Same artist, Different Version: In a Gadda Da Vida

[purchase]

I wrote not too long back (perhaps somewhat misguidedly) about how AM radio play lists were dictated by guidelines set by the record company moguls, but I’ll stick by my comment that the length of a pop song in the 60s was limited to  what was perceived as commercially viable: anything over 3 minutes was pushing the limits. And then, towards the end of the 60s, there came various musical innovations that pushed these limits.

One of the first that comes to mind is the extended drum solo perpetrated by Ginger Baker on “Fresh Cream” – “Toad”.  It didn’t achieve commercial success. At about the same time, however, Iron Butterfly managed commercial success with a similarly lengthy song entitled “In a Gadda Da Vida”, pushing the limits of endurance at 17 minutes: way over the AM playlist time slots. However, this song was a commercial success, and so some formula had to be found to accommodate public clamor. The result was a short alternative version that could fit the AM radio format: my alternative version post.

The song is legacy enough that various other bands have revisited it with success, and I am including some of their alternative versions below in addition to the originals.

 

short play version

 

long play version

Blind Guardian version

Slayer version

 

Same Artist, Different Version: Voice of Harold

R.E.M.: Voice of Harold
[purchase]

The first time I heard “Voice of Harold,” which is a version of “7 Chinese Bros.” from R.E.M.’s second album, Reckoning with completely different lyrics, I assumed that it was simply a joke by the band. But it turns out that the story is a bit more interesting.

I’ve always had a sense that, like many great artists, Michael Stipe was a bit high maintenance. (It turns out that Mike Mills, is, too—he took exception on Twitter to something that I wrote on another blog about The Baseball Project). Apparently, when the band was working on Reckoning, which was recorded after a long, exhausting tour, Stipe was having a bad day, and his attempts at laying down vocal tracks for “7 Chinese Bros.” were inaudible. Don Dixon, one of the producers (and a fine songwriter in his own right), was killing time, poking around the studio, and was on a ladder when he found a pile of albums that had been tossed away. He pulled one off the top and threw it down to Stipe, hoping that it would inspire him.

That album, The Joy of Knowing Jesus, by the gospel group The Revelaires, would have been totally forgotten, had Stipe not started singing the liner notes on the back of the cover over the music for "7 Chinese Bros.” Done in one take, Stipe essentially sings, word for word, the laudatory notes written by the wonderfully named J. Elmo Fagg, described as the “Founder and Leader of the Blue Ridge Quartet for 23 years.” A few times, Stipe starts singing on one line, then jumps to the next line, and back again, because he was cold reading the small print and probably lost his place. He even sings the production and art direction credits and the catalog number (“LST 390”).

For some reason, it is charming. Like many of the band’s lyrics at the time, the fact that they sometimes made no sense is immaterial to the reality of the mood they created.

I’ve been a fan of this band for many years, almost as long as it was possible to hear their music in New York, and although I knew that they were from Georgia, I initially never really thought of them as a “Southern” band, in the way that bands like the Allman Brothers or Lynyrd Skynyrd flaunted their Southern roots and used stereotypical Southern symbols and imagery. But as time went on, it became more obvious that R.E.M. came from a different Southern tradition, one of mystery and kudzu and fog, of outsider art and eccentricity. Much of which can be seen in their early album covers.

And maybe that is why “Voice of Harold” resonates. It connected the band to the gospel tradition, and the liner notes that Stipe somehow shoehorned into the music are oddly religious, evocative and proud—for example—

Chill bumps appear and I am frozen in the web 
They weave as they reveal their innermost selves 
With the outpouring of their hearts 

According to Dixon, after doing this take, Stipe was able to successfully record the vocals for “7 Chinese Bros.” I don’t know if The Joy of Knowing Jesus is, as the esteemed Mr. Fagg asserts (and Mr. Stipe repeats), “a must.” But to fans of R.E.M., “Voice of Harold” sure is.

Same Artist, Different Version: I'm Looking Through You

   Written after an argument with then girlfriend Jane Asher, Paul McCartney's bitter "piss off" tirade was recorded multiple times by The Beatles. First, in October of 1965, they spent nine hours knocking out a slower, groovier version that makes me think of The Who's "Magic Bus".  There was no "Why Tell Me Why..." middle-eight. Instead you get a blistering, very 60's raga style guitar solo from George Harrison.  This version is on the Anthology Volume II release.

   Three weeks later The Beatles revisited "I'm Looking Through You". Americans get two false guitar starts before the band launches into the Rubber Soul version everyone knows. McCartney double tracks his vocals while Ringo can be heard tapping his fingers on a matchbox and slapping his lap for percussion. If you're going to slap your lap, may I recommend you lock the door so Mom doesn't walk in on you?

SAME ARTIST, DIFFERENT VERSION : PLAYING BOGART

Ooo, this is a good one! Getting straight to the point, here's the opportunity to rave about one of my true faves, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Clive Gregson, or, within this context his once and occasional band, Any Trouble. It's fair to say he has had a variable career, poised frequently on the precipice of greatness, before either stepping back, or being elbowed out the way by some other gone in 30 seconds whippersnapper. For that we should maybe be grateful, not least as, at various times in his career he has returned and revisited earlier songs, radically redefining them. Between Any Trouble mark 1, Any Trouble mark 2, exemplary duo with Christine Collister (and simultaneously Richard Thompson sideman), solo years, a spell in Plainsong with Iain Matthews, solo years, Any Trouble mark 3 and further solo years, there has been ample opportunity to remake and remodel his songs, juggling with both electricity and acousticity. And somehow remain a thoroughly decent cove.

Spoilt not for choice but more for demonstrable evidence, this isn't even one of his own songs, but it is so good it could be. (I exhort you to search out more for proof of his songwriting. And not half bad guitar.) Anyhow, roll back to the late 70s and a folkie 3 piece are playing the pubs and clubs of Manchester, adding drums and dynamism to address the outbursting of punk. 1980 saw them signed to maverick indie label, Stiff, and attempts to market Gregson as the next Costello. This song was on their first recording, and, in some reflection of then (relative) youth, is a straightforward thrash of a version, displaying the eagerness of a young man out on the friday lash.

Flash forward a few years, Stiff have dropped them, and the band are lost in America, briefly signed to EMI America until, again, finding themselves without a contract, halfway through an abortive tour. Somehow these experiences must have offered a more sanguine view on life, and the version the band produced at that time is a way more reflective piece, a yearning plea for acceptance. I prefer it.

Sadly that was that for the erstwhile band for many a long year, and I hope later to be given a theme that allows me to access Gregsons latter years, but until then, here's a taste of how the song might have originally sounded, as dreamt up by it's author, fellow struggling mancunian musician of the 70s, Nick Simpson. This is the 2013 reunion of Any Trouble, with the author guesting. It seems to be the faster version.......

Where and what to buy? I'd go for the top 2 as most representative. (It says there is only 1 of each left, so I will know if anyone reads this drivel!!)

Musical Chameleons: Hendrix

Jimi Hendrix

purchase [Purple Haze]
purchase [Drifting]

I guess in all my days of listening to rock/pop, nothing has affected me quite the way that “Are You Experienced” did. I had been listening to Smokey Robinson, the Box Tops ..whatever came over the AM band airwaves back in the late 60s - from BBC's Top of the Pops or Radio Luxembourg. And then one day, a friend of my younger brother’s showed up with a copy of “Experienced”.

Similar to how a chameleon plays a trick by changing colours to fool his predator, Hendrix messed with my senses. Like nothing ever before. The sounds coming from the speakers were so jarring to my ears and brain that I might as well have changed colours. Now, for today's generation, this may be hard to fathom: we are so used to all sorts of musical styles, variations, genres and such, that I may not be able to get you to understand how transformational and out-of-this-world was the sound of Hendrix’s music.

"Are You Experienced" was cutting/crude and rough. Go back and listen to the guitar strokes of Purple Haze. Then compare them with the harmonies of anything else on the late 60s radio airwaves. This sound/noise re-defined music: cacophony that was harmony. This was melodic aural abuse.

Even the cover artwork of "Axis" continued the chameleon effect: this was cover artwork unlike anything that came before. The recordings included sounds that no one else was capable of making: stereo crossover, feedback that sounded good, wah-wah no one else could produce. This was truly music from another planet. It certainly blew my mind. Imagine: on one hand you’ve got the Beach Boys' good vibrations … on the other, there’s Jimi.

I’ll claim that – chameleon theme – Hendrix's progression was relatively smooth. I guess the chameleon doesn’t change his colours in a flash – there must be a progression of sorts – and so it appears with Jimi. A rather raw “Experienced” progresses/morphs into the sounds of “Axis”, then matures to the sounds of “Electric Ladyland” and then to “Cry of Love”.

See if you agree with my definition of chameleon:

Early Hendrix (Purple Haze):

 

Late Hendrix (Drifting):

 

Of course, any musician worth his “salt” is going to evolve: just look at (among so many others) the Beatles (masters of chameleon-ship)

MUSICAL CHAMELEONS: CAT STEVENS/YUSUF ISLAM

Well this cat has certainly run a ragged path around his image(s) over the decades, so as good a candidate as any for this thread, even if he is surreptitiously slipping back out of the more severe incarnation of his current given name.

Born Steven Georgiou, of joint Greek Cypriot and Swedish stock, in 1948, one recurring theme throughout his careers has been an apparent sense of dissatisfaction and restlessness, never proving himself comfortable within the confines and constrictions of the music industry, and uncomfortable with the adulation of his fans, with repeated searches for solutions to the mysteries of life. How much of this could be explained by the polar opposites of his Greek orthodox and Baptist parents, who, effectively, split the difference in their ideologies, and sent him to a Catholic school, remains open to conjecture, but it seems he was an aloof and lonely lad, happier in his own company, tinkering with those musical instruments made available to him. Like many later musicians of his generation, Art School became the obvious next step, which clearly was not entirely without merit, as he was responsible for the design of many of his album covers. Originally seeking a musical career under the name Steve Adams, his first success came as a songwriter. If he had stalled there alone, he would probably still be remembered fondly, if only for this song, covered memorably by PP Arnold, Rod Stewart, Sheryl Crow and many more. He sold it to PP for £30, currently about $50.

Performing solo in pubs and clubs, a name change was more seriously applied to, with some insight as to what may help, believing the US marketplace was full of animal lovers. Thus Cat Stevens was born, and he swiftly picked up a recording contract of his own. Furthering the animal metaphor a step ahead, his first UK top 30 hit was with, ironically, "I Love My Dog", and here his first image is outed, the swinging 60s fingerclicking hipster, velvet suit, dark glasses and a hideous over-produced backing. A couple more hits followed, "Matthew and Son", again subsequently much covered, including a reprise in the 2nd stage of his journey, and the now somewhat arch sounding, "I'm Gonna Get Me a Gun", a song I don't suppose still likely to feature in his act.

The contracting of tuberculosis in 1969 ground this early start into the ground, the long hospitalisation instilling in him a hunger for some spiritual fulfillment, as he gave up meat and took up meditation and yoga, growing long both hair and beard. It was a very different Stevens that re-launched in 1970, as a lovelorn folkie troubadour, with Mona Bone Jakon, getting his first US gold record with "Lady D'Arbanville", his appearance now perfect for the 70s singer-songwriter boom. Successive LPs became bigger and bigger, through Tea for the Tillerman, Teaser and the Firecat and Catch Bull at Four, these 3 being my personal favourites in his canon. And, because I can, this was my favourite song, and still is, perhaps revealing quite what a shy and introspective boy I was........

Disillusion was seeping in, and he relocated to Brazil in 1973, in part as a tax exile, developing a more "varied" style, of additional electric instrumentation, with synthesisers and a funkier feel to the fore. It didn't work for me, and he and I parted ways. During this time he began to explore other religions, converting to Islam in 1976 after a(nother) near-death experience. Changing his name again to Yusuf Islam, in 1978 he turned his back on the music industry, in part believing the vanities thereof were contrary to teachings of the Koran, devoting himself to philanthropy and education, opening several Moslem schools in London, and working with a number of equivalent charities. Unwittingly, given his prominence amongst Islamists, hindered by some unhelpful and possibly misquoted commentary on 9/11, he was, in 2004, denied entry to the US and sent back to the UK, arousing a transatlantic political furore between the respective governments. He was later able to return to the States in 2006.

In the latter part of the 90s there was a gradual return to music, albeit originally purely secular and without the adornment of instrumentation, and initially in Arabic. Now I am sure I would be wrong in suggesting that commercialisation had anything to do with it, seeing as his income, in 2007, was estimated at still being $1.5 p.a. from  U.S.royalties alone, but perhaps his fanbase were delighted when he suggested that his wholesale retreat from western music had been hastier than he had wished, and returned to admitting to and acknowledging, and playing songs from, his Cat Stevens years. His new material has not been a vast catalogue, nor, it's true, perhaps received to the level of his glory days, but he remains a world player, playing often for charitable causes close to his heart and faith. As a way of concluding this chameleon's chronicle, here is his version of someone else's song, the lyric presumably ringing true with his post-conversion experiences with the media and more. I am no expert and unqualified to discuss the intricacies and inconsistencies of (any) faith, but I would too chime in with the sentiment. Hell, I think he is just a great singer, who has written a shedload of a lot of good songs. It's good to have him back.

Here is quite a good documentary from a couple of years back.

So what am I going to point you to? Actually you can't goo wrong with any of his Greatest Hits collections, but for overall consistency it is, for me, Tea for the Tillerman and/or Teaser and the Firecat.

Enjoy!!

Musical Chameleons: Brian Eno

The modern Eno.

How could I pass up another opportunity to write about Brian Eno? The ambient sound he helped pioneer isn't only completely distinct from what most of the world considers "music," it's also different from Eno's own style in his first years as a musician.

While he now expertly produces quiet, soothing sounds engineered to fit into the backgrounds of hip, minimalist art shows, Brian Eno got his start in glam rock band Roxy Music, playing the synthesizer along in poppy, upbeat tunes.

The early Eno.

Eno's departure from Roxy Music didn't lead immediately into his ambient obsession, but the early signs of ambitious audial experimentation are obvious. In fact, he continued playing somewhat noisy, new wave music through several of his first solo albums, gradually mixing more ambient arrangements into his discography until around 1978, when the minimalist style became his primary medium.

Songs Under 3 Minutes --> Musical Chameleons: King Crimson

[purchase pretty much every recorded note from King Crimson at their shop]

It is not every day that you get to see Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor speak and then, a few hours later, get to see Supreme Guitarist Robert Fripp perform. But that was my day a couple of weeks ago. First, I attended the dedication of my law school’s beautiful new building and got to hear Justice Sotomayor speak, for the second time this year. Then, I met three college friends for dinner followed by a King Crimson concert. It was a pretty special day.

I’ve previously written about my history with King Crimson, so I won’t repeat it here. It has been a very long time since I have seen them, and to be fair, I probably would have passed on trying to get tickets except that my friend Bill offered to order them for the four of us, as part of a birthday celebration. The chance to hear Crimson again with some old friends, and without having to go through the trouble of actually trying to order the tickets was irresistible.

Our theme for the next two weeks is Musical Chameleons—artists whose sound has changed over their career, and King Crimson certainly qualifies (but this does not). During the concert the other night, between some of the songs, they played recorded excerpts from interviews, manipulated to mock the interviewers. I actually found that to be a mean thing for them to have done. If you don’t want to be interviewed, don’t do interviews. And as someone who has interviewed musicians, especially ones that I liked, it is hard to do without asking some bad questions, and I thought that highlighting a few clinkers was, at best, uncharitable. I suspect Mr. Fripp would not like it if a DJ found some miscues during his performances, and played a loop of them. But I digress. One of the interview snippets essentially asked Fripp about the changing sound of Crimson over the decades, and he responded simply that was because “there were different men in the band.”

To some degree, that does explain the varied sounds that have been released under the King Crimson name. The orthodox canon identifies eight separate lineups for the band (with only Fripp as a constant), but even that is an approximation, because during many of these periods there was still a revolving door. Click on the links throughout this post to get a sense of the variety of music released under the Crimson banner.

The original lineup produced the seminal In The Court of the Crimson King, and two other albums that are generally in the prog-rock mode, although with elements of metal, jazz and classical music mixed in. The video above is an under 3 minute, very folk/prog tune, from album three, Lizard (which, in fact, features a very different lineup than the prior two albums, so, maybe this is lineup 1A). The second lineup, a short-lived and misbegotten collection that included Ian Wallace and Boz Burrell, released only one studio album, Islands, which was even more influenced by free jazz, but also somehow included some rootsy rock, Beatle-esque harmonies and strings. Mark III, though, was a return to quality, and their studio output, Larks’ Tongue In Aspic, Starless and Bible Black and Red represented what may be the best Crimson ever. Fripp’s angular guitar, Bill Bruford’s brilliant drumming and John Wetton’s powerful bass and singing (along with excellent contributions from other musicians including percussionist Jamie Muir, violinist David Cross and reedman Mel Collins) resulted in a sound that contrasted harsh loud sections with beautiful, quiet ones.

For the first time, after this group disbanded, Fripp declared King Crimson to be over, and he went off to other projects. But after his collaboration with guitarist/vocalist Adrian Belew, Bruford and bass/Chapman Stick player Tony Levin, initially to be called “Discipline,” played some gigs, they decided that they should be King Crimson, Mark IV. This quartet, without changes, released three albums, the best of which was the first, Discipline, featuring an interesting mix of Fripp and Belew’s sometimes interlocking and other times screaming guitars, Bruford’s drumming, often eschewing cymbals, Levin’s unique bass and Chapman Stick, and Belew’s David Byrne-influenced singing. I saw this lineup during 1982 at Rutgers, at Princeton and again at the Pier in New York. And possibly again at the Pier in 1984, but maybe not—after all these years, memories begin to fade. By the end of 1984, this group, unequaled in Crimson stability, disbanded.

It was not until 1994 that Fripp reformed the band, at Belew’s request. After a bit of personnel shuffling, the fifth incarnation of King Crimson coalesced, featuring Fripp, Belew, Levin, Bruford, Trey Gunn, a second Chapman Stick player (and later Warr guitarist) and Pat Mastellotto as a second drummer. This sextet toured and released a few albums and EPs, with a sound that was a mix of the Discipline-era band, with the harsher elements of Red, and industrial and electronic elements. The “double trio” fractured into a series of smaller groups, called “ProjeKcts” to experiment with different sounds. At the end of the ProjeKcts period, Belew, Fripp, Gunn, and Mastelotto reformed as the Mark VI lineup, and released the difficult, dense and almost alt-metal The ConstruKction of Light and a second, more experimental sounding album, The Power to Believe. Following yet another hiatus, a seventh lineup, with Porcupine Tree drummer Gavin Harrison added to the quartet, played some shows, adding a heavier percussion sound to older songs, but released no studio albums.

Fripp, who had become very negative about the music business, rebuffed Belew’s attempts to again re-form Crimson, as did Bruford, who didn’t want to try, and fail, to recreate their prior glory. But apparently, the concept of King Crimson is irresistible to Fripp, who slowly morphed a number of other projects into a new, eighth band, featuring Fripp, Levin, Mel Collins, from the earlier years, three drummers, Mastelotto, Harrison and Bill Rieflin, who has played with bands as diverse as R.E.M. and Ministry and guitarist/singer Jakko Jakszyk, who played with Crimson alumni bands and Fripp.

And that is the group that I heard the other night, which was also a reunion for me and my friends, who had all seen the band together back in 1982.

The show was incredible, although for much of it, especially the beginning, I found myself appreciating what they were doing on a more intellectual than emotional level. Part of it, I think, was that the band was arrayed in a very unorthodox way—one that was very different from any prior King Crimson lineup, or, for that matter, any band that I had ever seen. The three drummers were in front, and the other four musicians were in a row, on a riser, behind them. Fripp sat in one corner, half turned away from the audience, with a guitar, a keyboard and a bank of equipment. As you can imagine, it was a percussive assault, which as a bad drummer myself, I certainly appreciated. But I really found it hard to get invested in many of the early songs, most of which were instrumental and unfamiliar. It was one of those situations where I respected and was astonished by what they were doing more than I was enjoying it.

But then, they kicked into “Red,” followed by another song from that album, “One More Red Nightmare,” and I was hooked. When they ended their set with “Larks’ Tongue in Aspic, Part Two” and the last song from Red, “Starless,” I was all in. And the encore, “21st Century Schizoid Man,” was exhilarating. I heard one guy say as we were leaving, “I’ve been waiting to hear that song live since I was 10.” The setlist covered a number of different Crimson eras, with the notable exception of the 1980s band that I loved, with an emphasis on the incredible third incarnation and a few more recent works mixed in. But through a clever selection of songs, cherry picked from various lineups, there was a unity to the sound that tied together the disparate music of the chameleon that is King Crimson.

SONGS UNDER 3 MINUTES: (HEY) LITTLE GIRL

Pshaw, and to think I thought I knew everything! One of the occasional joys of this nonsense is the need to research learned tomes for the accuracy of assumptions I hold with my steely gravitas. (Wikipedia generally fits the bill for me.) My song has been a staple favourite since I bought the 45 on a record stall in Soho, London, along with other post review "not for sale" knock-offs being sold. Something about it seemed just a little more varied and energetic than the standard 2 bar chug of most other shorthairs clamouring for chart attention. That and the o so witty puntastic name of the band, the Banned, adding, or not, a taste of seedy subculture to the sufficiently young and stupid to be that impressionable. Hell, did they know their demographic! It even got into the hit parade and got them on to the telly, albeit after the "brains" of the operation had left and moved on, probably why I neither twigged nor recognised them from that Top of the Pops moment.

Dare you buy it?

For, in common with not a few others, the Banned were an undercover manoevre from the old guard to sneak some long lost cred and kudos from the changed musical world. Gryphon were about as far from punk and guitars as could ever be conceived possible, being steeped in a mediaeval prog-folk fusion; think Yes with crumhorns. They had carved, or dented slightly, a route through seriously long and lengthily serious and largely instrumental suites, often the entire side of an LP, garnering praise from serious critics, who would die of shame if ever  made to think of rock and roll. But their time had passed and I dare say bills still had to paid. So Richard Harvey, recorder player, and Jonathan Davie, bass player, teamed up with a couple of reprobates and bashed out the above. No recorders were harmed, I think it fair to say, in the making of this record..... As I said, they left before success beckoned, returning to worlds of, respectively, film soundtracks and folk music. The remainder couped a couple of new members, before fading away after the wonder of that one hit.


So what did I learn? Only that the song is not an original. Syndicate of Sound, a garage rock band from San Jose had a relatively huge hit with it, in the US, in 1966, reaching number 8 on the billboard chart. And I dare so most of you knew that, questioning my musing on my  brit has-been heroes. Here's their version. and you know what? I think it's better, certainly snottier of vocal and, hindsight or not, a whole lot less contrived. And it put paid to my earlier enhanced admiration for Dwight Yoakam, who also covered it more recently, leaving me thinking him a closet punker, before realising he was just recycling a hit from his youth. Damn and drat. Sadly not available on Youtube, but look it out, as it's a corker of  a version.

Buy the Syndicate of Sound version
Take me at my word for Dwight


Because I can, let me leave you with a taste of the contrast offered by Gryphon. (Note: it isn't under 3 minutes.)

Songs Under 3 Minutes: Wouldn't It Be Nice

Beach Boys: Wouldn't It Be Nice
[purchase mp3]

When the current theme idea first popped up, it was originally proposed as “under 1 or 2 minutes”. Really tough. 3 minutes is a hard enough limit. Granted, the constraints of AM radio in the 1960s more often than not forced music groups to keep their songs short. Not having been in the business, I would assume the limit had to do with the programming format: my guess would be that the music moguls had a mandate for short songs with time for ads or promos and pertinent sales monologue in between.

That said, many of the top hits were in that range – and those that weren’t were “cropped” such that they did air for about 3 minutes: if the song went on too long, the DJ would cut in before the song was over: fade out with DJ voice-over. Occasionally brutally crimping the enjoyment of the music. But that was the standard.

So… it should be relatively easy to go back in time to most any top of the pops hit from the early/mid-60s, and make a choice for a < 3 song. Sure enough: BBC’s Top of the Pops list from 1965 shows that most hits are less than 3 minutes. “Hang on Sloopy” is near the max length at 3 minutes 53 seconds. The rest of the pack times in under 3.

Considering that there were folks like Bob Dylan, who most likely felt they had something to say and could most probably have rambled on beyond 3 minutes if given the chance, you have to assume there were external pressures along the lines I suggest above.

On the other hand, I also question how many minutes I would have been willing to listen to variations on lyrics such as “Wild thing, you make my heart sing ….” (’66) in a rather limited I-IV-V chord progression.

The short song format worked for a decade or more. It wasn’t until the ‘70s that radio play began to move beyond the 3 minute limit, and part of the credit there goes to “progressive” radio, more often than not in the FM bandwith. I realize this is an over-simplification of many of the influences and elements, but many of the facts remain.

So, here’s one from that era that fits the thematic limits of less than 3.  I can't help but think of what a huge job it must have been to (try to) sync the tape vocals to the final film output!

Royal -> Songs Under 3 Minutes: The Weight

Aretha Franklin (w/ Duane Allman): The Weight
[purchase]

When I heard about this theme, I thought that I might try to write about some of the shortest songs in my library, but none of these songlets inspired me. So I decided to look at songs that just made the cut—the songs that clocked in at 2:59. I had a surprising number of these, and decided to see if any of them jumped out at me as a potential topic. That’s one of the great things about writing for Star Maker Machine—our bi-weekly themes force me to reexamine my music library, and often I uncover songs that I haven’t listened to in a while, or other hidden gems. Today’s song is one of them, and it makes a nice transition from our Royal theme, too.

The original version of this great, but enigmatic, song was 4:34, and the fine cover by Diana Ross and the Supremes (and the Temptations) was exactly 3:00. The Staples Singers’ well-known version was also 4:34, so it doesn’t work. But there is another version, one that was performed by the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, with Duane Allman on slide guitar, that is exactly 2:59. Bingo. It is a damn good version, which some believe is even better than the classic original, and that’s a tall order. I’m embarrassed to say that despite the fact that I have a copy of it, I was essentially unaware of it. By the way, “The Weight” has been covered many times, by many different artists (here’s an article from my other blogging home, but not by me, featuring five good ones).

Also, being a Band song, there is an ongoing dispute about who should have gotten credit for the song—it is officially credited only to Robbie Robertson. Levon Helm, who ended up disliking his bandmate just a bit (One quote from Helm on Robertson: “I hate the motherfucker. “I’d kick his ass if I can get to him. He’s a thieving, lying son of a bitch.”) has stated that the lyrics were 60% Robertson, Richard Manuel and Rick Danko about 20% each, and 5 or 10% for Helm (proving that Levon was a better musician than mathematician), and that Garth Hudson should have gotten some credit for the music. Whoever wrote the lyrics, their symbolism has been subject to a great deal of discussion over the years, and here are only a few examples of attempts to explain them.

Aretha’s 1970 album, This Girl’s In Love With You, from whence the featured song comes, was recorded at a difficult time for Franklin, both personally (her marriage had recently ended) and professionally. The album is filled with covers of pop songs, including two Beatles songs, in an apparent attempt at crossover success. Half of the album was recorded in Miami, where she often was late to sessions because she was in her suite at the Fontainebleau Hotel cooking soul food, and the other half was recorded in Muscle Shoals, Alabama’s legendary FAME Studio, where she had initially established her reputation. Many reviewers dismiss the disc as a mishmash and uninspired.

At the time that Franklin was recording part of the album in Alabama, Duane Allman, who had been playing with, among others, his brother Gregg, in the Allman Joys and Hour Glass, and who had cut some demos with Gregg and future Allman Brother Butch Trucks, as The 31st of February, was working as a studio musician at the FAME Studios. He either was invited by owner Rick Hall, or just showed up looking for work, but either way, he was put to work on a number of songs, including a great, Grammy Award winning instrumental cover of Joe South’s “Games People Play,” with King Curtis on sax. His unmistakable slide guitar part meshes well with Franklin’s vocals on “The Weight,” which, not surprisingly, skew toward a religious, gospel interpretation of the song, that may not actually be there (the Nazareth in the song, for example, is actually in Pennsylvania). Also backing Franklin on the track was the great Muscle Shoals rhythm section, Roger Hawkins, Jimmy Johnson, Barry Beckett, and David Hood, known as The Swampers (later memorialized by Lynyrd Skynrd in “Sweet Home Alabama”). For more background, check out this fine documentary about Muscle Shoals.

In reviewing This Girl’s In Love With You, critic Robert Christgau wrote: “I admit that when she sings "The Weight" it sounds as if she knows what it means. But I still don't.” On the other hand, album producer Jerry Wexler had second thoughts about the song, later stating that despite the fact that the song charted on both the R&B and Hot 100 charts, “I regret having submitted that song to her. . . . this is where commercial stupidity and greed got the upper hand in me.”

But the great thing about music, or art of any kind, for that matter, is that each audience member gets to decide whether you think something is great, trash, or something in between. I know what I think about this song, and I suspect that after listening to it, you will agree with me and Christgau, and not Wexler.

ROYAL: JAMES BROWN

Yup, I'm messing you about again, as you scuttle about around how a godfather can be regal. But I don't mean that one. O, I see, did you not realise there was another? I mean Jim Brown, the Ulster postie, Elvis impersonator royale. Except he only covers the songs Elvis didn't sing. Or at least didn't sing this side of his mortal coil. For all we know these may well make up his current repertoire, in a houseband including Hendrix, Entwistle and Moon. But I digress, as Jim King, aka The King, gave up his career as a postman when discovered singing in  Belfast pub, his benefactor being one Bap Kennedy, brother of Brian, onetime Van Morrison echo-man. Bap, himself no musical slouch, was the pivot in N'orn Irish punks, Energy Orchard, before launching a still active solo career, drifting into an Irish tinted Americana. He produced Gravelands, Brown's first LP, it's novelty being that it totally comprised songs made famous by the dead, or from bands wherein at least one member was so. Here's my favourite song

Buy Gravelands

It was a surprise cult hit, albeit selling few*, yet guaranteed Brown many a late night music show slot. I think I caught him on The Word, an 90s UK "yoof" arts show for mainly post-pub audiences. This would have been 1998, with a 2nd disc following, Return to Splendor, two years later, before parting ways with his band. Here's a cracker from it.

Buy Return to Splendor

Subsequently a set of false starts have ensued, including the inevitable attempt at original material. It bombed, recently resurfacing, with other odd cuts, as Return to Gravelands. He remains world famous in his home town and the home of all old rockers, Germany,but I suspect it's better that way, even if he never quite managed the uber-trump of an album of Jerry Garcia songs. Now what could that possibly be called?

*OK, half a mill, apparently........

ROYAL: King Missile, "Cheesecake Truck"

Click and listen: Cheesecake Truck

[Purchase King Missile's Mystical Shit]

I have no quantitative way of backing up this statement, of course, but I would have to venture a guess that of all the "royal" bands you could think of, none would sound less royal than King Missile. Well, there is Royal Trux, so maybe there's that. In any case, King Missile may very well have been the kings of dumb and funny philosophical playground avant-garde stoner rock -- and the fact that I don't even quite know what that means says something. But much like King Missile's songs, it's best just to take it at face value.

You may be most familiar with King Missile thanks to their fluke 1992 "hit," "Detachable Penis." I feel quite safe in making the assertion that it was the highest-charting song ever with the word "penis" in the title: it hit #25 on the Billboard Modern Rock chart. Now sure, that's a funny song and all, but for my money, the best thing King Missile ever did was "Cheesecake Truck," a brilliantly ridiculous 1 minute and 11 second "song" from their 1990 album, Mystical Shit. "Cheesecake Truck" makes Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling" sound like "Stairway to Heaven."

But don't take my word for it -- I could say nothing more about the song that would make you appreciate it any more than simply listening to it. And here are the lyrics in full, in order to best appreciate the song's warped genius.

So then I got this idea about driving a cheesecake truck
Cause I figured at the end of the day I could take some of the leftover cheesecakes home.
And I love cheesecake.
So I went to the cheesecake company
And they asked me if I could drive a truck
And I said yes
And they said you're hired.
So the next day I got in the truck with all the cheesecakes
And I drove about a block and I just had to have a cheesecake.
So I pulled over and opened the truck and I got a cheesecake
And I also took one for later
And I took one for my friend Farm Boy
And I took one to bring home
And by that time I had eaten one of the cheesecakes
So I took another one.
So then I figured I might as well stop at my house to drop off all the cheesecakes
So I take five cakes to eat on the way
and I drive another block and a half to my house.
Now it's lunchtime so I eat 10 cheesecakes
And a cheesecake for dessert.
I should point out by the way that all of these cheesecakes were very delicious.
Anyway, I decided the only thing to do would be to eat all
the rest of the cheesecakes and hide the truck somewhere and leave town.
And I miss everybody a lot
But I'm not really sorry
Because they were very delicious cheesecakes.

Royal: Queens

As a native of the New York borough of Queens, I’ve been a bit miffed by the virtual (but not complete) absence of any references to Queens during this theme. I could have written about bands and artists who came from that borough, like the Ramones or Paul Simon, or even Run-DMC, or some of the famous jazz musicians who lived there, like Louis Armstrong. Or, I could have made it easy, and written about Queen, or the Queens of the Stone Age. Or picked a song like “Killer Queen,” “Queen Bee,” or, god forbid, “Dancing Queen.” But, no, I’m going to go in a different direction, and talk a bit about some of the great musicians who have been crowned Queen of some genre or another. Because there isn’t an official organization devoted to the creation of music royalty (as opposed to organizations that collect music royalties), in some cases there may be competing claimants for the crown. For the purposes of this post, I deem myself the final authority, and hope that my decisions don’t lead to, say, a War of the Roses. And, because these titles are not granted by the United States, none of these citizens are in violation of Article I, Section 9, Clause 8 of the United States Constitution, the Title of Nobility Clause (or, for that matter, the Sanity Clause).

Let’s get started with the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin:



From the next country over, we have the Queen of R&B, Ruth Brown:



The Queen of Gospel, Mahaila Jackson, occupies an older throne:



Nearby, the Queen of the Blues, Koko Taylor reigns:



Meanwhile, down in Louisiana, the Soul Queen of New Orleans, Irma Thomas, lets the good times roll:



We can't forget the Queen of Jazz, Ella Fitzgerald (who lived for a while in Queens):


Influenced by some of her fellow rulers, the Queen of Rock & Roll (who also held the crown as Queen of Psychedelic Soul, presumably subject to Aretha), Janis Joplin’s reign was too short:



In Opryland, Loretta Lynn, the Queen of Country, holds sway:



Meanwhile, hailing from Staten Island is the Queen of Folk, Joan Baez:



Cuban Celia Cruz’s status as Queen of Salsa was never threatened by the revolution (although she became a citizen of the United States):



And we end this discussion with the Queen of Reinvention, yes, Cher:

Royal: Ace, King, Queen, Jack

Herman's Hermits : Ace, King, Queen, Jack 

[Purchase]

  Let's admit we've all written off Herman's Hermits. At least those of us in the US who only know "Mrs Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter" (#1/1965) and the beer hall singalong "I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am " ( #1/ 1965), which knocked the Rolling Stones's "Satisfaction" from the top of the US charts. Their appearances in forgettable MGM movies earned them the moniker "The British Monkees".

    But when you're big enough to rival the Beatles, you get your pick from the best songwriters and by 1967, the Hermits were recording hits written by Graham Gouldman ( the ultra-catchy ear bug "No Milk Today", "Upstairs Downstairs"), Ray Davies ( "Dandy") and Donovan ( "Museum").

  

  Both "Museum" and "Upstairs Downstairs" come from Blaze. The cover suggests yet another embarrassing beat band's attempts to respond to The Beatles's Sgt Pepper but, with the exception of "Museum" and the "Taxman" bass lines of "Moonshine Man" it's mostly British invasion-styled pop tunes.

   With Mickie Most producing (and providing the Donovan connection), The Hermits recorded their best set yet. "Ace, King, Queen, Jack", written by Peter Noone and new Hermit Peter Cowap, is just one of the highlights. Though critically acclaimed, Blaze was shockingly never released in the UK and the Hermits failed to turn the corner into the psychedelic era. Blaze is out of print but collectors can find it.

Royal: Duke Ellington and Count Basie

Duke Ellington and Count Basie : Battle Royal
[purchase]

In a way, I kind of wish that I had been able to do the transition post from “Offensive” to “Royal” because I find the concept of royalty to be offensive. As the great political thinker Dennis the Peasant pointed out, “Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.” On the other hand, YouTube explainer CGP Grey makes a good case that the British monarchy, at least, is a net benefit to Britain (although not everyone agrees).

But I have to say that the fawning over the British royals and their stupid hats is annoying. Even a constitutional monarch like (former) King Juan Carlos of Spain, who did much to help the country recover from the Franco dictatorship, abdicated a few months ago, after a corruption scandal relating to his daughter and son-in-law’s business dealings, and the reports that the King had been on a lavish elephant hunting safari during the country’s fiscal crisis.

So, as far as I’m concerned, the less attention paid to these generally undeserving winners of the genetic lottery, the better. As I see it, my country was built on a categorical rejection of hereditary nobility, yet maybe we have "highness envy," because so many people seem irrationally fascinated by them. (I make an exception, though, for former King Zog of Albania, because he sounds like a character from Star Trek).

But Royal it is, and I knew that I wasn’t going to write about someone who received their status because “some watery tart threw a sword” at one of their ancestors, or something similar. Instead, I thought of two men who received their exalted status by virtue of their musical genius, Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington, and William James “Count” Basie.

Now, I don’t know a hell of a lot about jazz, although I like to listen to it. I learned about rock music sort of organically, by buying records, listening to the radio and reading about it. Jazz, though, is something I really only started to dip a toe into during college and after, and never got the bug to learn much of the details. Because there are just too many details. But, of course, I knew about Duke Ellington and Count Basie. And, when I decided to write about them for this theme, I wondered whether they ever played together. Google is a beautiful thing, and when I put their names in to a search, I discovered in 0.46 seconds that, in fact, they actually did one album together, First Time! The Count Meets The Duke, and (a few minutes later) that it was a pretty well received album.

Apparently it took some serious planning to get Ellington, Basie and their entire orchestras together for a session, but it happened on July 6-7, 1961, at the 30th Street Studio in New York. As one article noted, the sessions included “requisite breaks for recreational liberties,” which is a phrase so delightful it is worth stealing. Under the English tradition, Dukes outrank Earls (the equivalent of Counts), and Ellington was one of Basie’s idols, but the album is nevertheless democratically split down the middle—an equal number of each band’s classics, Duke’s orchestra is in the right channel and Basie’s is on the left, and in most cases the leaders each took piano solos (although Basie refused to play on Ellington's signature song, “Take the A Train,” so instead the composer, Billy Strayhorn, was the second pianist). Where that leaves the “Duke of Earl,” is unresolved here.

Our featured song, “Battle Royal,” opens the album. It was originally written by Ellington for the movie Paris Blues, which featured Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier, Joanne Woodward and Diahann Carroll, who could be considered acting royalty. In the film, the song represents a “Battle Royal,” when the band led by Newman and Poitier is challenged by a band led by Louis Armstrong, uncrowned jazz nobility himself, playing a character named Wild Man Moore. The Ellington/Basie version featured above starts off somewhat more restrained than the exuberant film version, but rapidly turns into a battle between the two orchestras and their soloists that is both intense and thrilling.

ROYAL: KING

Much as I loathe Queen, sorry if that shocks, by the same token I 'king loved this lot, shortlived as their flame flickered. Early mid 80's British music was a variety of genres seeking a focus: punk (or should that be post-punk) rubbing shoulders with new-wave, the 2-tone ska boom, various waves of British heavy metal, the ever-present and evanescent dinosaurs re-emerging with hair-cuts, o, allsorts, with no clearly identifiable focus. For a moment I really thought the cockatoo haircuts and spray-painted docs may have cut that mustard. And for a while they did.

Coventry, UK, is/was the home of the Midlands car industry, long dormant now, a multi-racial enclave crammed into ugly post-war housing, most of anything older having been blitzed to smithereeens in the war. With little to trumpet beyond it's cathedral, it had been the hotbed of the above mentioned 2 Tone movement, that had brought together the disaffected afro-caribbean population with their white counterparts, in marked contrast to the "skinheads" of 2 decades earlier, which had plied the latter against the former, and that was similarly strong in cities like Coventry. For a moment Coventry was famous for the Specials, the Selecter and many more. (Here's a history lesson ) Paul King was a member of one such band, the Reluctant Stereotypes, their name a nod to an earlier song by the Specials. They were not particularly successful, but garnished a couple of hits.

That all changed with a new line-up and a couple of name changes, in no small part thanks to their colourful image and energetic dynamic. Paul King, and hence the name, was spectacularly photogenic and the combination of MTV and the adulation of teenage girls propelled them swiftly into the charts. Here's their 1984 break through moment, which I fondly recall, being shown on, of course, Top of the Pops. Now, not a teenage girl myself, either then or now, I found this poly-rhythmic melange sufficiently exciting to jump their bandwagon. (Funnily enough, in the intervening years, much as I still love the song, I can't understand how the video youth dance routine didn't put me off, being gallingly gauche.)

12 inches! Buy it! 2nd hand vinyl import only!

The 1st LP produced several singles, all with extended 12 inch  mixes to add to the overall sales, the ploy of many to enhance their exposures. Some of the other songs were, frustratingly, a little clumsy and clunky, so hopes were probably not high for their sophomore, following a year later, in 1985. I have to say I found this an infinitely preferable piece with way more melody, as demonstrated by this TV clip of my favourite song, still a staple on mixtape CDs I make. (And doesn't he, dontcha think, have a look of Boy George, wondering if George O'Dowd was too a fan?)

And that was that. One solo record and the music was over. A career as "veejay" beckoned, age taking a toll on his appearance between the earlier songs, here and here . Never mind, feet of clay etc etc. Wonder what he's up to now?

Royal: Prince

Prince et al: While My Guitar ...

I lived in a place where MTV did not shine for many of its early years. Of course, you can undoubtedly get it now even in Shabaab/Somalia. But,  as a result, we used to videotape hours’ worth on slow speed VHS and watch it over and over. We had the full Purple Rain film, and of course 1999. At about that time Prince seemed to me to be musical royalty personified.

Like many of you, I kind of lost track of Prince  over the years – probably about the time he changed his name to a symbol/the artist formerly known as Prince. I do guess I last bought Emancipation. And he appeared to be trying to defy the major labels by marketing his music online. For a while.

 

I still have a lot of respect for the man. While I wonder about his direction (not so sure about whether I really like this Charlotte live stuff, even if the stage show aint bad at all), I gotta admit that his rather flamboyant performance in the clip I am featuring re-establishes his credit in my books. You’ll have to wait till about minute 3.30 to see him do his thing, but you can look out for the man with the red fedora a bit earlier. If you ever wanted proof of his royalty, this has got to be it.

Royal: Court of the Crimson King

 

King Crimson: Court of the Crimson King
[purchase]

I am not going pretend that I was ever overboard about King Crimson just because the name fits our theme. Sure, I listened (heavily) to the “Court of the Crimson King” album back when it came out. Who didn’t? Geez: the cover itself was almost reason enough to give it a few listens.

Besides, the music genre was quite in line with many of the other popular styles of the day: Yes, (the original sound of) Genesis …, so, sure, I followed their psychedelic influenced music for a while.

I’ve noted before: one of the perks of blogging here is that more often than not it leads to further learning. I wonder if you would also be as astonished as I was to hear that King Crimson is still making music? All along – since the 1960s, Robert Fripp has kept the band alive – with various hiatuses. Uncut.co.uk even announces that Fripp and other previous KC band members are due to/were due to perform this week (Sept 1, 2014) in the 8^th incarnation of the band. Who would have believed they were still around?

And as to this choice of song: there is more to my selection than just the name (enough in itself perhaps): Like much of the other works I cite as related (Yes, Genesis), there is – IMHO – a rather regal air to the song. Is it the American perception of the British accent as being somehow “superior”? Is it the references to historical issues that the shortened timeline of US history cannot match?