Another of my personal mighty fell at the top end of the year, one of those pillars of my teenaged infatuation with rock and prog, namely Mr Gary Brooker, lynchpin, leader and singer of the wondrous Procol Harum, one of the first bands I ever saw, aged 17 in 1974, with then a massive gap until catching them again, 43 years later. (Here's what I thought that second time, even if my maths had got the better of me.)
The original premise of the band seemed bonkers, at least to a ten year old, with the combination of churchy organ to the wail of soulful vocal. I should add, as a treble in the school choir, all organ was churchy. Thankfully I was too young to clock the lyrics, let alone understand them. (Understand them? Can anyone now?) Drugs, said my parents knowingly and I nodded back, remembering how funny my thoughts had got, when I too had been given an aspirin to quell a raging fever.
Of course the band went on, issuing a quite stellar run of initial singles. The plaintive piano melancholy of Homburg and the spooky A Salty Dog, with all the, in my mind, Lovecraftian imagery evoked; at 12 I was a precocious reader and already familiar with Cthulhu. The orchestral heft of Conquistador neither failed to delight, so, by the time I was ready for LPs, putting singles behind me, the band too were ready, Grand Hotel and Exotic Birds And Fruit firm favourites. Which takes us much to when I went to see them. At Brighton’s famous Dome theatre, which I have never actually visited since.
I sort of lost touch thereafter: the pomp of their performance no longer met my circumstance, and I was exploring other musical avenues. But the love never faded fully, the old songs still striking chords of joy into my battle-hardened heart. So it was a joy to finally get that opportunity to visit. Sure, no-one, Brooker apart, from their glory days, but it didn’t matter, as the posessor of the undiminished gritty voice, it all sounded right. And so it was. The version of Whiter Shade offered that night cast aside the decades and I was again 10, awestruck and, mindful of the years, not a little tearful.
(Not that night, but a not dissimilar vintage)
Thanks, Gary, for making a small boy and a then much older man very happy. Let’s end with a smile, with two of the barmier versions of ‘your’ song, ignoring all the hullabaloos and hubris around who else might have staked and gained a subsequent claim.
Anton Ellis
Willie Nelson
(This is my last post for Star Maker Machine. I have hugely enjoyed the challenges and opportunities offered by a tight schedule, sometimes easier to fulfil than others. All praise to my fellow writers who have buoyed me and helped bring up the distinct average of my quality: it’s been a great few years, even if I still quite mastered how to keep my font size constant.... Thanks, too, to those readers, if you have graced me with any of the moments from your precious time. See you in the ether.)
The mythological lure of the road has long attracted attention in way more than just musical memes. We’ll get to that in due course, but it got me thinking around the whole idea of a road trip. Like, what was the first? Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, came initially to mind, until I realised how shortsighted and narrow was my entry angle, remembering the Richard Thompson response: best songs of the millennia, or of all time, did not start with Sinatra. So that in mind, throwing out my net a bit wider, are we talking the Crusades; that was a sort of tour? Or Christ’s 40 day desert gig, did that count? I think a prime contender would have to be Ulysses, his 12 tasks and all that. Tack on the Trojan War and the tour is encroaching Dylanesque Never Ending logistics.
I could be getting carried away here, but it has an appeal. I wonder what was on his rider? And who ran the merch stall? And for all the buzz around Homer, the “official releases”, I’ll bet there were live sets and bootlegs, swapped in chariot parks, before the show. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone somewhere is still putting together a box set, the Ithaca tapes, perhaps. I’m sure I read about it on the Steve Hoffman forum.
So, as they, say. Robert Earl Keen. Whatever happened to him? Nothing bad, to be fair, as he still tours and plays, but, as with, say, Steve Forbert, so much early promise seeming never quite to be capitalised upon. From Houston, Texas, he hit the ground running in the mid 80s, with a signature stripped back sound, bluegrass style instrumentation, allied to rootsy modern folk songs, all sung in his gritty mournful moan. I loved it, and West Textures, his 2nd album was a bona fide delight. Still is, the songs rendered timeless by that old timey anchor. The song that entitles this piece is his best known song, but they all have legs. Heck, at that time, he, Lyle Lovett and Nanci Griffith seemed an insurmountable triad of potential, at whose altars I knelt, in awe. So young and so much talent.
Keen had a particular knack for a story song, with TRGOFATPNE being the prime evidence. I alway feel the idea for such long haul yarn spinning came from Bob Dylan, Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts always coming to mind as the trigger to Keen’s muse.(I suppose, given the earlier paras written, due credit for all epics should maybe go to forbears from times long past, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, for his Charge of the Light Brigade, Longfellow for Hiawatha, or, logically, good ol’ boy Homer himself, but the tunes have been largely lost.) The relatively simple construct, the repetition and the loping propulsive rhythm together produce a suspension of time, the story taking the fill of concentration. Keen was able to show he was no one trick pony, mind, as his next album, A Bigger Piece of Sky, four years later, in 1993, had another cracker, Jesse With the Long Hair Hanging Down. With shock, I note this barely hits 3 and 3/4 minutes, it casting a way longer shadow in my memory, but, details, schmetails, this is still a saga song, just a wee bit shorter.
Oft seen as his high water mark, A Bigger Piece of Sky, whilst it had its moments, never quite hit my spot as had West Textures. In truth, I sort of went off him a bit after that, as somebody told him his forte might be in humorous songs, an oxymoron by any definition, at least in my book. But he has plugged away, with 20 studio recordings to his name. I gather he is about to hang up his cowboy boots, making me sad I never caught him live. Indeed, of that 80’s trio of performers, Nanci was the only one who ever seemed much to visit the UK, seeing her a host of times between then and the mid 90’s. But I did get to hear one near swansong, as Keen covered a host of his traditional influences: here is what I thought about that album.
A final thought about Keen might be to thank him not only for my beloved West Textures, but also to his enlightening me to the presence and worth of anothe songwriter, one Kevin ‘Blackie’ Farrell, himself no stranger get to the long form song. The exquisite Sonora’s Death Row, covered by Keen on West Textures, is one of his, as is another of my favourites, Mama Hated Diesels, as performed by Commander Cody’s Lost Planet Airmen. Farrell probably deserves a pice in his own right, memo to self, but it’s good to at least have the opportunity to namecheck him, until then.
Ain't technology wonderful? Want to do a duet with the deceased? No problem, and there is a rich seam of grave-robbing for profit, the still living plundering the coffins of, often, better performers, craving some kudos by association. And a hit. To be fair, the majority of these are terrible, the ghoulishness of the exercise all too apparent, but sometimes, just sometimes, there is at the seed of a good intent, of mining a mawkish opportunity to do what had never been possible in life. These are often by relatives, who may, maybe, have more leeway to have this considered potentially OK. Or not. Hell, some are called into service and put back on tour, long after the ashes are cold, something, I confess, I am in no hurry to witness. (Yes, I do know it isn't actually the corpse that struts the stage, it being all the 3D trickery of holograms, but would even Colonel Tom Parker be up for this degree of exploitation?)
My idea for this piece was to find some good ones, something I swiftly found might be too hard an ask. So let's settle for the least worst, with the odd stinker thrown in for good measure. Let's start with one of the latter.
I'll be honest, as I started typing, I couldn't remember whether Barry Manilow was still with us, needing a quick google, just in case. But he is, and it is his 2014 album, 'My Dream Duets' that is the lodestone of this genre, being a whole album of songs, 11 in all, pairing Manilow with the likes of Louis Armstrong, Andy Williams, Judy Garland and G.G. Allin. (No, that was a joke, not G.G. Allin, but that could have been different, doncha think?) All the songs chosen weren't even supposed to be duets, so it seems a little hard that some of these performers may not, in their lifetime, have necessarily have been Fanilows. But, then again, looking down the list, most were such media tarts and divas as to have bitten his arm off to appear alongside. I wonder then, what drew Barry toward this particular list? Intriguingly, of all the people to offer an opinion on the record, David Byrne, the onetime Talking Head, who sums up the dynamic best, here.
I think I am slightly happier with the concept behind one of the late Patsy Cline's later albums, Duets, in 1999, 39 years after her death, in a plane crash, aged only 30. In fact, the records full name is Duets Volume 1, but, thus far, the 2nd volume has yet to appear. Rather than being pillaged by, say, Garth Brooks, the idea was that a whole host of singers, would sidle in on existing duets, replacing the original partner. (I wonder how that affected the royalties?) Willie Nelson was one of those inveigled, as well as being also a contemporary of Cline, writing perhaps her most famous song, Crazy. But what she would make of him now would be anyones guess. As in, whatever happened to that fresh faced kid, with his flat top redhead and beaming smile? What's that, you want his version too?
Let's stick with country music, the most celebrated name therein being that of Hank Williams. Tough shoes to fill mind, as both Hank Williams Jr. and III have found, if not without some appeal of their own. I actually rather enjoy this Senior/Junior "collaboration", the video being a sly mix of tongue in cheek and paterfamilial reverential. Will Hank III splice himself in when his own Daddy too departs the building?
Sometimes it is the demand for lost material that drives the projects, however much of a beady eye remains on the cash-register. There cannot be an act more covetable than the Beatles, with any and every studio scrap hoovered up for posterity and profit. So, when some tapes of part finished demos emerged, the deaths of John and George were considered mere supportive detail to the rest of the band polishing them up and giving a sheen of respectability to the songs. That is, until it became apparent the reason John had failed, at the time, to get them added to the repertoire in his lifetime and that of the band, that being they being pretty thin fare. Rumours remain as to a number of other lost songs in a similar vein, ready for future box sets. Remember, you need but one "new" song to make the die-hards shell out, all over, for all the others they have before, so as to fulfilling completist mode. The song above is drivel, to my ears, sounding like a song that even the rest of E.L.O. would refuse to play.
I'd like to find something good to end with. I'd like to, but I can't. But, I can end with a slightly different trick, the old band in heaven idea. This was taken to sterling effect by a singing postman from Belfast, who sidelined as an Elvis impersonator. Not duets. Rather, he came up with the idea that Elvis Presley, on leaving this side of the curtain, might continue his career on the other side, perhaps performing the hits of those similarly lost from active service. A brilliant deceit, and there have been two iterations of this, 'Gravelands' and 'Retun to Splendor', with Elvis, through the medium of Jim Brown, as 'The King', sings the songs of the dead. I love them, and this is the highlight. Or lowliest, as you may see it. And, like the clip from Bladerunner 2049 at the start, ends where we began. With Elvis.
RIP to all of the mentioned and featured, living and dead.
I guess this is sort of related to my “No Thanks” post about Old 97’s “Lonely Holiday,” but back in June, when I think that we were really coming to grips with the changes that the coronavirus was causing to our lives, our theme was “Looking Forward,” as in, things we were looking forward to in the After Times. I wrote about seeing live music, which I continue to miss terribly.
But, as you know if you’ve read my “Lonely Holiday” piece, not to mention some of my other writings about family and friend-filled meals, I miss getting together with people to eat. Whether it is a holiday meal, or a backyardBBQ, or even if there’s no specific reason, I love to cook for a group, and I enjoy eating with a group.
So, yeah, I miss having a crowded table.
Now, the song, “Crowded Table,” by The Highwomen, seems to me about more of a big nuclear family, but the message still fits.
I want a house with a crowded table And a place by the fire for everyone
Let us take on the world while we're young and able
And bring us back together when the day is done
And, to add to the inclusivity message:
The door is always open Your picture's on my wall
Everyone's a little broken
And everyone belongs
Yeah, everyone belongs
If you don’t already know, The Highwomen are an all-female country/Americana “supergroup” created officially in 2019 by Amanda Shires, Brandi Carlile, Maren Morris, and Natalie Hemby, all of whom have varying levels of fame in the business. The idea was to pay homage to The Highwaymen, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson and Willie Nelson. So, they didn’t want to put much pressure on themselves, right? Their first live appearance was at a show celebrating Loretta Lynn’s 87th birthday at the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville (go big, or go home, I guess).
The project was designed to include other musicians, so that their first single, “Redesigning Women,” had a video that included, among others, Tanya Tucker and Wynonna Judd, and their self-titled debut album featured a re-write of Jimmy Webb’s “Highwaymen,” other co-writes with, among others Jason Isbell (Shires' husband), Miranda Lambert, and Ray LaMontagne, and appearances by Yola, Sheryl Crow, Isbell, and members of Carlisle’s and Shires’ bands.
“Crowded Table,” was written by Hemby, Carlile and Lori McKenna, and features vocals that weave in and out of unison and harmony. Rolling Stone considered the song to be the Highwomen’s mission statement noting that it is "looking for a world where everyone is given a chance to fit in. This isn’t about leaning in or fighting for the top chair. It’s about making room."
Which is a good message, both as I look forward to someday sitting at a crowded table for a big meal, but also as we look forward to the post-Trump world.
No personal story, no long history lesson, no political discussion today. Just a short discussion about a fine song, Guy Clark’s “Desperados Waiting For A Train.” (I mentioned this song a few years ago in a piece on Clark’s “Homegrown Tomatoes," but it’s worth its own post.)
As someone who backed into “country” music through alt-country/Americana/roots/folk music, I first became aware of the great songwriter Guy Clark from covers, particularly this version on Nanci Griffith’s 1998 release, Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back To Bountiful). On that album, Griffith performed the song with Clark, Jerry Jeff Walker, Steve Earle, Rodney Crowell, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and Eric Taylor. In fact, before Clark released a version, on 1975’s Old No.1, it had already been covered by Walker, Rita Coolidge, David Allan Coe and Tom Rush. And before Griffith’s version was released, it had been covered by Slim Pickens and probably most famously, The Highwaymen (Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Kris Kristofferson, some pretty fine songwriters in their own right). And there have been many other covers released and performed, including by Earle, on his recent tribute to Clark, and Jason Isbell, who performed the song at Guy Clark's induction into the 2015 Austin City Limits hall of fame ceremony. Which is just to say that many, many great musicians and songwriters have felt the song worthy of recognition.
Clark had the ability that some great writers, and not only songwriters, have of being able to economically create an entire world, and entire characters, with no wasted words. (On the same album, Griffith also covered Richard Thompson and Woody Guthrie, who have that same talent.) I’m jealous as hell. In less than five minutes, the song tells the story of the relationship between a boy and an old man, and you can feel the love they felt for each other, and the respect that the boy had for the man, an old school oil worker, who seemed to the boy like he was from an old western. And one day, the boy realizes that the man is old, and dying, and the metaphorical train comes to take him away. Two lives in about four and a half minutes of brilliance. I don’t know if the song is studied in songwriting classes, but it should be.
It’s a true story. Clark wrote it about his grandmother’s boyfriend, who stayed at the hotel that she ran in a small Texas town. You can read more about it here.
In 1998, when Griffith released her album, she appeared with all of the guys (including Guy) who sang with her on David Letterman’s show. And since readers of my work here know I’m a huge Letterman fan, and a huge fan of the song, here’s a video:
A deceptively simple song, with a picked acoustic guitar and a rudimentary organ, a repetitive whisper, barely crooning over the top, yet just enough going on to nail a mood, an almost intrusive melancholy. No middle eight, no instrumental flourish to embroider the two notes in the key. Of course the words are busy, not that it is that easy to make them out. One senses the writer maybe not in such a good place. (A blink at the lyrics supports that suspicion, albeit without that much clarity.)
Perhaps then, a couple of decades after I first heard that song above, Basement Dream, from parent album, Basement Dreams, the news that the performer had taken his own life came less of a shock. Well, still a shock, less of a surprise.
Not that this was necessarily his usual style or format, his name being more of a worthy gun for hire, a name to add kudos to the work of another. I certainly took a second look and a greater interest if I saw his name on a record sleeve, playing, usually, guitar, often piano and, surprisingly, quite often the photo on the front.
These Days with You, 'Fade Away, Diamond Time', solo, 1995)
Neal Casal first hit my attention when UK rock mag Mojo awarded him the Americana Album of the year, 1998, for Basement Dreams. Americana is a big deal in the UK and there are many US musicians who seem much bigger names in that field over here than in their homeland. I'm thinking Willy Vlautin, both with Richmond Fontaine and, now, the Delines, I'm thinking ex-Green on Redder, Chuck Prophet, people like that. The UK also had, at least then, a strong library sector, where, as well as books, so too could you borrow vinyl records and, later still, CDs. Many a fledgling collector of music would expand their shelves handsomely, home-taping the crop of their local library, most hi-fis easily able to record straight from vinyl onto cassette. Sure, home taping was as illegal as it ever is, but, somehow, the libraries were in on the act, extracting a small fee for the lend. An urban myth suggested this went toward the royalties of the artist, easing any pang of conscience. (The urban truth gets, um, murky, but isn't too complicated, but, worry not, RIAA, I binned all my cassettes years ago, when I ceased having a player or the space to play or keep 'em.) Anyhoo, my first copy of Basement Dreams was exactly that, a copy, enlivening many a car journey, that being where the cassette ruled in those days.
Debris (Ronnie Lane/Faces cover), 'Return in Kind', solo, 2005
Liking the cut of his jib, I dug around his name and sought new works. A covers selection, Return in Kind, was especially good, my obsession with cover versions already beginning to hit a stride. Another artist heralded by Mojo, was Ryan Adams, and I snapped up his breakthrough albums, his apparent erraticism then putting me off later product. But when I read that Casal had become his right hand man in backing band, the Cardinals, I was back in like Flynn. His instrumental prowess lifted the sometimes leaden tendencies of Adams into loftier territory. Furthermore, when the Adams' helmed Cardinals became the chosen backing band for Willie Nelson's 2007 recording, Songbird, this should have been perfection. (Actually it wasn't, disappointing me with a somewhat hamstrung over-production, but where it was good, it was very, very good, and usually when Casal was to the fore.)
Everybody Knows, 'Easy Tiger', Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, 2007
Songbird, 'Songbird', Willie Nelson & the Cardinals, 2007
Another initially well regarded musician was Chris Robinson, especially with Black Crowes, until he fell out with his brother. Resultant band, the Chris Robinson Brotherhood, could have been just another stoner jam band, but, again, Casal was at hand to give some stabilising muscle.
If You Had a Heart to Break, 'Barefoot in the Head', Chris Robinson Brotherhood, 2017
Alongside this he also formed an integral part of Hard Working Americans, a so-called supergroup of players filling their downtime productively by making yet more music. Co-fronted by Casal and Todd Snider, the band also included members of Widespread Panic.
Opening Statement, 'Rest in Chaos', Hard Working Americans, 2016
The last I heard of him he was in the line-up of yet another band of loose affiliates from elsewhere, the Skiffle Players, this time with Cass McCombs and members of Beachwood Sparks.
Always, 'Skifflin'', The Skiffle Players, 2016
As if this weren't enough, he managed twelve solo offerings, and performed on innumerable sessions, for Lucinda Williams and Tift Merritt amongst others. And I haven't even mentioned Circles Around the Sun, the band he formed when commissioned to write the between sets music for the residual Grateful Dead 2015 Fare Thee Well tour and 50 year celebrations, that request arising from his participation in, yes, as well, a Phil Lesh & Friends touring project.
He seems to have been a well loved individual, given the eulogies made by friends and bandmates. Capable of extended and joyous electric solos, as well as reflexly capable rhythm control, and a deft hand on an acoustic to boot, familiar in most of the modern american genres that bridge the gap between the Stones and the Dead. Which, as the youngster he was, obsessed with the music of both, leaves no small legacy and big gap. He also had the voice of a tarnished choirboy, capable both of soaring beauty and understated lyrical dialogue, a gifted craftsman of songs.
So what makes someone take their own life, as he did, on August 26 last year? I cannot imagine and wouldn't want to, but I would guess, if labelled 'gentle' and 'introspective', as he usually was, depression will have been the diagnosis, suicide sadly no stranger to musical circles these past few years.
I know I have overloaded the clips, but here is a a full stream of his memorial concert. However, I should warn it is very long indeed, five hours....
The name of Stephen Bruton may be known to fewer than those who have heard his songs, and, if and when then, possibly when sung by others rather than by him. I was sort of amazed he hasn't previously had a shout here, given the love of roots oriented musics: blues, folk, country, in the many and various scribes who have written for the site over the past decade and more. If you like a bit of Willie or Kris Kristofferson, the chances are that you are familiar with his work. With a style that effortlessly bridges the oeuvres above, it is when he plays his own that the class really outs, aided and abetted by his lifetime perfecting his precision on guitar. Perhaps it was the experiences of working as Kristofferson's right hand man for nigh on twenty years, ahead of a similar role with Bonnie Raitt, that imbued him with such apparent ease with a song. And I can't help but feel, had he not died from the throat cancer that beset his last few years, that he would have become better known. But he did, in 2009, aged 60.
Spirit World is both the name of the featured track, and of the record it comes from, his fourth solo release, in 2002, on the prestigious New West record label, always a reliable home for quality americana and roots. Especially if you happen, like Bruton, you come from Texas. If you like a loping swagger down dusty byways, perhaps stopping to slake your thirst in a beat-up roadhouse, this is probably music you will like, and his other records have more of the same. Live? Well, his would be the sort of band booked to actually play that roadhouse. Here's the same song in a live setting.
Something I didn't know about him was his involvement with the soundtrack of Crazy Heart, the award winning film about a down and not quite out country singer, wedded to the bottle, ahead of being rescued by the love of a good woman. So far, so cliche, except it wasn't quite that simple, the good woman being a music journalist and happy ever after remaining, arguably, elusive. But, with Jeff Bridges, who blagged a deserved oscar for his portrayal, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, any tawdry sentiment is transcended. Based on a book, itself based loosely on singer Hank Thompson, many of the set pieces in the film are embellished with the real life experiences, on the road, of Bruton, himself a recovering alcoholic. (And, even if this weren't true, the character Deacon Clayborn, in the TV series Nashville, actually was certainly based upon him.) The job of the soundtrack was given to T.Bone Burnett, his first call being then to enrol his life-long buddy Bruton to the task, despite already his cancer biting hard. The bulk of new material for the movie was written by the pair of them, although Bruton was not to see the official release. He died at Burnett's home, so closely were they working, even right up to the end, this being six months ahead of the opening.( Here is one hell of an article, telling his tale so much better than can I. And please note the comments around his becoming, on attaining sobriety, a tireless rescuer of livers, rather than any lasting pitiful drunk.)
There are a host of similar artists I love, dependable names in, usually, second billing, or third, to more lauded souls, yet providing the ballast that boilers the bigger name. Sometimes the accolades come, often they don't. I am thinking of Sonny Landreth and the late Neal Casal, journeymen players and singers, often overlooked in the chase for a bigger story. Do yourself a favour. Look 'em out.
I cannot claim to be a die -hard Willie Nelson fan - but you would have to be from another planet to not know about him. Like me, however, you may not know much about his music, except that he is generally categorized as <country> or perhaps <outlaw country>, but he has also been and done many more styles.
I would place him on a pedestal for his commitment to his music, but also for his vociferous backing of a different life-style.
And that would seem to fit the bill here: it's (in)dependence. Willie Nelson would appear to have that in spades. Beyond his more than 60 years singing songs, he has used his voice to speak his mind, and lived a life that both stands apart and stands for what he believes.
Nobody Slides, My Friend is not among his best known songs. The message is in the title and the lyrics tell how:
you can run and hide
you can scream and shout
if you're living a lie, it will eat you alive
Joni Mitchell (with Willie Nelson): Cool Water
[purchase]
Sometimes a set of lyrics can change meanings depending on who sings them. On the surface, "Cool Water" is a simple enough song, about a thirsty man who sees a mirage in the dessert. (Old Dan, by the way, is his mule). But as I listened to the original version of the song by the Sons of the Pioneers, I was struck by a religious subtext, in which the song becomes a battle for the man‘s soul between the devil and God. In this interpretation, the poisoned water represents sin, while the clear water is the promise of Heaven. Joni Mitchell made minor changes to the lyrics for her recording in 1988, mostly to make the rhythm work for the way she wanted to sing the song. But this is Joni Mitchell, so the song, for me at least, still has a spiritual dimension, but now it is about environmentalism. Joni Mitchell rarely covered other people‘s songs, and this is the only time the meaning of the song changed. "Centerpiece," when bracketed by "Harry‘s House," became more bittersweet, but still expressed a yearning for perfect love. "Twisted" remained joyfully intact. "You‘re So Square" may not have been Mitchell’s finest interpretation, but the meaning of the song did not change. And "Unchained Melody" should be regarded as more of a reference than a cover, since Mitchell only used the chorus.
It's a bit bloody obvious, I know, and I can't even be arsed to see if it has been done before, but it seems so apposite in so many ways, covering any number of the bases I enjoy covering, even, in this case, if that veneer is of and with a thick, snowy schmalz. It's possible I may have previously mentioned my love of cover versions and this song, almost to my shock and awe, is one I have way more versions of than I ought. Or anyone ought. Who knew so many folk woke up one day and felt that this and only this was the song to cover. But then, Christmas, for all it's peace to the world and joy to all people can be a pretty godawful time of year for many, anticipatedly or contrived, through the foibles of massed family and friends. The main problem with the compulsory good cheer of Christmas is that it emphasizes the family, it expects partnership, it insists on conviviality, with that very pressure often enough to burst asunder through any too great expectation based upon. Been there, done that, and, hells teeth, alone at Xmas is the pits, the more so if you are clutched to the bosom of what loved ones you still have, rendering the essence of gooseberry to it's quintessential. I feel that Billy Hayes and/or Jay W. Johnson, who wrote the song back in the 40s knew this, the lyrics extolling the pain of lost love at Yuletime. (Having added my own existing knowledge to the 37 and counting pages of youtube vids, the repeated hearing of this song can itself render one near suicidal, alone or otherwise, but that's another story.)
Elvis is clearly the template most are aware of, originally appearing on his 1957 LP, Elvis' Christmas Album, later as a 1964 single, each doing well in their own formats, either side of the Atlantic. But it had been well-covered ahead of that, as early as 1948, by Ernest Tubb, a lot less ornately, and hence, to my ears, a lot more attractively. Since then the list has been extensive and extraordinary, largely within the canon of country (+/- western), encasing such disparates as Willie Nelson and Billy Idol, Wynton Marsalis and the Partridge Family and many, many more, sadly more distinguished by their bland similarities than any novel differences. Particularly galling examples I cannot even begin myself to link are by latter day "Great American Songbook" destroyer Rod Stewart and the appalling Mickey Bubbles. And even a live Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi, separately (unless you know better) have managed to savage it to an ignoble death. There is also the horror of Lou Reed, together with the unlikely collaboration of, God help us, the McGarrigles, so truly bad I have to offer it, pleading then your forgiveness. But there are a few that can proudly stand above the parapet, if only by the quality of the production or the quirkiness quotient. So let me present odd UK Led Zep reggae tribute band Dread Zeppelin, Scotland's finest, the Proclaimers, credible mainly for their heavily accented diction, and recently deceased reggae legend John Holt.
There are many more. If you seek yet more malaise still, the versions by Jerry Lee Lewis, Leon Redbone, Sheryl Crow, Nicole Atkins, Low, Jimmy Martin (quite good actually), Tammy Wynette, Jewel, the Ventures (likewise), Brian Wilson with the Beach Boys, Fats Domino, Bright Eyes, Johnny Mathis, Robert Gordon, Dean Martin, the Platters and Leann Rimes, they are all but a click away, in all their varieties of awfulness.
I need to leave you with some imagery though, to break up this wall of prose, so here are 2 final personal favourites: Porky Pig.....
I had a really difficult time trying to think of a song for this theme. In the past few years unusual collaborations have essentially become the norm, especially in pop music. Nelly and Tim McGraw? Jack White and Alicia Keys? Jason Aldean and Ludacris? Metallica and Lou Reed? LL Cool J and Brad Paisley? Shudder. While many of these modern collaborations obviously occurred in a Nashville board room rather than happening organically, and some that did form naturally were horrible ideas, many of these collaborations ended up becoming huge hits for both artists, crossing over genres, and exposing fans to new types of music.
To a child of the 80s like myself, the most obvious unusual collaboration, and the first one I remember hearing on the radio, has to be the collaboration of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson on the mega-hit "To All the Girls I've Loved Before." This song was originally written in 1975 by Albert Hammond and Hal David. Iglesias and Nelson recorded it in 1983 for Iglesias's album 1100 Bel Air Place (though it can also be found on a number of Nelson compilations). I can't find any information on how this collaboration came to be, but I like to imagine that Iglesias and Nelson crossed paths while touring through Europe, winding up at some London pub downing pints of ale (maybe at the Hard Rock Cafe where Nelson got his shirt in the above photo), and ending the night with drunken, "I love you man" hugs, and promising to do a song together.
"To All the Girls I've Loved Before" became an enormous hit for both Iglesias and Nelson. It was a breakthrough song for Iglesias in the English language market, and was Nelson's biggest European hit. The song went to #1 on the US country charts, #5 on the Billboard Hot 100, and was named single of the year by the Academy of Country Music. 1100 Bel Air Place sold 4 million copies in the US, and 8 million world wide.
This song is not the only unusual collaboration on 1100 Bel Air Place. On this album Iglesias also has a duet with Diana Ross on the opening track "All of You," the Beach Boys provide vocals for "The Air the I Breathe," and Richard Marx, who had a huge amount of solo success in the late 80s and early 90s, is listed as a backing singer on the album. As mentioned earlier in the week by Retropath, Nelson himself has had a number of unusual collaborations over the years, including Sinead O'Connor, Carlos Santana, Phish, and most recently Snoop Dogg.
So what about all of the girls that Iglesias and Nelson have loved before? Between the two of them, they have four ex-wives and 15 children. Iglesias married Miranda Rijnsburger in 2010, his girlfriend of 20 years and mother of five of his children. Nelson married Annie D'Angelo in 1991. They have two sons, one of whom (Lukas) has recorded with and is currently touring with his father.
In 1960, Willie Nelson was struggling as a songwriter in Nashville. His name didn't even appear on best-known composition to date, "Family Bible." Nelson sold the songwriting credit for $50.
Some of that "Family Bible" money was spent at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, a Nashville watering hole around the corner from the Grand Ole Opry. Soon, Nelson made the acquaintance of another Tootsie's habitue, Faron Young. A country music superstar and bona fide wildman, Young had enjoyed a decade of uninterrupted chart success with fast-paced twangers like “Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young,” “If You Ain’t Loving, You Ain’t Living” and “That’s the Way I Feel.”
At Tootsie's, Nelson pitched Young two freshly written songs. Young liked both compositions and committed to recording them. In the studio, everyone figured the more mainstream number, “Congratulations,” would be Young’s next hit single. But, the singer favored the more offbeat song Nelson had offered, “Hello Walls,” in which the narrator anthropomorphizes his broken home. Apparently, Young was alone in seeing the commercial potential of the song; his producer and the session musicians ridiculed it. In an interview quoted in a biography of Young, Live Fast, Love Hard, he describes the scene:
They said "Hello guitar, hello there microphone, hello chair." Everyone was just dying laughing because they thought this song was so stupid...I said, "That’s the reason that song’s gonna be a hit. It sticks in your mind.”
He was right. “Hello Walls” became Nelson’s first number one song as a writer. It stayed atop the country charts for nine weeks and broke into the pop top 20. Again in need of spending money, Nelson offered to sell Young the rights to the hit song. Young convinced Nelson that wasn’t a good idea. “I gave him five $100 bills, and I made him swear on a stack of bibles he wouldn’t sell that song,” Young said. Once the money started rolling in, Nelson offered to repay the advance, but Young refused. Nelson was grateful. “I was sitting at Tootsies," Young recalled, "and all of a sudden this big hairy arm came around my neck, and Willie French-kissed me. Probably the best kiss I ever had.”
In 1987, long after Young’s star had faded, Nelson again demonstrated his appreciation by insisting his record label put out a Willie 'n' Faron duet album. It was Young’s last major-label release. Faced with health problems and financial woes, Faron Young committed suicide in 1996.
September Song was has words by Maxwell Anderson. Anderson was a famous playwright and novelist who won a Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1933. Ha also was well known and highly regarded for his screenplays. The music is by Kurt Weill, who was best known for this song and the music for The Threepenny Opera. The song comes from a Broadway musical from 1938, Knickerbocker Holiday.
Anderson was a pacifist and anarchist who used Knickerbocker Holiday to criticize FDR as being a “fascist”. Nowadays, we think of President Roosevelt as the epitome of liberalism, but at the time he was criticized from the left as well as the right. Knickerbcker Holiday ran on Broadway for less than a year, and has been all but forgotten since.
But September Song has become a standard. The song is not at all political. Kurt Weill would later marry singer Lotte Lenye, and September Song would become her signature tune. There are any number of jazz versions, with and without vocals. Frank Sinatra recorded it. Even Lou Reed did a version. But Willie Nelson’s take on it is my favorite. It comes from Stardust, Nelson’s album of standards. If Nelson ever wants to do more of this, I’d like to know about it.
I couldn’t help noticing that all of the songs posted this week were duets between a male and a female singer. Of course there’s nothing wrong with that, and the music has been great. But there are other possibilities. Here are two fine examples of duets between two male singers. There also many fine all-female duets, but I leave that thought with my fellow Starmakers. There’s still time!
VH-1 Storytellers was a series that usually featured one artist talking about the craft of songwriting, and playing examples. Musically, the results were often spectacular.
But, for one episode, somebody had the idea of getting Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson together to talk about each others songs. Cash and Nelson are, of course, both country artists, but with very different styles. So this could have been a disaster. But, judging from the episode as aired, the two really hit it off, and the music showed it. (Ghost) Riders in the Sky is only one example of how wonderfully they were able to mesh musically.
Bill Morrissey and Greg Brown used to run into each other on the folk circuit, (they probably still do, for that matter). Over time, they became friends, and jammed together at festivals. Soon enough, they got the idea of recording an album together. What with schedule conflicts and all that travel, it took a few years before it finally happened. Both are fine songwriters, but by the time they went into the studio together, they had decided to record a set of songs by other writers. Duncan and Brady is a traditional song that they selected.
1973 was an important year in the development of Outlaw Country.
Jerry Jeff Walker gave us the recipe for a good party. Willie Nelson began, in earnest, the second phase of his distinguished career with a brilliant LP. Waylon Jennings released a classic album of songs penned by Billy Joe Shaver that might be my favorite country LP of all time, and Billy Joe released a classic of his own. Finally, outlaw Tompall Glaser released one of his most acclaimed albums, which appears to be out of print at the moment.
We had a power cut round my way, it lasted most of the evening and night. I get back and there are about a trillion posts! In an effort to catch up, and to cut down my list of things I want to post a little, I give you ten great songs which give advice on what not to do. There's a fine line between advice and plea or command, but I reckon these fall on the side of guidance.
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