The Most Overrated Albums/Artists Ever

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:

1. Introduce the big riff - preferably isolated from the rest of the band.
2. Continue playing said riff over pounding 4/4 drumbeat. Modulate riff according to I/IV/V blues pattern. If possible, double riff with bass.
3. Introduce screechy vocals over riff/drums/bass.
4. Insert sloppy guitar solo while band drops out.
5. As sloppy solo comes to crescendo, insert the big scream.
6. 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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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?

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.

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!

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

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

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

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

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