Done: Nothing Can Be Done

 

purchase [ Night Ride Home]

A tip of the hat to our own Seuras Og, who undoubtedly would have given you a different take on this one, but left it for me while probably wondering by this time if I would ever get around to the task.

A lot of the music I like to listen to comes from the Laurel Canyon crew. Never having delved too deeply into the historic records of that scene, I find myself scrolling through photos taken by Henry Diltz and amazed at the shallowness of my knowledge of that bit of history. There's so much more to learn but the photos provide a lot of fodder for a wandering mind.

I had ended up at that page following a trail about Jackson Browne and Joni Mitchell - and trying to come to grips with my ambivalence about Joni Mitchell. Due to my age and cultural exposures, I certainly heard Joni Mitchell, but always felt her music was a little too Blue for my taste. I certainly have had respect for her unique style - even play my own interpretation of Both Sides Now, just one of her many excellent songs. But, well ... too often melancholy. Even the seemingly ever-present pout carries that same sensibillity to me.

This digging has also lead me to question my lack of interest in female musicians of the type. Yes, Joni is unique, but in my mind she has been associated with Joan Baez for some reason. And much of the above pertains to her as well: gifted but not my bag, whereas Bonnie Raitt, Stevie Nicks, Billie Elish (just to name a few) - I can listen to again and again. So it's not gender related dis-interest.

So ... "done" and Joni Mitchell: When I first heard "Nothing Can Be Done" - yes, just the other day - my ambivalence shriveled a bit. This isn't the Joni Mitchell I thought I knew. Well ... the lyrics fall into the category of stories she might tell. But the music doesn't. At all. But then my aversion means that I haven't listened to all that many Mitchell works.

While the lyrics are Mitchell's, the music is credited to Larry Klein. And again, writing here at SMM takes me to places I should but don't know about as I learn that Klein and Mitchell were married for some time and continued collaborating afterwards. And that Klein also has had a rather eclectic musical background.

It's a song of sadness, growth, skeletons and wisdom gained. It's not "I'm done", but rather, since nothing can be done about the smoking gun of my heart, it's time to learn a lesson and move on wisened by the experience.

Mr./Ms.: Hey Mister, That's Me Up On The Jukebox

James Taylor: Hey Mister, That's Me up on the Jukebox
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If you’ve been reading my work on this site since 2011 (!), you might notice that I often discuss why various artists aren’t as famous as I (or others) think they should be. That isn’t the problem this time, since our featured song was written and performed by James Taylor, who was, and still is, pretty famous. 

Today, we’re looking at a song written from the perspective of someone who achieved fame, and is maybe not all that happy about it. 

Taylor’s path to stardom is pretty well known. Born into a prosperous family, he was a sensitive musical child who eventually struggled with both mental illness and drug abuse. After his first “real” band, the Flying Machine, which also included his longtime friend and future collaborator Danny Kortchmar, failed to take off (sorry—I’m guessing that I’m not the first person to make that joke), he moved to England. Through Kortchmar, Taylor connected with Peter Asher, who at the time was running A&R for Apple Records, and Asher played Taylor’s demo for McCartney and Harrison, who loved it. Taylor was the first non-British act signed to Apple Records. 

Taylor’s self-titled debut, despite positive reviews, and a fine single, “Carolina On My Mind,” failed to sell well, in part because Taylor couldn’t promote the album because he was again in rehab. Upon his release, Taylor was unable to maintain the momentum from enthusiastic crowds at live shows, including the 1969 Newport Folk Festival, because he broke his hands and feet in a motorcycle accident. 

Signing with Warner Bros. Records, Taylor moved to California and recorded his next album with a big assist from Carole King (and Asher and Kortchmar). That album, Sweet Baby James, was justifiably a smash hit, garnering both critical and popular acclaim. This led to high profile concerts, benefit shows, TV appearances, and Time magazine’s declaration that he was the “face of new rock.” Let’s take a brief digression here to remind our readers who were not alive in 1971 that this was not at all as strange at the time as it sounds today. 

As often happens, the followup to the big hit album pales in comparison. That’s not to say that Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon was a bad album—it just wasn’t Sweet Baby James. Despite that, the album did spawn Taylor’s only Billboard No. 1 hit, a cover of King’s “You’ve Got a Friend,” featuring Joni Mitchell on background vocals, as well as Kortchmar and the crack rhythm section of Leland Sklar and Russ Kunkel. 

Also on Mud Slide Slim is “Hey Mister, That's Me up on the Jukebox,” in which the singer, presumably Taylor, is pointing out to the titular Mister that it is, in fact, he who is singing the sad song on the jukebox. On the one hand, there has to be some pride in that, but there’s also a little shock, and some sadness about the fact that: 

I have wasted too much time just to sing you this sad song
And I've done been this lonesome picker a little too long 

Taylor has said that the song “is basically a way of dealing with the shock of being a private person going public.” When asked if he found it jarring, Taylor responded: 

Yeah. I found it - you know, of course, it's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be successful. And I wanted to get people to hear my music. I wanted my music to make a difference to people. But at the same time, you know, making yourself the product, it's very distracting. 

Coincidentally, not long before starting to write this, I got to see my daughter experience a small amount of similar weirdness, although without the corresponding ambivalence (or, so far, massive commercial success). I may have mentioned before that she’s a standup comedian in Barcelona, and for a few months has been appearing semi-regularly on a TV show there, The Weekly Mag, designed to help locals practice their English. I stumbled across her IMDB page, listing her one credit, and she was shocked when I sent it to her. No, it’s not the same as what JT went through, but it is a cute story, and it allows me to make this piece a little more personal than just a discussion of the early career of James Taylor. 

Anyway, despite decades of fame, Taylor has always seemed to have a certain ambivalence about his place in the public spotlight consistent with “Hey Mister’s” lyrics, even as he has continued to record and perform, be a political and environmental activist, have a high profile marriage and divorce from Carly Simon, and a second marriage to actress Kathryn Walker (and another divorce). However, he seems to have settled into a quieter third marriage, to Kim Smedvig (who my wife, a huge Taylor fan, would point out is a Smithie), a comfortable recording and performing (pre-COVID) career, and maybe, finally, happiness.

MAIN: STREETS

"Main Street is a metonym used to denote a primary retail street of a village, town or small city in many parts of the world. It is usually a focal point for shops and retailers in the central business district, and is most often used in reference to retailing and socializing."

Well, there's a thing. Metonym, I mean, a word previously outside my knowledge and vocabulary. And of course I love it and you can expect its casual drop into a future post real soon. But I felt I needed clarification of what quite an exile from main street might really mean. Sure, we know what the Stones meant, I think, but, to go all literal, surely it means they were strictly side streets. Or maybe back streets. But, anyway let's have a traipse around some main streets and see where we end up.

London is so big it would be invidious to classify which street is actually more main than any of the others, but, to apply the wiki description, certainly in terms of the main shopping drag and flagship stores, it probably fits the bill best. Plus, and essentially therefore, it has a song about it. A good one too, the output of early Everything But The Girl. Long before the drum and bass electronic clatter of Walking Wounded, they, married couple Ben Watt and Tracey Thorne, were offering delicate jazz tinged whimsy like this. With charm abundant.The lyrics explain perfectly why Oxford Street counts as main street: to those living outside the metropolis, coming in by train as a special treat, Oxford Street is exactly where you would head, if retail was your thing. And, let's face it, more people came to London to shop than to go to the museums. (I guess if you are already a Londoner, you may be more inclined to go to the West End or Brick Lane, depending on resources or requirements.)

Whilst there is a Main street in New York, most folk won't see it a go to, more a go through, so I think it's probably Fifth Avenue. Not everybody gets to pay the prices or even gain admission, so it's good to see the other side, Dylan LeBlanc's wry reflection on being a pauper in the glitz, a string drenched lament that sounds more (Best) western in style than the north east. Lovely song. Other contenders could be, for the more budget conscious, Broadway or Union Street.

OK, a bit of a cheat here, for Paris, but, hell, it was the obvious, right from the start of choosing the thematic approach, right? La belle Joni, peak folk becomes jazzier period, with the lyrically all over the place paean to, well, french kissing. Miles knew, however, that main street, Paris, equals Les Champs Elysees, another eye-waveringly temple to gratuitous wealth. Personally I always preferred Les Halles, the old market and, now, state of the art mall. Let's ask a local.

So where next on this whirlwind? Well, rather than a shuffle through the fleshpots further, the above is a lesser heard oddity from the touched by genius pen of Roy Wood, the Move, ELO and Wizzard man. A schizoid blend of the Glenn Miller sound, mixed with Brian Wilson, it is a delightful way to end this mosey up the main streets of Mammon.

Enjoy, and although the shops are all closed, you can still find all these goodies: EBTG, Dylan, Joni and Roy.

OPEN/CLOSE: CLOSING TIME (BRIEF RETURN)

Well, clearly I had to sneak this in as the shutters pull down, ashtrays empty and lights go out. Prompted by J.David's last post, his call for last orders initiated that strange pavlovian response of suddenly after all needing one more for the road. So let me pretend once more not to have noticed the subtext for this theme is "songs about opening up". (Oops, but it's true, literally not 'til just now. Well, they'll be open again in the morning. Or, as we call it in the UK, the beginning of July, virus willing.)

Much as I love the Semisonic, and I do, having that album, it isn't the first song provoked by Closing Time. The one I default to is the one above, arguably one of the lesser songs by the Bard of Montreal. From his second sorta comeback album The Future, which followed 1988's I'm Your Man, wherein he reinvented himself as being more up to speed with the change of musical styles and instrumentation than his earlier bedroom acoustic might have suggested. This record was positively reeking of modernity, synthesisers drenching the grooves, give or take some gypsy fiddling. But still that voice, that golden voice, the one he was born with. And it is, true, a pretty slim song, the lyric better than the melody, which nonetheless evokes well the blurry, bleary atmosphere of a basement bar, more promise than preferences, the drink subverting sense and senses.

And that would have been that, were it not for a team of of his earlier advocates picking it up, the concept of closing time a more familiar seeming environment for Fairport Convention than Cohen. (The received wisdom would be that Cohen would have long since departed the bar, an uncorked bottle of vintage red in one hand, a sobbing mistress in the other.....) Back in the dim distant, when Fairport were a youthful band in admiration of earnest singer songwriters and yet to invent folk-rock, with Leonard Cohen one of the authors they admired, along with Joni Mitchell, they covered several of his songs. It was good, therefore, in 1995, to see him back in their hands, the lightweight lyric perfect for their "Grateful Dead on real ale" ambience. They play around with the words, echoing and repeating pertinent words. Plus, as a good idea of where they would place the song in their live set (and did), towards the end of the song the backing vocals remind "Matty....Groves...is...coming... up next". That enough endears their version to me, and, simultaneously, raises the game of the original.

Finally, lest the eagle-eared be seeking it, Closing Time by Tom Waits was addressed here, some years ago. Lyle Lovett? A different song altogether, maybe for another day.

Salut! Cheers!

Mayday/Danger: Help Me

Joni Mitchell: Help Me
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If you believe Wikipedia, the use of the word “Mayday” as a distress signal began in 1921, when a radio officer at Croydon Airport near London was asked to come up with an appropriate word, and because much of the air traffic then came from Paris, he settled on “Mayday.” derived from the French word m'aider ('help me'), a shortened form of venez m'aider (“come and help me”).

So, it is appropriate that we discuss Joni Mitchell’s song “Help Me,” from the great Court and Spark album (which also includes “Free Man in Paris,” which doesn’t appear to relate to air traffic, but which did supply this blog with its name). A breezy, jazzy tune, it was written and produced by Mitchell, using the fusion band L.A. Express as the backing musicians. “Help Me” was Mitchell’s highest charting hit—at No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100, it was her only top 10 hit, and it topped the easy listening chart. Joni considered “Help Me” to be “a throwaway song, but it was a good radio record. My record companies always had a tendency to take my fastest songs on albums for singles, thinking they'd stand out because they did on the LPs. Meantime, I'd feel that the radio is crying for one of my ballads!”

Not to turn this into some sort of treatise on sexual mores, but as one commentator noted:

Like the erotica of Anais Nin, the songs of Joni Mitchell have been a move, in a world generally dominated by men, to express the experiences of physical and spiritual love solely from a purposeful woman's vantage point. Through an often-angry admission of her emotional weakness for and dependence on the opposite sex, of her foolhardy miscomprehensions and unrewarded acts of faith, and of her ability, however imperfect, to make the process of self-love and the search for romantic fulfillment compatible, she has forged a fresh image of the autonomous female artist. It is not a political representation, tied to trends or to movements like Women's Liberation, but a forceful announcement of her own singularity. She began by embodying the archetypal fair-haired hippie-chick singer, ornamenting the male folk-rock enclave, taking lovers (Graham Nash, James Taylor) from among her associates, yet making it plain that they were her peers, that she claimed co-ownership of the experiences, and that she reserved the right to think out loud about them. Mitchell, like the rest of the obstinate rock and roll community, was on the way to satisfying herself, and she made no bones about it. 

I note that this excerpt, from the 1988 book Rock Lives, by Timothy White, appears on Mitchell’s personal website, and probably wouldn’t be there if Joni thought it was hogwash. And it is clear that Mitchell’s love life was quite varied. This 2017 Washington Post review of David Yaffe’s biography of Mitchell, Reckless Daughter, which also appears on Mitchell’s website, points out:

Mitchell's list of lovers boggles not because of its quantity but its quality: Leonard Cohen, David Crosby, Graham Nash, James Taylor, Jackson Browne, John Guerin, Sam Shepard, Jaco Pastorius, Don Alias and Larry Klein, among others. Many of her songs reference those lovers - "A Case of You" is about Cohen; "Coyote" about Shepard - and seldom in flattering ways. 

But the question to me is Mitchell really asking for help? The song’s first line, “Help me, I think I'm falling in love again” doesn’t register as a true plea for assistance, but instead a recognition of “here we go again.” She knows that the love affair is doomed—he’s “a rambler and a gambler and a sweet-taIking-ladies man.” But, she acknowledges that as much as she loves their “lovin’” they both love their freedom more:

I think I'm falling
In love with you 

Are you going to let me go there by myself 
That's such a lonely thing to do 
Both of us flirting around 
Flirting and flirting 

Hurting too 
We love our lovin' 
But not like we love our freedom 

True, long lasting, relationships require, I think, giving up some of your freedom in exchange for the other stuff—the “lovin’” the “sitting there talking/Or lying there not talking.” Which Mitchell, assuming that this song was at least in part autobiographical, wasn’t willing to do.

Somehow, this makes me think of how these days we have to give up some of our freedom—to get haircuts, see friends and family, eat in restaurants, see concerts, and wear masks—in exchange for the other stuff—like not infecting people with a potentially deadly disease.

Non-Sense: De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da

The Police: De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da
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Would it surprise you to find out that Sting believes that this song, with its nonsense title and refrain, is actually a very serious song? Look, we all know that Sting can be very pretentious, but he knows that—even embraces it—and I think that you have to give him credit. And as I’ve mentioned before, I have no problem with pretentious music. It’s just that you wouldn’t expect that from a song with that title. But here’s what Sting said about the song in a New Musical Express interview in 1981:

I think my songs are fairly literate - they're not rubbish. 'De Do Do Do', for example, was grossly misunderstood: the lyrics are about banality, about the abuse of words. Almost everyone who reviewed it said, Oh, this is baby talk. They were just listening to the chorus alone, obviously. But they're the same people who would probably never get through the first paragraph of Finnegan's Wake, because that's 'baby talk', too. I know that sounds pretentious, but in that song I was trying to say something which was really quite difficult - that people like politicians, like myself even use words to manipulate people, and that you should be very careful. It's quite a serious song, but because it's by The Police it was just written off as being garbage.

In 1993, in Q, Sting said about the song:

God, I got flak for that one. I always thought it was an articulate song about being inarticulate. The first thing you have to consider is that this was a huge hit on both sides of the Atlantic. I was intrigued with why songs like that worked. Why 'Da Doo Ron Ron', why 'Doo Wah Diddy Diddy', why 'Be Bop A Lula', why 'Tutti Frutti' worked. I came up with the idea that they worked because they were totally innocent. They weren't trying to tell you anything or distort your vision - it was just a sound. So in the song I try to intellectualise and analyse why that works so effectively which is self-defeating in a way but it was still a massive hit. Some people might think that the man who wrote 'De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da' is a stupid twat but...I'm living here. 

And, according to Wikipedia, Joni Mitchell, a pretty fair songwriter, loved it. 

It is hard not to listen to the song, and Sting’s explanation, without thinking of our remarkably inarticulate president, who nevertheless uses his simple (minded) words (and his lies and insults), to manipulate people—somehow getting millions of people to vote for him for a job that he is profoundly unqualified for. And to maintain their blind loyalty despite his consistent lies, corruption and failures. His actions in response to the current coronavirus emergency—for which the Police song “Don’t Stand So Close To Me,” comes to mind, although the subject of the song, about an affair between a school girl and an older man is more fitting for the social lives of Trump and his friends—have been dangerous and incoherent, but hasn’t yet seemed to erode the support of his base. Sadly, though, in this era or hyperpartisanship, he could stand in front of a podium, say “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da,” and walk away, and his sycophants would somehow declare it brilliant.

Eventually, though, I’m hoping that another Police song, “Truth Hits Everybody,” becomes appropriate—hopefully, before November 3, 2020.

LEFTOVERS: LEAVES: TEA

Let's get this straight, tea is so not my cup of tea. I can't stand the stuff, being an avowedly (instant) coffee man. Yet it is an enduring image in the world of popular song, often used to evoke a peculiar englishness that has, bar the drinking of it, gone. But it gives me the opportunity for a list post, which, in the leftovers pile, will at least avoid any flak for using up "all the ideas" Thus, in time honoured, please warm your pots.......

Cup of Tea/Shack. Lovely peaceful vibes, with a hint of ye olde psychedelia which belies its youth, the song being barely a decade old. Given that it stems from the never more aptly named Head brothers, arguments might exist as to whether this song is about assam or darjeeling. Or indeed anything more exotic, but it has a timeless, restful quality I can drown in.

Penny Royal Tea/Kristin Hersh. I know, I know, it's a Kurt song, but I prefer this version to the original, excepting the Unplugged performance. I wondered quite what Penny Royal tea was, thinking it may even be a brand of teabags available in Walmart or some such, then that the song may have been a play of words, bemoaning the pitiful returns on his song publication rights: royal tea/royalty, right? As ever, wiki is my friend, and it is apparently an often unsuccessful chinese abortifacient...

Tea and Sympathy/Janis Ian. Beautiful string arrangement with typically understated Ian vocals, a wry reflection on loss. And at last a song about tea tea. I would politely endure a cup of tea under the circumstances described, and traditionally have about one cup a year, usually with aged relatives. And similar references, no doubt.

Tea For One/Led Zeppelin. Not an entirely dissimilar concept as above, portrayed and presented a little differently, it's true. Percy missing his missus, tea for one being the metaphor for alone. Whilst I can't imagine vintage Zeppelin drinking anything but (vintage) champagne, OK, maybe brown ale for Bonzo, strangely the idea of the current Plant drinking a mug of tea, probably in a Wolverhampton Wanderers mug, seems entirely apposite.

Tea Leaf Prophecy/Herbie Hancock featuring Joni Mitchell. Her song, mind, but this version has always appealed more, the original still displaying residual vestiges of a folk tendency within this, as we later learnt, decidedly jazz singer. It is also good to have a salient reminder of the erstwhile bonus in every olden days cuppa, that of having your fortune made available courtesy the leaves left in the base of the cup. Try doing that with a teabag, Mr Lipton!

Tea Stain/Tindersticks. Cripes, I love(d) this band. As an instrumental this isn't perhaps the most representative of their output, but does give the european arthouse soundtrack quality they inhabit so well. It's a pity as I can picture their lugubrious singer, Stuart Staples, finding it only too easy to imagine him with old tea stains down the front of a crumpled white shirt. (You wanna hear him sing? Sadly I can find no further tea references, Will coffee do?)

Tea For The Tillerman/Cat Stevens. Bit of vintage Cat when he was still Cat, rather than Yusuf realising he didn't sell so well without a bracketed reminder. This album and the follow up, Teaser and the Firecat, soundtracked my miserable teens, the angst and ennui of his vocals hitting a chord with lonely adolescents everywhere. There seem to be a lot of websites arguing the meaning of the phrase, but I think the picture says it well enough, whether the jovial beardy is the man who tills the soil or pulls the tiller. Personally I think the 1 minute version on the album is probably better.

Tea Leaves/The Snails. I'll be honest. This isn't the song I wanted to include, hoping that a song of equally little-known band UK The Scaremongers might be available on YouTube. It wasn't, but I encourage you look for the song, part of the Sound of Mature Huddersfield as they style themselves.
This song? It OK.

So, that's yer lot. Eight, as anything more might be seen as hogging it, seeking vaingloriously too wide a demographic where at least one song might appeal. (Memo to self, what do they drink in Tarrytown?) No room even for this......

Explore!

Leftovers: Trios: I’m With Her

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Usually, when I go to a concert, I have expectations. That’s because I’m a fan of the artist, and I have a sense of what it will sound like. Most times, there’s an expectation of what you are going to hear—stuff from the new album, if there is one, some older favorites, maybe a cover, or a deep track. Of course, expectations can lead to disappointment, if the band has an off night, or doesn’t play your favorite song, for example.

Seeing a show by an artist that you aren’t that familiar with, or even totally unfamiliar with, can be liberating. Sure, you might be totally disappointed, but you can listen with a completely open mind. For me, that has been part of the joy of attending music festivals, most notably the Clearwater Festival (but also Newport Folk), because sprinkled between the familiar acts are new discoveries.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I saw I’m With Her at the Tarrytown Music Hall. When the tickets went on sale, I thought that it might be a good show, despite the fact that I was only vaguely familiar with their music. I was aware that all three members had reasonably successful careers in the folk music/singer-songwriter/Americana/bluegrass/roots music world, that Sara Watkins had been in Nickel Creek, and that I enjoyed all of their music, both solo and group, when I heard it on WFUV.

It turned out to be a great show. As much as I can enjoy a rocking show at the Music Hall (seeing The Mavericks shake the old building a few weeks before was a blast), there is something to be said to hearing beautiful music, well-played, in a quiet, appreciative concert hall. The show started off with another revelation, The Brother Brothers, identical twins David and Adam Moss, who played guitar, violin, and cello, and sang classic sounding (mostly) original folk music with wonderful brother harmonies. They set the stage well for the headliners, and seemed genuinely happy to be playing to a fairly large audience.

I’m With Her, which also features Sarah Jarosz and Aoife O’Donovan, made beautiful, mostly acoustic music on an array of stringed instruments, with beautiful harmonies. Apparently, they came together at an impromptu show in 2014 at the Sheridan Opera House in Telluride, Colorado where they had been booked to share a workshop, and during rehearsals, recognized that as good as they were individually, they had something special as a trio. They toured together, playing on each other’s songs and doing covers, before Hillary Clinton unwittingly commandeered the band's name as a slogan.

They began to write songs as a group, complicated by geography (O’Donovan and Jarosz live in New York City; Watkins lives in Los Angeles), busy work schedules as solo artists and as guests, teaching, and, for Watkins and O’Donovan, motherhood. Their album was recorded in England, in real time, with the musicians, producer and engineers all in one room.

And that, pretty much, was how the show went. The three women, facing each other on stage switching between instruments and between lead and harmony vocals. They played songs from their albums, solo tracks, and a few covers. And it was beautiful, and relaxing (less so for my wife, who was seated next to a very annoying person on her other side). In honor of Joni Mitchell’s 75th birthday the previous day, they busted out a new cover of “Carey,” with each member of the group taking the lead on a verse. You could hear how each of them was influenced by the legend, but also how they had made that influence personal.

I chose to feature “Overland,” not because it was the best song they played, although it was quite good, but because it has a really cool paper stop action animation video. Featuring lead vocals and guitar from Watkins, with banjo from Jarosz and O’Donovan on guitar, it is a song about leaving home, in this case, Chicago, and heading to San Francisco, with all of the hope and trepidation that entails.

Breakup Songs: Coyote

Joni Mitchell: Coyote

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Breakup songs generally sound like they are intended for an audience of one: the person being broken up with. The songs can express anger, heartbreak, or despair. They can express undying devotion, now unrequited. But the goal is often to make the case for why the breakup is happening. In truth, the singer is often trying just as hard to convince themselves that it is over as the current or former object of their affection. Coyote is not a typical breakup song, in that it depicts a relationship that the singer never intended to be permanent. But it shares this element of trying to convince both parties that it is over. This is a relationship that has already lasted longer than the originally intended one night stand. Joni Mitchell’s narrator must have originally intended to be gone the next morning without even a goodbye, and this seems to her to be a normal feature of a life on the road. It is a set of rules she thought both parties understood, but “Coyote” had other ideas. He collects women, and he treats them to a level of passion that draws them back like a moth to a flame. Mitchell’s character mentions that she can not and does not expect faithfulness here, but her main stated reason for going is simply that she belongs on the road, and can not be tied down. She is trying to convince both him and herself that what she would get back for this loss of freedom would not be sufficient compensation.

In my description above, I have referred to Joni Mitchell’s narrator. It is curious that the first Joni Mitchell song I thought of for our theme comes from her album Hejira. Mitchell was at this time trying to escape a reputation as a confessional songwriter. Her earlier brilliant relationship songs were certainly about herself, but she had made a break with that mode of lyric writing with her previous album, The Hissing of Summer Lawns. The songs on Hissing are told in the third person. They are stories about characters that Joni Mitchell invented, and they travel in worlds that Joni Mitchell clearly did not. Hejira is a trickier album to pin down. Even though Coyote is told in the first person, Mitchell asked her fans to not assume it was anything she had experienced; in particular, she didn’t want fans to speculate about the identity of any real life Coyote. I am sure they did anyway, and it would be one of the last songs Mitchell would record that could be construed as being about a recent event in her life. Her personal songs from later in her career tend to be about things that happened longer ago, and there are some great songs among them, but there is not the sense of immediacy that fans had come to expect, and that is found in Coyote.

Chaos/ Confusion: Twisted

Wardell Gray: Twisted

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Our theme might have produced more posts by now if it was “mental illness”. That is certainly one way to approach it, although we have already seen that Chaos/ Confusion is broader than that. So this post could actually spark an argument as to whether the song fits our current theme at all. I feel that it does, because of the merits of the song itself, and also because of confusion over who wrote it.

I first heard Twisted as done by Joni Mitchell. I don’t know if it was a single, but it was all over FM radio in 1974. I was 14 that year, and I just assumed that Joni Mitchell wrote the song. What does a 14 year old know? I knew that I immediately loved the song, and I still do. It introduced me to jazz singing, and that at in tern opened my ears to jazz in general. But I did not know until much later that the original version of Twisted was a jazz instrumental by Wardell Gray. Gray is one of those respected figures in jazz history that you come to hear of, but it’s hard to name anything he did. Partly, this is because he was best known as a sideman. Also, although we tend to think of jazz in the period following World War II as a New York thing, Gray was part of a lively scene in Los Angeles that probably should be better known. Certainly, Twisted deserved the fame it would later achieve, and it’s a shame Gray does not get more credit for the song.

Lambert Hendricks and Ross: Twisted

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As great as Joni Mitchell’s Twisted is, she isn’t even the one who wrote the lyrics. That was Annie Ross. In 1952, Ross was asked by the head of her record company to write words to a sax solo. Ross later said in an interview that she chose Twisted because of the possibilities of the title. She decided to write a spoof of psychoanalysis, and completed the lyrics in one night. The song is an example of vocalese, a term which did not exist at the time. Basically, vocalese is doing what Ross did here, taking an instrumental piece and writing words for it. Lambert Hendricks and Ross were pioneers of vocalese. They would later be a major inspiration for the group Manhattan Transfer, who would cover many of their songs. Another great name in vocalese, if you want to explore, is Eddie Jefferson.

Joni Mitchell: Twisted

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I still love Joni Mitchell’s version of Twisted. Mitchell made the song her own, and the joy of singing it comes through loud and clear. She also made two minor changes to the lyrics. Ross sings, “That’s why I drank a fifth of vodka one night”, but Mitchell sings, “That’s why I got into the vodka one night.” Also, Ross sings, “the reasoning and the logic that went on in my head”, while Mitchell has, “the idiomatic logic that went on in my head.”

Jane Monheit: Twisted

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So, regarding the lyrics, who is right? Well, there is nothing to stop the next artist who performs Twisted from singing the words either way. Jane Monheit is certainly aware of Joni Mitchell, having covered A Case of You. But Monheit chose to go back to the Ross lyrics for her wonderful version of Twisted.

Steel: Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire

Joni Mitchell: Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire

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Joni Mitchell released Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire on her album For the Roses in 1972, and I must have first heard it close to that time for the first time. I turned twelve that year, so I had no idea what the enigmatic lyric was about. To me, it was an enticing dark fantasy that might involve a deal with the devil. I understood Hotel California in the same way, picking up on the undercurrent of seductive danger, but not the context. Now I know and can clearly see that both songs are about drug addiction. In particular, the cold blue steel in Joni Mitchell’s title is a heroin needle. So my deal with the devil idea wasn’t really wrong; I just didn’t know the identity of this particular devil.

Joni’s original recording of this song serves as an interesting marker for where she was in her musical career at the time. The song begins with little more than voice and guitar, harkening back to the folk period Mitchell was leaving at the time. But gradually, the arrangement fills out, until the song finishes in a much jazzier territory that Mitchell would explore over her next several albums.

Tim Curry: Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire

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When Joni Mitchell finished her run of jazzy albums, she began to explore electric rock. If she had recorded a version of Cold Blue Steel at that time, it might have sounded something like Tim Curry’s recording of the song. It’s a shame that Curry is best known as Dr Frankenfurter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. This performance strips away the campiness of Frankenfurter, and finds the sense of menace in a blistering rock version of the song. Curry never was a major hit maker, but he was serious about his music.

Boi Akih: Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire

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I found this version of Cold Blue Steel while researching for this post. Boi Akih gives the song an interesting jazz treatment that might have been what Joni’s song would have sounded like if she had not written it until the Mingus album. This version emphasizes the seductiveness of the lyric, while the dissonant musical elements preserve the sense of danger.

Top 10 Posts of 2015

We briefly interrupt our annual In Memoriam theme to start a new tradition—highlighting the 10 most viewed posts of 2015.

The variety of music discussed on this site is broad, and our international roster of writers brings different perspectives to their pieces. One of the great things about Star Maker Machine is that it gives our writers a forum to write about anything they want, as long as they can relate it, in some way, to our bi-weekly theme. In our top 10, there are personal memories, political and social discussions, remembrances of those who have passed, brushes with celebrity, and even just posts about songs, music and musicians. This list includes discussions of folk, rock, old-time pop, klezmer, and spoken word.

So, in case you missed them, here are the most viewed posts from the last calendar year. But they are only a small sampling of what you will find in our archives, which we invite you to explore.

1. Where I Live—Tarrytown
2. Self-Reflection—Wilco (The Song) 
3. Light→Darkness—From Light to Darkness with Richard & Linda Thompson
4. Songs South—The Southern Thing/The Three Great Alabama Icons 
5. The Future—Somewhere Down The Road 
6. Brush With Celebrity—Jean Shepherd
7. Self-Reflection—You Turn Me On I’m A Radio 
8. Light—Harbor Lights
9. Non-Christmas Holiday Songs—Happy Joyous Hanukkah
10. Water/Wet—California, The Beach Boys

And there is more to come in 2016.

Carole King Covers: Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

Me First & The Gimme Gimmes: Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
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You could argue that one of the ways to tell if a song is really well-written is to see whether it holds up when performed in different styles. Some songs would seem to only be effective in a particular style—for example, the Sex Pistols’ great “God Save The Queen” only works as an angry blast of punk, and not, for example, as a folk tune. Although you might be surprised at how good King Crimson’s prog-rock archetype “21st Century Schizoid Man” sounds in Delta blues style.

“Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” seems to sound great no matter how it is played. Written by King and Gerry Goffin when she was still in her teens, the song was first released by The Shirelles in 1960, in classic girl group style, with tight harmony vocals and lush orchestration. Although apparently banned by some radio stations because of the sexual nature of the lyrics (!), it nevertheless reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

I’m not going to give you a long tour through the many, many covers of this great song, except to point out that it works in Swedish. And when King recorded the song for the great Tapestry album, she did it in a slower, piano-driven, contemplative style with Joni Mitchell and James Taylor contributing background vocals.  It was both an artistic and commercial success, getting played regularly on FM radio.

It is sort of a gimmick to take classic rock songs of this, and other, eras, speed them up, and turn them into punk songs. Few artists are as committed to this niche that honors the songs, but with sufficient ironic detachment to retain their punk cred, than Me First and The Gimme Gimmes. A “supergroup” of sorts, with members that include Fat Mike of NOFX, Chris Shiflett of Foo Fighters, and Spike Slawson of Swingin’ Utters and Re-Volts, they have released a bunch of albums, EPs and singles, including their 2001 album, Blow In The Wind, which focuses on pop hits of the 1960s. Their version of “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” is, appropriately, loud, fast and surprisingly catchy, like The Shirelles’ version, but still retains some of the melancholy of King’s.

Wet/Water: Cool Water

Joni Mitchell (with Willie Nelson): Cool Water
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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.

Self Reflection: Our House

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Purchase Deja Vu



I wasn't actually there then. Almost but not quite - age was a factor (just a year or 3 under the "limit") - permission and location were also limits (right time .. right place ...wrong age). When Deja Vu came out, I was among the millions who bought a copy. I was among the fewer number who totally espoused CSNY's anti-establishment rhetoric (and still do!): F*ck the estabishment - regardless of the consequences or the logic of their point of view- if it is "establishment", it must be wrong.

As you well know, 1970's Deja Vu was a landmark in the rock repertoire: a collection of the best (Hey: the lead from the hit-maker Hollies sings some vocals! and there's Buffalo Springfield and the Byrds and ... wow! ) CSNY incorporated an impossible line-up of personalities of greater future destinies. No less awesome than Blind Faith (of about the same era)

Somehow, this group managed to pull off a 1974 tour and this clip appears to be from that era (for more ... read a great Rolling Stone article about which), "box set" listed above as a purchase item.

The story of the "Our House" song is related in numerous blogs and such (Graham Nash- the N of CSNY) wrote it in a "flash" for his "love" of the moment - the one and only Joni Mitchell (you gotta read this if you have the least interest).


For you and me - aside from the song being a classic and a veritable paen to "love at home", you ought to note the way that CSNY made the best of multiple talents: song written by Graham Nash - totally not-Young style (can you see him doing this kind of collaboration these days? - that's him far right on foot at the mic in the clip above). But it works - they are all giving it their best (mildly off tune - but not too bad for what is almost a-capella.) And more or less classic CSN(Y) - vocal harmony. Togetherness. Peace, man. That was the sound of the hippies (Sorry: I has been pilloried here before for my affinity to  those long haired freaks, but I stand by the basic tenents of letting your freak flag fly...)

Neil Young's style is not "Our House" compatible?

Self Reflection: You Turn Me On I'm a Radio

Joni Mitchell: You Turn Me On I’m a Radio

Joni Mitchell: You Turn Me On I’m a Radio

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Please don’t tune me out! It’s a common feeling that many musicians have. As I pondered music with “self-reflection,” I quickly decided to put on an old well-played LP by Joni Mitchell called “For the Roses” that dates back to 1972. While her first few albums in the 1968-71 timeframe had rather expressive folkie singer/songwriter material, I always enjoyed hearing Joni’s stylistic forays into the jazz and pop genres. “For the Roses” documented one of those transitional periods and is a great album from one of the 20^th century’s most significant female recording artists. Always straightforward, lyrical and reflective, Joni’s music is close-up and personal.  

Joni had been asked by her record label to write a radio-friendly hit to include on her fifth album, “For the Roses.” So she came up with “You Turn Me On I’m a Radio.” She had hoped that such a witty song with multiple references to radio might actually get DJs to sit up, take notice of it and convince stations to play it. Sure enough, the approach worked, and “You Turn Me On I’m a Radio” became her first Top 40 hit. It also didn’t hurt that the song was also about love, had flavors of country and pop, and it was well arranged with nice backing vocals and a harmonica solo played by Graham Nash. Joni Mitchell made her song’s purpose quite clear: “And I'm sending you out, This signal here, I hope you can pick it up, Loud and clear.”     

As a musician myself, I always laugh at Joni’s astute advice and wisdom when she immediately launches the song with “If you're driving into town, With a dark cloud above you, Dial in the number, Who's bound to love you.” Hey, in the music world (and radio business specifically), why not practice a little reciprocity of love? Support those who support you. A little neighborly exchange and working for each other’s mutual benefit goes a long way to establishing relationships, finding affection, getting music on the airwaves, building fans and tuning the static from your reception (puns intended).     

As far as Joni’s “self-reflection” in the song, this verse says it all and is downright genius: “Oh honey you turn me on, I'm a radio, I'm a country station, I'm a little bit corny, I'm a wildwood flower, Waving for you, Broadcasting tower, Waving for you.”

And if you want your hit song to get airplay, close with “Call me at the station, The lines are open.” LOL, what a great way to get people calling in to request it!

Hotels and Motels:Songs About the Chelsea Hotel

Jefferson Airplane: Third Week in the Chelsea
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I am willing to bet that there is no other hotel or motel in the world that has inspired more songs than the Chelsea, located in the lower Manhattan neighborhood of the same name. Recently purchased and closed for renovations, the hotel has long been identified as a place for artists, performers, writers and musicians to live and work, which probably explains its popularity in song.

Wikipedia lists 22 different songs referencing the hotel, and one of them, Leonard Cohen’s “Chelsea Hotel #2” has been often covered. You could create a pretty credible cultural Hall of Fame consisting just of residents of the Chelsea, which for years was a residential hotel, including Bob Dylan, Charles Bukowski, Janis Joplin, William S. Burroughs, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith, Jasper Johns, Claes Oldenberg, Iggy Pop, Arthur C. Clarke, Allen Ginsburg, Diego Rivera, Mark Twain, Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams, Stanley Kubrick, Uma Thurman, Jane Fonda, Alice Cooper, Larry Rivers, Christo, Julian Schnabel, Alejandro Escovedo, Jimi Hendrix, Willem de Kooning, Robert Mapplethorpe, Gore Vidal, Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Dennis Hopper, Thomas Wolfe, Elliot Gould, Elaine Stritch, Edie Sedgwick, and many, many more. And, of course, Sid Vicious’ girlfriend, Nancy Spungen, was found dead at the hotel, as were Dylan Thomas and Charles R. Jackson, the author of The Lost Weekend.

Cohen’s song has been discussed previously on this blog, here, and a cover by Lloyd Cole is discussed here, Dylan’s “Sara” was mentioned, if briefly, here, and a post about Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning" is here. But there are many, many others to talk about.

My favorite is “Third Week in the Chelsea,” the second song from Jefferson Airplane’s Bark album that I have written about (which is pretty interesting, considering that it is generally considered a pretty mediocre album). It was written by guitarist Jorma Kaukonen, and it is a beautiful song, filled with sadness and resignation about the impending demise of one of the great bands of its era. It is a classic of the “leaving the band” genre, right up there with Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill.” Although the whole thing is great, this stanza always kills me:

All my friends keep telling me that it would be a shame 
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name 
But all I know is what I feel whenever I'm not playin' 
Emptiness ain't where it's at and neither's feeling pain 

Because, when it is time to go, it is time to go. Luckily, he had Hot Tuna to fall back on.

Leonard Cohen’s song, which we really aren’t going to discuss, was about an (oral) sexual encounter at the hotel with a woman he later acknowledged was Janis Joplin. Jeffrey Lewis, a New York singer/songwriter, wrote “The Chelsea Hotel Oral Sex Song” which is both about and not about Leonard Cohen’s song, and has a certain shaggy dog charm of its own (and no actual oral sex):



Dan Bern, who is often compared to one time resident Bob Dylan, because they are both Jews from the Midwest who have raspy voices, play guitar and write interesting songs (making the comparison somewhat plausible), also wrote a song about having sex at the Chelsea. This version was recorded at the Turning Point in Piermont, New York, just across the Tappan Zee Bridge from my house, which gets surprisingly good acts, considering that it is about the size of a small living room. And it has a trumpet solo.



And, finally, here’s Okkervil River’s “Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed On The Roof Of The Chelsea Hotel, 1979.”



Campbell was the real name of the former Chelsea Hotel resident, singer Jobriath, who is considered to be the first openly gay rock musician signed to a major label, as well as one of the first well known musicians to die of AIDS.

The song appeared on Okkervil River’s The Stand Ins album, which is filled with songs musing about celebrity and pop culture. Jobriath, whose albums received generally good reviews (and had both Peter Frampton and John Paul Jones contribute to his glam-rock, very David Bowie-esque music), found his career derailed first by excessive hype by his management, then his disillusionment with the industry, and finally by his illness. He apparently did an interview from the roof of the Chelsea in 1979, but it was different from what Okkervil River sang about. Although not directly related to the hotel, here’s one of his songs, “Take Me I’m Yours,” about S&M, which certainly could have happened at the Chelsea Hotel.

Unusual Collaborations: Herbie Hancock and Tina Turner and then some

Herbie Hancock and Tina Turner: Edith and the Kingpin

Herbie Hancock and Melody Gardot: Edith and the Kingpin

Herbie Hancock and Elvis Costello: Edith and the Kingpin
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I don‘t know why it took me so long to settle on something to post for this theme. I landed on one of my favorite songs in the world, so it shouldn‘t have been so hard. Long time readers of Star Maker Machine are aware of my love of the music of Joni Mitchell. It‘s hard to consider anything on her own albums an unusual collaboration, because Mitchell was always a restless artist, always changing her sound, always searching, and that meant that the make-ups of her bands were always changing as well. But tributes to her have certainly resulted in some odd pairings. In 2007, Herbie Hancock released his tribute, River: The Joni Letters. This one surely had Mitchell‘s blessing, considering that she sings The Tea Leaf Prophecy on it. But elsewhere, Hancock worked with some surprising partners indeed. Tina Turner strikes me as one of the most unusual, but the result sounds like they have worked together for years.
To back up for just a moment, Herbie Hancock is one of the biggest names in jazz today. His career began in the 1960s, with fairly straight ahead accoustic jazz albums, although very fine ones. He soon caught the attention of Miles Davis, and was with Davis for the birth of fusion jazz on the Bitches Brew album. Hancock then went on to make some of the best music fusion jazz had to offer with his Headhunters band. Later, Hancock collaborated with Bill Laswell on the hit Rockit. So it’s safe to say that Hancock is also a musical explorer, which may be what drew him to Joni Mitchell’s music in the first place.
Meanwhile, I can’t say that I ever followed Tina Turner’s career at all closely, but this is the woman who went from the R&B powerhouse performance of Proud Mary to the much mellower Private Dancer, (the result, by the way, of another interesting collaboration, with producer Mark Knopfler). Nothing there suggests that Turner would be a good jazz singer, but she nails Edith and the Kingpin.
I needed a video for this post, and unfortunately, that meant using the one above, where you stare at the album cover while the song plays. I did find a fan-made slide show, but I thought the choice of images showed a complete cluelessness about the meaning of the song. But looking for the video led me to the two live versions I have also included. Hancock was able to get the singers he wanted for the River album, but they were not necessarily available when he went out on tour in support of the album. That is what must have led to the version with Melody Gardot. Gardot is a young jazz singer who has already made quite a splash, three albums into her career. She is influenced to some extent by country, folk, and blues. Her performance with Hancock here uses the same arrangement as the album version, but the results are quite different. Where Turner is rueful and knowing in her performance, the younger Gardot is sassy and maybe a bit defiant. Gardot also is a bit freer with her timing, and that loosens up the band somewhat as well. The version with Elvis Costello (!), comes from a show called Spectacle that Costello hosted on the Sundance Channel. Costello had recorded his own version of Edith and the Kingpin for a multi-artist compilation called A Tribute to Joni Mitchell earlier in 2007. This version slowed the song down, and featured a lush arrangement that featured Costello in his crooner mode. But the version here is a stripped down arrangement that restores the songs original tempo, and leaves Costello less room to hide as a singer. I am afraid that Costello shows here why he is not a jazz singer. His performance is somewhat stiff, and he has trouble when he tries to bend some of the notes. But this version does have heart, and it shows that Costello gets the song.