Darkness: After Dark

After Dark, by Tito and Tarantula

Purchase 

Tito and Tarantula: Wikipedia describes them as an "American Chicano rock/stoner rock band".
But you would mostly recognize them as the house band in Quentin Tarantino's "From Dusk To Dawn". And really, could there be a better band to pull of the sleazy, blues-drenched soundtrack to Salma Hayek in what is probably the best albino python laden vampire/stripper routine ever in a movie?
These guys are low down groovy and play a pulsing Tex-Mex influenced blues rock. The stoner descriptor comes from the moody atmospherics, with the acoustic and electric mix of guitars vibing in strange ways. Their albums are pretty varying in style and sounds, yet each one contains a strange sense of something different, close to identifiable but perfectly odd and sonically unique. It's hard to quantify their sound, but it goes good with beers and driving late nights. Perfect cool.

Check 'em out here  

...And take a listen to "After Dark" Live

and the studio version...

 And, then, there's this...I really can't ever hear this song without seeing her...

Darkness: The Dark Knight

Branford Marsalis Quartet: The Dark Knight [purchase]

Today is Harvey Day. That means that Matt Harvey will be pitching for the New York Mets tonight. As a baseball fan, there are some pitchers whose starts cause excitement, and it isn’t just because they are good pitchers. There’s something else, an X factor that creates the extra anticipation. Although the Mets have had good pitchers in the intervening years, and even finally had one pitch a no-hitter, it really hasn’t been since Doc Gooden’s first couple of seasons, in 1984 and 1985, that we have had someone like Matt Harvey.

Now, I will be the first person to say that press coverage of Harvey, whose career began only in 2012, and who sat out an entire season recovering from “Tommy John” surgery, has been over the top. Where he would rehab. What sporting events he attended, and what supermodel he was dating. And whether or not he would eventually break Mets fans’ hearts and sign with the Yankees, the team he rooted for as a child, and which would, traditionally, provide an even bigger spotlight than the perennially overshadowed Mets. And yet, here he is, after sitting out a year, and apparently not missing a beat. Undefeated, dominant and scary. His dark complexion, intimidating intensity and powerful pitching has led him to be dubbed the Dark Knight of Gotham, and in an era in which colorful sports nicknames have become scarce, it seems to have stuck. Thus, the Sports Illustrated cover above.

I’ve been a Mets fan all my life. I’ve referred to it as my longest relationship other than with my family, and like a family relationship, it has its ups and downs. Unfortunately, it has mostly been downs for us, but as I have said too many times, being a Mets fan builds character. One of my earliest memories is going to a Mets game with my father in 1968, when I was 6 or 7 years old. My strongest recollection of that day, though, is coming home in the car with my first yearbook, with its picture of Gil Hodges on the cover. I’m sure that I didn’t realize that the Mets were a bad team that year, and had been bad, even historically bad, every year of their existence since 1962 (just a year after I was born). But the next season, 1969, was the first year that I followed baseball as a fan, and the Mets rewarded me with a Miracle. I remember being allowed to stay up late to watch them clinch the pennant, and even watching post-season games in school (when they still had day games). I was hooked, but unfortunately, it was downhill from there for a while (with a slight blip in 1973 when they surprisingly made the World Series, but lost).

And yet, I persevered. Every season, I started out with hope, but usually I found myself disappointed. When I went to college, my roommate and I handed in our senior theses a day early so that we could drive up to Shea Stadium for the home opener in 1982, even though the team stunk. But shortly after that, we got the swaggering, fighting, dominant Mets that went wire to wire in 1986.

Since then, though, it has mostly been disappointment. Occasionally, we have been good, but have fallen short (1988, 2000, losing the World Series to the hated Yankees, to boot). But mostly bad, making even mediocrity seem good. And then there was 2006, when, in a packed, deafening and shaking Shea Stadium, I sat with my father, son and brother, and watched the Cardinals snatch victory, and the NLCS, away from us. We were there again at the last game in 2007, when the Mets completed an epic collapse and were eliminated from the playoffs, and again, in 2008, in the last game ever at Shea, when they were again eliminated from the playoffs on the last day of the season. But despite the heartbreak and another stretch of awful baseball, I keep watching, confounding my wife.

Yet being a Met fan is also something that my father, my son and my brother bond over. Like my family, there may be times that the Mets anger, annoy or even disappoint me, but I remain loyal. Maybe, the Dark Knight of Gotham will lead the charge to greatness again. Based on history, it isn’t likely, but if it happens, that would be pretty amazin’.

Branford Marsalis comes from a prominent musical family, to say the least. His parents, Dolores and Ellis are musicians, and his brothers, Wynton, Jason, Ellis and Delfeayo, are also musicians. Wynton, of course, is maybe the most famous contemporary jazz musician, and is considered to be a purist. Branford, on the other hand, while also an incredible player and composer, is a bit more flexible, having played with Sting (which led to well-publicized tension with Wynton), fronted the Tonight Show band and led a jazz/funk/hip-hop band, Buckshot LeFonque. He is also the subject of this very odd song by Dan Bern, also a huge baseball fan, in which Bern equates seeing Marsalis in a club in Prague with, among other things, seeing Babe Ruth in Yankee Stadium.

This song, “The Dark Knight,” is from the Branford Marsalis Quartet’s Crazy People Music, recorded in 1990, right around the time that Matt Harvey celebrated his first birthday, and was written by the group’s bassist, Robert Hurst. It is a long, straight ahead jazz piece featuring, not surprisingly, the bass. I have no idea if this song has anything to do with Batman, but I know that it has nothing to do with Matt Harvey, even though Marsalis is a Mets fan. I also know that all Mets fans will be anticipating tonight’s start against a weak Phillies team. And, unfortunately, I know that due to an important family event, I will not be watching, although my phone may get a workout when I can get away with checking the score.

Darkness: Black is Black

purchase Los Bravos: Black is Black


It doesnt get much darker than black. Black, as when your baby's gone. When you are so blue that everything is black. And black is bad - at least that's what the lyrics say.

I recall first listening to this piece on a portable transistor radio with short-wave band. It would probably have been Radio Luxembourg in the mid/late 60s, and the signal strength, coming from 1/4 of the way around the world, meant that it was like listening to everything filtered thru a wah-wah sine wave, and you would have to re-tune the radio as the frequency drifted in and out.

Los Bravos didnt have many other hits, but they made it big for a while - at least in the fall of '66 with Black is Black - even in the US. The band was originally from Spain, the lead singer being German, what success they had came about when they moved to the UK.

For what it is and for when it was, the song is fairly effective. Compare with other hits of the same year: Paperback Writer, Groovy Kind of Love, Strangers in the Night, Green Green Grass of Home ... Consider the state of the art and the state of the equipment.

For some reason - probably the "dark" message, the song ignominiously appeared on the Clear Channel list of songs that would best be avoided for airplay after 9/11: deemed a little too dark for a grieving nation.

 

Segue to "Their Satanic Majesties Request" the following year for more darkness...

DARKNESS (= NOT LIGHT!!!): The Dark Side of the Moon

Eeek, what have I done? What was I thinking? Without even the excuse of living in the arctic, where light and dark have a different modus operandi, I seem to have sneaked some light into the expected stygian gloom required this fortnight. I just got muddled up, sorry, forgive me. By way of penance I will post some of the blackest, darkest anti-light and anti-white I can find.......... Is the dark side of the moon dark enough for you?

DSOtM has sold a trillion zillion copies since it's first release back in 1973, making it far and away the biggest seller by UK warhorses, Pink Floyd, the template of expectation for all they produced after its wake, with possibly all the albatross that might suggest. I certainly bought it back then, but became swiftly frustrated by its ubiquity. It was everywhere and everyone had it. I sold it. OK, with hindsight I can respect its value. The use of synthesizers and loops, the use of spoken word snippets, the acceptance of non-band contributions, all of these elements were unusual for their day, as was, give or take Tommy, there being but one broad theme over the course of the album. (Quite what that theme actually was might be another story, though it was generally accepted it might come under the broad brush of what makes you mad, rather than madness per se. That was certainly the aim of the prime architect, Roger Waters, still then the unacknowledged leader of the band.)

My favourite track was always this one. The melancholy of the openining piano motif, enshrouded by the archetypal waves of Gilmour slide, a "tu-tup" from Mason and the vocal kicks in, a shock to anyone expecting the usual plaintive close harmonics of the bands main voices. Weaving wordlessly up and down, in and around the arrangement, blowing hot, then cold, then cooler still, Claire Torry shakes the tune from pillar to post, before a final period of exhausted reflection. To me it has always given the image of a strait-jacket being violently disturbed to the extent of escape therefrom, which might fit very well within the metaphor desired. I fact, as I muse, I wonder why I got rid at all, feeling a warm glow of reminiscent nostalgia.

But it is not all there is to this song, as other voices/players have found:

I love this version! Easy Club All-Stars have a bit of a track record in covering entire albums, but this was their first, later covering Radiohead, the Beatles and Michael Jackson. More a collective than a band, Kirsty Rock covers the vocal over a somewhat livelier cadence than the Pinks.

Less well known than the above, as played by Poor Man's Whiskey, it was always going to be a challenge to find any bluegrass in this quintesentially english music. Perhaps wisely eschewing the vocal for keening fiddle, this almost works, until, thinking better of that, some lack-lustre crooning does appear, almost momentarily.

Just in case you wanted to know how it might sound in the hands of a conventionally trained violinist. In fact, a full blown classical troupe, Vitamin String Quartet, give it the whole works, and a very convincing job of it too. No vocals at all. Whereas........

All voices? Maybe not. Apologies to Voices on the Dark Side, but that's where you should have remained.

Finally, the Flaming Lips, arguably true to form, initially draw you in with an idyllically sweet intro, ahead of Peaches kicking the bejasus out of any joy the tune might hold, the two aspects then taking turns to attract and dispel any appreciation remaining. One for thieir fans only, methinks.

(One I am not going to put up is an almighty clunker, produced by a whole bevy of prog rock musos who should have known better. There seems an alarming trend for this sort of thing, virtually always including Dweezil Zappa, who should stick, I feel, to the legacy of his father, than spoiling that of others......)

Purchase the Floyd, Easy Club All-Stars, Poor Man's Whiskey, Vitamin String Quartet, Voices on the Dark Side and/or Flaming Lips

LIGHT: THERE IS A LIGHT THAT WILL NEVER GO OUT/The Smiths

Trawling back thru' the archives of SMM,  I am struck by how little attention has been given to both the band and it's frontman, (Steven) Morrissey, wondering whether it's a brit thing, finding only this, but, nonetheless, I'm sure it is time to set that straight.

This song was first released on their 3rd record, "The Queen is Dead", in 1986, later becoming better known as a posthumous band release, as a single, in 1992, reaching 25 in the UK charts. I don't think it then bothered the US equivalent, but it is, with the passage of time, that both the song and the band have entered a greater consciousness, not least as the cult of Morrissey has been ascending. Indeed, as front men go, I have always seen somewhat of a Michael Stipe-like ambience to this truculent and unapologetic iconoclast, lead singer as totem, if you will.

Steven Morrisey has had a mutual love-hate relationship with the media almost since day one, simultaneously courting and rejecting exposure. His upbringing in Manchester to an emigre irish family and his first hand experience of teenage loneliness and depressive illness, with pop music being his only constant, delivered a keen lyrical attention to urban discontent and disillusion, illuminated by the flickering TV screen in the corner. Obsessed by music, he is documented as an avid devourer of and contributor to the music press of the day. Later, after a brief spell in various punk bands, he wrote several books about maintained passions, James Dean and the New York Dolls, both of whose current listed prices suggest a far greater demand now than when first published!

The Smiths, astonishingly, lasted only five years, 1982 - 87, and, following a boost from legendary DJ, (the late) John Peel, swiftly ascended the british musical meritocracy, becoming a regular on Top of the Pops, the weekly chart round-up programme, exciting and alienating viewers both by his affectations, bunches of gladioli and a (false) old-fashioned hearing aid being regular props. I confess I was an original nay-sayer, feeling the band were let down by this tone-deaf buffoon, hooting out tuneless songs of despair and denigration. But somewhere, around this song, it all fell into place. (OK, this was helped by a contemporaneous interview with guitarist, Johnny Marr, claiming their riffs were all based upon speeded up Fairport Convention songs. I cannot confirm any truth in that, but it was enough for me!) I was now a fan.

I remain one. OK, since then there has been the highs, the lows and the slightly lower-stills of Morriseys solo career; cancelled tours, health scares, litigation, always litigation, dropped by labels, inflammatory remarks offending all, if not now, then undeniably later, yet always, always bouncing back. Bigmouth indeed fights back, every time. Currently is is cresting yet another wave, another tour, another album. His 2013 autobiography , published in Penguin Modern Classics, no less, at his insistence, remains a best seller, and a rollicking read.  May he be definitely not be the first of the gang to die.

More music, to reflect that final statement, although that would finally put to bed any further discussions around the unlikely re-formation ever of his old band.........

What to buy? So much to choose, but you could do worse than this or this, but they will probably prove but starting points. Oh, and the book!

DARKNESS: DARK AS A DUNGEON

Coming to this theme direct from the last, immediately it becomes apparent how darkness holds so much greater imagination for the songwriter than it's blinking faintly opposite, whether as a metaphor for mood or for the, literally, dark side, or end, whether of the moon or the street. Type in black, the colour of darkness, into your search engine and the names of the bands, the songs and the albums come spouting forth. Almost too much choice, so I have decided to go all literal on you. And what could be darker than a coalmine. Unless it's a dungeon.

Merle Travis might be considered the patron singer of coalminers, to the extent I was surprised he had never been one himself. However, born in in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky, prime mining territory, he was always going to be only too aware of it's ravages on those who had no choice but to work underground. I had never heard of him until a moment of epiphany, early 70's, as a schoolboy in England, when a friend lent me the seminal hillbilly mountain music of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's "Will the Circle be Unbroken", wherein the Dirt Band came together with a host of worthy names from the bluegrassier side of country over six sides of vinyl. To my Deep Purpled ears, the electricity of much of this acoustic music was astonishing, with my favorite track being this song, an altogether mellower fare, as performed by Travis himself, and including exemplary blind picker, Doc Watson, the two, astonishingly, having never met. (Indeed, the recording includes their introduction and conversation, prior to playing the song, sadly not included here.)

(Buy Merle and the Dirt Band together!)
Written and recorded first in 1946, in a four disc box of 78s, entitled Folk Songs of the Hills, a set which drew on both traditional songs and his own, drawing on experiences of appalachian life. Another song in this set was the perhaps even better known "Sixteen Tons." Each have been covered many times, within and without the country bluegrass idiom, so here are a couple of conventional dungeons.
                                         
                                          

Somewhat of a no-brainer that this song should turn up on Kathy Mattea's 2008 recording, "Coal", and, even if it has been a while since women or children were let loose down at the coalface, she nonetheless imbues the song with a note of chill warning.
(Buy Kathy!)

But it is Charlie Louvin, already an old man, who really nails it, gifting the melody with the nearest attention he can still muster, the ache and the breaks in his voice as painful as the collapsed lungs of those witnessing the reality first hand. This is from his release of the same year, 2008, "Charlie Louvin sings Murder Ballads and Disaster Songs", the title alone plunging out any glimmers of light in the darkness.
(Buy Charlie!)

By way of contrast, in a perhaps vainglorious attempt to update the song, 1985 saw Wall of Voodoo produce this travesty (TRAVISty?!), which fails on all levels, beyond perhaps rendering into tone the sheer monotony of hacking at a coalface in the deep and dank underground. (Well, some might like it.........)
(If you must!)

If you like this sort of stuff, you really need to get this. In fact, I insist. Read what AMG have to say about it.

Darkness: Like The Howling Glory Of The Darkest Winds, This Voice Was Thunderous And The Words Holy Tangling Their Way Around Our Hearts And Clutching Our Innocent Awe

Red Sparowes: Like The Howling Glory Of The Darkest Winds, This Voice Was Thunderous And The Words Holy Tangling Their Way Around Our Hearts And Clutching Our Innocent Awe. [purchase]

There are many songs that fit this theme, and it would be easy to write about Springsteen, or CS&N, or Death Cab for Cutie, or Elvis Costello, etc. And I still might. But one of the fun things about writing for this blog (and, I hope, one of the reasons that people read it) is that I can, occasionally, discuss some pretty obscure music.

The Red Sparowes fit the bill. Made up of members of other bands that I have never heard of, they released three albums and a few split releases in the 2004-2010 period and are usually categorized as “post-rock.” I’ve written about what this genre is, sort of, before, and won’t repeat myself here. Basically, though, the genre encompasses music, like this, that is usually instrumental, usually pretty intense, with guitars and keyboards creating soundscapes and with prominent percussion. But not always.

I can’t remember how I found out about these guys, but I liked them immediately. Their music is somewhere in the intersection of rock, metal and prog, and without the annoying vocals that can often ruin lesser metal and prog songs.  And unusually, they often feature the pedal steel guitar.

But even better than the music are their song titles. I mean, you have to love the title of the featured song. And it may not even be the best title on the album. It’s a close call, but I’m going to go with "And by Our Own Hand Did Every Last Bird Lie Silent in Their Puddles, the Air Barren of Song as the Clouds Drifted Away. For Killing Their Greatest Enemy, the Locusts Noisily Thanked Us and Turned Their Jaws Toward Our Crops, Swallowing Our Greed Whole." The whole song is 1:42, slightly longer than it takes to say the name. Some other Red Sparowes song titles: "Mechanical Sounds Cascaded Through the City Walls and Everyone Reveled in Their Ignorance," "We Left the Apes to Rot, But Find the Fang Still Grows Within,” and “Finally As That Blazing Sun Shone Down Upon Us Did We Know That True Enemy Was The Voice Of Blind Idolatry; And Only Then Did We Begin To Think For Ourselves.”

I’d suggest putting on headphones, cranking up the volume (to a safe level, of course) and enjoying the 10 plus minute journey of this tune.

Light/ Darkness: From Light to Darkness with Richard and Linda

Richard and Linda Thompson: I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight

[purchase]

Richard and Linda Thompson: Shoot Out the Lights

[purchase]

What better way could there be to transition from Light to Darkness than with these two songs from Richard and Linda Thompson? I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight comes, not surprisingly, from the first album Richard and Linda Thompson made together as a couple. The song is filled with the eager anticipation that comes with the first bloom of love. But the emotions were running just as high when the relationship eventually fell apart. Shoot Out the Lights is from Richard and Linda’s last album, and by then the relationship was over. Darkness had descended, and the song describes the bitterness and despair of a bad ending. Without playing analyst, I find it interesting that Linda sings the first song, and Richard the last.

Light: Over At The Frankenstein Place

Rocky Horror Picture Show: Over At The Frankenstein Place
[purchase the DVD]

Back in the late 1970s, when I was in high school, going to the midnight show of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a theater in Nyack became the thing to do on Saturday night. I’m not sure how many times I went, but it was a pretty high number, and while I never dressed up as a character (I’ve never been much of a fan of costumes), I did start bringing props with me. Because there were really three reasons to see the movie, which is actually a bad movie (and the contemporary, pre-cult phenomenon reviews bear this out)—the music was pretty good, it was about some edgy sex stuff that in the pre-Internet, pre-million cable stations days was kind of titillating to teenagers, and, I think most of all, participating meant that you became part of an in-crowd, all of whom seemed to know exactly what to do or say in response to what was happening on the screen.

After I headed off to college, and saw it at least once on campus (where I found out that there were regional variations on the crowd responses because there was no Internet to create a Rocky Horror Wiki and establish a standard canon), I sort of grew out of it. A few years ago, my wife and I went to a Halloween season showing at the Tarrytown Music Hall, and I found myself mostly bored with the whole thing. I’d like to think that growing up hasn’t completely beat the fun out of me, but it isn’t surprising that some things you enjoyed when you were young aren’t enjoyable when you age. (Monty Python, however, is still brilliant.)

One interesting thing about Rocky Horror is how many people who appeared in it moved on to bigger and better things. Susan Sarandon, who played Janet, had previously had some film roles and was in soap operas before appearing in the movie. Right after, she was in a movie with Robert Redford, then was Brooke Shields’ mother in Pretty Baby before her breakout role-and first Academy Award nomination—in Atlantic City. She became a huge star, acting in major movies, on stage and on TV. She has won an Oscar, for her role in Dead Man Walking, and has been honored for her political activism.

Her movie fiancé, Brad, was played by Barry Bostwick, a theater actor who had a Tony nomination as the original Danny Zuko in Grease. Rocky Horror was his first film, and he has gone on to a long, busy career as a character actor on TV (maybe most famously as Mayor Randall Winston in Spin City), in films and on stage.

Tim Curry, who played Dr. Frank-N-Furter, was in the original London cast of Hair before being cast as the lead in the stage play The Rocky Horror Show. The film version was Curry’s first movie role. Afterwards, Curry had a successful career on stage, in both London and on Broadway, in movies and on TV, as well as releasing three albums as a musician.

Nell Campbell, who was Columbia, ended up as a well-known night club owner and restauranteur.

Meatloaf, who played the small part of Eddie, released an album that sold 43 million copies. Something about a bat.

This all is to contrast with the career of the guy who made the Rocky Horror phenomenon possible, Richard O’Brien, who created and wrote the play—music, book and lyrics—and collaborated on the screenplay with the movie’s director, Jim Sharman. (Interesting side notes—O’Brien, an unemployed actor, wrote the play, and showed a draft to Sharman, who had directed him in the original London production of Jesus Christ, Superstar. Sharman decided to direct a small production of the play, then called They Came from Denton High, in a 60-seat theater. The second night audience included Jonathan King, who had discovered Genesis and produced their first album. King produced the original cast recording in 48 hours and rushed it out.) O’Brien, despite writing a few more plays and acting in some mostly cult movies, never repeated the fluke success of Rocky Horror. His greatest fame came as an eccentric game show host in England in the 1990s (from which he was replaced by Edward Tudor-Pole, of the band Tenpole Tudor). O’Brien has been, however, memorialized with a statue of his Rocky Horror character, Riff-Raff, in New Zealand, where he spent much of his youth.

The song, the third in the movie, is performed by Sarandon, Bostwick and O’Brien, and it uses the light in the Frankenstein Place, as a symbol of hope for the stranded Brad and Janet. Little did they know what was in store.

LIGHT: There's a light, a certain kind of light.......

Yes, you got it, "that always shines on me", fab 60s BeeGee perennial, that struck me as a better response to Andy's excellent Bruce piece below, which had automatically said Richard and Linda to me, before remembering that leads to darkness, and it is light we are celebrating. (Richard and Linda? Thompson? Must I talk you through everything? From "Shut out the light" it is one short step to"Shoot Out the Lights", oui?)

So we are talking about this, from, unbelievably, 1967, the 2nd single from their debut LP. Written by Barry and Robin Gibb, it peaked at 17 in the US and 41 in the UK. And it is undoubtedly a cracking song, but the arrangement? Well, let's say it was 48 years ago...........

So here's a whizz-band hurtle through some other versions that may, or not, have passed you by.

 First off, the Flying Burrito Brothers. Not on either of the first couple of studio LPs produced by the initial Gram Parsons fronted version of this possiblystillgoing (somewhere) band, this appeared on a compilation to commemorate their first break-up and the first few line-ups. I bought this as an incredulous teenager in the early 70s, shocked by the sheer country-ness of it. Lured in by the Byrds, they had seemed the logical next step, but it took me a while to rationalise that against my standard rock fare of the day. It was this song, however, that sealed it, the aching plaintiveness of the vocal stripping the sinew from my unsullied heart, in preparation for the adult world of let down and regret. As well as underlining what a piece of songcraft was the original.

Next, it's Nina Simone, and I confess I was a whole lot older before I could handle her spiky charm. I guess this arrangement hasn't dated that well, but that isn't the point, as she imbues the song with her smoky jaunt, suggesting a devil may care acceptance that doesn't, even for a moment, convince. (I would love to hear this cover covered by Me'Shell Ndegeocello, but it sadly wasn't on her Nina tribute of a few years back, not that I will let such a situation prevent me from promoting it!)

Finally a reggae-lite version by one-time Bronski Beat-er and Communard, Jimmy Somerville. In truth it is a slight interpretation, shown really to display his unusual and exquisite vocal range. And I like the video. And, if I'm not mistaken, it is Sarah-Jane Morris singing alongside him, whose lower register perfectly complements, if somewhat counter-intuitively.

So no room, I am afraid, for the version by Michael Bolton or Micky Bubbles. (In my book there is never any room for Micky Bubbles.........) Hope you enjoyed. And, Me'shell, if you are reading(!), how about a volume 2?

Find 'em all:
Bee Gees
Nina
Burritos
and Jimmy

(Oh, OK and Me'shell)

Light: Shut Out the Light

Bruce Springsteen, "Shut out the Light"

Listen

Purchase

Originally a B-side to “Born in the USA” but only widely available once 1998’s Tracks was released, “Shut Out the Light” was kind of the Bigfoot of Springsteen songs: many had heard about it, few had actually heard it.

It’s a beautiful, sparse song, with a haunted protagonist and Springsteen does his best storytelling here: imagistic, but short on expository details. The ghosts of the Viet Nam War, drug addiction, and PTSD hang over this short, sad tale, though Springsteen never names any of those problems by name. He lets image, and sensory detail paint a picture of a man who just can’t find his way back home.

The story is perfect in the small details that paint a Hemingwayesque picture where what little is shown is enough to create a much greater picture: the welcome home banner hanging over the door, the newly polished chrome on the protagonists old car, his wife worrying about how she will look after all this time—“Shut Out the Lights” is a moving portrait of a lost soul and a terribly sad song. There is no hope, there is no triumphant, driving percussion or striding keyboards here as there is on the A-side. “Born in the USA” is an angry assertion of the will, a protest, but in the end, the protagonist of that song is never going to give in. The line that declares “I’m a cool rockin’ Daddy in the USA, now” sounds odd, corny in a way, but that always struck me as a way of saying, ‘I might be beat, but I’m not done.”  In fat the whole song is about getting up, no matter how many times you get kicked. “Shut Out the Light” ends with no such declaration.

The song ends with the protagonist in a forest, staring at a flowing cold, dark river and the lights of a city in the distance, dreaming of where he’s been. There is no expression of freedom or the will to overcome what he’s seen—he simply repeats the request to keep the lights on, and to be held. The obvious specter here is a drug problem, though it’s never dealt with directly. That is one of the aspects of the song that make it so touching: we don’t know what is really wrong, but neither does the poor lost soul whose story we are hearing.  

Light: Harbor Lights

Frances Langford: Harbor Lights

[purchase]

Boz Scaggs: Harbor Lights

[purchase]

Bruce Hornsby: Harbor Lights

[purchase]

Think of the song Harbor Lights, and you may think of versions by The Platters, Elvis Presley, Bing Crosby, or Guy Lombardo, to name a few. Whoever you think of, you will be thinking of one of the corniest and sappiest songs ever written, one I had no intention of posting. The song tells of a weeping lover lamenting a lost love who has sailed away to sea. In the original recording by Frances Langford, from 1937, the song is song by a woman, and it becomes clear that the departed lover is a sailor who has proved faithless. Versions sung by men make no sense to me, but the song is inescapable throughout pop music history. In putting this post together, I realized that one does not call a song Harbor Lights without dealing with the original cornball classic in some way.

Boz Scaggs responded with a new song called Harbor Lights. There is a sly reference to the original in a line about an old song on the juke box. Scaggs is offended by the earlier song on behalf of the male half of the human race. His song says we men are not horrible like that. His narrator is a sailor who is faithful, and looks forward eagerly to returning to his lover.

Bruce Hornsby‘s reaction is more radical. He rejects the entire setup, and says, “No, this is not at all what harbor lights evoke for me.” There is no question of faithfulness in his song. Instead there is the rush of a new romance, with its powerful sense of infinite possibility. Hornsby‘s song is both a literal and figurative statement. It was the title track to the first album Hornsby recorded as a solo artist, after three with the Range. More importantly, it was Hornsby‘s first album after spending time as a member of the Grateful Dead. The Range albums are fine, but here Hornsby cuts loose for the first time. The songs add a jazz flavor, and they lengthen to allow the musicians to stretch out with solos. The guitar solos here are by guest Pat Metheny, and Jerry Garcia appears elsewhere on the album. Hornsby is celebrating his newfound freedom from traditional pop song forms, and he is invoking and rebutting one of the hoariest examples of traditional pop to do so.

Light: I Am The Light of The World

Rev. Gary Davis: I Am The Light of the World
[purchase]

Many people just listen to music as background noise, or something to sing or dance to, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But those of us who consider music a hobby, or an obsession, aren’t satisfied with that. We investigate. We try to learn more about the songs and the artists we love, and in that effort are often rewarded with deeper knowledge. Or, at least, more knowledge. Much of what I know about the blues comes from investigating covers by musicians that I already knew, and that is consistent with the blues tradition of artists learning traditional songs, or original songs (or original songs thought to be traditional) from recordings or performances by others.

I first became aware of Rev. Gary Davis through listening to Jorma Kaukonen’s performances of his music, solo and with Hot Tuna. And I learned about Davis’ influential finger-picking style that had an impact on Jorma, and others, including Jerry Garcia, Bob Dylan, Ry Cooder, David Bromberg, and many, many more. I learned that he was born in South Carolina in 1896, was blind since infancy, and was an actual Baptist minister. That he played and recorded music into the 1940s to niche success. But that the folk and blues revival of the 1950s and 1960s catapulted him to greater fame, performances at the Newport and other folk festivals, and led to covers of the songs he wrote or popularized by popular artists. I learned that Davis generously taught many of these younger musicians how to play in his style, and his songs, and that he died on the way to a gig in New Jersey in 1972. And I discovered that while many of Davis’ songs were religious, he also wrote secular songs.

“I Am The Light of The World” is a religious song, based on the Gospels, and steeped in his faith. I’m not a religious person, in the sense of believing in a god or anything like that, but I do believe that humans have an obligation to try to do right by each other and, in the best of situations, help each other to do right. And while I suspect that Reverend Davis would disagree with me in the particulars, I think that he would, ultimately, focus more on the deeds than the beliefs.

Now, I am far from perfect. I’ve committed all seven of the deadly sins, and more of the less lethal ones, over my lifetime. Not to mention, I’m a lawyer. But one thing that I am comfortable in putting on the good side of my personal ledger is my 20 years as a volunteer with AYSO, the American Youth Soccer Organization, which I have written about before. We are a soccer organization, but one that tries to focus more on enriching children’s lives than a team’s won-loss record. For a number of years, I have been involved in training volunteers in management—not only the nuts and bolts of running a program, but in the AYSO way of doing things.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to help instruct at Regional Commissioner training. RCs, as we call them, are the leaders of local programs. I was one back at the turn of the century, and it was one of the most important things that I have ever done. RCs work incredibly hard, spend countless hours making sure everything is done right, and are all volunteers, as are all of the board members who help the RC, and all of the coaches and most of the referees. People say that it is a “thankless task,” but I found that many people thanked me, and in turn I tried to thank all of the RCs who followed me, and all of the other volunteers, not only explicitly, but by continuing to assist the organization locally and nationally.

A few years ago, pressed by some very smart and committed staff and volunteers, AYSO decided to put together a weekend of training for RCs from around the country, usually at its office in California. The weekends are instructional, but they are more. They create relationships, act as therapy sessions (there are tears!), and help the RCs, some who are brand new, and even others with experience, recognize the support that they have both from the staff and the volunteers around the country. And the constant message is that it is the RCs’ mission to provide a good environment for the kids, and a positive experience for the volunteers. It is an inspirational weekend, not only for the students, but for the instructors as well. I got to see a group of nearly 40 strangers, from all over the country, with different racial, educational and financial backgrounds, varying political beliefs and very diverse lives, bond, learn, interact, socialize, act crazy, marvel at magic tricks, and, at the end, have an enormous group hug as a new AYSO family.

What does this have to do with our theme, and this song? Each of the RCs who were trained at this session will go back home, to Alabama, Idaho, Illinois, all over the hand that is Michigan, Nevada, California, Tennessee and Hawaii, and be the light of their soccer worlds, and bring the light into the lives of thousands of children. And when those kids’ smiles light up their faces, into the lives of their parents.

LIGHT: LIGHT SHINE/JESSE COLIN YOUNG

I never knew why this guy wasn't huge. At this point I should point out I had no inkling of any earlier career, nor had even heard of the Youngbloods in 1974, which was when I first heard this song and it's parent LP of the same name. And it was a revelation. Bear in mind this was the time and the year of Van Morrison's seminal live album, "It's Too Late to Stop Now" and this seemed to come from a similar place, at least in instrumentation and timbre. Sure, the vocal couldn't be more different, but it fitted the jazzy tinge of reed-led swing redolent throughout the first side of the record. Sadly, at least for me, he never again found that peak again, with even side 2 being somewhat lack-lustre by comparison. But, o my goodness, for those 20 minutes or so, if that, this was one light that lit up my life. And still does.

Possessor of one of the moustaches in modern music, Young was born the somewhat more prosaic Perry Miller in New York, where he was a school contemporary of Art Garfunkel. Before the Youngbloods, he had already produced his first couple of solo discs, before their brief window, peaking with a top 5 hit, "Get Together" in 1969, with a subsequent return to a solo career, give or take the odd re-union. I mention them for two reasons, one because the song in this piece actually had an earlier incarnation on their 1971 release, "Good 'n' Dusty", barely a shadow of its later self. The second is merely to mention the name of fellow group member, one Lowell "Banana" Levinger, which is, um, certainly a memorable one. I can't seem to find any reference as to why, which may be a relief.

No messing with downloads, this time buy the whole thing, even if you only listen to the first "side".

Light: Dancing in the Moonlight

Buy Toploader: Dancing in the Moonlight
Buy Harvest King: Dancing in the Moonlight

Light it is, this theme around.

If you're going to classify your lights, moonlight is possibly the most romantic of all lights, closely followed by firelight, candlelight - and some folks  would include firefly light. And if you are going to classify your hits, you might take a moment to consider why King Harvest is not remembered for the original version, but TopLoader is for theirs.

I won't lay claim to being a great fan of these guys: TopLoader, but that won't stop me from promoting this song for our theme, either. In fact, (probably like you) all I know about them is that they have this one hit song. But I will give them kudos for coming out with this. Note: not coming up with, but *coming out* with it: although they are the band best remembered for the song, it isn't their composition: it belongs to King Harvest (who?!?) However, like them or not, (their version of) the song is catchy - and that's probably why it became more popular than the King Harvest original. For that matter, it strikes me that it isn’t all that unlike some other songs that took someone to the big time (Please, Please Me &c) in relation to the lack of depth of its lyrics.

TopLoader

 

Harvest King

 

 

Of course, there are many ways to rank your musical preferences other than "best" or "original" - and even then, you are walking a thin line in calling *your* definition of best/original the same as other people's! I recall a t-shirt I bought in the 60s that said "Cool is as cool does" - and I guess that applies here. Harvest King wrote a decent song, TopLoader made it "cool".


To the extent that SMM aims to enlighten its audience, let me add a hidden gem in the way of a version that you would be unlikely to run across unless you followed my "trail". To me, this clip is so, so typical of what it means to be on the stage as an amateur musician: acceptably competent, but everyone just walks and talks right past them. Make your own comparisons: "tightness" of the band, showmanship, backup vocals …what else is it that makes a song/a band a hit?

RoadRunnerBand

 

For that matter, The Rolling Stones' Moonlight Mile (a totally different genre/emotion) is equally a best as a "moonlight" song, n'est ce pas?

 

Light: The Inner Light

    The first George Harrison song to appear on a Beatles single is also the last Beatles era George Harrison song inspired by his interest in Indian music. 

   A B-side to "Lady Madonna", "The Inner Light" was recorded in first in  India and then at Abbey Road. The Mumbai musicians were among the same ones involved with Harrison's Wonderwall soundtrack.

    Back in England, on February 6, 1968, with Lennon and McCartney offering encouragement,  a nervous George sang the lyrics in a dimly lit studio decked out in incense and lit candles. They were inspired by Poem 47 of the Tao Te Ching by Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu:

Without opening your door,
you can open your heart to the world.
 Without looking out your window,
 you can see the essence of the Tao.

 The more you know,
 the less you understand.

 The Master arrives without leaving,
 sees the light without looking,
achieves without doing a thing.

 Two days later, Lennon and McCartney overdubbed some background vocals ( heard at 2:18) and completed the mono mix. Ringo doesn't appear on the song On February 6. He was performing on Cilla Black's live BBC show Cilla.

Light: One Headlight

Holly Figueroa O'Reilly: One Headlight (Wallflowers cover)
[from One, 2011]


I've been gone for a long, long time, and I probably won't be back again for a while: we've been struggling with the fallout from chronic illness in both my children for a few years now, and it makes my time short, and precious.

But as those of us who have been blogging since the form was born remember well, sometimes a theme speaks to you, or at least, calls something out of you. And I've been thinking about this song, and its album, a lot in the past few months, longing for an excuse to bring it back to the fore.

You see, Holly Figueroa O'Reilly has been gone for a while, too. As I wrote on my own all-covers, all-folk blog in 2011, the contemporary folk singer-songwriter lost her voice on stage at the Northwest Folklife Festival in 2009, twelve years, two Grammy nominations, and several major label offers into a blossoming and determinedly indie career. A visit to a specialist resulted in a diagnosis of both rheumatiod arthritis and ankylosing spondylitis, a pair of inflamatory diseases which ultimately affected both her voice and her hands, keeping her from singing and playing the guitar for a year – a great loss for O’Reilly, and for the folk community.

Sadly, though drugs ultimately soothed and restored that voice for a while, O’Reilly’s clock was ticking; according to her own bio and facebook feed, the massive doses of steroids she was ingesting were doing as much damage to her body as the disease itself. And so O’Reilly made the impossible choice: to give up her voice in order to live without pain, for her family’s sake and for her own.

But first, she decided to record one final covers album.

In One, the covers record in question, O’Reilly is singing on borrowed time, and it shows: her voice changes subtly from track to track. But the songs are sweet nonetheless, and stunning, and poignant with her craft and talent as much as with her history. O’Reilly is strong, though she is clearly affected by her struggle and the ticking clock; all of this and more pours through even the most torn of tracks. And the song choices are inspired: every performance, from covers of REM, U2, Slipknot, Oasis, Paul Westerberg, Springsteen, Tom Petty and Joe Henry, speaks to a wellstorm of emotion, spoken clearly and eloquently, in an act of true song ownership.

Her cover of One Headlight, alone, dark and dirty with dobro, perfectly pitched in every tone, makes this quite possibly the best cover album of the year.

That these songs represent the second act in a final play, the last farewell to a life lived in voice, is not where their strength lies. It is, instead, in the power of the musician, working with a tenacious instrument, and other people’s songs, to maximum effect.

And nowhere is this more prescient than in a song which contains not one, but two metaphoric images of light: the titular headlight, which Jakob Dylan claims represents the murkiness and half-sufficiency of creation when all seems lost, the struggle to create despite hindrance and overwhelming despair...and the sun, coming up to illuminate first a funeral, and then a county line, each one a boundary beyond which mystery greets us all.

O'Reilly's voice like a last dying light in the darkness. Dylan's hope dying as his album struggles to come to fruition. My rapid drop-in, halfhearted and meek, cobbled from old features because I've lost the nerve, and the time. One headlight, barely enough, dangerous on the highway of breakneck life, as we chase the sunrise, our hearts equal parts dread and hope.






Boyhowdy joined this blog in its first year, and served as editor for several years before reluctantly leaving it behind in a fruitless attempt to pare his life down to its necessary essentials. He misses you all, and reads every post.

Lies/Liars: Vannevar Bush's Trails

buy Walter Becker "Book of Liars"
buy Steely Dan "Reelin in the Years"
buy Fleetwood Mac "Go Your Own Way"
buy Stevie Nicks "Stop Draggin My Heart Around"

I recently revisited the Feb 2015 print copy of Wired – specifically an article about Microsoft’s new CEO. Segments of Jessi Hempel’s article worth relating seemed to resonate with where I am vis-a-vis Star Maker blogging, (and  our theme of “lies”)

When Vannevar Bush first envisioned the Internet (his memex), the idea was that “trailblazers” could share their trails – the sequence of links they followed to get to a certain (re)source. More often than not, current web files lead us to the end rather than sharing the process and all the intermediary by-paths that might add value to our journeys. For most of us, searching for information about music related to lies, this would be a likely starting point:

Of the fairly decent list of links that appeared, my trail began at the top, and- partway down the list- I locked in on Steely Dan – mostly because, well … they had their heyday when I was a radio disk jockey and… because I like the jazz-rock mix

But I couldn’t place the song “Book of Liars”. Turns out it is a Walter Becker “solo” piece from a 1994 album (Alive in America) produced by the other ½ of Steely Dan, Donald Fagan, and then brought out again in 2004.

 

This got me thinking about other Steely Dan songs/lyrics. If we stretch the “lies” theme to include cheating lovers, our trail could wind on over to Reelin in the Years

 

(where they sing: “after all the things we’ve seen and done you go and find another man…” – cheat city)

 

Back to Vannevar Bush and his memex and his trailblazers. My thought process continued by following Steely Dan – at which point I saw that Steely Dan appeared on the TV show Midnight Special – and so did Fleetwood Mac, at about the same time. My YouTube right-side links (your results may vary) suggested I would like some Fleetwood Mac (Vanovar Bush in action).  I am not sure I have my Fleetwood Mac timeline down all that well, but .. well … there was a certain amount of spouse sharing, and it seems to me that there must have been a certain amount of lies going on there: hence: Go Your Own Way.

 

Again, the YouTube right-side link. This time: Tom Petty (and one-time Fleetwood Mac member Stevie Nicks. Stop Draggin My Heart ...

 

 

link ... to link ... to link ... Many lies...

 

LIES/LIAR: POLITICIAN, MOUTHFUL OF S***

As this fortnight runs out of it's allotted, I can't resist the opportunity to draw reference to the current situation in the U.K., it being that delightful spell of arguable (and certainly arguing) anarchy between governments. Parliament is dissolved, the date of the election is just under 4 weeks hence and this is the period of the "hustings": the individual parties clamouring the airwaves and newsprint for that soundbite that will lift them above the opposition, with all dirty tricks present and correct. So what has politics to do with lies and liars? Yeah, right...........

 I'm not going to go into the minutiae of who is who and likely winners and losers; the mother of Parliaments seems now to be a real mother of a Parliament right now and I instead draw your attentions, if interested, to a book: "The Establishment: and how they get away with it", by Owen Jones, an unashamedly leftist polemic. Given the author was born in 1984, make of that date and any Orwellism as you will, it gives delightful credence to why the heart of politics is a virtue of the young, with the head maybe coming later, but it also a timely reminder of why, maybe, these times are so anodyne.

Enough talk, music play on.... Two songs. Firstly, Cream, from 1969, I was assumed this to be a Jack Bruce/Pete Brown song, surprised to read otherwise, but I think the lyric rings as true as it ever did:

And how do we respond to politicians? The Chumba's say it best, this generally being dedicated to the politician of the day, which would tend to be, in their heyday, one Tony Bliar, sorry, Blair:

Buy Politician
Buy Mouthful of Shit (from the album "Anarchy", dontcha know!)
Buy Owen Jones

Lies/Liars: Wish it Was True

The White Buffalo Wish it Was True

Purchase: Wish it Was True

If I get a platform, no matter how small, I think I should use it. So, in reverence—I don’t know if that's the right word—I give you something beautiful and plaintive, suffused of subtle anger, a gorgeous song about lies. Lies we tell ourselves, lies that get told to us, that we have little choice other than to believe.

Wish it Was True, by the White Buffalo, is a gorgeous, end of the night, head against the wall wish that begs for more explanation than it offers--a dark, acoustic prayer, a rising hymn to heaven that asks not for help, but for answers. 

The White Buffalo serves as the band name/moniker for singer/songwriter Jake Smith. You’ve heard him if you are a fan of Sons of Anarchy. The White Buffalo plays plaintive, gorgeous, cowboy-sense-driven Americana rock. The songs are propelled by amazing, old-time-feel band, working in a unique, but traditional country western-sound scape. The White Buffalo are making true modern country western, while paying their altar boy-dues to a classic tradition. “Wish it Was True” is an  elegiac ballad, sung like a last breath effort on a death bed, asking various players why they didn’t tell the truth, saving the most pointed accusation for the speaker’s own country. It's the kind of song you have to listen to again and again, if only to feel along to Smith's simple, yet reaching lament in the song's gorgeous crescendo. This is a late night wish without an answer, heartbreaking in its honesty. He asks for polish to a 'blood and a bruise'--but there is no answer to the lies that were told, and the song shows that if we believe too much, too earnestly, we'll only end up "thrown away when you're through..." 

The White Buffalo are a modern cowboy band who transcends frontier and shame anything Nashville is passing off as ‘country-rock’ these days. Jake Smith is a gorgeous baritone with the sense and soul of a poet; his band has a thick, hillbilly backbone that grooves and pops like you’d want and expect of the most backwoods, front porch outfit. This is a true crossover band that ought to get a lot more listens than it does…a few more shootouts, a few more badass gangs riding into town, and you might just see Smith and Co. stalking down the sundown-lit street, come to gunsling you to safety. 

If you dig White Buffalo, then you have to listen to Smith's transcendent cover "The House of the Rising Sun" as well as this absolutely un-ironic cover of  the '80s metal tear-jerker  "House of Pain" by Faster Pussycat...yes...it's f@#$ing great...