UNUSUAL COLLABORATIONS: ASHA BHOSLE & MICHAEL STIPE

The Way You Dream: Michael Stipe & Asha Bhosle
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I'd not heard this when this theme began, it almost coming as quite some surprise when I did. Let me explain. Perhaps it is the same elsewhere, but the joy of record shop browsing seems to now be a thing of the past. There are nearly no record shops left in the U.K., HMV barely hanging on by the skin of it's teeth, and a shadow of it's former self. I used to love record shops, flicking through the racks in the search for the new and unexpected, it being a constant and reliable way of killing any number of hours in strange towns. And browsing is something that just doesn't work on Amazon. Anyhow, another product of the current  financial meltdown and austerity are the the adverts for companies who will buy up your CDs, computer games and, unfeasibly, hair tongs. (Well, not mine. Clearly. Have you seen my hair?) They will "liberate the space", as if that is the problem, taken up by  your longingly acquired collection of Northern Soul for anything up to, oh, say, 50p a pop. The upside is that a whole new slew of record shops have appeared, selling such product, again at knock down prices.In order to address my addiction I have begun to frequent such, picking up a stash of otherwise unthinkable or, hitherto, unexplored. Very hit and miss, but fun!

I remember when "One Giant Leap" came out, and it's being received somewhat sniffily, as a clever clever attempt to cross genres, the sort of thing now near ubiquitous and, almost, old hat. I didn't bother then, so, imagine my pleasure, in downtown Burton-on-Trent, August 2013, to find it in the 3 for £5 slot. And it's good. It's better than good, shuffling such disparates as Baaba  Maal and Eddi Reader, Horace Andy and Maxi Jazz. OK, and Robbie Williams, but it was 2001. The selection and the unusual pairing I have chosen is Asha Bhosle and Michael Stipe. The latter, the vocal lynchpin of R.E.M. needs little fanfare, but the former may be less well known , at least outside of the South Indian landmass. Aficionados of UK indie may be aware, as she is the "Brimful" acknowledged within "Cornershop"s hit of whenever, "Brimful of Asha". A superstar in India over six decades, largely within Bollywood, she has a niche perhaps similar, in her homeland anyway, perhaps to Tammy Wynette, again perhaps thus explaining her appeal to the counter-intuition of the counter-culture.

A brief word about "One Giant Leap", the brainchild of Jamie Catto, a member of the "live musicians" electronica/dance band "Faithless", and Duncan Bridgeman, the original idea was of a multi-media presentation of the concept and genre of "World", perhaps doomed in it's scope and ubiquity, and certainly ahead of it's time. With hindsight it sits perfectly happily with "Afro-Celt Sound System", "Banco de Gaia" and other such stylistic fusions. I like it, and this track is a very good example of it's content. I commend it.

Unusual Collaborations: Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson

Julio Igelsias and Willie Nelson: To All the Girls I've Loved Before

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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.

Unusual Collaborations: Ellen Foley and The Clash

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So what's Meatloaf's duet partner on "Paradise By the Dashboard Lights", Night Court star Ellen Foley, doing recording an entire album in 1981 with The Clash?  Back then, she was dating The Clash's Mick Jones. She even sang on the Sandinista! single "Hitsville UK" and the track "Corner Soul". 

Right after the band finished up Sandinista! they dutifully followed Jones into the studio to record Foley's  Spirit of St Louis (with its infamous credit "produced by my boyfriend"). "Torchlight" , with its call and response lyrics featuring Jones, wouldn't have sounded out of place on Sandinista! Nevertheless, Joe Strummer told anyone within earshot the Foley album was crap.

The Clash had another good year and a half together. Mick and Ellen didn't last quite that long. But their rocky relationship inspired the Clash's only UK#1 hit,  "Should I Stay Or Should I Go"

Unusual Collaborations: Daryl Hall and Robert Fripp

Daryl Hall: Something in 4/4 Time
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Robert Fripp has stated that Daryl Hall had the best set of pipes of anyone he had ever worked with. This from a guy who has worked with Bowie, The Roches, Greg Lake and John Wetton, not to mention Peter Gabriel, Jon Anderson and Adrian Belew. That Fripp and Hall collaborated, though, seems pretty bizarre, especially back in 1977. Maybe overselling it a bit, Allmusic refers to it as “what must be the most bizarre coupling ever.” Hall was best known as a blue-eyed soul pop hitmaker, coming off of “Sara Smile,” “She’s Gone” and “Rich Girl.” Fripp was recognized as the mastermind of King Crimson, inventor of the oddly compelling Frippertronics tape loop sound, collaborator with the artsy Brian Eno and provider of edgy guitar for the likes of Gabriel and Bowie.

And yet, the two musicians apparently clicked. Hall, looking to expand his horizons, and Fripp, impressed by Hall’s voice, decided to work together. Fripp envisioned a trilogy—a solo album featuring Hall (and others) on vocals (which became Exposure), an album with Gabriel (which became his second album, better known as Scratch) and Hall’s album, Sacred Songs. Hall’s record company, though, was incredibly leery of the whole thing, concerned that he was embarked on a career destroying jaunt toward the uncommercial avant-garde. So ultimately the record company behaved stereotypically, blocking Fripp from using Hall’s vocals on more than two songs on Exposure (Fripp was forced to re-record the songs with Peter Hammill and Terre Roche), and locking Sacred Songs in the vault for three years. They pretty much did everything short of twirling their mustaches and laughing evilly.

While Sacred Songs languished unreleased, karma intervened, and Hall and Oates’ releases during this time were generally unsuccessful. Hall and Fripp began to leak the tapes of Sacred Songs, which resulted in a campaign to have it released, and when it was, in 1980, it actually sold reasonably well. And the critical response was rapturous.

So, what’s the deal with the album? Despite my skepticism about Hall, listening to Sacred Songs back in 1980, I recall being blown away by Hall’s voice, and finding that the unusual collaboration really worked. I had been conditioned, I guess, by my love for The Roches' debut album, another unexpected collaboration between the folky Roche sisters and Fripp. Fripp, as producer, had pulled performances from Hall that added a bit of edge and immediacy that his more overproduced and slick hits were missing. And Fripp’s interesting guitar parts somehow meshed with the overdubbed contributions from Hall’s regular band. But the album is still, for the most part, a pop album, but an intelligent one (albeit one with the occasional Frippertronic interlude).

“Something in 4/4 Time” has always seemed like the spiritual heart of the album. It starts off sounding pretty poppy, a jaunty tune with a nice piano part. Hall’s voice sounds pretty much as you remember from top-40 radio, but maybe with more of an edge. And you realize that he is singing about being forced to write easily digestible songs for the masses. Then the pop stops, and Fripp jumps in with a signature sinuous guitar solo, before the pop returns, and Hall’s voice soars into falsetto. It is the whole Sacred Songs experience in four and a half minutes.

Times and tastes change, and some later CD re-releases of Sacred Songs included Hall’s two lead vocals from Exposure. And in 2006, Fripp released an expanded version of his solo work, and was able to release the original Hall vocals. Here’s the Hall version of “New York, New York, New York,” and his vocals are remarkable. Supple, but urgent, and superior to the found vocals used in the initial release (titled “NY3”).



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There apparently was some discussion of Fripp and Hall starting a band together, and it is intriguing to think of what the 1980’s version of King Crimson might have sounded like fronted by the soulful Hall, instead of the more David Byrne-ish Adrian Belew, but that never happened. The "New York" song, though, did include Fripp and future Crimson bass player Tony Levin, so if Bill Bruford had been on drums instead of Narada Michael Walden, we would have gotten a hint. Instead, Hall went back to Oates (and covered Mike Oldfield’s "Family Man"). Fripp went off to reform King Crimson, and do a bunch of other guitar-related things, until his recent announced retirement from the music industry over his frustration with the business end of things.

Recently, Hall has been hosting a show on the web and VH1/Palladia called Live from Daryl’s House featuring guests from across the musical spectrum, with live performances, including this recent (Fripp-less) performance of “Babs and Babs” from Sacred Songs.

UNUSUAL COLLABORATIONS: Willie Nelson and Sinead O'Connor

Don't Give Up
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Well, it had to be Willie, didn't it? I'm uncertain whether it is his  work ethic or his tax-bill that keeps him going, seemingly effortlessly pumping out album after album after album, whether in his comfort zone of country, or all over the shop, with Toots Hibbert, Wynton Marsalis and Snoop Dogg all coming into his radar of potential partners. I was struggling to wonder what the grizzled old crooner might have in common with, allegedly, many of these collaborators from genres afar from his own. Then I remembered.
This is perhaps slightly more orthodox, yet still an inspired duet, not least as the song's author adds to a trirumvirate you would somehow feel surprised to see shooting the breeze together, in your local Starbucks or similar.

I don't know the story of how this came about, but I like to think good old avuncular Willie took to the beleaguered and distressed Sinead at the Dylan tribute concert. Yeah, yeah, I know Kris Kristofferson has taken most of the acclaim for the public consoling of her, on the "unexpected" reaction she received to her papal dissing, but I can imagine all the older guys feeling a little for her gamine weepiness. (Was Willie even there? I forget.) Anyhow, this, the standout track from the standout Peter Gabriel LP, So,  takes on the same mantle for his LP of, largely, covers, 1993's Across the Borderline. This was my first exposure to Willie Nelson, since when I have been avid in my admiration for his ability to transcend any concept of ageing, and to keep on delivering, by and large, competent goods.The fact I am a huge acolyte of Sinead helps here, another individual unafraid to explore similar dalliances into reggae, folk and "standards", undaunted of the response. (And, BTW, her folk and reggae albums are the best of her work, in my humble.)

An interesting interview with Peter Gabriel in Mojo this month told me something I didn't know,that being that PGs original choice for the Kate Bush part in his version was Dolly Parton. Somehow making Willie Nelson's choice of it as a song worthy of covering somehow all the more appropriate.

Musical Homonyms: Slow Dancing

Lucero: Slow Dancing

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Johnny Rivers: Swayin' to the Music (Slow Dancin')^***

[LP & CD out of print, purchase on iTunes]


This is going to be one of the stranger blog posts on Star Maker Machine, but my life has been strange lately, so just roll with it, OK? OK.

	Johnny Rivers	Lucero
Song Name	Swayin’ to the Music (Slow Dancin’)***	Slow Dancing
Album	Outside Help	Tennessee
Year	1977	2002
Written By	Jack Tempchin	Ben Nichols
Highest Chart Position	#10 on US Billboard Hot 100, #3 in Canada	None
Song Storyteller	Man talking to a Woman	Man (aka "Trouble") talking to a Woman
Song Location	At Home	Dive Bar
Time	Late at night	Near closing time
Music Source	Radio	Jukebox maybe? Not specified
Dancing Partner	"My Girl"	Random woman, presumably intoxicated
Ambiance	Lights Low	Starry Disco Ball
Who's Watching?	No one	Everyone at the bar
Dance Skills	Swayin' to the music	Too drunk to keep in time
Interrupted by Telephone Calls?	No	No
Holding Dance Partner Tight?	Yes!	Yes!
Smiling?	Presumably, Yes	Yes, a lot
Slow dance to more than one song?	Presumably, Yes	No
What happens next?	More swayin' to the music	Couple goes their separate ways
And then?	More swayin'	Dude can't get chick off of his mind
Then?	More swayin' (damn this song is repetitive)	Homeboy smokes and drinks a shit ton
Post-script	Couples lives happily ever after in their house in the suburbs with 2.6 kids, a dog, and a Volvo	Narrator can never find this girl again, gets clinically depressed, ends up in rehab, gets emphysema
Can you actually slow dance to this song?	It’s little too up-tempo for a slow dance, but perfect for the late 70s	Yes, but afterwards you need to do whiskey shots and cry
Final Thoughts	This song is cheesy as hell but I love it	This song is pretty much the reason I started listening to alt country music

^***Composer Jack Tempchin originally entitled this song "Slow Dancing." The Rivers' version was changed to "Swayin' to the Music (Slow Dancin')" to avoid confusion with another 1977 single release entitled "Slow Dancing Don't Turn Me On" by the Addrisi Brothers. So for the purposes of Star Maker Machine, that's close enough.

Musical Homonyms: Freesia

Freesia is a fragrant flower native to South Africa.  In the Victorian language of flowers, the freesia signifies friendship and innocence.  Why it shows up as the title of so many Japanese pop/rock songs is still a mystery to me.  Of the many I know, three show up in my tags as 5-star treats, so I feel somewhat inspired to post them after a long hiatus.  Due to the circumstances, I'm using YouTube vids.  I've gone with two live versions, which adds the bonus of cute, very sweaty singers.   

 Gackt – Freesia op. 1 and 2 (live, original song from 'Mars') 

First up is Gackt from a 2000 live.  Even then he was a pop idol (hence the screams).  He just celebrated his 40^th birthday a few weeks ago and still is hugely popular, not only as a singer but in movies and TV too.  I love the bass player doing the upright thing with his electric guitar in the background.  And, of course, I love Gackt's rich baritone. 

MUCC – freesia (2009 single release)

MUCC started out as a visual kei band about 15 years ago, but have moved more into hard rock with a tinge of metal.  I think this was made during the peak of J-rock's AutoTuning days. 

girugamesh– freesia (from 2009 album 'reason of crying')

girugamesh, too, started life as a visual kei band, but lately they're considered industrial.  I love the bass line here, that deep "chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk" leading into the bridge. 

Two other j-rock groups I love have also released different songs called Freesia – Matenrou Opera has one on a 2013 mini-album release, and Penicillin came up with one in 2005 on their "Hell Bound Heart."  I couldn't find vids for them, though; well, vids that can be searched for in English, at any rate.

Musical Homonyms: Central Reservation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MUSICAL HOMONYMS: WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

Bon Jovi: "Wanted Dead or Alive"
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Warren Zevon: "Wanted Dead or Alive"
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If you read my usual blog, you know full well that while I have a wide-ranging appreciation of music genres, among the last that you will ever hear positive comments about from me is hair metal. More specifically, '80s hair metal -- bands like Poison, Warrant, Cinderella, Winger, and that ilk. And that would most certainly include Bon Jovi. I felt something very much like hate for them back then, although that has waned to simple indifference, as most of my strong music dislikes seem to do over the course of time.

But naturally, there are always exceptions, aren't there? And in this case, it's "Wanted Dead or Alive," that classic work of journeyman rock from Bon Jovi's otherwise terrible 1986 Slippery When Wet album. It was about as close to a "Stairway to Heaven" of hair metal that would ever be crafted. Just don't listen too closely to the lyrics -- otherwise you'll have to spend too much time rationalizing to yourself that you like a song with the lines, "I've seen a million faces/And I've rocked them all." Nonetheless, despite all the reasons that I shouldn't like it, I still truly enjoy the song. I guess I'm a sucker for that chord progression.

But let's get to the theme here: homonymic song titles. And to that effect, for the other song in this pair, I offer up Warren Zevon's own "Wanted Dead or Alive." And Zevon not only had the song -- it's even the title of his 1969 debut album that this comes from. Zevon's "Wanted Dead or Alive" is a shuffling, bluesy, and somewhat sloppy acoustic number; certainly not his best track, but enjoyable anyway. It may be not all that far removed from Bon Jovi's song, in a way, but it never builds to the (melo)dramatic crescendo of that song. Not to mention that Zevon apparently didn't rock a million faces -- at least by the time he wrote this song. He waited for "Werewolves of London" to do that.

Musical Homonyms: Hideaway

Believe me. Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially if you're a rock star. So let me make a suggestion: while you're busy strumming your tennis racket and practicing your guitar god faces in the mirror, take a moment to consider what you will need when super stardom really strikes: condoms, a personal pharmacist and ...a hideaway.

Here are three hideways to get you in the right frame of mind.

Hideaway #1




Eric Clapton of John Mayall's Bluesbreakers grabs the spotlight in this masterful Freddie King cover (with a bit of Jimmy McCracklin's "The Walk" slipped in for fun). It's so good Mayall decides to go with the album title Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton instead of the original title Come On Feel My Goatee.

Hideaway #2




How's this for a catchy name : Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mich and Tich. It worked wonders for this UK pop sensation who, between 1965 and 1969,  spent more weeks in the UK singles chart than The Beatles if you believe everything Wikipedia tells you."Hideaway" was a Top 10 hit in 1966.

Hideaway #3

 .

Rock doesn't get much more theatrical than it did on 1973's Cockney Rebel debut The Human Menagerie. It's an absolute delight! And it sold... absolutely nothing. But no worries for the band. As Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel,  they hit #1 in the UK two years later with "Come Up and See Me (Make Me Smile)"

MUSICAL HOMONYMS: ALL OR NOTHING AT ALL

This was always going to be a tough assignment. I mean, let's be honest, we could all do "Hallelujah" or "Angel", and some may curse me as I write that, but SMM is all about digging a tad deeper. (Crosses fingers that the Boss won't take umbrage at my new boy, relative, gaucheness.) So, rather than "All or Nothing", cos you all know that, how's a bit of classic jazz and a bit of classic rock'n'roll, 80s style, and add the "At All."

John Coltrane: All or Nothing at All
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No introduction for the 'Trane. Bit of a latecomer to bebop me, as it all seemed atonal yet samey to my rockist ears, until I came to an epiphany. Stuff all this earnest head nodding, fingers a clicking in eyes-shut reverie. Jazz. Is. Dance. Music. That's right. Throw your head back and your arms out. Smile. Daaaance. (I'm struggling to convince my girlfriend of this, but bear with me. Try it!) When it suddenly kicks in, it will all be understood. Problem solved. I love it. This, from 1962, is wonderful, from the drum intro, percussive piano, then suddenly, marvelously, the horn. I'm weaving in my seat, on my chair, as this glides all over and around me.Join me? Of course there are lashings of other versions, with vocals, of this tune, with both Frank Sinatra and Diana Krall coming closest to mind, with my bestest singer, Mr Chet Baker, not far behind.. They're good, but why embellish the unnecessary?

Marshall Crenshaw: All Or Nothin' At All
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You couldn't get much different than with Mr Crenshaw, an out and out classic rock 'n' roller with hints of Buddy Holly about his stylisations. Always tastefully tunesome, somehow a shame he has always seemed somewhat of an also run, at least perhaps thus avoiding the overkill of mass acclaim. I like him and this is a good example of his style. However, in just the same way that the Coltrane is a cover, or "standard" as that genre will have it, so too this is not of Crenshaw's pen, but being a mid period, E Street Band on leave, Springsteen, from "Human Touch" (And pedants will cite there is no g at the end of "Nothin", but I am nothin' if not too well brought up to ignore such a criticism, not least as I have only realised this point at this stage, 3 paras down. Live with it. Sue me. Either way, it's great.)

Musical Homonyms: Crazy

Patsy Cline: Crazy
[purchase]

The wedding was memorable, and not only because it was one of the last “friend” weddings that we attended. One of my wife’s college friends got married way out on the north shore of Long Island and it was refreshingly laid back. The bride and groom arrived at the reception from the church in a small plane while the rest of us gathered on the shore and greeted them. I have a memory of shooting baskets with my kids during the reception.

But this is about the night before, when there was a very relaxed party at a house on Shelter Island. It was a dark night, and the liquor was flowing. There was a karaoke machine, and people were using it. As I may have previously mentioned, as much as I love music, I cannot create music (unless you count some bad drumming). My singing is, let us say, problematic (or “off-key” as some have said). On the other hand, my wife and kids can sing quite well and even play instruments. The musical talent gene clearly flows from my wife’s side of the family. In fact, until very recently, and only after more than a few glasses of liquid courage, I would not sing karaoke in public. At this party, though, both my wife and young daughter took up the microphone eagerly. My daughter tossed off a great version of “That’ll Be The Day,” by Buddy Holly, and my wife sang “Crazy.”

Her performance blew everyone away. She has an incredible voice, pure, sweet and with a range that is astonishing. But once she finished college, she pretty much stopped performing, which is a shame. She recently started to perform with a local choir, singing classical music, and I’m pushing her to do more with folk and rock, and we will see how that goes.

Frankly, every time we have been invited to a karaoke party, she waits until the appropriate moment, steps to the stage and demolishes everyone else with a smoldering version of Patsy Cline’s classic. It also happens to be a great song, written by Willie Nelson, who was finding it difficult early in his career to make it—his songs were considered too complex and too jazzy for the country music world of the time. But once Patsy Cline released her version of “Crazy,” it opened doors for Nelson, and led to his ultimate success and recognition as both a singer and songwriter, not to mention political and marijuana legalization activist.

As long as there are singers, I suspect that people will be singing that song, and probably ripping off Patsy Cline. More recently, another song with the same title became ubiquitous. The Gnarls Barkley song simply swept aside everything in its path, becoming a huge hit. Based on music from spaghetti westerns, it is catchy and irresistible, even to those of us who aren’t generally fans of the style. It couldn’t be less like the Patsy Cline tune, but it is equally great. Which is crazy.

 

STAGE BANTER: BILL KIRCHEN

Hot RodLincoln

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Well, this couldn't get more serendipitous, especially given my earlier admitted woes around submitting to this theme. Bill who, you say? Who TF is that, he looks like a bank manager? Actually, of course, I underestimate you, dear Reader(s), of course you know who Bill is. Bill Kirchen was the lead guitarist, frequent singer and occasional trombonist, and a good one, in Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen, frequently writing much of the material. This unruly bunch of misfits drifted to California in the late 60s, playing a pure mix of truckstop country, rockabilly and western swing, making the Grateful Dead look like a bunch of frat boys, albeit in full Nashville gear. My childhood was as far from S.F. as you can get, yet I loved these guys, once I got over the shock just how diversively hardcore their brand of country was. I even saw them, as they toured Europe in 76, with the outcome producing an LP with perhaps the worst cover ever. But perhaps one of my favourite live LPs, a small grouping along with Van Morrison's "Too Late to Stop Now" and the Burritos' "Last of the Red Hots." Here's the cover

Well, our Bill is still going, one of the finest exponents of twang out there. And he has just put out a sort of "greatest hits revisited", the songs that he ends up playing and being expected to play when he gets out on the road. And it includes the song in the vid. Please make an exception and watch this one, as it is an astonishing expose of his skill, effortlessly pulling off the styles of myriad guitar heroes, and some others maybe just mentioned in dispatches. With one guitar, and precious few pedals. seriously clever stuff. Uncertain if this counts as "banter" or whether it is just part of his show, but I am uncertain of the join. I'm looking forward to the new release, and am commending its investigation, as my purchase link. I will be buying it, as I am intrigued to see that this includes a version of this song, but with added keyboard cameos from the styles of the famous. Can't wait! (I ought to get a freebie for this unashamed infomercial, but hey, SMM is strictly for loss and not for profit.)

Just realised, I haven't mentioned the song, it's "Hot Rod Lincoln", an elderly standard from Midwest truckstop jukeboxes, that the Lost Planet Airmen made their own. Bill has now wrested it away from his forebears and makes it even more his and his only. Enjoy!

Stage Banter: The Decemberists

[purchase the original, banter-free version]

I have previously written about seeing The Decemberists with my family in 2007 in Amsterdam at the Paradiso, and how the band reenacted the 1667 Battle of Chatham, a successful Dutch attack on the British Navy. Such flights of fancy are common with this band, which seems on a mission to use every odd word in the thesaurus, whose songs often read like the most horrid parts of Dickens, and which has a keen appreciation of history and mythology.

There is also no question that they enjoy putting on a show, and they often interrupt the music for stories, historical reenactments and general hijinks. Which, when added to the great music, makes them an incredible band to see live. Although the band is currently in self-described “collective stasis” and its members are working on other projects, there is hope that they will ultimately reunite and tour again.

The video above is one that I recently discovered, and it is of the very Battle of Chatham reenactment at the Paradiso that we attended. A shaky, audience video taken with archaic 2007 technology, it gives the viewer a very good sense of what it was like that night, as Colin Meloy led the band and audience through the thrilling sea battle, during its performance of “A Cautionary Song,” a sweet ditty which warns a child to appreciate his mother’s hard work in whoring herself out to a boatload of sailors in order to get money for food.

During the video, my bald head, reflecting the lights, can clearly be seen—in the center of the frame, behind the other bald guy wearing what looks like a blue shirt—and at times my slightly taller son’s full head of hair makes an appearance. So, not only did this video record one of my favorite examples of stage banter, it has allowed me to relive a fun experience from more than six years ago.

Stage Banter : Jim "Dandy" Mangrum

[Purchase]

Awwwwwright we gonna do one more tune right heah!

        We gonna wind it so far up it's gonna take us all sun up to unwiiiind

                                                         -Jim "Dandy" Mangrum,
                                                             Black Oak Arkansas


In May of 1973 there were two million reasons why Atco Records thought radio stations should play the new Black Oak Arkansas single "Hot And Nasty" b/w "Hot Rod". That's how many people the hillbilly-embracing Southern Rock band attracted to more than 125 concerts they'd played since the previous May. The new singles came off of their Gold album Raunch 'N'Roll Live, recorded at the Paramount Theater in Seattle.

Gawd, it's laughably awful now but back then front man Jim "Dandy" Mangrum was a sex symbol. Fans loved the long-haired, shirtless carnival barker who made hilarious little speeches between lewd songs overflowing with sexual innuendo.

Well, he wasn't really a carnival barker . But you can be sure every carnival barker since 1973 has imitated Mangrum's growling stage banter. Hell, half the people you hear holding a live mic at any event in the rural South sound like Mangrum .



The Black Oak Arkansas run ended in 1977. The following year another front man with long flowing blond hair, sideburns, spangles and an aversion to shirts growled into the microphone in front of stadiums full of fans.

His name was David Lee Roth.

As a bonus:
Mangrum shows off his tour bus "Cli-Ty" which , when the AC isn't running, can sometimes get a little warm. Mangrum points out "When we had that thang painted black, it was hotter than a woman's you-know-what."

STAGE BANTER: FAIRPORT CONVENTION

Sir Patrick Spens
Purchase link (more versions than you can shake a stick at)

Well thanks, Boss, have you any idea how difficult this is? Stage banter? Jeez, so I have been to a show or two over my 40 years of irregular gigging, and I mean irregular, but, WTF, how do I do this? I am no fan of live LPs, they seldom matching the studio version or the 4D live experience, where senses other than auditory drench the feed, and the youtube doesn't exctly concentrate on the intro's over the songs. So I e-mailed and said I'd take a raincheck on this one. This post reveals the reception that I got......

So, who does good banter? To be fair, this ought to be right up my street, as the folk canon is filled with witty raconteurs, remembering that both Billy Connolly and Steve Martin began as musicians, or, more accurately, as banjo players, their intros gradually taking over from the plucking and strumming. And Jackie Leven, whom I featured some weeks back, he was also a consummate story teller, a marvellous tale about the death of Sting coming to mind. Could I find it? Could I hell... could I find any early musical Connolly or Martin, blending banjo and blether? Nope, not that either. Then I remembered.....

Fairport Convention, the doyens of  British folk-rock, still going since time immemorial, or 1967 at least, with a revolving door of members dipping in and out, where able, as the grim reaper has also taken his toll. Anyhow, with one sole original member in Simon Nicol, if one discounts his time off for good behaviour in the late 70s/early 80s, and others racking up 20 - 30 years of service, in keeping with the folk tradition, they have always given as much importance to the progeny of any song, explaining either it's history or making up some equivalently preposterous nonsense thereabouts. It really doesn't matter, and with Mr Nicol they have an exemplary front man, with the modulated and melodious tones of  the family doctors son that he is. And does my example demonstrate this?

Um, no, as it comes from the year dot, but, hey, listen to it and delight. It is really rather good. You will have to take my word as to their banter. Or better, mosey down to Cropredy, their yearly festival in rural Oxfordshire, early August, and see what I mean. (What do you mean, it's in England. Of course it's in England, but the wife of one of the ex-members of the band can sort you out most years, with her L.A. based travel company: Mrs Richard Thompson (Yes, that one.)

Not a lot more to say, but, given my clip is so very old, can they still cut it? Be my judge. From December last year.

Stage Banter: Garrison Keillor

[purchase]

I imagine that most of the posts for our new theme will be introductions to songs, but I could not see letting the theme go by without featuring Garrison Keillor. Keillor is the host of the (usually) weekly radio show on NPR, A Prairie Home Companion. The show features many musical guests from the world of folk music especially, but notable exceptions include Emmy Lou Harris and Nancy Griffith. By all reports, this is a show that many musicians love to appear on, and some come back every chance they get. It certainly sounds that way, based on the quality of the performances.

Garrison Keillor hosts the show and sets the tone. Companion is modeled after old-time radio shows that featured a mix of music and friendly monologues from the host, and this is where Keillor shines. The show takes place in the fictional town of Lake Wobegone, Minnesota. Lake Wobegone is a Norwegian-American Lutheran enclave, (got all that?), and Keillor presents the local news every week. This is really Keillor’s humorous and affectionate tribute to the small town America that exists partly in the American Midwest, and partly in Keillor’s imagination. You can tell that Keillor grew up around people who either lived this way or wanted to remember a fanciful version of their past. Keillor’s gift is to find a wonderful dry humor in this, while never making fun of his subjects. He may tweak them for their foibles, but he remains someone they would want to tell their stories to. The video I have posted comes from a show from January of this year, and Keillor addresses the question, “How cold was it?” This monologue is not collected anywhere, so my purchase link is for an older album that does a great job of showing you what a complete program is like.

Stage Banter: Jeff Tweedy

[purchase Sunken Treasure, which includes more Tweedy banter]

The theme this week is Stage Banter. I know that when I go to a concert, I like it when the performer talks to the audience—it makes it seem like he or she is having fun, and we often learn something about the artist. Of course, some performers are better at this than others. Some performers readily regale the audience with stories and anecdotes and some drop amusing quips but others simply seem to have trouble even telling you the name of the song or introducing the band.

A few weeks ago, I attended the Clearwater Festival on the Hudson River, and for the most part, the music was memorable. But I also know that my experience was improved by hearing Judy Collins’ tales about the various protest marches she participated in and her arrests, or how her apartment in New York seemed to host a revolving door of fellow folkies. And Mavis Staples’ stories of playing for Martin Luther King, and her statement that even an injured knee wouldn't keep her from performing. And gruff voiced Jason Isbell asking the sign language interpreter to tell the crowd that he sounded like the smooth, soulful Solomon Burke—and his story about how back in his Drive-By Truckers days, another interpreter just stopped signing when faced with a particularly ribald Mike Cooley song.

It has been said that some comedians say funny things, and others say things funny (note the use of the passive voice, so that I don’t have to find an actual quote), and the same is true of stage banter. Jeff Tweedy is one of those guys who says things funny, and it doesn’t seem like he is trying. It is a matter of timing, of inflection, and of course content.

For those who don’t know, Tweedy and Jay Farrar were members of the band Uncle Tupelo, another of those bands that are more influential than they were popular in their day (which is referenced in the clip). Tweedy and Farrar were high school friends who bonded over their shared tastes in music. After Tweedy joined Farrar and Farrar’s older brothers in a band, Jeff and Jay continued to play together in various groups which ultimately became Uncle Tupelo. That band was best known for its blending of punk with more traditional Americana music (although that term wasn’t around yet). Their debut album No Depression gave a name to the emerging sound, sometimes also called “alt-country.”

Initially, Farrar was the dominant personality in the band, doing more of the songwriting, lead singing and guitar. Tweedy played bass and was, if you will pardon the reference, the “Other Guy.”  As time went on, however, Tweedy began to take a more assertive role in the band. And like so many friends who have one thing in common, it turned out that Tweedy and Farrar really had very little in common. Much has been written about Uncle Tupelo’s split, but based on what I have read, it seems like both protagonists are difficult personalities who have to share the blame. Farrar claims that Tweedy was resentful of his talent and tried to hit on his girlfriend, while Tweedy has asserted that Farrar was domineering, refused to treat him as an equal and even refused to sing harmony on his songs. Farrar quit the band, passing the word to Tweedy through their manager, and a farewell tour resulted in more fighting and recrimination.

Farrar formed Son Volt and Tweedy formed Wilco. Although most critics seem to agree that Son Volt’s first album was better than Wilco’s, since then Tweedy’s and Wilco’s popularity and critical acclaim have outstripped Farrar’s and Son Volt’s. Personally, I’m a fan of both bands, and I think that they have both put out excellent music. Son Volt was even better than I expected at their Clearwater performance, but Wilco has become, to me, one of the best around. Having seen both bands a few times, I can attest to the fact that Tweedy’s stage banter is usually brilliant, while Farrar seems to avoid talking on stage as much as possible.

The enmity and hostility between Jay and Jeff has continued. The odds on a Uncle Tupelo reunion, or seeing, say, Farrar sit in at a Wilco concert, seem unfortunately pretty slim. I was struck by that at Clearwater, where I saw former band mates Jason Isbell and Patterson Hood play together, and I later saw pictures of them hanging out together watching Son Volt from backstage.

Which is all background to the clip, in which Tweedy tells a story of being on vacation in Mexico, and finding out that Farrar is staying on the same beach. I won’t ruin the clip by describing it—as I said, Tweedy has a gift for saying things funny, and I won’t do it justice—but Jeff’s mumbling recreation of their awkward greeting after 10 years of silence is priceless.

The Other Guy(s): Jefferson Airplane

Jefferson Airplane: Chauffeur’s Blues
[purchase]

Obviously, I like this theme, so I’m back with a third entry. And to pile it on, it is about two “other guys,” one of whom isn’t a guy.

When I was in high school, my friend Chris and I worked our way back from the then-popular Jefferson Starship through the discography of the Jefferson Airplane. I remember hours spent in the cutout bins at Korvette’s in Nanuet flipping through records to find their music. If you are a casual fan of the band, you know about Grace Slick’s powerful vocals, and maybe even Marty Balin’s blue-eyed soul singing or Paul Kantner’s folkier sounds. Or maybe you are a fan of their interesting harmonies, or the few songs that Jorma Kaukonen sang before moving full time to Hot Tuna. Four vocalists is pretty good for a single band, and these days it is rare to find a popular group that allows more than one, or sometimes two, singers to take regular lead vocals.

But the Airplane had even more singers. The Jefferson Airplane discography (not including live albums, solo projects and compilations) consists of 7 albums released between 1966 and 1972 (plus a reunion album from 1989). And although Kantner, Kaukonen and bass player Jack Casady were constants, Slick joined after their first album, Balin was there at the start, but left before the sixth album was done, and there were a number of drummers and other members that played with the band.

So, before Grace Slick, there was Signe Toly Anderson (no relation to previous “Other Guy” subject Jon). In the early days of the band, and on their debut record, Jefferson Airplane Takes Off, her role was mostly to sing backup and harmony. She left the band in 1966, following the birth of her daughter Lillith (and possibly because other members of the band didn’t get along with her husband.) On October 15, 1966, the Airplane played the Fillmore, and at the end of the show, Balin announced that Anderson was leaving the band. Anderson’s farewell to the audience is a classic Sixties statement—“I want you all to wear smiles and daisies and box balloons. I love you all. Thank you and goodbye.” The band then played “Chauffeur’s Blues,” with Anderson on lead vocals, followed by one more song. The next night Slick performed with the band.

Anderson returned to Oregon, where she raised a family and sang with a jazz band before suffering from a number of health problems. She has made occasional appearances at reunion shows, with the KBC Band (Kantner, Balin, Casady), and with later incarnations of Jefferson Starship.

Jefferson Airplane: Pretty As You Feel
[purchase]

Fast forward to 1970, when the Airplane were recording the followup to their last great record, Volunteers. Drummer Spencer Dryden, who had joined the band after the first record, had left, ultimately to end up in the New Riders of the Purple Sage.  He was replaced by Joey Covington, a self-taught drummer who had played with Hot Tuna, in unrecorded performances. Then Balin left the band, and they were looking to replace his material on the album, which became Bark. Covington was jamming one night with Kaukonen, Casady, Carlos Santana and percussionist Michael Shrieve on a piece that was given the working title of “Shitty As You Feel,” and little was expected of it. But the engineer, Pat “Maurice” Ieraci thought otherwise, and the title was changed to something more printable. Slick and Kantner overdubbed vocals, Papa John Creach added some fiddle, and a good song emerged. “Pretty As You Feel,” with Covington’s lead vocal, was released as a single and hit 60 on the Billboard chart, the last charting single for the Jefferson Airplane.

Covington left the band in 1972 for a relatively obscure solo career and as a sideman, and passed away last month at the age of 67 in a car accident.

THE OTHER GUY: Keith Moon

The Who: "Bell Boy"
[Purchase]

For this entry in the Other Guy theme, you could almost say it's the Other Other Other Guy. Yes, when it comes to the Who, Roger Daltrey was the lead singer, Pete Townshend (The Other Guy) sang the songs that Roger couldn't interpret the way Pete heard them in his head (at least that's the way I've always figured it), and then John Entwistle (The Other Other Guy) would sing his one composition per album. But unlike the Beatles, where Ringo always had a song per album as well, Keith Moon typically didn't sing on Who albums.

But on "Bell Boy," from the Who's classic 1973 double-LP concept album, Quadrophenia, Moon took the lead for a good chunk of the song. Daltrey starts things off by setting the scene for Moon's entrance, letting you know that he (in the character of Jimmy, from the album's storyline), has found that his idol, "Ace Face," is now a bell boy at a resort hotel ("I can see The Face coming through the haze/I remember him from those crazy days"), no longer the anti-authority figure he had been as leader of the Mods. And then in comes Moon as Ace Face himself, singing in a gruff Cockney accent, bemoaning his current situation. Obviously, Moon is hamming it up, so his singing isn't really as off as this might lead one to believe. In fact, while he's thinking back wistfully ("Some nights I still sleep on the beach/Remember when stars were in reach") you can hear him channeling his inner Townshend. Clearly it's a part that would have otherwise been sung by Pete -- but Moon handles it quite well, showing that he did in fact have some melodic range, even if it was rough around the edges.

Townshend has said that he tried to get Moon to sing the song more seriously, but that Moon simply couldn't help mugging for the part, so he gave up trying to get him to do it any other way. And he should be glad he did, as it's certainly one of the most memorable songs on a very memorable album -- and, it should be added, has one of the greatest power-chord riffs in the Who's repertoire. Moon's moment in the vocal spotlight was no throwaway tune, by any means.