Radio: Crap On the Radio

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By the time new wave rockers like Elvis Costello showed up in the late 70's, commercial radio stations were run by middle manger types beholden to distant suits at corporate headquarters. Disc jockeys were losing the power to play what they wanted so disco and "corporate rock" ruled the radio.

That meant the most exciting music getting made... wasn't getting played. 

As Elvis C. sang in "Radio, Radio": 

Radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools

Here's what a few more new wavers had to say about radio




Cos he can play crap on the radio
You can play crap on the radio
Be careful what you say
And you can play shite all day
You can play crap on the radio

 -Stiff Little Fingers "You Can't Say Crap On the Radio"




It's just the same old show on my radio
It's just the same old show on my radio
It's just the same old show on my radio
It's just the same old show on my radio

-The Selecter "On My Radio"


Who listens to the radio?
Who listens to the radio?
That's what I'd like to know
Who listens to the radio?

-The Sports


And from the one guy who did have a big radio hit, a different perspective:


Don't you know you can't get near me
You can only hope to hear me
 on your radio On your radio
You're gonna hear me on your radio.

-Joe Jackson

Radio: Midnight Radio

Dar Williams: "Midnight Radio"
[purchase]

As a middle-school youngster, I used to listen to Harry Chapin’s Greatest Stories Live like an addict—sometimes multiple times per day. The second track, “W.O.L.D.,” was never my favorite on the album, but that didn’t stop me from memorizing every word of it by heart. Regardless, fellow poster Retropath has already contributed more commentary about the song that I would have, so I’ll move on to another radio tribute.

“Midnight Radio” is a song from the rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch, written by Stephen Trask. The version above was first covered by pop-folk artist Dar Williams a decade after Hedwig’s premiere as the penultimate track on her 2008 album Promised Land. It’s a moving song of reminiscence for those who have sentimental emotional memories of feeling connected with the world in a new way because of the radio (which, it would seem, applies to most people who read and write about music).

The lyrics illustrate the narrator becoming a star vicariously through the strong female voices on the radio: “Here’s to Patti / and Tina / and Yoko / Aretha / and Nona / and Nico / and me.”

RADIO : REX BOB LOWENSTEIN

Mark Germino - Rex Bob Lowenstein

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Having read the entries so far, largely essays on the sadly diminished role of radio in any musical education, I thought it better to take a different tack. Back when radio was king, and truly the chart powerbroker, a time honoured approach to gain airplay was to reference the DJ, hopefully inducing it to be played by a presumably grateful and flattered jock. The list is endless, and I have not the space to reference them, but these guys have made a good start. Gradually, however, as the power of the usually sponsored playlist crept in, so too entered a wistfulness for the lost freedoms of those early pioneers. There were 2 songs that I always thought of a pair, the one referenced here, in 1987, and the better known one by Harry Chapin in 1974, W.O.L.D. (ee ee ee ee), and it is only as I researched this piece I realised they were a decade apart. Indeed, whilst the latter was a minor hit, the former virtually sank without trace, apart from in the U.K., where it was relentlessly played on Capital Radio, then the biggest commercial radio station in the country. Mark Germino was more a songwriter, in Nashville, than a singer, with a fairly short lived  recording career, bookended by this song, the above version and an electric version in 1991, which I find to have dated way more than the original. Neither seem available in download.

I shamelessly identify with each of these mythical  guys, Rex Bob and WOLD jockey, both true to the spirit and ethos of their cause, fighting increasingly pyrrhic victories all the way down the schedules. My childhood ambition was to be on the radio, preferably late at night, playing what ever I fancied. My choices here over these past weeks should perhaps please you I never made it. John Peel was the obvious template, but the UK has been blessed with a number of excellent and interested in music presenters over the years, if not also overburdened with facile grinning idiots . I would include Johnny Walker and Bob Harris as 2 who certainly influenced my listening, with tastes less obviously discordant to the moving ever onward from any mainstream Peel, both being unashamed afficionados of what I guess might now be labelled as americana. I have never realised my ambition and it has never gone away. Hey ho.

So what is the future for radio? Will "streamers" such as Spotify render the need for a curated selection redundant? I hope not, but would agree the conventional format has weaker and weaker legs. The only radio I ever listen to now is in the car, and is largely news and speech based, so called Talk Radio, (but at least it is the esteemed BBC Radio 4.) But there seems to be some sign of life wriggling on the sidelines, in the format of podcasting and internet radio, largely taking away any necessity to tune in at the required time, and allowing the listener to pick and choose when and what to listen to, with, rather than the randomness of pick a song any song, but through the ability and reliability of knowing and trusting a "brand" to point your listening diversions up the alleyway of your appeal. Radio is dead, long live radio??

P.S. Clearly and by the way, should any media moguls be looking for a man just like me for their major network, I can be contacted easily enough here......;-)

Radio:Wavelength

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I don’t really remember listening to the radio when I was really little. It just wasn’t a big deal to my parents. I guess I have some memories of the standards that played on their clock radio when they woke up to WNEW-AM in the mornings. It wasn’t until the summer of 1969, when I was picked up in the mornings to go to day camp, that I remember listening to the top-40 station, WABC, and for the first time really being captivated by rock music. I think my life-long obsession with music and radio truly began during the summers of 1972 and 1973 when I worked as a DJ at the radio station at Timber Lake Camp, WTLC (which appears no longer to exist). Somehow, my 11 and 12-year old self understood the mystery and power of broadcasting, even on a tiny, closed circuit station in a sleep away camp in Phoenicia, New York. I learned that radio was best for allowing imagination to fly. You didn’t know who the DJ was, you didn’t know what the studio looked like, and you could envision anything you wanted about the songs. Also, it was fun to play music that you liked (although we had very few records at camp), and talk about them.

My musical tastes moved from pop hits on tinny AM stations to the more interesting FM dial not too long after, and again, there was a progression from the more commercial outlets, like WPLJ to the then free-form “progressive” WNEW-FM. I remember during high school spinning the dial on the stereo in my room, looking for good music, on all of the rock stations in the New York area, and even discovering the wild world of college radio stations at, what the Replacements later referred to as the “Left of the Dial.”

By the time I went to college, I was hooked on music, and I’m pretty sure that my father still has nightmares about helping me carry box after box of heavy vinyl records up the four flights to my freshman year room. I considered joining the college station, WPRB, but held off until second semester, when I had gotten my feet wet academically, and my first extracurricular activity, the marching band, wound down a bit after football season. Working at WPRB was a transformative event in my life, much of which I’ve discussed in other pieces here and elsewhere. It exposed me to all sorts of music, it gave me a peer group of similarly minded people with strong opinions about music and the willingness to argue about it, it gave me ability to think on my feet, speak publicly and educate others. It exposed me to the music business, gave me the chance to interview musicians and humorists and allowed me to introduce acts from the stage. It gave me some experience with running a business, dealing with both managers and volunteer workers and taught me something about leadership. And it conditioned my brain to think of musical themes.

Each of these things has, in some way, affected my subsequent life—school, work, relationships, raising children, volunteer work and music blogging. So, yeah, radio has been important to me. Even with the options of CDs, iTunes, streaming services and satellite radio, I still listen to radio regularly (both in the car, and streaming on my computer), mostly to WFUV-FM, whose DJs clearly have a similar love of the medium (and more so, I guess, because they have been willing to take the risks inherent in making radio a career). But outside of WFUV, I find most radio around here unlistenable for long periods, either because of dullness of their playlists, or their commercials, or their lack of intelligent DJs, which is, ironically, the result of the success of the medium in making money.

Van Morrison has clearly been deeply affected by radio, although in his case, it has influenced the creation of his music. I’ve often joked that every Van Morrison song mentions radio, and while that is a bit of hyperbole, other than “Wavelength,” which I feature above, there are, at least, “Caravan,” “Brown Eyed Girl,” “Domino,” “In The Days Before Rock ‘n’ Roll,” “Call Me Up In Dreamland,” “Take Me Back,” “On Hyndford Street,” “T.B. Sheets,” “Real, Real Gone” and “The New Symphony Sid."

There is an argument to be made that I should have written about “Caravan,” which I think is a consensus pick as a better song, in general, and a better song about radio, but I decided to go with “Wavelength,” in part because of its title. But the song is cleverly about radio in two different ways. Morrison starts the song off by making it clear that, at least initially, he is talking about “wavelength” metaphorically as the connection between a couple—

This is a song about your wavelength 
And my wavelength, baby 
You turn me on 
When you get me on your wavelength 

But later, the song segues into a reminiscence listening to music on the Voice of America, particularly Ray Charles, and then Van throws in a little reference to hearing his own “Brown Eyed Girl.”

The version in the video above (I recently got a “take down notice” for posting “Come On Eileen,” and I am concerned that posting a downloadable version of another mainstream hit like “Wavelength” might lead to another) is the original, featuring the distinctive synthesizer part (played by Peter Bardens, best known, I guess, as a member of Camel), which is reminiscent of radio waves. Here’s a live version, from a 1980 performance in Montreux that downplays the synths for horns and a bit more soul.

The power of radio has stayed with me since I was a child, which has been great for me, and clearly has influenced Van Morrison to create his brilliant body of work, which is even better for the world.

Radio: Radio Boogie

Hot Rize: Radio Boogie

Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys: Martha White commercial and theme song

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Hot Rize is a band that rose to stardom among bluegrass circles in the 1980s. With a witty nod towards traditional bluegrass music and some seminal artists, that band took their name from the ingredient in Martha White Flour, a product of a Tennessee four firm (Martha White Mills). Cohen Williams, head of that company, had brought guitarist Lester Flatt and banjo-player Earl Scruggs and their band (The Foggy Mountain Boys) to Nashville to host Martha White’s early morning radio spot on WSM in the mid-1950s. The spot was called the "Martha White Biscuit and Cornbread Time."

Only fifteen minutes in length, that show was a great example of how important radio was to the spread of country music in those days before ipods and other high-tech devices. Much of the music broadcast over the airwaves wasn’t recorded commercially. Listeners would grab a cup of coffee and imagine performers right there in their kitchens or living rooms with them. Those were the days that radio offered live music, singing commercials, down-home humor, comedic antics, good-natured banter, sacred songs, fiddle tunes, and announcements or upcoming performances. The radio show was such a success that, by 1955, Flatt & Scruggs and their band were playing on the half-hour Martha White segment of the Grand Ole Opry. Television shows followed for Flatt & Scruggs, and a segment of one program is sampled above with a Martha White self-rising flour commercial and the product’s jingle. 
 

So it only made sense that one group of hot pickers in the next generation of bluegrass artists decided to call their band “Hot Rize.” Their sound solidified with members Tim O'Brien (mandolin, fiddle), Pete Wernick (banjo), Charles Sawtelle (guitar) and Nick Forster (electric bass). During their first decade, Hot Rize released six albums. Their second (in 1981) was called “Radio Boogie” and opened with that title track. Although they disbanded in 1990, they played several reunion dates each year from 1991-98. Guitarist Charles Sawtelle passed away in 1999, and Hot Rize added guitarist Bryan Sutton in 2002.

Hot Rize is a very entertaining group, and they often disappear backstage only to reappear as a Western Swing outfit made up of characters who hang out in the back of their bus. When Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers take the stage, we’re treated to Red Knuckles (guitar), Waldo Otto (lap steel, pedal steel), Wendell Mercantile (archtop lead guitar), and Slade (bass). These are alter-ego persona of O’Brien, Wernick, Forster and Sutton, respectively.

THE CASE FOR: THE ASSOCIATION

WE INTERRUPT YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED “RADIO” PROGRAMMING FOR THIS LATE-BREAKING “CASE FOR” POST! YOU WILL BE RETURNED TO YOUR "RADIO" LISTENING MOMENTARILY . . .

On the one hand, it might seem like The Association is a band that has a long way to go to have a good case made for them. Their ensemble singing in the midst of the changing ‘60s rock landscape, moving ever farther away from the innocent days of the Four Seasons in the early ‘60s to the grittier sounds of the psychedelic era, certainly shortened their lifespan. And it would be very understandable to dismiss them if you knew them only for “Cherish,” one of the most cloyingly sappy #1 songs of the ‘60s, if not of the entire rock era. If that was all The Association had going for them, there wouldn’t be much of a case to made. But as it turns out, on the same album that “Cherish” leads off Side 2, Side 1 ends with “Along Comes Mary,” a relatively hip — emphasis on “relatively” — little nugget that not so obliquely references the joys of marijuana. It’s catchy, and hints at an ability to get groovy that “Cherish” doesn't even whisper a suggestion of.

Where that hint leads to something of real musical worth is, in my mind, their 1967 album, Insight Out. Aside from containing two of the best non-Beatles pop singles of the ‘60s, “Windy” and “Never My Love,” the album has two lost gems of Summer of Love psychedelia, “Reputation” and “Wantin’ Ain’t Gettin’”; a passably decent war protest song, “Requiem for the Masses”; a quirky psychedelic vaudeville song (how many bands can claim that?), “Wasn’t It a Bit Like Now (Parallel ’23)”; and an assortment of other melodically appealing songs well-informed by the classic pop sound of the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds (although I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they match that level of greatness, the songs exhibit a similar perfectionist feel). Insight Out is a lesser-known masterpiece of baroque pop, and one can’t help but imagine that it had a big influence on the sound of ‘80s baroque bands such as The Three O’Clock and later on the likes of such Elephant 6 Collective bands as Beulah and Olivia Tremor Control.

But since my case for The Association is based primarily on this album, let's let the music do the talking now. I encourage you to listen to these gems before you write the band off as hopeless sapsters, rather than the influential baroque popsters they actually were. [Click the song titles to hear the songs.]

First, the uncannily cool “Wasn’t It a Bit Like Now” — even if the first minute or so doesn’t grab you, wait for the second half, where they come roaring back with a groovy riff and verse that Austin Powers would have gone bonkers for.

Wasn't It a Bit Like Now

Then there’s the massive hit, “Windy,” one of the great happy pop songs of the era, rivaling Simon and Garfunkel’s “59th Street Bridge Song.” It’s a wonder — written by Ruthann Friedman — the propulsive beat of which can’t help but bring a smile to all but the most jaded music fans.

Windy

Next up is a cover of a Tim Hardin composition, “Reputation,” where they show some true rock chops and show themselves able to truly get into a Jefferson Airplane-like frame of mind. I love this song.

Reputation

Then there’s “Never My Love,” which manages to be everything that I think “Cherish” wanted to be but was too cheesy to achieve: A truly gorgeous melody and romantic lyrics that don’t get mucked up by the ensemble singing. In my mind, one of the great love songs of all time.

Never My Love

Next is “Wantin’ Ain’t Gettin’,” a cover of a little-known psychedelic song by The Flower Pot (a Spinal Tap-worthy pseudonym for session musician Mike Deasy, who played on Pet Sounds and scads of other ‘60s records). Instead of linking to the song directly here, I’d like to direct you to my primary blog, Reselect.com, for an August 2011 post where you’ll find a more detailed writeup on "Wantin' Ain't Gettin'," as well as the beginnings of my defense of The Association as a whole.

Finally, one great, final track from their next album, Birthday, released in 1968: “Like Always,” one of their most freewheeling and organically cool songs, period. It trips along, intentionally lazily in the verse, but features a chorus full of beautiful Beach Boys-style harmonies, and then suddenly switches gears for a stunning vocal round. A really fantastic piece of ‘60s pop.

Like Always

Hopefully, after listening to these, you've gained more of an appreciation for the talents of The Association. Admittedly, I grew up with Insight Out and Birthday, so I've had more time to soak them in, but there's a lot of stuff I liked as a kid that hasn't aged nearly as well, so there's more to it than that.

[Purchase Insight Out]

Radio: Radio Radio

Elvis Costello: Radio Radio
Purchase: Amazon link to MP3

You are well aware of the historical importance of the electronic radio.  As in: the family gathered around the device back in the 40’s. Moving into the 50’s and 60’s, radio provided the main medium for disseminating current trends: the Top 10, musical hits, the news, traffic updates and more. AM and then FM radio, replaced by Internet media and satellite radio … the radio used to be how you learned about “cool” music.

Living overseas  (briefly in the US in ’65, when rock/pop began to pervade my being), I relied on Radio Luxemburg: a “pirate” radio station that I tuned in to via shortwave radio. Shortwave reception was decidedly flakey: the sound modulated in and out: more out than in. The “band” seemed to move around such that half the listening effort was in trying to tune in the station so that I could catch the rest of the song, This undoubtedly gives me a deeper/different perspective on Marconi’s invention (and- as a result - the miracle of the Internet)

When MTV video clips first came out (who even watches MTV or knows about it any more?!), we would record  them to VHS video  tape so that we could watch them again. (How quaint!) Obviously, YouTube, “on demand” viewing of music videos (and the Internet) were pie-in-the-sky dreams at that time.

This raises the question that media companies have been faced with since the ‘90s : whither radio? Is the solution Serius satellite radio? iTunes “Radio” and their ilk? Why even bother with blogs like this? Why not pay a few dollars and get access to a million-song archive (that I can carry in my pocket and access on demand?)

Costello was certainly not the first to focus on the issue of how the “powers that be” used all-pervasive media (TV? Internet? and radio?) to guide us/command us. Think 1984. The lyrics of the song tell you:

you better listen to the voice of reason
But they don't give you any choice
'cause they think that it's treason.
So you had better do as you are told.
You better listen to the radio.

I no longer listen to radio. How ‘bout you?

The Case For: Roy Bookbinder

 

Roy Bookbinder: Delia [YouTube link]
Purchase: [Roy Bookbinder: Delia]

Almost nobody knows this musician and that is a pity: reason enough for a “case for”. I was introduced to Roy Bookbinder (b. ’43) back in the days when I was a middle-of-the-night radio DJ at WQFS. Blown away by the man's skills back in the 70s, I not too long ago googled the man and came up with a YouTube link or two showing that he still picks a tune or two.

Admittedly, I tend to gravitate to American folk/country: I have boundless respect for anyone who can pick a clean, fast, stringed instrument. Think Earl Scruggs or Bella Fleck . It's the picking skills combined with vocal harmonies that turn me on. I confess that a clean/fast "saz" is at least as good.

One of the issues on my mind for this post is musicians that keep traditions alive: picking the guitar and then recording it without digital assistance; choosing songs that are 100 years old, but that still resonate. That's why I love Ry Cooder.

The song "Delia" goes back a long ways - like many of Bookbinder's songs. The song was likely written by Blind Willie McTell back around 1929, and has since been covered by many others including Bob Dylan. It's kind of a sad song about a relationship gone bad, but the listener’s take-away emotion depends on how fast you pick the strings. He sings:

Delia's dear mother, took a trip out west.

When she returned, little Delia had gone to rest.

She's all I got, is gone

The Case For: Dexys Midnight Runners

NOTE: I have been required to remove the download link to "Come On Eileen".  I'm sure you can find it if you want to.

I’m kind of cheating here. I wrote a piece called “In Defense of Dexys Midnight Runners” a few months ago at Cover Me, which, not surprisingly, focused on the high quality of the band’s covers. But it also laid out the kind of stuff that I would have written here for this theme, so please go here and read that piece before continuing. It’s O.K., I’ll wait.

Dum de dum de dum de dum de dum de dum……..

Great—thanks for coming back. So now you know the background. I know that “Come On Eileen” has become one of those songs that it is easy to make fun of. There is singer Kevin Rowland’s unusual voice, there was the silly video that admittedly made the band members look like goofy denim overall-clad slumming posers, it was terribly overplayed at the time and there have been decades to allow the hatred of the song to apparently become gospel. But let me ask you to do a thought experiment. Turn off the lights. Listen to the song—just listen and try to divorce yourself from the years of negative comments or the video (if you even remember it). And I think that you might just agree with me that it is a good song.

And if I can’t convince you to like “Come on Eileen,” and if the covers that I wrote about over on the other site don’t do it for you, tell me this song is no good:
Or this one:

I’ve given it my best shot. If you aren’t convinced now, you never will be.

The Case For: Phil Collins

Phil Collins: In The Air Tonight
[purchase]

If Phil Collins had disappeared from the face of the earth at the end of 1981, this article would probably not be necessary. He would likely be remembered as a fine drummer who ably backed Peter Gabriel in Genesis, did a nice job succeeding Gabriel as a singer for a few solid albums, was an in-demand drummer for solo albums by other prog rockers, moonlighted in the fusion group Brand X and put out an excellent solo album, featuring one truly memorable track, featured above.

But Phil didn’t disappear, and after 1981, critical opinion of most of his work began to plummet in inverse proportion to his earnings, until he became sort of a punch line. And while it is hard to defend some of his more saccharine later efforts, on the whole, his entire body of work includes enough high points—including some after 1981—to support a claim for respect, not derision.

Collins joined Genesis in 1970, after the band had gone through a number of drummers. Unlike the other members of the band, who were from upper class families, Collins was a middle class kid, who had been a child actor and model (and an extra in A Hard Day’s Night.) After his first real band, Flaming Youth (in which he drummed, sang and played keyboards) broke up, Collins answered an ad, auditioned and joined Genesis, stabilizing the position as the band gained popularity. He quickly proved to be an excellent prog rock drummer, adept in both harder rocking styles and more atmospheric sounds, and able to handle unusual time signatures and patterns. I’ve previously written about “Supper’s Ready,” and you can go back and listen to it for Collins’ inventive drumming. Here’s a later song from the Gabriel era, “Cinema Show” that showcases his drumming (even if it is not quite as good as the Bill Bruford/Collins version from the Second’s Out album).


When Gabriel left, the band reportedly auditioned more than 400 wannabes before settling on Collins, and he proved to be a more than adequate replacement. Lacking Gabriel’s quirks and quirkiness, the Collins-fronted version of Genesis gradually simplified and poppified its sound until it reached massive popularity. Collins, however, was not the only one to “blame” for this change—his fellow band members, Mike Rutherford and Tony Banks also wrote the songs, and were completely on board with the turn toward the mainstream. It would not have been possible, though, without Collins’ pleasant vocals, but he didn’t stop being a top drummer. Here’s a post-Gabriel Genesis song that again features Collins’ superb drumming.

At the same time, Collins played (and occasionally sang) with the jazz-rock group Brand X, in which he displayed a slightly different side to his drumming. Here’s a clip of a bearded and hairy Collins being interviewed on English television in 1979 before joining Brand X for a live performance.



Collins also provided drums (and vocals) on Steve Hackett’s first solo album, played on former Yes guitarist Peter Banks’ early solo works, contributed drum parts to tracks on Brian Eno’s albums, including “Sky Saw” from the classic Another Green World, and played on Robert Fripp’s Exposure.

Then came the 1980s. Asked by Gabriel to play on his third (and arguably best) solo album (often referred to as Melt), Collins, abetted by producer Steve Lillywhite and engineer Hugh Padgham, used a booming drum effect, called the “gated drum” sound, which they may or may not have invented, on the song “Intruder.” It proved to be one of the defining sounds of 1980s rock. When Collins decided to record his first solo album, Face Value, he brought in Padgham as co-producer, and the gated drum sound was used to great effect in, particularly, “In the Air Tonight,” which still holds up as a great song. The rest of Face Value is also pretty good and quirky, and Collins makes good use of a horn section and some old school R&B arrangements.

Face Value was a critical and commercial success. Later in 1981, Genesis released probably its last good album, Abacab, which used both the gated drum sound and horns. And while there were the occasional good songs on later Genesis albums, and Collins solo albums, at this point, the dross began to outweigh the quality. Collins’ involvement with Brand X also ended at about this time, and, for all intents and purposes, Collins became a smooth pop musician, with most of the rough and interesting edges gone.

In an article in the New Musical Express a few years ago, prompted by Collins’ (now-rescinded) announcement of his retirement from music, titled “Is it Time We All Stopped Hating Phil Collins?” Tim Chester noted that while Collins is “responsible for some of the cheesiest music ever committed to acetate,” this "obscures some of his most genius contributions to music.”

So, go listen to the pre-1981 Collins (and the occasional bit of latter-day quality), and enjoy some excellent, interesting drumming, fine singing, and pretty good songwriting. And let the haters hate.

THE CASE FOR : CHUMBAWAMBA

Buy! Anything. Other retailers are available

Accusations of April foolery around my last piece, within which I feinted off Chris de Burgh with damp praise. Heaven forfend! As if etc etc. By way of recompense let me now big up some true favourites of mine, the mighty Chumbawamba. Known best, clearly, for this , it is by no means the peak of their pedestal, although its classic quiet bit/shouty bit/chorus was always a recurrent theme in their repertoire, as this , from a decade before, demonstrates. This latter song had been  part of the first time, of many, that I saw them, at the first Guildford festival, and I was converted in an instant of the trumpet's first parp, as much by the lively performance art of the show, as for the beats, choral harmonies and general who gives a demonstrated by all 8 of them.

They actually started life as the disparate inhabitants of a squat in the northen british city of Leeds. Ironically, despite or because of their strong political stance, they were from the start labelled as anarcho-punks. By the 1990s they had gouged out sufficient instrumental proficiency, which together with the absorbtion of techno and rave culture, gave then an unusual status, with glorious pop melodies hand by jowl with unisonic chanting,  programming and some of the sweetest female singing outside a chamber choir. Add a who cares and liberal attitude to the use of sampling, and short snappy slogans, culled from and with diverse soundbites, used as quirky between song fodder, and you had their template. Their early recording history was scattered between various tiny indie labels, with cassette only product and records hastily withdrawn, for breach of copyright. 1994's Anarchy, with it's scarcely inviting cover of close up childbirth, was possibly the first breakthrough of sorts, and the first I bought, immediately after the show described earlier.

Time for another song, a 2nd one from Anarchy, being Homophobia, a strident condemnation of same. As well as the studio version, there was also a slightly different live version. See which you prefer.

Fast forward to 1997 and the Chumbas did the hitherto unthinkable and signed to a major label, EMI, taking no small amount of stick for this, perhaps having the last laugh as "Tubthumping became a massive world wide one hit wonder, with much of the profit being syphoned back to the agit-prop causes they had always supported. They had not finished, either, with controversy, with their infamous drenching of then british prime minister Tony Blairs deputy at a music awards jamboree, and suggesting their american fans could shoplift the LP if they couldn't afford it. 2 or 3 broadly similar LPs then appeared, with a gradual change becoming noticeable, and a conscious shift towards including traditional english folk motifs. Indeed, 2002s Readymades included songs built around the sampled voices of Dick Gaughan and Kate Rusby, amongst others, and archived material. See if you recognise where the guitar is lifted from.

In 2005 the band all but seemed to break up, or to, at least, stop, but within only a matter of months a small hardcore of the band was again heavily touring, this time as an all acoustic quartet, plus various others. For me this became my favourite incarnation, the old songs sitting perfectly in a now overtly folk setting, with folk clubs and folk festivals being their main stages. New songs aplenty poured forth also, taking full advantage of the consummate harmony vocals of their heavenly chorale, at odds, often with harsh lyrical barbs. My example here, maybe unwisely, is a cover  Nonetheless, I'm hoping you will go seek out more, from my whirlwind taster. My recommendations would probably be WYSIWIG, from 2000, and A Singsong and a Scrap, from 5 years later. I would also direct you to an excellent (auto) bigraphical book,  Footnote* by the everpresent Boff Whalley, guitar and choirboy vocals.

The acoustic band called it a day in 2102, closing down with this statement:
                             "We do, of course, reserve the right to re-emerge as Chumbawamba doing                                               something else entirely (certainly not touring and putting out albums every 2 or 3                                     years). But frankly, that’s not very likely. Thirty years of being snotty, eclectic, funny,                               contrary and just plain weird. What a privilege, and what a good time we’ve had."

I for one look forward to that day, in the interim having to make do with this , paid for years in advance, in a duly delivered promise to release on the death of it's subject matter, Margaret Thatcher. Probably fair to say they hadn't been big fans...........

The Case For: Zappa

 

 
Zappa Play Zappa: Peaches En Regalia
[purchase FZ version]

I must have been introduced to Frank Zappa in the early 70s. Although I don’t recall my initiation rites, I know for a fact that I was well-versed by the time <Overnight Sensation> came out: if hard pressed, I could probably sing along to the entire album – 40 years later.

Sadly for those of us who revered him and his music, Frank Zappa died a somewhat early death in 1993 (couldn’t be that long ago!)

Dweezil Zappa, you must know, is Frank Zappa’s older son. He is the man behind the band called “Zappa Plays Zappa”, a touring group that aims to bring his father’s music to a younger audience. In addition to organizing the band, Dweezil (not his original/legal/birth name, but now his legal name) plays the guitar. He has also had a hand in composing original music, though so far he has been nowhere near a prolific as his father.

As a long-time Zappa fan, I applaud efforts to keep Frank Zappa’s music alive & relevant.  I count him among the pre-eminent musicians of the Rock era: pushing the limits in terms of musical structure; certainly pushing the limits of lyrical contortion. He was among the first to break out of the standard “guitars and drums” format that was defining popular music by the mid-70s. Check it out:

She had that
Camarillo brillo
Flamin' out along her head,
I mean her Mendocino bean-o
By where some bugs had made it red

She ruled the Toads
of the Short Forest
And every newt in Idaho
And every cricket who had chorused
By the bush in Buffalo

Beyond his musical skills, Frank Zappa stood behind his beliefs: he was a frequent commentator about his political views – and, in retrospective, not far off the mark. A snippet from his testimony against parental controls to music content/lyrics in front of the US senate  (and Al Gore) back in 1985:

    He said: The major record labels need to have H.R. 2911 whiz through a few committees before anybody smells a rat. One of them is chaired by Senator Thurmond. Is it a coincidence that Mrs. Thurmond is affiliated with the PMRC?  

I hereby make the case that his legacy is worthy of preservation, and who better to do so than his son?

For your listening pleasure, one of my favorite FZ tunes, performed by his son:

Peaches En  Regalia

The Case for : The Guess Who of the 1970's

[Purchase]

From 1965 to 1970, from "Shakin' All Over" (#22, 1965) to "American Woman" (#1, 1970) , The Guess Who were Canada's top singles band, thanks to founding guitarist Randy Bachman and lead vocalist Burton Cummings. 1969 was an especially big year for the band with "These Eyes" ( US #6), "Laughing ( US #10) and "Undun"( US #22). Then, at the height of the band's success,  Bachman, a recently converted Mormon, bailed on the Guess Who.

  The Guess Who had two more big hits ,"Share the Land" (#10, 1970) and "Hand Me Down World" (#17, 1970). Then in 1971 they released The Best of the Guess Who ( containing a far out black light poster of the group!) and that's probably where most people stopped listening. It's definitely where most of the critics stopped paying attention.

     Huge mistake.

     Next to The Beach Boys output of the same period, no band deserves to have its albums re-appraised more than the Burton Cummings led Guess Who of the early 70's.

    Consider "Albert Flasher", the single from So Long, Bannatyne , an album full of infectious tunes that made one Rolling Stone critic cite The Beatles Rubber Soul in a search of comparisons.



Next came one of the greatest live albums of all time, Live at the Paramount. This is the one that had  Lester Bangs declare "The Guess Who is God!"

 In his review, Bangs continues :

I saw the Guess Who do this version of “American Woman” live a year ago, and I have never been more offended by a concert. Just as he does on the record, Burton Cummings indulged himself in a long, extremely cranky rumination on Yankee Yin, in a sort of fallen-out Beat poetic style:

 American bitch 
American cunt 
 American slut
 American lesbian 
American schoolgirl 
 American housewife
 American beaver etc., etc., etc.

 

 Wouldn’t you be offended by this Canuck creep coming down here taking all our money while running down our women? Sure you would! Until you realized, as I did, eventually, that that kind of stuff is exactly what makes the Guess Who great. They have absolutely no taste at all, they don’t even mind embarrassing everybody in the audience, they’re real punks without even working too hard at it.

At this point The Guess Who begin going through "revolving door syndrome" with Cummings the only constant. But he's on a roll.

    For the follow-up , #10, he delivers "Glamour Boy", a tribute to the cross dressing antics of Bowie and Bolan ( "For $37,000 you can look like your sister tonight...). The band could still fill an auditorium but the album stalled at #155 in the charts

   There would be one more hit before the assembly line of writing, recording and the road got to be too much for Cummings: the Top 10 1974 novelty tune "Clap for the Wolfman" from Road Food. There's a lot of good songs on this album including the catchy "Pleasin For a Reason" and the first single, a power pop number called "Star Baby".  It didn't matter. Guess Who fans were rushing out to buy the latest offerings from Bachman Turner Overdrive instead.

   In 1975 Burton Cummings went solo and the group disbanded. But not before releasing a batch of Guess Who albums that deserve to be heard. Especially by fans of classic, catchy pop music and lyricists strange enough to write lines like "Well, have you ever seen a Madras monkey?/Have you seen an Orlon eel?"

Well, have you?

By the way Burton Cumming has been especially busy on Facebook these days, sharing tons of memories and pictures  https://www.facebook.com/officialburtoncummings