Main: Mainstream

Quiet Sun: Mummy was an Asteroid, Daddy was a Small Non-Stick Kitchen Utensil
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For no particularly good reason, other than I like it, I’ve been listening to a bunch of fusion and prog-rock lately (I find it good to have on while working), which meant that coincidentally, I’ve heard a bunch of Chick Corea in the days before his death. That’s just an aside to the main point of this piece which is about an almost forgotten fusion album, Mainstream by Quiet Sun. 

I remember being introduced to Phil Manzanera’s music in college by someone at WPRB. Although aware of Roxy Music, I didn’t know the names of anyone in the band other than Bryan Ferry, but I learned that Manzanera was the guitarist, and that I liked his solo work better than Roxy. I’ve written about that, and about Manzanera’s background here—and even mentioned both Mainstream and our wonderfully titled featured song—so I won’t repeat myself too much. 

As I wrote there, when Manzanera booked studio time in 1975 to record his first solo album, Diamond Head, he reunited his school band, Quiet Sun, to record some music they had previously worked on, but never recorded formally, before the group disbanded in 1972. This was not just a bunch of kids bashing around in their garage, but a talented group of musicians influenced by the Canterbury Scene. In fact, bass player Bill MacCormick had befriended Robert Wyatt (the son of a friend of his mother’s), one of the stalwarts of the scene as a founder of Soft Machine. After Quiet Sun’s first disbanding, MacCormick joined Wyatt’s band Matching Mole, Manzanera joined Roxy Music, keyboard player Dave Jarrett became a teacher, and drummer Charles Hayward played with a number of different groups, including briefly with Gong. 

But Manzanera got the band back together in 1975, recording at night after the Diamond Head sessions were done, and working on improving their earlier music with what they had learned in the intervening years (and availing themselves of Brian Eno's synthesizers and treatments). What they turned out was exciting, interesting fusion, one of the most interesting of which is our featured song (and not just because of its title, which apparently was originally the more pedestrian “Dog,” derived from a prior title, “Mummy was a Maoist, Daddy was a running dog capitalist lackey of the bourgeoisie” that songwriter MacCormick’s brother, music journalist Ian MacDonald, revised in the studio). Remarkably, the complex song was reportedly recorded in one take. 

That was it for Quiet Sun, although some of the music from the album was later performed by 801, which was led by Manzanera, and included MacCormick. On the great 801 Live album, “Asteroid” was combined with a track from Diamond Head, “East of Echo,” and became “East of Asteroid.” It is also great.

The End: Both Ends Burning

Roxy Music: Both Ends Burning
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Roxy Music is one of those bands that have a handful of songs that I like (basically, the band’s “greatest hits”), but I never really spent time with their deeper tracks. Strangely, I think that it is Bryan Ferry’s voice that has put me off, despite the fact that I recognize that it is a fine voice. There’s a certain smarminess that I’ve never really liked, and his lounge lizard persona never appealed to me. I’ve been a bigger fan of guitarist Phil Manzanera and original synthesizer/effects man Brian Eno (and even multi-instrumentalist Eddie Jobson, who was in the band for a few albums) than I ever was of Ferry or Roxy. Despite my reservations, I do recognize that the band was influential, straddling the worlds of prog, glam, dance and new wave music during their career.

“Both Ends Burning” is from Roxy’s fifth album, Siren, the blue one with Jerry Hall, one of many Ferry girlfriends to grace the band’s albums over the years, on the cover (see above). It’s the album that had “Love Is The Drug” on it, which I’m willing to bet was the first Roxy Music song that I ever heard. Siren is a transitional album, where the quirkier edges of their early work began to smooth out, and that is probably why it was popular, but also why some critics found it less compelling.  “Both Ends Burning” is a good example of this—it is a relatively straightforward, mid-tempo rock song about the rigors of living a hard life, including long stretches on the road, but it also has odd synth and guitar bits and textures that makes it memorable. And Ferry’s louche, world-weary delivery works perfectly for the song.

Over the next few years, Roxy Music became more of a Bryan Ferry vehicle (even as Ferry was releasing solo albums), and became slicker and slicker, culminating with Avalon, which was popular, lushly beautiful and to some degree, dull. And I say that, acknowledging that there are a couple of songs on it that I do really like. While the band performed live over the years, in various configurations, Avalon turned out to be Roxy Music’s last studio album, or, as we call it here, The End.

Musical Homonyms: Central Reservation

Random Hold: Central Reservation
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Genre labels can be an easy way to approach music. Describe a song as “punk” or “folk-rock” or “metal,” and you can immediately get some sense of what you are about to hear. And yet, you could argue that the most interesting artists don’t fit into convenient boxes. Sometimes, this ability to cross genres leads to wide popularity like, say, Wilco. The two artists that are the subject of this post represent more common career paths for the uneasily pigeonholed—public indifference and failure, as in the case of Random Hold, and critical acclaim and limited cult popularity, as in the case of Beth Orton.

Both of these artists wrote and recorded a song called “Central Reservation.” Our British readers probably know what that is, but here in the U.S., the term is meaningless. Random Hold’s synthesizer player David Ferguson explained “it's the grass verge on a motorway.” Or, as we more commonly say here in the States, the median. Yes, there are two songs about the grassy strip down the middle of the highway.

Random Hold is a band that has long been one of my favorite obscurities. Formed in the late 1970’s, they fell into an uneasy space between prog and punk, which at the time was akin to being a fan of both Rush Limbaugh and Keith Olbermann. Time has proven that it is possible to meld the complexity and virtuosity of prog with the energy of punk, but at the time, this mixture made it hard for the band to gain a foothold. The band was formed by some school friends who were dissatisfied after seeing a show by Roxy Music guitarist Phil Manzanera and his band 801. Ironically, the band’s first serious vocalist, Simon Ainley, sang on Manzanera’s solo album Listen Now, and 801’s bassist, Bill MacCormick joined (and bankrolled) the band. By the time that “Central Reservation” was recorded, though, Ainley had left (and found himself replaced as Manzanera’s vocalist when he showed up for a recording session with a cold), and pretty much disappeared.

Peter Gabriel had taken a liking to the band, and their dark, foreboding sound. Despite their lack of success, he asked the band to open for him first on a UK, and then a US, tour, where I saw them in Asbury Park (see the program, above). It was, if I recall, the first public appearance of the blue WPRB t-shirts, which were well received. I thought Random Hold were good, and Gabriel was incredible. However, after the tour, the band disintegrated. The guitarist, David Rhodes, joined Gabriel’s band, and a reformed version went nowhere. Even what appears to be the official website for the band admits that they were “the briefest of footnotes in the history of rock 'n' roll.” And yet, I still find some of their music interesting, including “Central Reservation.”

Ferguson explained that the song "was originally conceived as a song about driving cars down motorways and about certain emotional expectations of doing that at night - the excitement of not knowing what's in front of you. Over here [in America], some people have taken it to be about a love affair that had gone wrong."

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Beth Orton’s song, “Central Reservation” is, in fact, about love, in this case a one night stand, and the singer finds herself “Running down a central reservation in last night's red dress.” Orton, who is still working—in fact, she is appearing on Friday in South Orange, New Jersey—has been assigned to the genre of “folktronica,” a mix of folk and electronica. Originally, she made her name in the electronic dance music world, singing with William Orbit and the Chemical Brothers, and therefore completely evaded my notice.

When I first heard her, I was struck by how her voice was so evocative of the great British folkies, like Sandy Denny, but with an updated sound. More recently, she has been including jazz influences in her music. However, it appears that her genre-bending has prevented her from being fully embraced by any particular audience, despite generally positive critical response.

Birthstones: Diamond Head

Phil Manzanera: Diamond Head
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When you think of Roxy Music (if you think of Roxy Music), you probably think about Bryan Ferry’s suave, sultry vocals. Or you may think about the pioneering “treatments” that Brian Eno provided in the band’s early years. The contributions of guitarist Phil Manzanera to Roxy’s sound and success are often overlooked. Manzanera is, however, a brilliant guitarist who was capable of terse, tasteful solos but preferred to use his guitar in layers, processed to create sonic effects and textures.

Manzanera was born in England, of an English father and Colombian mother, and grew up around the world, including Hawaii, Cuba, Columbia and Venezuela, before returning to England for public school. His music incorporates influences from his Latin American experiences, as well as his involvement in the English prog rock world of the 1970’s. His schoolmates and friends included members of Soft Machine, Matching Mole and Pink Floyd.

His first solo album, Diamond Head, was recorded while he was between Roxy Music albums, and includes contributions from Eno, Eddie Jobson, Paul Thompson and Andy Mackay (of Roxy Music, among other bands), Robert Wyatt, John Wetton and members of Quiet Sun, his band while still in school. In fact, while recording Diamond Head, Quiet Sun reunited and released their only album, the quite interesting, jazzy, Mainstream, (which features a song with one of the best titles ever—“Mummy Was an Asteroid, Daddy Was a Small Non-Stick Kitchen Utensil”).

Most reviews of the Diamond Head album take pains to note the lack of ego displayed by Manzanera, who lets his collaborators shine. Manzanera’s live album, 801 Live, released the next year, and featuring some of the Diamond Head players, has gotten more adulation, but Diamond Head is one of the lesser known gems of its era.

The song starts simply, and Manzanera begins to layer on guitar effects, strings, keyboards and drums, all expertly played. As much as I enjoy electric guitar, I am ignorant of what effects he uses, but Manzanera coaxes a number of interesting sounds from his guitar. The solos are fluid and extraordinary, but without being showy. And the song is simply beautiful.

Diamond Head, the volcano, is, of course, the signature sight of Honolulu, a place that I have been once, but quite memorably. The song “Diamond Head,” doesn’t scream “Hawaii” but there is something about it—maybe its calmness and beauty, but also its complexity, that makes the title fitting.