Sisters: You And Your Sister

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Chris Bell: You And Your Sister

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When I first posted the original version of You And Your Sister here way back in 2010, I described it as a song that "offers raw redemption, with Chris Bell's broken delivery and slightly off-tune bass holding it together until the highly orchestral, swirling atmospheric bridge kicks in and all is lost to summery teen angst - just as the heavy-hearted homosexual, heroin addict, and struggling Christian himself was lost to a late night car crash in '78, the same year the song was first released as a non-album single."

What I didn't mention was that one of the most powerful choices Bell made in releasing this b-side was the use of a totally minor character - that of the sister who claims that the narrator is "no good", but is otherwise absent in the lyrics - in the song's title. Doing so forces us to enter the song as a companionate outsider, removed that much farther from the otherwise intimate performance and first-person narrative; the resulting experience of listening invites us to share both the desperate distance the narrator feels for his subject, and the inherent cultural disapproval that the titular sibling represents - itself a common theme in Bell's work, as evidenced most obviously by the parental role in Big Star's Thirteen.

Bonus track: the production on this recent cover from cinematic art-pop duo O + S, which appears on the award-winning indie-slash-dreampop 2010 lullaby covers album Sing Me To Sleep, uses plinking acoustic tones, chamberfolk strings, and lush, echoey, doubled vocals to add new atmospheric layers to the song, trebling the distance and desperation even as it calms the slumbering soul.

O+S: You And Your Sister

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Sisters: Babylon Sisters

Steely Dan: Babylon Sisters

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Babylon Sisters comes from the album Gaucho, which would be the last album from the original run of Steely Dan. After Gaucho, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen would split up. Fagen initially pursued a solo career, while Becker moved to Hawaii and kicked his drug habit, before eventually reemerging as a producer and solo artist himself. When Steely Dan finally went back in the studio as a group, they were without longtime producer Gary Katz.

Gaucho was the album from that original run that Becker and Fagen found the most difficult to make. In fact, there exists as a bootleg an entire album worth of material that would have been a very different album than the one we know. That one is called, alternately, The Lost Gaucho or The Second Arrangement. It has an alternate version of Third World Man with entirely different lyrics, an instrumental version of Gaucho, and a bunch of songs that were scrapped. To my ear, the “official” album, Gaucho, was well worth the effort it took to make. Compared to the previous album, Aja, the sound is somewhat simplified. The band is a large as before, and the background singers are still here, but the songs on Gaucho are shorter, and have less complex structures and harmonies. Aja is a great album too, but there are times when this Steely Dan lite, if you will, is just what I am in the mood for. The songs here have lyrics that are as opaque as always, but the musical directness gives these songs the unique feel of well crafted short stories, where Aja is more like a collection of finely wrought novellas. Babylon Sisters is a fine example of what I mean. Compared to the epic sweep of Home at Last, or even the storytelling of Don’t Take Me Alive, from the Royal Scam album, Babylon Sisters is a moment in time and a mood piece, and a very fine one.

Sisters: Don't Let Me Down

Pernilla Andersson: "Don't Let Me Down"

Pernilla Andersson: "Don't Let Me Down" (Twisted Sister cover)
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In choosing a song to post about for the Sisters theme, I kept getting distracted by this cover of Twisted Sister's "Don't Let Me Down." Pernilla Andersson's subdued vocals coast over shimmering, fingered acoustic guitar and relentless shaker into a chorus accentuated by droning cello drags, stabbing mandolin yelps, and wandering piano notes that fall like stones into a bottomless pond. The orchestrated result is a dark mirror held to the 80s makeup metallers, perhaps with a tease and a taunt: anything you can do, I can do better.

Andersson ditches the overt loudness, speed, and tone in lieu of subtler approaches. Elements of the song's original characteristics all remain present, yet refined. A true application of the art of the cover, this interpretation targets the mood and message of its subject and strips out the pomp. I love this song on its own, but knowing where it comes from adds a lot to it for me. I found little to no value in the original but now have a reason to appreciate it as the base for Andersson's superior emulation.

Twisted Sister: "Don't Let Me Down"

Sisters: Sister Seagull

Be Bop Deluxe: Sister Seagull
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I don’t know if it is because I’ve been writing for another blog that wants third-person analysis, or just that I’m running out of music related personal stories, but I seem to be writing more here about bands that I want people to listen to and less about me, my family and friends. Which may be a good thing, or not, but that’s sort of the way things go on a blog that requires you to react to a prompt. Either there is a personal story there, or there isn’t. But there is almost always a song to write about.

I do, however, have a sister—a wonderful sister—but music has never been something that we spent much time sharing. I never got the sense that she cared about it as much as I did (most people don’t, to be fair), and the irony is that now she is with a guy who drags her to concerts.

So, I did sort of bring in the personal a bit. Now, on to the feature—Be Bop Deluxe’s “Sister Seagull,” from 1975, a time when bands could legitimately be considered blues rock, glam rock and prog rock at the same time, without causing a meltdown of the structure of the universe. I suspect that I was vaguely aware of these guys before I went to college—it would not surprise me to find out that WNEW-FM played them occasionally, but I know that when I was digging through the stacks at WPRB, I found myself listening to and playing them. Despite the fact that they were generally considered to be more prog than not, the current wisdom is that they were also precursors and influences on new wave music. And as someone who was playing music on the radio as new wave was emerging, maybe I sensed that too.

OK—I brought in the personal again. Let’s talk about Be Bop Deluxe. They were, essentially, an instrument of Bill Nelson, one of the unsung guitar heroes of the era. His songs often had sci fi imagery, but also reflected on modern society and relationships. This song was from the band’s second album, Futurama, the first with the lineup that would essentially be the classic configuration. Despite what Allmusic thinks, it is a pretty good album, with a few great songs, notably “Sister Seagull” and the thrilling “Maid in Heaven.” “Seagull,” is a mellower song, with some fascinating guitar riffs. The album, though, was not particularly successful, although their later albums, most notably Modern Music, did have some success in the U.K., and even sniffed at the U.S. charts. The band’s final album, Drastic Plastic, began to showcase a bit more of a new wave sound, and because he wanted to try new things, Nelson disbanded Be Bop Deluxe, ending its short run. Thereafter, Nelson’s career turned into one of constant experimentation and collaboration, but limited commercial success. Here’s a video of the band performing the song on the BBC’s legendary show Old Grey Whistle Test.



I strongly suggest checking out this band’s limited output. Although certainly imperfect, each of their albums contains a number of now forgotten gems.

SISTERS: SISTERS by RICHARD & LINDA THOMPSON

Sisters : Richard and Linda Thompson

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Phew, I was worried I wouldn't get back on-line in time for this submission, the instantaneous thought that came to me, on reading about the theme from afar. Few can now claim to be unaware of the name Richard Thompson, the eternal critics favourite undiscovered artist, finally, finally seeming to get the attention due him, even if he is still hardly household. Indeed, he remains very much a marmite artist, to use the current british vernacular, marmite being a yeast based spread that advertises itself on the basis that you can only either love or hate it, with no middle ground. (I love it!) Elderly readers will remember him as the precocious guitar-slinger in Fairport Convention, doe-eyed and shaggy, effortlessly tossing off skewed and twisted lines, seeming to offer no links to the then received canon of blues and rock, with echoes of a deep folk mysticism, and hints of an eastern symbolism later more widely embraced. Indeed Fairport probably invented the european school of folk-rock, with their epochal album, Liege and Lief, from where this clip comes.
Following on from his exit from FP and an astoundingly unsuccessful solo LP, he teamed up with his then wife, Linda, herself already a well respected singer on the session circuit, producing 5 or so LPs, even managing a minor hit with this. During this period the couple embraced islam, even giving up the music business for a while, living on a sufi commune. The song I lead this piece with stems from this later period, which Thompson himself seems to think little of himself, it remaining resolutely unavailable on CD, re-mixed and added to or otherwise.(My purchase link comes from a later compilation of his oevre.)
They famously split up around their final LP, then experiencing an enormously vitriolic tour together to promote it.
Since then Richard has maintained a low profile permanent presence in the best of lists, whether as guitarist, songwriter or, less often, singer. Indeed, it his voice that tends to keep him away from any real chance of crossover, appealing mainly to bearded men of a certain age, perhaps explaining his place in the heart of so many music writers. Linda sort of fell by the wayside, having become prone to dysphonia, making singing live impossible. Fortunately, largely with the assistance and support of son, Teddy, she has again started to appear and perform again, and has just put out the 3rd of an occasional series of new songs. Which, full circle, includes her ex accompanying her on one track.
"Sisters" has a typically acerbic lyric, with bittersweet words of a distressed regret, fitting perfectly with the bleak vocal, and the typical spiky guitar underpinnings. A song, as are most of theirs, to listen to, to pick up all the words, all the instrumental nuances, to feel the pain and the pleasure of that pain, before committing it to fond memory for recall. Heart, head and soul music. Wonderful stuff.

Sisters: The Roches

The Roches: The Troubles

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“We are Maggie and Terre and Suzzy, Maggie and Terre and Suzzy Roche…” Those were the first words I ever heard from the Roche sisters. Their self-tiled debut was a delightful surprise in 1979. That was a great year for debut albums, also including Dire Straits, Rickie Lee Jones, and Steve Forbert, just to name a few. But the Roches were astounding in part for seeming to be a folk act on a major label. Suzanne Vega and others would soon follow, but, at the time, this was truly remarkable. Of course, that debut album was produced by Robert Fripp, who also added background noises on electric guitar, so I might have guessed that things weren’t quite so simple. Indeed, they plugged in the next year for their follow-up album Nerds. It was during the Nerds tour that I saw what was one of the most disappointing concerts of my life. The Roches came to Princeton with a rhythm section behind them, and played an incredibly loud concert that drowned out the subtle pleasures I so loved about them. Happily, in time they came to realize that the softer sound heard here was their strong suit, and this is how they perform these days.

Play the video above, and you will hear the playfulness and the close harmonies that distinguish the Roches’ sound. You will also hear the unvarnished tone in the vocals that you will either love as being direct and honest, as I do; or the sound will grate on your ears, because one hears it so seldom. This is a group that my wife and I disagree on, with her falling in the latter camp. But I can never hear the best work of the Roche sisters without smiling. Music can do more than that, but sometimes that smile is enough.

Sisters: Little Sister

Ry Cooder: Little Sister
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I had to go way back through the SMM search/archives to be sure that I hadn't posted this song before (it seemed I must have done so - at least once ?! and after my searches I am still not sure) By now, y'all must know that Ry is a favorite of mine (check out the number of times I have posted his songs); plus, this song ranks among his best. [I know this "SMM search" reminder is a repeat, but it can't hurt]: to search SMM, try  sixsongs.blogspot.com/search/lable/YourSearchTermHere

For example: http://sixsongs.blogspot.com/search/label/Sisters

Now, as to "sisters":

One of my favorites - from Ry Cooder's '79 "Bop Till You Drop" album- was once a '50's/'60s Elvis song. Written by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman (a song-writing pair who were actually related by marriage), the song touches on infidelity and insecurity. It's a case of 2 sisters who've been courted, seemingly neither of them terribly faithful.

Ry's version has so much more verve to it. Granted, the Elvis rendition here is from his later years-in-decline, and this clip shows it. However, it needs to be said that - master that Ry is - a major part of what makes Ry's performance that much better is in large part due to Bobby King's (and friends) backup vocals.


Elvis:

Ry:
 

　

Sisters: Soul Sister

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Producer and songwriter extraordinaire ( "Working In a Coalmine", "A Certain Girl", "Everything I Do Gonna Be Funky", "Fortune Teller") Allen Toussaint made  Life, Love and Faith with The Meters in 1972. Toussaint IS New Orleans music...though his songs are typically better served by other singers.

Not on this one.

In "Soul Sister" he gives a nod to all the head-turning sisters wearing naturals, an expression of pride and dignity and sexiness:

Hey you/ Hey you with the curly bush on your head baby

You know you're lookin good/ Soul sister

By the way if you see a sister wearing a natural, let me be the first to suggest you don't call her Afro "a curly bush". It doesn't sound right unless you have The Meters backing you up.

BROTHERS ->SISTERS: Brothers and Sisters

Brothers and Sisters: One Night
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What better way to transition from “Brothers” to “Sisters,” than to write about a band named Brothers and Sisters, which features an actual brother and sister? I mean, I could have written about the Allman Brothers’ amazing, hit-filled album Brothers and Sisters, you know, the one with “Ramblin’ Man” and “Jessica,” among others, but someone already did that.  So, instead, let's discuss a quality obscure band.

Brothers and Sisters was formed by Will Courtney, the son of Cynthia Clawson, a Christian music singer, and author Ragan Courtney. Born in Nashville and raised mostly in Texas, Courtney moved to Los Angeles, where he performed and became steeped in the classic Southern California country/rock sound. He returned to Austin and formed Brothers and Sisters with his sister Lilly. The band released two albums, the self-titled debut, which included today’s featured song, and a followup, Fortunately. These guys are right in my wheelhouse—at least one of my wheelhouses—with songs that are reminiscent of bands like the Jayhawks, Byrds, the Band and, not surprisingly, the Beatles and Beach Boys. “One Night” is a loping rocker, with a definite Jayhawks vibe, featuring lead vocals from Will and harmonies from Lilly. There is something about siblings singing together that is special (assuming, unlike me and my siblings, that they can actually sing….) Although the band is no longer recording (it seems that Will Courtney has embarked on a solo career), they are worth checking out.

Coincidentally, on Friday night, I saw a really nice show at the Tarrytown Music Hall—Alejandro Escovedo opening for Shelby Lynne. Escovedo, who is one of my faves (and who deserves his own post at some point) comes from a musical family—his brothers Coke and Pete were in Santana, his brother Phil is a bass player, brother Javier played in punk bands and with Alejandro in the True Believers, and brother Mario was the leader of The Dragons (which also included Javier). And let’s throw in Pete’s daughter Sheila E. and Alejandro’s son Paris, who has his own band. There are more musical Escovedos out there, but let’s stop here. Shelby Lynne’s sister Allison Moorer, who is married to Steve Earle, is somewhat less known than her sister, but as I can attest, having seen her open for the Drive-By Truckers, puts on a hell of a show herself. Here’s a video of the sisters singing “Miss Celie’s Blues (Sister)” from the soundtrack to The Color Purple at a show in Tarrytown in 2010 that I did not attend. But the guy who took the video seemed to enjoy it.

Brothers and Sisters: Crowded House- Sister Madly

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I‘m sure that we will be getting to pure posts for our new Sisters theme soon, but I wanted to share this second transitional post before we leave Brothers behind completely. The Brothers Neil and Tim Finn were in Split Enz together before Neil formed Crowded House, and the two have since worked together as the Finn Brothers. Sister Madly comes from Crowded House‘s second album, Temple of Low Men. While Tim was not an official member of the band at that point, he did appear on the album doing background vocals.

Temple is possibly the most overlooked Crowded House album these days. The band was stretching out musically after the huge success of their debut, and the experiments on this album did not seem to resonate with their fans. But I am one of those people who is often drawn to albums like this, with the Cars album Candy-O being another example. Sister Madly has a jazzy feel that I love, and the studio version also has a guitar solo by Richard Thompson. What’s not to like?

Brothers and Sisters: Jessica

Allman Brothers Band: Jessica
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I confess that right from the start of the “Brothers” theme, I had this album in mind – with the hopes that I would get around to it and that maybe no one else would get there before me.

Back in the ‘70s, I attended a college in the South (of the US, of course) that had hosted the Allman Brothers at about the time of their rise to fame (Atlanta not being too far from Greensboro, NC). I wish I had been there then because I had already been listening to their music when I was in high school (Idlewild South anyone?). I was also already a die-hard Clapton fan, which has made Derek and the Dominoes an eternal favorite (Duane Allman + Eric Clapton = made in  heaven)

The Allman Brothers’ <Brothers and Sisters> album came out in ’73, shortly after the death of the band’s lead guitarist Duane Allman. You probably know that Allman’s death was more or less quickly followed by the death of bassist Berry Oakley – in curiously similar circumstances. However, Oakley is credited and played on the Brothers and Sisters album that this clip is taken from.

Following Duane’s death, Richard “Dickey” Betts assumed the lead guitar position – less flamboyant than the lost Allman brother, but a highly competent guitarist in that he was the second guitarist of the band's original double lead guitar setup.

The photos that make up the album covers are “brothers” and “sisters” shots of the band members’ kids: I do wonder how much they still feel like siblings all these many years later. (Those were special years for those of us who were here back then, so I assume the bonds from this still tie them together somehow).

The clip I located (with the best video  that I could locate - and a live version to boot) is from well beyond the Duane Allman era, but it retains the essence of the original. You’ll see Dickey Betts on guitar and Greg Allman at the keyboard.

And so … on to <Sisters> …

Brothers: The Celtic Soul Brothers

Dexys Midnight Runners: The Celtic Soul Brothers
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Here’s a little blatant self-promotion, which happens to fit the current theme. Over on Cover Me, I wrote a piece called “In Defense: Dexys Midnight Runners” about a band that I think has been wrongfully maligned over the years and pigeonholed as a “one hit wonder” because of the success of “Come on Eileen.” So, if you haven’t already, check out that piece—I think it is a good one.

What made Dexys interesting was their mix of soul and Celtic sounds, with the proportion of each differing depending on the makeup of the band, which was constantly changing, mostly due to leader Kevin Rowland’s whims and his apparently infinite ability to alienate his fellow band members. In many ways, this song, the first recorded by the more Celtic-sounding lineup featured on the Too-Rye-Ay album which contained “Eileen,” is like a manifesto of intent.

Supposedly, the song was the inspiration for the book, and later movie, The Commitments. If you saw the movie, you probably still remember the incredible performance by the lead singer Andrew Strong, who was only 16 at the time, but had an amazing, soulful voice. It seemed that his potential was unlimited, but despite some commercial success, his career never took off. Also in the film was Glen Hansard, better known for the movie (and play) Once, and the song “Falling Slowly.” Here’s a clip of Celtic soul brothers Strong and the Commitments doing the classic “Mustang Sally.”

Brothers: Jesse McReynolds & Charles Whitstein: Remember Me

Jesse McReynolds & Charles Whitstein: Remember me

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I must admit that a favorite album which I regularly put back into rotation is “A Tribute to Brother Duets” from Jesse McReynolds and Charles Whitstein.  

What’s interesting is that this entire 37-minute collection draws from repertoire of many famous traditional country brother duets from yesteryear.  Classic songs come from such brother acts as The Delmores, Wilburns, Morrises, Louvins, Monroes, Stanleys, Yorks, Bailes, and Bollicks (Blue Sky Boys). These are the brother acts which influenced McReynolds and Whitstein and continue to inspire other artists today.

The album has many old favorites like "When I Stop Dreaming," "What Would You Give (in Exchange For Your Soul)?," "Rose of my Heart," "The White Dove," "Blues Stay Away From Me," "Kentucky," "Remember Me (When the Candlelights are Gleaming) and "Are You Missing Me?" The two also cover a few less commonly heard duets such as "Somebody Loves You Darling," "That's All I Want From You," and "Which One Is To Blame?"

Jesse McReynolds (born in 1929) recently turned 84.  Charles Whitstein is a little younger, born in 1945. Both of them spent many years performing with their own brothers. From Virginia, Jim & Jesse have released over fifty albums and joined the Grand Ole Opry in 1964. From Louisiana, The Whitstein Brothers (Bob & Charles) were once called “the second-coming of the Louvin Brothers” by Charlie Louvin.

Sadly, Robert Whitstein passed away on November 14, 2001, and Jim McReynolds passed on in December 31, 2002 (only two weeks after his wife had died).

While both surviving brothers were greatly saddened by their losses, they endured and bounced back by forming their own duo. The only new song on their album, "Gone But Not Forgotten," written by Jesse, opened with a touching tribute to their deceased brothers.

Besides Jesse (mandolin, mandolobro) and Charles (guitar), the rest of the musicians are Dave Salyers (lead guitar), Charlie Cushman (guitar), Glen Duncan (fiddle), and Kent Blanton (bass).  As they sing in "Gone but Not Forgotten," Jesse and Charles vow to "do their best," and they've proven that they can create strong and close harmony together that pays homage to their departed brothers.

Brothers: Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

Brother Can You Spare a Dime? was written in 1931. The Great Depression had hit the United States with its full force. Men who fought for their country in World War I, who had come home to work at transforming the nation for the twentieth century, suddenly found themselves on breadlines. In Washington, Roosevelt had not yet been elected, and the plight of such men fell on deaf ears. The song was written for a Broadway musical called New Americana. New Americana was a musical revue, so Brother did not have to fit into a larger plot. I can find no other information about the show, so I think it is safe to say that Brother has proved to be far more enduring than the show that spawned it. As was the custom in those days, the song was soon covered by the pop artists of the day, and both Bing Crosby and Rudy Vallee separately took the song to number one shortly before the Roosevelt election.

Dr John and Odetta render the song as a slow blues. Of course, this fits both the lyric and the style of the original composition perfectly. But they are two different kinds of blues artists here. Dr John, with his gruff delivery, renders a passionate reading of the song, beautifully capturing both the pride of his past and the pain of his present that the narrator feels. Odetta has a smoother delivery, and her reading of the song submerges the pain and subdues the pride; both emotions are quieter, but just as palpable. The two trade verses, and the tension between their two approaches creates a dramatic tension that makes the performance even more powerful. I have not included a purchase link in this post, because I have not been able to find a source for this recording; if anyone knows where it can be found, I hope you will share the link with everyone in the comments.

Before I go, I should comment about the video. It is the work of an artist and videographer who calls himself Spadecaller. Born Matthew Schwartz, Spadecaller specializes in artworks that make connections between spirituality and social justice. Here, he makes a brilliant connection between the Great Depression and conditions today by juxtaposing images from the 1930s with those from today. You can see more of his videos on his YouTube channel, and there is a gallery of his other artwork on his website.

Brothers: Deadstring Brothers: Heavy Load

Deadstring Brothers: Heavy Load
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Supposedly, blues music is mostly listened to and purchased by white people, and it took white Brits in the early 1960’s to spearhead a blues revival, that, in many ways, created the rock music that took over the world. Bands like the Rolling Stones, Yardbirds and Bluesbreakers paid direct tribute to American blues, and Led Zeppelin stole wholesale from the blues canon. Then, of course, this music found its way back across the Atlantic and inspired Americans to revisit the blues.

By the time of Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., the Stones had perfected their sound, which while still based on the blues, was now a synthesis of other influences. But, despite the fact that Keith and Mick (sometimes known as the Glimmer Twins) have had an almost brotherly relationship, with all of the fighting and bickering that entails, this is not about the Stones. Instead, it is about an American band that clearly—very clearly—took the sound of the Rolling Stones, and claimed it for their own.

The band is pretty much unknown, so I’m writing to, hopefully, expose people to them. And it fits the theme, because the name of the band is Deadstring Brothers. Not surprisingly, there is no one in the band named Deadstring, and they aren’t brothers (for the most part). Especially the women (including, at one point, sisters).

Initially from Detroit, the Deadstring Brothers were formed in 2001 by singer/songwriter Kurt Marschke, and the band has gone through a number of different lineups over the years. And, as befits their blues-based sound, they became better known in England than here in their native land. The song, “Heavy Load,” from the band’s 2007 release Silver Mountain (which features actual brothers, Brits Spencer and Jeff Cullum), pays tribute to a London club known for playing classic rock. And yeah, it sounds like the Stones if the Stones featured both a male and female singer (which they sort of do, at least live).

So, add these guys to the list of bands worth checking out—including their most recent album, Cannery Row, which reflects the band’s move from Detroit to Nashville. Think a little more “Wild Horses,” and less “Tumbling Dice.”

Brothers: Big Brother and the Holding Company: Piece of My Heart

Big Brother & the Holding Company/Janis Joplin: Piece of My Heart
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For better or worse, Peter Albin, James Gurley, Sam Andrew and Dave Getz will be forever associated with Janis Joplin – even though she sang with them for a little less than two years. The band was then, and is still called Big Brother and the Holding Company, and except for James Gurley, the guitarist, who passed in 2009, the original members are still making music and you can keep up with their tour schedule at their website (http://bbhc.com). Granted, they’ve taken breaks from it all off and on and they’ve added and removed additional members from time to time, but Albin, Andrew and Getz are still together. While not one of the musicians, Chet Helms is given credit for forming the band (the official web site calls him “the real Big Brother”); as one of the first SF rock producers/promoters/organizers, he brought them together. He, too passed away a few years back.

I must confess that I probably wouldn’t have kept them in mind all these years if it weren’t for Janis, and – although I knew deep in the recesses of my mind that Big Brother was not the band backing her on Pearl (her best work) – Joplin and the band’s Cheap Thrills includes one of my (many) favorite songs.

Piece of My Heart was first recorded by Erma Franklin in 1967. Erma Franklin (sister of Aretha) sings it with a different feel:  it’s the same song but nowhere near as rough as Janis’ vocals and Big Brother’s hard rocking, which seem to try to scratch their way out of the romantic situation the song describes (and you’ll find versions by many others, including Bonnie Tyler, Nazareth, Faith Hill ..) They all sing:

And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I've had enough,
But I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.

I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it,
Take it!
Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!

Janis and Big Brother (above)/Erma Franklin (below)

 

Buddy Holly: American Pie

Don McLean: American Pie
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Following up on Dave’s prior post, the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, along with Ritchie Valens, J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson, and pilot Roger Peterson, is commonly known as “The Day the Music Died,” because of Don McLean’s “American Pie.” Even as a 10 year old in 1971 when it was released, I knew that the song was something special. Not just because it was 8 and a half minutes long, and you had to flip over the 45 record to hear the whole thing. I remember reading newspaper articles trying to decipher McLean’s imagery, and the debates over its interpretation. But there was never a debate that “The Day the Music Died,” referred to the death of those four men in a frozen field near Clear Lake, Iowa. If there was any question that this was the case, you can see in the photo above that McLean dedicated the album to Holly, although he generally has refused to comment on others’ interpretation of his lyrics.

I remember understanding that there was a wistfulness about the song, that McLean was bemoaning the loss of something. Although I probably couldn’t have described it well then, I think that I got the gist of his message that the decade between Holly’s death, at the beginning of the song, and the negative, anti-Woodstock violence of Altamont, at the end of the song, was a period in which dreams were smashed, hope was lost, and illusions were shattered. And this was even before Watergate. It was a very political time, and I guess I was kind of a precocious kid.

Dave is right—Holly’s brilliance is magnified by the fact that his career was so short, and it is hard to imagine that he would have been able to maintain that level of quality had he lived, but music definitely would be different had he been able to do so, much like it is hard to conceive what music would be like if The Beatles hadn’t broken up, or if Jimi Hendrix hadn’t died so young. Or if things would have been different if an Hispanic rock star crossed over to mass popularity, had Valens stayed on the bus. (I suspect that The Big Bopper, who was a songwriter and singer but was best known as a disc jockey, would not have been as influential, but he might have ended up as a power in the music industry like his contemporaries, Dick Clark and Casey Kasem).

Of course, we will never know. Holly’s music and death, though, have affected untold millions who have loved his music, been influenced by his sound, covered his songs, read the books, or seen the movies and plays and tribute shows. For Don McLean, it inspired him to write one of the great American songs, a song that brilliantly captured its era, and, yes, made it possible for McLean not to “ever work again,” as he flippantly remarked. For one 10 year old boy in suburban New York, “American Pie” showed that some songs needed to be analyzed and deconstructed and discussed. It only took another 40 years for that boy to start blogging.

BUDDY HOLLY: Well . . . All Right

Buddy Holly: "Well . . . All Right"

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I think one of the most incredible things about Buddy Holly is not that he influenced so many other musicians, or that he wrote so many songs that have withstood the test of time and have been re-recorded by so many other bands and singers, but that he did it all at such a young age and in such a short span of time. Holly had his first hit with the Crickets in May of 1957, at the age of 20, and he died in the infamous plane crash in February 1959, at the tender age of 22. Just a little over a year and a half, but what an impact he had in that short time! He was really just a kid through all of it, but he still runs strong in the blood of rock and roll.

Choosing a song to feature here was a tough choice, as there are so many great options. I considered the ones that The Beatles and The Rolling Stones chose to record early in their careers, acknowledging their debt to Holly -- "Words of Love" and "Not Fade Away," respectively -- and "Rave On," which I think could arguably be pointed to as one of the earliest forms of punk and power pop.

But I finally settled on "Well . . . All Right," the flip side to Holly's 1958 single, "Heartbeat." I find the song to be remarkably mature in its melancholy sound and confidently defiant lyrics. The message is actually quite an upbeat one, but there seems to be some element of wisdom beyond his years running through it. The acoustic instrumentation is also something rarely heard in pop music of that time, hinting at Holly's country influences but staying firmly within the bounds of a pop song. It's a sound that the Beatles fleshed out years later with Rubber Soul, an album heralded for its maturity very much thanks to that type of song, but its roots can most definitely be found here.

"Well . . . All Right" was covered quite well by Blind Faith (Steve Winwood, Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, and Ric Grech) on their one and only album in 1969, but it was much more forceful and lost the quiet fortitude of Holly's original. Listen here to Holly's original for a song truly ahead of its time.

Buddy Holly: That’ll Be The Day

Buddy Holly: That’ll Be The Day
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A few days ago, I had a Skype video call with my daughter, who, as I mentioned in my last post, will be spending the year studying in Barcelona. All is going well in the first days, and she seems happy in her home-stay apartment, The call cut off a few times, due to Internet issues, and I was struck by the fact that we have reached a point where we get upset when our free video call with our daughter in Spain doesn’t work perfectly. It made me think about when I traveled in Europe during college, and had to go to some special call center to pay money to call my parents, probably to ask for money. Which reminds me that I was also upset that our attempts to arrange for Internet transfers of funds between my bank account and my daughter’s also didn’t go completely smoothly.

This, of course, has nothing to do with Buddy Holly, except that in my mind, Buddy Holly, who died in 1959, and my daughter, who was born in 1993, will always be linked. When she was 6 years old, we went to England for a week, and wanted to find a play on the West End that would interest her and her older brother. We got tickets for Buddy—The Buddy Holly Story. Considered to be the first “jukebox musical,” it was great (and more accurate than the Gary Busey-starring movie). My daughter fell in love with Holly’s music, and it is hard to blame her—he was a genius, whose unfortunately limited musical output still mostly stands up after all of these years. If you want to argue that the Beatles were the most influential musicians in rock music, that is fair, but it is no coincidence that the first song that The Quarrymen (the proto-Beatles) ever recorded was “That’ll Be The Day.” Or that their name was a tribute to Holly’s band, The Crickets.

At the time, my daughter’s school had an enrichment program called “Challenge,” and all of the students were required to do a research project for presentation at the “Creativity Fair.” You know, lots of smart, serious little kids, standing in front of trifold posterboard displays in the gym answering questions from earnest, well-meaning parents. My daughter decided to do hers about Buddy Holly. She immersed herself in his music, read some age-appropriate books and articles about him, and became an expert. Yours truly trolled eBay for cheap Buddy Holly memorabilia to add to her display.

Part of the project required the students to do an interview, which in this case seemed a bit difficult, when fate intervened. I found out that a lawyer I knew had become friendly with Dion DiMucci (of “Runaround Sue” fame). Dion had been a friend of Holly’s, and, in fact, turned down a seat on the ill-fated plane on that icy Iowa night, because it was too expensive. My contact convinced Dion to be interviewed, in writing, by my daughter, and he handwrote responses to the questions that she had come up with. Apparently, Holly loved the pizza in DiMucci’s native Bronx, because he couldn’t get anything like it back home in Lubbock. And, as I previously wrote, my daughter did a karaoke version of “That’ll Be The Day,” at a friend’s wedding.

Since then, my daughter’s musical tastes have predictably changed, but every once in a while, I know that she returns to Holly’s pure pop music.

Buddy Holly: (You’re So Square) Baby, I Don’t Care

Buddy Holly: Baby, I Don’t Care

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It was September 7^th of 1936 when Christian Hardin Holley was born in Lubbock, Texas. How could a kid go wrong growing up with the music of Hank Williams and Bill Monroe, as well as the blues and Tex-Mex in his area? With friend Bob Montgomery, his first band “Buddy and Bob” pretty much sums up his approach to music: Western and Bop.

Beginning his career as a country singer, his first session (for Decca) wasn’t a big success. He had already dropped the “e” from his last name, but the 1956 session with some Nashville sidemen was a little too slick for his Texas rockabilly approach. They should’ve featured Holly with his own band, The Crickets.

Given Holly’s importance in the history of country and rock & roll before his untimely death in 1959, it’s nice to find a cool song from him that alludes to the music and lifestyle of teenagers in the fifties. I chose one that says something about Buddy Holly’s style.

“(You’re So Square) Baby, I Don’t Care” is sung to a girlfriend who doesn’t like crazy music, rockin’ bands, hot rod racing or drivin’ late at night. Not to mention the fact that she doesn’t know any dance steps either. Fortunately, she does like going to movies, holding hands, and parking where it’s nice and dark. The song (from 1957) wasn’t written by Buddy, but it sure lives on as a classic from the fifties, a golden decade for a whole lotta "crazy music" from the likes of Buddy Holly.