh, as "My Guitar Wants to Kill Your Mama." "Valarie," in the meantime, would appear unaltered as a bookend to the heavily instrumental Burnt Weeny Sandwich (1970).

Anyone wishing to get on my good side can do so by purchasing me a pristine copy of this 45.

Today's post is the original single version of "My Guitar," which is radically different from the album version of the song. First of all, the tempo is slower. The horns that characterize the Weasels version are absent. Zappa's guitar is also featured in more of a prominent role on the 45 version. Overall, the single version sounds a lot more like standard 60s pop than the album version. No surprise, given that this is what Zappa was going for.

My Guitar

The Modern Label

2008-02-29T12:04:00.002-05:00

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.

Seatrain

2008-02-29T00:30:00.000-05:00

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.

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.

Sea Train

Donny Hathaway

2008-02-28T00:25:00.001-05:00

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.

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.

Little Ghetto Boy

The Problem with American Idol

2008-02-27T15:30:00.000-05:00

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.

Gentle on My Mind

2008-02-26T00:15:00.000-05:00

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:

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.

Gentle on My Mind

Blond

2008-02-25T01:15:00.000-05:00

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?

Like A Woman

Sailing Across the Ocean

Love for Eric Dolphy

2008-02-22T10:14:00.004-05:00

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.

Humanizing the Beatles

2008-02-21T10:21:00.002-05:00

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...

Rocker/Save the Last Dance for Me

Think for Yourself chatter

The Misunderstood

2008-02-20T12:06:00.000-05:00

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.

I Can Take You to the Sun

Find a Hidden Door

Makeup Artists

2008-02-19T14:05:00.002-05:00

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...

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, 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 (Consistent use, 1969 - present)

"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...

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.

THE MISFITS (Sporadic use, 1977 - 1983)

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Another Concept Album

2008-02-15T10:18:00.006-05:00

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.

Birthday

Flowers for a Lady

2008-02-14T10:56:00.003-05:00

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.

Flowers for a Lady

Making Nice with the 80s

2008-02-13T09:35:00.007-05:00

A home-made friendship collage for the worst decade of the 20th Century

I'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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

the Pretty Things

2008-02-12T13:11:00.000-05:00

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.

Bracelets of Fingers

Also worth tracking down: Parachute, the band's 1970 effort. The first side of the record is particularly stunning.

The Index

2008-02-11T13:01:00.000-05:00

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."

Fire Eyes

Psychedelic! Exotic! Sultry!

2008-02-08T12:17:00.000-05:00

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.

Istemem

The Outsiders

2008-02-07T15:26:00.000-05:00

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.

Misfit

Savage Rose

2008-02-06T09:43:00.000-05:00

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.

Evening's Child

The Twisted World of Todd Rundgren

2008-01-31T12:39:00.000-05:00

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).

Zen Archer

Scott Walker is a Badass

2008-01-30T13:49:00.000-05:00

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.

The Seventh Seal

Fairport Convention

2008-01-29T10:54:00.000-05:00

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:

Mah Na Mah Na

2008-01-28T00:15:00.000-05:00

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.

Mah Na Mah Na

Frank Zappa

2008-01-24T13:34:00.000-05:00

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):

Paul McCartney? Emitt Rhodes.

2008-01-23T13:06:00.000-05:00

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 that was 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.

With My Face on the Floor

The Tages

2008-01-22T09:51:00.001-05:00

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...

"She's Having a Baby Now."

2.001

2008-01-15T10:11:00.000-05:00

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:

2.001

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).

A Captain Beefheart Education

2008-01-10T12:31:00.000-05:00

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.

A Rare Political Endorsement

2008-01-09T19:00:00.000-05:00

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.

Lenola

2008-01-09T12:41:00.000-05:00

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."

An Introduction to Moby Grape

2008-01-07T11:08:00.000-05:00

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:

You will note that the individual sitting behind the washboard is brazenly displaying his middle finger - certainly acceptable by today's standards, but a bit risqué for 1967. In response to this, the label airbrushed out the offending finger and released the album. The label also thought it would be a fine idea to release five singles from the album - all at once. Needless to say, the hype job didn't work too well.

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.

See and Don't See

2008-01-04T14:55:00.000-05:00

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.

See and Don't See

The Most Overrated Albums/Artists Ever

2007-12-30T21:26:00.000-05:00

In lieu of a "Best of 2007" list, here are five records and artists that are inexplicably worshiped despite their mediocrity.

#5
Songs in the Key of Life
Stevie Wonder

I love Stevie Wonder. Always have, always will. The man is brilliant, and I adore many of his records. But I've never understood the obsession with this one. Perhaps I wouldn't be so perplexed if it didn't routinely make critics' lists of the greatest records ever.

The album is far from offensive or difficult - if anything, it's too easy to get into. Still, every time I listen, I find myself longing for the depth, organicism, and honesty of Stevie's early 70's releases. It's as if he mortgaged himself for mega-stardom.

Some folks look at Songs in the Key of Life and call it the pinnacle of Stevie Wonder's career. I see it as the harbinger of his decline.

#4
BB King

For the record, I actually like BB King.

But I'm also well aware that there are many more talented blues-men out there than him. Hell, there are a handful of guys with the same last name who are better blues-men than him.

I've always seen his success as a result of his showmanship - which is admittedly stellar - rather than his musical ability.

A great performer? Sure. The face of the blues? Probably shouldn't be.

#3
Led Zeppelin

I often tell people that the only Led Zeppelin album they need is Led Zeppelin I. With a few notable exceptions ("Stairway to Heaven," "Kashmir," etc), the entirety of the band's catalog is essentially a rehashing of concepts and structures introduced in their first record.

MAKE YOUR OWN ZEPPELIN SONG:

Introduce the big riff - preferably isolated from the rest of the band.
Continue playing said riff over pounding 4/4 drumbeat. Modulate riff according to I/IV/V blues pattern. If possible, double riff with bass.
Introduce screechy vocals over riff/drums/bass.
Insert sloppy guitar solo while band drops out.
As sloppy solo comes to crescendo, insert the big scream.
Repeat steps 2-5 as necessary to complete song.

Spare me your vitriol, classic rock fans - Zeppelin didn't suck, but they were not nearly as good as you think they were.

#2
The Wall
Pink Floyd

Have you ever seen an interview with Roger Waters? The man is in love with himself, and perhaps rightfully so. Abandoned by management in the wake of Syd Barrett's departure in 1968, Waters took creative stewardship of Pink Floyd and led it through a tremendously successful decade of music. I enjoy much of this music immensely, in fact. Still, one wonders: how could anyone work with a man who was so clearly self-obsessed?

My answer: Waters was not always the egoist we see today. At some point, he succumbed to rockstar excess and the weight of his own ego. As far as I'm concerned, that point coincides with the recording of this album.

Overwrought self-indulgent tripe or masterpiece? You know which side of the argument I fall on.

#1
U2

Take the melody of "With or Without You" and superimpose it over most U2 songs. It will work nicely, if not perfectly - testament to the [disappointingly lacking] creativity of Bono & Co.

U2 should have been a one-hit wonder (say what you will about the rest of the band's output - "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" is a unique pop song). Somehow, they have parlayed their momentary success into 25 years of pop worship.

They haven't fooled me.

Across 110th Street

2007-12-26T01:02:00.000-05:00

Hello, my friends. I'm currently in my ancestral homeland for an extended holiday break. Plenty of rest, good food, and much-needed downtime with the family, but not all too much time to post music.

This said, I've found a new jam, and felt compelled to upload it for your consumption. The culprit: Bobby Womack's "Across 110th Street," the theme to the 1972 film of the same name.

Some of you may also know the track from Tarantino's 1997 film, Jackie Brown.

I've been listening to this song on repeat for the last couple of days, and it's probably not going to stop any time soon. Ah well. Better than having a shitty song stuck in my head.

Across 110th Street

Christmas Music

2007-12-21T14:00:00.000-05:00

Not to be a Scrooge here, but I've always found Christmas music a little lacking. It's not that it's necessarily poorly written or too uniformly joyful - and even when it is, I've always been able to forgive it. No, my biggest problem is with the people singing it.

It seems that everyone has some kind of Christmas song in his or her heart. People walking down the street whistle "Winter Wonderland" on their way to work. Transit employees mumble the tune to "Feliz Navidad" in the subways. Hell, even the striking workers across the street have modified their pro-union chants to fit the structure of holiday classics (though "Jingle Bells" is slightly more entertaining when its first lines of the chorus are "Aramark, you're no good"). Now, not that I don't appreciate peoples' holiday spirit - I find it rather endearing, actually - it's their hideous vocal ability that upsets me.

It's not just people on the streets, either. This is the time of year when artists release their own brilliant renditions of holiday classics. Their biggest problem: the original recorded versions of these tracks are so canonical that any "update" sounds like a step backwards rather than a step forwards. There is a profusion of Christmas records, and only a tiny percentage worth hearing. It is, after all, difficult to compete with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, and Peggy Lee. Particularly if your name is Kenny G.

Luckily, some artists are smart enough not to compete with the classics. Among them is the recently deceased James Brown. His 1995 compilation, James Brown's Funky Christmas, is exactly what you'd expect from the man - complete with all sorts of sexualized yelps and soulful interjections to go along with the mistletoe and figgy pudding.

I have uploaded my favorite track on the record for your enjoyment:

Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto

On the British Invasion and Showtunes

2007-12-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I was involved in a discussion with some co-workers about musicals. One of the interlocutors, a music industry veteran, lamented that he had not been impressed by a musical since West Side Story (1961). He went on to say that at one point, musicals were a large part of the popular music spectrum. Imagine that. Radios blaring with the sounds of Broadway.

In fact, the influence of such material is in plain sight, particularly in British Invasion rock groups. The Beatles recorded a number from the Music Man (1957), "Til' There Was You," on their 1964 album, With the Beatles. Later, as the Beatles (White Album) gave the band an excuse to explore its influences, Paul McCartney revived the schmaltz for his track, "Honey Pie." Of course, today we remember the British Invasion for its primary influence: American R&B. Nonetheless, it's interesting to note that the influence was perhaps less monolithic than we assume.

In this 1964 clip of the Zombies, we see the band miming Gershwin's "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess (1935). Initially intended to be their first single (before being replaced by an original, "She's Not There"), this version of "Summertime" reflects the band's love of jazz and standards.

Also of note: the electric piano is neither a Rhodes nor a Wurlitzer (the two most prominent electric pianos in pop), but a Hohner Pianet N. Lovely sound, but one major drawback: the piano had no sustain pedal. Apparently, that didn't make a difference to Rod Argent.

How Hip Was Sesame Street?

2007-12-18T08:30:00.000-05:00

The words "Sesame Street" have a special place in the collective heart of my generation. For many of us who grew up on daily doses of the show, the mere allusion to it brings us back to a more innocent place and time. We scoff at Barney the Purple Dinosaur, but are still secretly entertained by Snuffleupagus, the wooly mammoth with a Greek surname.

But perhaps there's more to this than simple nostalgia. I contend that despite its aims as a children's television show, Sesame Street was pretty damned cool for its audience. Look at the roster of musicians who've appeared on the program, for example, and you'll find some pretty reputable names: Cab Calloway, Jose Carreras, Johnny Cash, Bo Diddley, Yo Yo Ma, Isaac Stern, REM, and Stevie Wonder, among others. Furthermore, the creators of the show have always been good about allowing the personalities of their guests to shine brightly:

You don't see Andre3000 doing guest spots on Teletubbies, do you? Enough said.

Further perusal of old Sesame Street footage reveals another point: even the music for the animated vignettes is damned good. Exhibit B:

The Pointer Sisters are singing on this track - that much is known. I've also heard rumors that the Rhodes piano player is Herbie Hancock. Either way, the track fantastic. And that's aside from the psychedelic animation, which also pleases me quite a bit.

Bottom line: I'm glad that my formative years were spent under the influence of a show whose creators had such good taste. And to think - ten years older, and I'd have grown up on Barney...

The Story of My Life

2007-12-17T15:30:00.000-05:00

I first read about Eddie "Guitar Slim" Jones in Frank Zappa's autobiography, The Real Frank Zappa Book. The three major things that Zappa had to say about Slim: 1) He was perhaps the first guitar player to use distortion on record. 2) His stage show was rock 'n' roll before the proper advent of rock 'n' roll. 3) His 1953 release, "The Story of my Life," was one of Zappa's favorite tracks as an adolescent. Growing up admiring Mr. Zappa's music, I was determined early on to hear everything that influenced him. Needless to say, it's an endeavor I'm still trying to complete. But thanks to Napster, it wasn't very long before I tracked down a copy of "The Story of my Life."

It is no wonder that Zappa took such a liking to Slim. "The Story of My Life" is utterly filthy - particularly in the context in which is was originally released. 1953 could not have been a good year for lovers of edgy mainstream music. Bill Haley's "Rock Around the Clock" (which sounds flaccid in comparison to Guitar Slim's work) was still a year from release. Elvis Presley would wait another two years before his first recording session. AM radio was still a clubhouse for only the milkiest of white. Young Zappa had to drive hours to find a jukebox - let alone a record store - that carried the likes of Guitar Slim.

Apparently, all of those hours in the car were worth it. Zappa's guitar playing - which I argue relies more on tone than it does on sheer musicality - can undoubtedly be traced back to the screaming licks of Guitar Slim. Frank commented on the song his autobiography:

When I first heard it I thought: "What the fuck is he doing? He really gets 'pissed off at it.' " His style of playing seemed to be 'beyond the notes' -- it had more to do with the 'attitude' with which he was mangling his instrument. What came out was not just the sum total of certain pitches versus certain chords versus certain rhythms -- to my ear, it was something else. Besides the 'attitude,' he also provided the first instance I can recall of a distorted electric guitar on a record. (The Real Frank Zappa Book).

In addition to the musicianship, Guitar Slim was apparently quite the character as well. A description of him seems more similar to an 80s metal guitarist than 50s blues man. He wore outrageously-colored suits on stage and dyed his hair to match. He used a guitar cable hundreds of feet long, enabling him to wade into audiences at shows long before the invention of wireless guitar systems. He displayed his wealth shamelessly. And he drank himself to death at the age of 32.

Still, he looks like such a nice, earnest fellow...

Guitar Slim - The Story of My Life

Music for Picture: SHAFT

2007-12-14T11:03:00.000-05:00

For those who are keeping track, the three Shaft films (not including the modern remake) in order from best to worst: Shaft, Shaft in Africa, Shaft's Big Score. It's been a long while since I've seen the trilogy, and am planning to rectify that fairly soon.

--

A little while ago, a good friend and I were listening to Ennio Morricone's soundtrack to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (which may be the finest film score in history). After about half the record was complete, my friend turned to me in the midst of a track.

"What's happening in this scene?"

"Tuco's getting the shit kicked out of him by Angel Eyes." He nodded approvingly and skipped to another track.

"OK. This one?"

"Clint's being dragged through the desert while Tuco laughs maniacally."

"Sure... This one?"

"Clint's giving a cigar to the dying soldier." It went on for a a few more minutes until every track had been properly attached to a scene(s) in the film.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is nearly three hours long. I have seen it several times, though not nearly often enough to recite the dialog from start to finish (an honor reserved for such classics as the Godfather, Star Wars, and Wayne's World). On top of this, I have the memory of a syphilis patient - I'm lucky if I can remember my first name, let alone my middle name. Still, I somehow managed to place every track within its proper cinematic context. Perfect film music is inseparable from the scenes it adorns. The great composer - Morricone being a prime example - walks a fine line. He creates music that is striking on its own, but seemingly unforgettable when coupled with the moving image.

--

I haven't seen any of the Shaft films in over a year, and I've noticed something. I have very little recollection of Shaft's Big Score, despite having seen it at least as many times as I've seen Shaft in Africa. Today, as I researched the trilogy, I noted that while the soundtracks to Shaft and Shaft in Africa were both composed by prominent musicians (Isaac Hayes and Johnny Pate/the Four Tops, respectively), Shaft's Big Score utilizes music composed by director Gordon Parks.

Perhaps this explains, to some extent, my lacking interest in Big Score. Isaac Hayes' soundtrack for Shaft belongs in the same breath as Jaws, Superfly, or Star Wars as some of the most memorable film music of its era. The soundtrack to Shaft in Africa, while certainly not approaching the heights of the original film, is nonetheless competent and memorable. Shaft's Big Score, on the other hand, is a forgotten middle child, its soundtrack barely a blip on the radar.

For those who have not seen any of the Shaft films (shame on you), I have taken the liberty of posting the opening credit sequence for both the original and Shaft in Africa to get you started.

Until Monday...

I'm a Man

2007-12-13T12:07:00.000-05:00

A short time ago, a friend of mine revealed to me that she had developed an obsession with Traffic. "His voice gives me the chills," she said, referring to Steve Winwood. It was a sentiment I certainly could understand. While I cannot say I'm currently under the spell of Mr. Fantasy, as it were, I've definitely gone through my phases in the past. There was a brief period a while ago during which "Freedom Rider" was my jam - along with the rest of John Barleycorn Must Die, for good measure.

Nowadays, Traffic takes a back seat to my preferred Winwood outfit, Blind Faith. I told my friend that if she loved Winwood's voice so much, she should check out their self-titled record. However, I failed to recommend my favorite Steve Winwood performance of all: "I'm a Man" by the Spencer Davis Group. Come to think of it, it's one of my favorite tracks in general...

Flamboyant or Badass?

2007-12-12T14:15:00.001-05:00

Every now and then when I feel like confusing the hell out of myself, I jump on YouTube and check out old videos of the Vanilla Fudge. In particular, I have a certain affinity for their Ed Sullivan Show performance of "You Keep Me Hangin' On."

I feel as if, by watching the video, I'm being pulled in two directions at once. Based entirely on musical merits, this is a badass performance. The rhythm section of Carmine Appice (drums) and Tim Bogert (bass) powers through the track with with much aplomb. Vocalist/organist Mark Stein's voice is both rich and emotive. The band seems to be brimming with energy, and their rendition of the Supremes' classic is rousing.

But perhaps there's a little too much energy. Have a look at Stein - his posture, his clothing, his hand motions. I'm not going to mince words here - that guy is a total ponce.

Hence my confusion. Is it possible for something to be both this badass and this brazenly flamboyant at once? I suppose David Bowie approached that level at times, but never reached the heights of Mark Stein. The 80s are filled with similar figures (David Lee Roth, anyone?), but those guys were far more flamboyant than they were badass.

I certainly don't mind flamboyant performers. Hell, I love Donovan, and he was nothing but a foppish pansy:

I just prefer that "badass" and "flamboyant" keep a safe distance from one another. I'm OK with crusty metal guitarists who use chains as guitar straps. I'm also OK with meek-looking sissies in cardigans who softly strum their Martin acoustics in coffee shops. I just don't know what to think of the hybrid...

I'm still confused by this Vanilla Fudge performance, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying it.

Nuages. Finally.

2007-12-11T12:14:00.001-05:00

Several weeks ago, I woke up with a song stuck in my head. I knew only that it was a Django Reinhardt composition - I could not recall the name of the song, nor could I recall where I had heard it the first time. It was time to do some research.

My first source was my father's Djangology LP from whence I had first heard Reinhardt:

While listening to the LP was certainly enjoyable (Django just sounds right on vinyl), it did nothing for my search. I moved to step two: examining my lone Reinhardt compilation CD. I placed the CD in my computer and skipped from track to track, finding nothing even vaguely resembling the song in my head. Exasperated, I poured myself a cordial of Chartreuse, sat down, and returned the CD to track one. If nothing else, Django is a fine complement to the old "think 'n' drink" routine.

I was shocked, however, when the first track ("Nuages") abruptly shifted gears after a 15 second intro, blossoming into the very tune for which I had been searching. Only problem: this was not the same arrangement I remembered. Turns out that Django recorded multiple versions of the song over a thirteen year period. Thus began the grand search for the version of "Nuages."

The search lasted nearly a month, but I found the version I had been looking for today. Lovely arrangement. The intro has been cut completely, and a piano and clarinet make up for the absence of violinist Stephane Grappelli. Django himself seems to be overplaying a tad. But then again, nobody complains about such things when you're as good as he was.

I suppose the only question remaining is how I managed to wake up with such an obscure version of the song stuck in my head...

Nuages (8/25/47)

Cigarettes! On Television!

2007-12-10T14:45:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that I have managed to remember quite a bit of the music that adorned the television commercials of my childhood.

"Skip It"? I'll sing you that one. "My Buddy"? Not only will I sing it, but I'll sing the alternate "Kid Sister" verse. "Knock Out"? "Dunkaroos"? "Nerf Bow and Arrow"? "Puppy Surprise"? All day. "Crossfire" really shouldn't count (given the fact that the song revolved around a guy saying "Crossfire" at varying levels of intensity), but I'll sing that, too. Wouldn't be surprised if you could sing it, as well. The bottom line is that we're all bound to retain the music we hear as young children.

My only real problem with this whole scenario is that to this day, my mind is like a database of promotional music for products that I never owned or cared for. What use does the "Polly Pocket" theme song have to me? None whatsoever. But I still carry it with me every day (the song, that is... not the damn Polly Pocket). I haven't had a Fruit by the Foot in years, but I could still pitch the product to you in song. Hell, I could even sing musical praises of Rocky Point Park (which closed when I was about ten).

But what do these songs do for me now? Not only is their information outdated (Rocky Point may have been "so exciting" at one time, but it's rather dilapidated these days), but the products aren't of use to anyone over twelve.

My bold solution: bring back cigarette advertising on television. Yes, we'd essentially be replacing one type of useless information ("Polly Pocket!") with another ("Marlboro!"). But at very least, I'd personally feel a lot cooler with the Lucky Strike theme stuck in my head as opposed to the Barbie Power Wheels Corvette theme.

Plus, TV cigarette ads have a proven track record of excellence...

The Road to Cairo

2007-12-07T14:24:00.000-05:00

I've recently started listening to David Ackles' 1968 self-titled debut, and am rather impressed...

Actually, I shouldn't say I've been listening to the entire record.

In truth, I've been repeatedly listening to the first track for several weeks now. I'm still rather impressed. Not to say that the record is devoid of fantastic material beyond "The Road to Cairo" - I've just been physically unable to get past track one.

I'm captivated specifically by three aspects of the track. First of all, Ackles' voice and delivery are phenomenal. The conversational nonchalance with which he sings is not only unique, but perfectly suited to his song.

Second, I am a sucker for the Hammond organ, and the one featured in "The Road to Cairo" is particularly filthy. Just listen to that low-end growl during the choruses... blissful.

Finally, the lead guitar track is hot as all hell. A little research reveals that Doug Hastings (who was actually a member of the Buffalo Springfield for a moment) played it on a Fender Telecaster that had been modded with a Stratocaster pickup in the middle position:

Perhaps posting this track will enable me to shake my fixation and enjoy the rest of the record...

Not bloody likely.

The Road to Cairo

New Jam

2007-12-06T11:07:00.001-05:00

While I'm typically loath to say anything good about modern music from Los Angeles, Snoop Dogg's new video for "Sensual Seduction" ("Sexual Eruption") is really quite good.

As you may have noticed, there seems to be a large number of pop artists using the talk box these days. Much of the usage, I suspect, is meant to cover up lacking vocal abilities (remember - it's essentially impossible to sing off-key when correctly using a talk box). Nonetheless, I have grown accustomed to hearing robotic voices from car stereos outside my apartment at all hours of the day.

What's refreshing about Snoop's use of the device, however, is that it actually makes sense within the context of his track. This is not simply another modern pop song with cyborg vocals haphazardly added to the final mix. Snoop's talk box sits exactly where it's meant to sit - between the cheesy synths and jaunty beat of the late disco era.

Visually speaking, the video furthers the musical themes perfectly. Nicest touch of all: the "play" and "stop" cues coupled with static at the beginning and end. Who knew we'd be nostalgic for VHS this quickly?

Caravan in the Flesh

2007-12-05T12:50:00.000-05:00

For those of you who were curious after yesterday's post, here's some footage of Caravan performing "Magic Man" for a TV show in 1968.

Not surprisingly, the instrumental portion is entirely mimed - it's the exact same as the album cut. The vocals, however, are live.

Place of My Own

2007-12-04T12:04:00.002-05:00

Our first selection comes from 1968 by way of Canterbury, UK. At the time, there were two major psychedelic scenes in England - London (whose major band was Pink Floyd) and Canterbury (whose most famous act was the Soft Machine). For better (Piper at the Gates of Dawn) or for worse (The Wall), we're all familiar with the products of the London scene. Canterbury, however, remains relatively unknown.

This is not to say that Caravan's "Place of My Own" exemplifies the Canterbury sound. It's far more poppy and straightforward than the psychedelic jazz-rock of the band's contemporaries. Nonetheless, the track carries some of the hallmarks of the scene - most notably in its use of the organ as the lead instrument.

Caravan - Place of My Own