Rainbow: She's a Rainbow

purchase [She's a Rainbow] from Amazon MP3s

Back in the late 60s, my musical tastes were as eclectic as they are now. My LP collection as of 1970 consisted of Jimi Hendrix Are You Experienced, something from Smokey Robinson, Sergeant Pepper's, Between the Buttons and Aftermath. Oh yes ... Switched on Bach and Tom Lehrer. Die-hard Stones? No. Ever-loving? Yes.

Their Satanic Majesties Request, from whence this songs comes,  has been labeled (at least for its cover ) a riff on Sergeant Pepper's - the seating, the dress, the "air".

To me, the song comes from a time when both the Beatles and the Stones were searching. Mysticism, drugs, religion (including the satanic) .

But - for the Stones - it is also a time when they began a transition. Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street are of a different realm - to me, influenced by whatever came out of their satanic request.

Jimi, Smokey, the Beatles .. gone. The Stones? >> ZipCode Tour 2015

Colors of the Rainbow: Tangled Up In Blue (Indigo Girls Version)

Indigo Girls: Tangled Up In Blue
[purchase]

I’m going to keep this short, but you are going to get three colors for the price of one.

Considering the theme, it seemed like writing about the Indigo Girls made sense. Not only do they have a Color of the Rainbow in their name, they were LGBT activists before that was easy or popular. Their commercial and critical success in light of their openness about their sexuality in the late 1980s and 1990s helped to open doors and change attitudes. Back in 1994, I joined a law firm as an associate which had been started by three guys who I had worked with or known at a big Wall Street firm. I remember that during my first week on the job, I had to leave relatively early, because my wife and I had tickets to see the Indigo Girls at Radio City Music Hall, a couple of blocks from my office. And I remember getting shit from some of the partners because I was going to see a couple of lesbians perform. I should have realized what I was in for, but I missed that sign. It was a great show, and since then we have seen them perform a few times, all of which have been wonderful.

I’ve written in detail about the Indigo Girls here, and I’m not going to repeat myself, but there is a bunch of good stuff there about the band, and some pretty rare covers, so check it out.

In scrolling through my list of Indigo Girls songs, their cover of Dylan’s “Tangled Up In Blue” jumped out at me, since it also references a color. It is a live version, recorded at a show in 1992 in San Francisco, from the band’s excellent 1200 Curfews album, most of which was actually recorded on the 1994-95 tour, although nothing from the Radio City show made the cut. I hadn’t listened to it for years, and when I let it rip, I realized that it was quite good. One of the highlights of the track is the violin part, and when I looked up who played it, I was pleased to find that it was Scarlet Rivera, adding to the colorful theme.

Rivera, I discovered, also played on some Dylan albums and toured with him, as a member of the Rolling Thunder Revue in 1975 and 1976. It is hard to tell, because the sound quality is poor, but Rivera may well be playing on this rocking version of the song, performed by Dylan and the band at a show in Ft. Collins, Colorado on May 23, 1976.

Bob Dylan and the Rolling Thunder Revue: Tangled Up In Blue

Colors of the Rainbow: Scarlet Begonias/ Fire on the Mountain

Grateful Dead: Scarlet Begonias/ Fire on the Mountain (Capitol Theater 4-27-77)

[purchase Dick's Picks Vol. 29: 5/19/77 (Fox Theater, Atlanta, GA) & 5/21/77 (Lakeland Civic Center Arena, Lakeland, FL]

Grateful Dead with Trey Anastasio: Scarlet Begonias/ Fire on the Mountain (Soldier Field 7-3-15)

[preorder 11-20-2015 release]

This week‘s theme was inspired, of course, by last week‘s historic Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage. I rejoice in that decision, and I hope no one thinks I am making light of it with this post. But in the music world, there was another event last week that I would like to celebrate. The Fare Thee Well tour celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the Grateful Dead. The grand finale was three nights of shows at Chicago’s Soldier Field. This was also the site of the last Grateful Dead shows twenty years ago. At that time, it was reasonable to assume that the Grateful Dead were done, since leader Jerry Garcia had died. Garcia was a wonderful guitar player and songwriter. But more important to the band was his personality. Garcia‘s voice was not always on pitch, but there was always a great warmth to the man that came through whenever he sang. Garcia welcomed you in to his musical world, and once you were there, the whole band dazzled you with their musical acrobatics.

How then was it possible for there to be Grateful Dead shows last week? The surviving members of the band brought in Trey Anastasio of Phish to sing some of Garcia‘s parts, and to play lead guitar. Because this is jam band music, Anastasio interprets the music in his own way, but also sounds like he has been with the band his whole life. In a way, he has. Phish is the leading jam band of these times, and all jam bands owe a debt to the Grateful Dead for setting the standards of the form, and showing what is possible. Further, I found a cover of Scarlet Begonias/ Fire on the Mountain by Phish while gathering material for this post. So my second video shows Anastasio with a stupid grin on his face for most of the video‘s eighteen minutes; the man is clearly living a fantasy for as long as this strange trip lasts.

I will leave to the hard-core Dead Heads among our readers the question of when the Dead began playing this medley of Scarlet Begonias and Fire on the Mountain. But I would argue that 1977 was the year for some of the band’s best performances of it. After that year, Scarlet/ Fire became a staple of their shows. The purchase link is to a version from May of that year, and some Dead Heads commenting on Amazon regard this as the Dead‘s definitive performance of the song. Sadly, I could not find a decent quality video of this performance that presented the whole thing one video, instead of splitting it into two. So I went with a performance from a month earlier. By the same token, I could not find a readily available CD of the performance I chose. This April performance has some of the painful vocals of Donna Godchaux. With the Dead, she often had pitch problems, and sometimes belted out her parts when a softer approach would have served the material better, and both of those problems show up here as well. Despite that, this is still a fine example of the Grateful Dead at an artistic peak. By contrast, the new Scarlet/ Fire lacks Garcia‘s warmth, but Donna‘s miscues are gone as well. The excitement of the band‘s playing is still as present as ever.

A final note: especially if you are not a jam band fan, this post contains a lot of music! The first video is 21 minutes long, with an additional 18 minutes for the second one. So let me offer a small break. The first video has a point at about the 16 minute mark where the music almost but not completely stops. Despite that, this marks, not a continuation of a medley, but the start of a new song, Good Lovin‘. So you can stop at that 16 minute mark if you want to.

COLO(U)RS OF THE RAINBOW: HOMOPHOBIA

Sorry, but I find myself some way distant from all-out celebration.

Same-sex marriage, please don't get me wrong, I am all for the equality of opportunity so arising, and the equivalence of status, in law, if not the sanctity of the religious ceremony, for those who seek it, but. There remains a but, primarily a fear, the fear, that the bigots and the blind will use this as ever more rationale to champion their bluster, to bludgeon and bash, to blame the gay for queering their pitch. So the songs I propose remain those of the oppressed. And I hope to a pink garbed God that I am wrong. And that she will forgive me.

My love for erstwhile agit-p(r)op anarcho-punks Chumbawamba is no secret, their support for societal underdogs high on their many and varied agendas. This song, from 1994's 'Anarchy' spells it out starkly, in the style and format of an old English folk song. OK, so the scene described is arguably less common an occurrence these days, the weapons being now much more subtle and refined. But still vital listening, and it still makes me weep. Here's a different arrangement, with the powerful video made by the band:

Perhaps it is no surprise, but, here in the U.K., where same-sex marriage has been mostly* legal for shortly over a year, this has lead to similar "reminders", or rose-tinted warnings from the past, the most direct being the film 'Pride', commemorating the role of Mark Ashton, who formed the LGSM: Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, during the bitterly divisive class warfare of the Miners Strike of 1984/5. (The same Mark Ashton to later die of A.I.D.S., commemorated here by his friend Jimmy Somerville of the Communards.) It's a good film, go see it.

(My asterisk* above denotes that the province of Northern Island, hotbed still of a fermented and fermenting religious hypocrisy, has differed from Scotland and from England & Wales by still disallowing the ceremony, allowing only civil partnerships, and with no plans to change.)

The lyrics of Rod Stewart's 1976 hit, 'The Killing of Georgie' might seem a little clunky nearly 40 years on. But, even with all our modern and civilised ways, especially with all our modern and civilised ways, I wonder. I guess it's up to us. And our children.

Buy Chumbawamba version 1 and version 2
Buy Communards
Buy Rod Stewart
And buy Pride, the film.

Colors of the Rainbow: Pink City Twist

Fabulous Poodles: Pink City Twist
[purchase]

The Colors of the Rainbow theme was specifically chosen to celebrate the decision of the United States Supreme Court in Obergefell v. Hodges, which determined that the United States Constitution required that a marriage between two people of the same sex be treated the same as a marriage between two people of different sexes. In other words, mandating that same sex marriage be legal throughout the United States. Following the announcement of the decision, the rainbow flag motif has been everywhere. In addition, coincidentally, just the other day, the United States Women’s Soccer team, coached by an openly gay woman, with two proudly gay stars, one of whom is already married (and a few other players who have, at least, hinted at being lesbians) won the Women’s World Cup, and the adulation of men and women of all sexual preferences. While certainly not perfect (anti-discrimination laws still need fixing, and acceptance still isn’t universal, but it will never be considering that there are always going to be small minded people who reject logic and progress), I think that it is fair to say that this is the best time ever to be gay in the United States.

I was ecstatic when the Court issued its decision. It doesn’t directly affect me—I’m a straight man in a “traditional marriage” (whatever that means), and both of my children are currently in heterosexual relationships. But as a human, an American and a lawyer, it was hard for me to understand exactly what the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment meant if it didn’t mean what it said—that no state could “deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” I never understood how anyone could read that and think that it was acceptable to allow some people to marry and not others. So, to see that five Justices of the Supreme Court finally realized that this was the case was a beautiful thing. That four Justices couldn’t see it was disappointing, if not surprising, considering the degree of brainwashing (mostly religious based, in my opinion) that our country has tolerated for years against gay people. I can’t think of many days that I was prouder to be an American than on June 26, 2015.

And, as long as this struggle has taken, it is remarkable how quickly things have changed. When I was a kid, the concept of gay rights was never discussed. Even in my liberal home, in a pretty open minded area of the world, it simply wasn’t a topic of conversation. I don’t remember anyone in my high school identifying as gay, and to be fair, I don’t remember any overt anti-gay activity or taunting. Which is not to say this was a good situation—it was simply swept under the rug, presumably out of fear of ostracism, or worse. In fact, it wasn’t until 1980 that the New York Court of Appeals struck down all laws against private consensual homosexual sexual conduct between adults, a decision that had no resonance in my life (the decision warranted only a small story on page B2 of The New York Times). If my memory is wrong, then I hope that my high school friends set me straight (no pun intended). In college, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was aware of the existence of a Gay Alliance, and parties sponsored by gay groups, but again, I have no memory of anyone in my circle of friends identifying as gay. I’m actually surprised at how many of my college friends are gay, and embarrassed that I didn’t know it then, either because I never even considered the possibility or discussed it, or because they were uncomfortable being out in that place at that time.

My children’s generation is completely different, and that shows how things have changed, for the better. From a love that dare not speak its name, to joyous celebrations of pride, attended by everyone and anyone.

To my children, a person’s sexuality is not an issue. They have had friends come out in high school with essentially no difficulties. The high school they attended has a gay-straight alliance. They both went to colleges where there was zero stigma attached to homosexuality—in fact, at my daughter’s college it seemed that gay culture was actually the more dominant (or at least the most vocal).

I know that it is probably a cliché to say that the next generation will look at mine and shake their head at the fact that it took so long to recognize that Obergefell was the only logical conclusion that could be drawn from the Fourteenth Amendment, like my generation has trouble believing that it took until 1954 for the Supreme Court to rule that “separate but equal” treatment of blacks also violated the Constitution. And they will look at the four Obergefell dissenters as troglodytes whose reason was overwhelmed by their prejudices, like the seven Justices in the Dred Scott or Plessy majorities.

So the theme is to write about colors of the rainbow, and despite the fact that the color pink isn’t on the standard ROY G BIV rainbow, there is a long-standing relationship between the color and the gay community. I have to assume that the Nazis chose it as the color for the triangle badge they forced gay prisoners to wear for a reason (no quick answer presented itself through a Google search, and this is a music blog and not a research paper). And like so many slurs, it was later adopted as a symbol of pride. Pink was originally part of the rainbow flag designed by Gilbert Baker in 1978 for San Francisco’s first Gay Freedom Day Parade, but as demand increased, the pink stripe was removed because of the difficulty in obtaining enough fabric.

When I tried to think of a song about the color pink, there were a few that seemed to fit, but none seemed as much fun as this goofy trifle from the pretty much forgotten band The Fabulous Poodles, a band whose first album was produced by the Who’s John Entwistle, who also played bass on it. Although initially a pub-rock act, like many of their contemporaries, they morphed into a new wave band, with poppy songs and zany stage antics. Their first American album, Mirror Stars, was released on pink vinyl and reportedly outsold the debut albums from The Jam and The Clash. They even opened for the prog-rock supergroup UK on some dates in 1978, which would have made for an odd, if strangely entertaining, evening of music.

The sort of title track from their next record, Think Pink, “Pink City Twist” is essentially a surf-rock sounding instrumental track with heavy breathing and the occasional interjection of processed vocals saying “Think Pink.” I know that description doesn’t make you want to listen to the tune, but give it a listen and I guarantee that it will become lodged in your brain, like it has in mine for more than three decades.

Fireworks: Naked, If I Want To

Moby Grape: Naked, If I Want To
[purchase]

I was at the gym the other day, trying to distract myself from how much I don’t like being at the gym by thinking about something to write about. And then this song came on my iPod, with its lyrics about “fireworks on the fourth of every single July,” giving me a topic.

Moby Grape. If ever there was a name that immediately brings to mind the psychedelic era, it is Moby Grape. Despite the fact that their self-titled debut album, from which this song comes, is generally considered a masterpiece, and at least one critic has stated that it was better than any album released by their better known temporal and geographic contemporaries the Jefferson Airplane and Grateful Dead, they are all but forgotten today. (But not at Star Maker Machine.)  Unfortunately, if Moby Grape is remembered at all, it is for singer/guitarist Skip Spence’s LSD induced mental illness, or for their failure, for a number of reasons, to ever record a worthy follow up. There’s also an unfortunately all-too-common history of record company bumbling, band strife and litigation, none of which is as interesting as the music.

“Naked, If I Want To” is a short, countryish song, 55 seconds long, written by guitarist/singer Jerry Miller, and it is about the irrationality of certain laws. The band released an electric version of the song on its second album, Wow, but I kind of like the original.

You’d think that such a short song by an overlooked band would be forgotten, and you would be wrong. None other than Robert Plant has covered it:


And Cat Power has done both a slow version:


And a fast version (in which she sounds more than a little like Grace Slick, who joined the Airplane after Spence departed):


In both cases stretching the song out well beyond its original concise confines.

FIREWORKS: BLUE OYSTER CULT

Buy B.O.C.

Well, I thought my limited interest in fireworks may have been dissipated by my sour grape juice, but, lo and behold, I learnt a new thing this week, just in the nick of time.

So.......

Tell me all you know about Darwin Day? (Sorry, that's February 12 and all about Charles.) I meant, of course, Territory Day, which is about Darwin, Australia, and was yesterday, 1st July, and which commemorates the day that the British Commonwealth gave self-rule to the Northern Territories in 1978, which seems somehow astonishingly recent. A big day up (down?) there, celebrated as 'Cracker Day', and seemingly the one day when fireworks may be set off without fear of litigation. Here's an article about this year's celebrations. So how/why do I know all this? Actually courtesy of a message board blog I belong to, the Afterword, the bereft survivors of erstwhile UK mainly music mag, the Word, largely, not exclusively, men of a certain age, sharing the bonds and bondage of music addiction, poor souls. This motley camaraderie is spread worldwide, factions existing as far apart as Oz, Sweden, Thailand and Ohio as well as in Blighty, revealing that the UK is perhaps the premier firework capital of the world, who knew, bangers banging on a nightly basis, with the slaughter of horses thereby a daily occurrence. Whereas Texas, gunworld capital of just about everywhere, comes down ever so hard if that precious powder is wasted on the fripperies of light, sound and magic, except in publicly curated display. Don't believe me? Check it out.

I guess we need a song. Searching long and hard I found one where the lyric seemed to suit the dangers, being apparently all about what happens when a firework explodes in your face. I think. Unless it's allegory. Who care's, it's a catchy Blue Oyster Cult number, from Spectres, 1977. Work it out for yourself.

Join the blog

Fireworks: My Bloody Valentine

[purchase]

On the 4th of July, fireworks are anticipated and still their sudden shellacking ignites tremors, right before sonic boom and crack blooms into flowery light. The first time I heard My Bloody Valentine's "Only Shallow" was like being assaulted unsuspectingly with fireworks. Pounding snare into crashing wave of dense guitar, whammied into horrific bluesy afterglow. Viscous honey-sweet vocals are spread in the mix rather than forced on top. 

MBV is called shoe gaze due to their shy, frozen live performance style, but sonically and visually, their style is more like Stargaze. The groundbreaking Dublin group's Loveless (1991) must be listened to all the way through. And turn it way up. For ultimate firework effect, close your eyes and let the imagery unfold.  Although the guitarist and chief writer Kevin Shields was too fastidious to put the final touches on a new album until 2013, they did do a few shows to commemorate the 20th anniversary of Loveless. Earplugs were handed out at the doors. At the Roundhouse show in London, I counted three people collapsing to the ground, hands covering their ears in the first 10 seconds.


California's Medicine was another shoegaze band with equal amounts psychedelia and creative use of distortion. Their music is a wedding of ugly and beautiful. On stage, they're the same: members of an Otto Dix painting, although there is physical beauty behind the grotesque. In Minneapolis, 2001, during a 15-minute version of "The Pink", the gaunt drummer beckoned a cleanly-dressed young girl on stage, just curling his finger creepily. After two minutes she went up. He put his hand on her neck and pulled her into wide-mouthed French kiss. 30 seconds. Snare still snapping. Black, red, dark purple fireworks.

courtesy of JB (who should be doing his own thing here soon)

Fireworks: The Fourth of July

X: The Fourth of July

purchase 

LA Punks, country troubadours, rockabilly guitars, deeply rooted Americana rock. X had it all covered. 

X were ahead of their time, firmly planted in punk, but expanding deep into what we now all alt-country. They were the sound of Los Angeles for a while, but their expressive, off-centered sound had a broad appeal. See How We Are is a ready-made prose poem, filled with images of stories you know and might have told about yourself.

Founder and co-leader, Jon Doe is a bit of a renaissance man—actor, singer, poet of the miseries of life. And he’s never been better than on their break though masterpiece, 1987’s See How We Are.

“The Fourth of July” is a song about dissolution and loneliness . Doe’s protagonist tells of a relationship that is fading fast but he still clings to what they had. He says he has no idea what’s wrong, but offers a full, blanket apology for whatever he’s done. It’s dark melodrama, but he uses the 4^th of July motif as a way to say, whatever’s wrong, let’s forget about it for tonight and celebrate. The Mexican kids shooting fireworks below don’t care what’s happened, and really, why should they, and why should we, for that matter?

Fireworks in the air; the summer is still young; you should be drunk and celebrating late into the night like there really isn’t anything serious to worry about. The 4^th of July is one of those kinds of holidays where everything should be golden and horizons untroubled. It’s always been one of the best days of any year for me.  X’s take on the day might be wrapped around a tearful little lament, but it sounds great—chiming, Leslied guitars, reverbed-out drums, Exene Cervenka’s gospel-glorious backing vox.

X started much different than what they ended up as, trading trashy, rifle-shot punk tunes for something much more rock ‘n roll, full of the traditional soaring choruses, strutting and twanging guitars , always with a hint of rockabilly reverb, and Doe’s low drone playing off Cervenka’s beautiful and sharp howl. They never lost the sharp edges, but X did lots of sounds well, and to me, that’s as punk as you get—doing it the way you want to, disdaining labels and just playing it out as loud, fast and hard as you can.

 

Fireworks: Green Eyes and a Heart of Gold

The Lone Bellow: Green Eyes and a Heart of Gold
[purchase]

Most of the time, I’ve been posting at least twice to each theme, in part because I enjoy writing these things, and in part because the blog needs content. After my first post on the Reunion theme, I decided to wait until after I attended the Clearwater Festival to see whether something would spark a second post on that theme (like when Patterson Hood and Jason Isbell played together a couple of years ago). Unfortunately, I miscalculated, the theme ended between the two days of the festival, and here we are in the Fireworks theme. Which is kind of too bad, because, as it turns out, I actually found a few Reunion ideas over the weekend, starting with the fact that I spent Saturday listening to music with my wife, my sister and a cousin, sort of a reunion in and of itself, and Sunday, I got to hear old friends Lucy Kaplansky and Richard Shindell, who recently had a bit of a reunion themselves with their recent cover album as The Pine Hill Project. And after a crazy rain squall interrupted their set, on a stage hard by the Hudson River, they returned to play some of their solo work, including Kaplansky’s great, personal song entitled, yes, “Reunion.”

But I blew it, and now I have to write about Fireworks. I like fireworks. But they have to be serious fireworks—not the small town, shoot off a few blasts before ending with a nice finale type that they had for many years where I live (although they have been improving lately). No, I’m talking about the kind of fireworks that fill the sky with colored lights and make your stomach hurt from the booms.

I have a few fireworks memories, and at the risk of leaving myself without a second post subject, here are some of them, in rough chronological order.

After my junior year in college, my roommates Neal and Jon and I went to Europe. We were in Paris one evening, in Montmartre, when a crowd started to gather in front of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica. We had no idea what was going on, and since none of us spoke French, if there were any posted signs, we were clueless. Eventually, someone told us that there would be fireworks that evening, for a midsummer celebration. They were pretty great fireworks, especially because they were set off directly over the crowd. The consequences of that decision were apparently not considered, because flaming paper and debris began to fall over us, which was kind of scary. I don’t think they do it that way anymore.

I remember going to Shea Stadium in the 1980s, when the Mets were, as usual, bad, and Fireworks Night meant a rare full house. (Now, they do more than one, which just seems excessive). I remember sitting way up in the upper deck a few times for the excellent pyrotechnics. There was this guy who sat up there, a heavy guy with a thick beard known as “Fuzzy,” who insisted that the airplanes that flew over Shea were “taking a big risk” flying over the stadium as the fireworks were exploding. Fuzzy was, clearly, an idiot. However, to this day, I insist on repeating “They’re taking a big risk” every time I see a plane fly overhead during a fireworks display.

Also Mets related is my third story--I was going to watch the Fourth of July fireworks on the East River from the roof of my friend Joe’s apartment building in 1985. I remember it being quite a wild party, but even more memorable than the fine display in the sky were the fireworks at the Mets/Braves game that night in Atlanta, which we followed during the night and into the early morning. Often considered one of the craziest games ever, it went 19 innings and ended at 4 a.m. The Mets were winning 7-4 going into the 8th inning. The Braves went up 8-7 in the bottom of the 8th, and due to two long rain delays, it was near midnight when the 9th inning started. It was Fireworks Night in Atlanta, but most of the fans left, assuming that they would be cancelled due to the length of the game. The Mets tied the game up in the 9th, and it went to extra innings. The Mets scored 2 in the 13th, and the Braves tied it up again. It dragged on the 18th, and the Mets took the lead. The Braves were down to their last player, Rick Camp, a relief pitcher who was an awful hitter. Of course, he hit the only home run of his career to tie it. But in the top of the 19th, the Mets plated 5. The Braves answered back with 2 more, and the tying run at the plate was Camp. He struck out to end the game, and at 4 a.m., the Braves shot off their fireworks, scaring their neighbors.

The following year, 1986, was the centennial celebration of the Statue of Liberty, and New York threw an enormous party. There were speeches, concerts, Tall Ships, and what was, until that time, the largest fireworks display ever in the world. I remember that it was hot, crowded, and that the fireworks were spectacular. I also remember that somehow, no one seemed to realize that the subway would be mobbed immediately after the fireworks ended, and we all moved slowly, trying to stay together, as we were herded toward the few open entrances. I remember that the train thankfully was air conditioned, and that it was so crowded on the trains that strangers sat on people’s laps to squeeze more bodies onto the cars.

My son was born in April, 1990, and I think that it was in 1991 that my wife and I thought that it would be a good idea to take him to the Fourth of July fireworks. We started by going to a barbecue restaurant on the Upper West Side, then took the subway, with Adam in his stroller, downtown, then walked over to the East River to watch. Almost immediately after they started, the kid understandably got scared and started to cry. We decided to leave and take a cab home. Of course, the traffic was crazy, and we were stopping and starting all the way home. As we got sort of close to our apartment, Adam threw up in the cab, which did not make us popular with the driver. We finally got home, threw the kid in the bath to clean of the vomit, then cleaned ourselves off. My wife still, nearly a quarter of a century later, wrongly believes that this incident demonstrated bad parenting. I think it was just a well-intentioned mistake that had no lasting negative effect on the boy, who seems to like fireworks just fine.

Finally, starting in 1996, to celebrate the university’s 250th anniversary, Princeton began to have a fireworks show during Reunions (yep, I came back to that theme anyway). The following year, at my 15th Reunion, we saw the display, which was pretty incredible. In a flashback to my Montmartre experience, flaming debris landed in some dry grass and a brush fire started, which was quickly extinguished. The Reunions fireworks continue to impress (we saw it again at the 20th, 25th and 30th). The picture above, though, is by my friend and classmate Noel Valero, from this year’s show, and it won the reader photography competition sponsored by the Princeton Alumni Weekly. (One of my wife’s pictures from Reunions, of a little baby, was chosen as an editor’s favorite.)

And while we are bringing things full circle, back to Clearwater. On Sunday, I arrived late after coaching a youth soccer game (my boys scored three at the end to win 3-2, a heck of a way to end a season), and was confronted with a choice. Toshi Reagon, who in some ways embodies the festival as much as anyone—the daughter of Freedom Singers and civil rights activists Bernice Johnson Reagon and Cordell Hull Reagon, the goddaughter of festival founder Pete Seeger and named after Pete’s wife, she is also a political and lesbian activist and a kick-ass performer. Or The Lone Bellow, one of my favorite new Americana bands. My wife chose Toshi, and I went for the Lone Bellow, on the theory that Toshi is likely to be there next year, but I wasn’t sure that The Lone Bellow would. They really put on a great set, although it was distractingly hot. And they sang this song, which mentions New York Fourth of July fireworks, and the subway. If it only mentioned Reunions, Paris and the Mets, it really would have tied everything together, but you can’t have everything.

FIREWORKS: INDOOR FIREWORKS

Buy Costello,

Buy Cantrell or just buy indoor fireworks.

Not being a Yank I find it difficult associating fireworks with a summery and bright night sky, my sympathies lying more with Aimee Mann, in her wonderful 4th of July "celebration", a waste of both gunpowder and sky. But I am here to be no party-pooper. I guess I could post some wintery pyromania, to utilise our own UK-centric firework feast, commemorating the day one Guido 'Guy' Fawkes failed to blow up the Houses of Parliament, remaining a hero to this day, more, I feel, for his intent than its thwarting. (Given I was raised in Lewes, near the south-east coast of England, where this achieves some notoriety and fame; remind me nearer the time and I will.)

So my fireworks today are arguably tamer, being of the indoor variety. And you can indeed get such a thing once more, a throw back to simpler times, aka pre-HBO box sets. Deemed safe and sedate, it is hard to see the attraction now. However, back in 1986, Elvis Costello penned my featured song, the lyrics of which contain their evident danger, albeit by way of allegory, below in solo demo starkness:

Undoubtedly one of his finest, or, to detractors, finer lyrical outlays, the conveyed poignancy suits the less frantic setting, the Attractions laid off, by and large, at this stage of his career, replaced by the Confederates, an amalgam of some of the cream of U.S. session men. Here's the studio version, to demonstrate that claim.

Costello has arguably been too wordy and, possibly, too misogynistic to attract as many covers as similarly prolific writers. (Or, decent covers, let's say, as no shortage of karaoke kopyists, spitting his words out in ever more faint mimeograph.) But there are some artists who can catch his drift, intriguingly often female. Laura Cantrell, (yet another) favourite of late UK DJ provocateur John Peel, so possibly even better known in my country than in her own, succeeds with ease and aplomb, wreaking yet more angst in her mournful, keening delivery. Astonishingly, not on YouTube, so I had to make my own, with apologies for the less than galling vid. 

If only for completeness, eternal/occasional E.C. buddy, Nick Lowe covers it as well, his way, with a good deal less charm.

Finally for those who are intrigued by Ms Cantrell covering Costello, here's the logical next step. the pair together, covering James Taylor:

Personally, I find it a bit of a firework itself!

fireworks: U2/Promenade

U2: Promenade
purchase [promenade]

Yes, the fourth is still a few days away, but the upcoming celebration was a part of the thought behind our current theme of fireworks. July 4th ... there may be reunion somewhere in your fireworks, but I'll make no further attempt at a conceit/an effort to combine these two themes. Just a fire-related thought or two to get us rolling ...

Things in the sky above use are naturally spacy (as in ether = air?). You look up. You see the stars. You see lights. You see beyond.  And it's often even more awesome/beautiful when there are human-made colors and lights above your head. For example, airplanes, satellites and fireworks.

This is one of those songs that embodies the qualities of the air/the sky: As in the lyrics, as in the stars above - there is a spiral to the guitar, to the music. The song makes use of a repetition that seems to embody the motion of the stars, to lights in the sky: to the continuity of "earth, sky, sea and rain". To me, it calls to mind the roman candles of its lyrics, lights that spiral and spin through the heavens and enthrall us from below.

For some reason, this song also called to mind a realization that there is a similar effect in Midnight Mile off of Sticky Fingers - part of it is that guitar, part of it is the vocal style and part of it is the ethereal lyrics. Cf:

Reunions: Come Together

Beatles: Come Together
[purchase Come Together tribute mp3]

Perhaps the greatest rock reunion that could have been but never did happen was the Beatles. I wonder what was “going on in their minds” as the Beatles came up with Get Together. By all accounts, they were pretty far from getting together (although individually, they may have been getting their s*#! together at that point in time)

The Beatles as a group dissolved at the height of their career (what better way to go out?) But, as we now know, there is much, much more behind what was visible on the surface.

That said, in the early 70s, there was hope that the Beatles would get together at least one more time. The Concert for Bangladesh … partial participation. And then McCartney going solo with and “Band on the Run” and John Lennon’s solo projects … sort of put an end to it.

 

10 years ago, I fortuitously caught the early days of a project titled “The Beatles complete on Ukelele”, during which period, Roger Greenawalt deemed it the right thing to do to give away every song in their project to cover the entire Beatles collection – provided the cover included a ukulele. I dutifully/religiously collected them all – visiting the website more or less every week to get the most recent addition. The project included many no-names, and a  few knowns. Some really good, some not so good. Regretfully, they turned the project into a monetized endeavor after about 2 years.

The Beatles are not going to rise from their graves and perform a reunion concert, so in its place …

Alternatively, from the "uke" project:
http://thebeatlescompleteonukulele.bandcamp.com/track/come-together-kirsty-rock

REUNIONS: THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN

I should here state I generally, to my shame, disapprove of the idea of Thin Lizzy, their cocky swagger always offending my carefully nurtured metrosexuality. Yet, dammit, the songs are so catchy and the twin guitars so darn effective, pop it on the playlist and I'm there, singing along and air-guitaring like a good'un. And I hate them for that. And love 'em, all the more with the doomed 'romance' of an early death, that crazy plus factor in the madness of rock and roll.

Wide boys out on the town is a recurring theme in Lynott lyricism, from Jailbreak to simply wild nights out on the lash. What group of drink-fueled youths cannot fail to feel the bigger and better for an anthem celebrating their empty celebrations of optimistic and all too often dashed hopes? When all there is left after the swagger and the bluster is the camaraderie of going home alone.

Phil Lynott seems to me the archetypal "lad," perhaps having to big his way in 60's/70s Dublin, where his background and complexion may have insisted on a rebel stance, otherwise facing an ostracism from the Irish Catholic orthodoxy and conservatism. Maybe he embraced that outlaw chic too hard, but it worked, it worked. Until.

The song was originally on the Jailbreak album in 1976, and was the lead single and opener for side 2 of the LP. Reaching 12 in the US charts and 8 in the UK, it was a resounding 1 at home in Ireland, being named, just, within the original Rolling Stone best 500 songs. (499) Another accolade came later, when British music magazine Q placed it 38 in the 2005 list of best ever guitar tracks, as the song is undoubtedly propelled by its dual riffing, adding verve to its already spunky vocal delivery.

Catnip for any band wanting to show off an edgy gang mentality, even if ironic, there have been a number of covers, notably the Happy Mondays and Bon Jovi . For all that, my favourite version is that by Sofia, on 'Search and Destroy, a Punk Lounge Experience,' in 2008, which transforms the song into the perspective of a maybe wistful witness, perhaps one of the the hideously dated "chicks" in the lyric.
Guilty pleasures abound.
Enjoy!

Reunions: Mother-In-Law

Rockin’ Dopsie, Jr.: Mother-In-Law [purchase]

It’s too bad that the Reunion theme didn’t follow the Wedding theme, but I’m actually going to work in both of those, plus the Water/Wet theme that snuck in between them.

A couple of weeks ago, I attended part of my 33rd college reunion. Although not a major reunion, a hardy group of my classmates were there, some because their kids were graduating, others to march in the alumni parade (the “P-Rade”) with their parents or grandparents or spouses who were celebrating major reunions, and others, like me, just for the hell of it. I’ve written before about my 30th and 31st reunion, so I won’t get too deep into it, but what is fun about showing up at “off year” reunions is that you get to talk with classmates who you might not at a major reunion, because everyone spends time with their closest friends. And, you get to see friends from other classes, especially the ones celebrating their major reunions.

Then, last weekend, my wife and I went to a wedding in New Orleans of the daughter of one of my wife’s college friends. Including my wife and the mother of the bride, there were 8 Smith classmates in attendance (and a few other Smithies from other classes, too). So, it was a different kind of reunion, because all of them were friendly in college. In the nearly 35 years since graduation, each of them had stayed in touch with each other, to different degrees. As an outside observer, it was interesting to see how they sort of fell back into behavior patterns that I bet were similar to when they were in college.

It was a fun time. We had some good food and times with her friends, and explored New Orleans, a city that neither my wife nor I had been to (not counting my overnight business trip to Metarie). We wandered and toured some of the city, learned some history, ate well, and saw great music, from the Cajun/Zydeco Festival in Louis Armstrong Park, at Preservation Hall, to incredible street musicians at Jackson Square and on Royal Street, and in a bar on Frenchmen Street.

The wedding was fun, too. The reason that the wedding was in New Orleans was that the bride and groom were both medical students at Tulane and were going to be doing their residency there. Almost none of the guests were from the Crescent City, and the families decided to make the weekend a celebration of the city. There was a crawfish boil (with pulled pork sliders available for the non-seafood eaters, like me). We had cocktails at the elegant Windsor Court Hotel. After the ceremony, we second lined behind the Kinfolk Brass Band to dinner at Antoine’s, the oldest family run restaurant in the country, for French-Creole food. After dinner, we danced to the zydeco flavored music of Rockin’ Dopsie, Jr. & The Zydeco Twisters, who virtually blew the roof off the place. And the following morning, we had lunch at local landmark Dat Dog.

Rockin’ Dopsie, Jr. is the son of the legendary Rockin’ Dopsie, and took over the band when his father died. They said they had never played a wedding before, and that’s too bad, because they were, probably, the best wedding band I’ve ever heard. They mix in classic cajun/zydeco music with soul, blues, rock and funk, with an incredible energy that had elderly women standing on chairs, and reluctant dancers (me!), boogieing away (after a fashion). Now, we left before they finished, so I have no idea if they played the featured song, a cover of a classic written by the great Allen Toussaint and made famous by Ernie K-Doe, who lived off the song, and its fame, the rest of his life, including as the owner of the Mother-In-Law Lounge, now owned by more recent New Orleans musical icon Kermit Ruffins.

I needed a way to tie the Reunion theme to the wedding weekend, and I wanted to use a Rockin’ Dopsie, Jr. song, and this one seemed to be the best choice, based on the title alone. But the lyrics are about a very bad mother-in-law. Very, very bad. So, I don’t want to look unkind, or unappreciative of the generosity of our hosts and all that went into making the weekend so memorable and fun. Therefore, I want to make it abundantly clear that I know that my wife’s friend, who is a truly wonderful person, and the mother of the groom, who I met and who seems like a great woman, will be the exact opposite type of mother-in-law to the one that the song discusses. I repeat—they will NOT be like the mother-in-law in the song. And let me also make it clear that I have a great mother-in-law, too (who recently celebrated her 60th college reunion).  My wife would also like to close the loop by stating that she, also, has a great mother-in-law.

I promised that I would also tie in the Water/Wet theme. Of course, New Orleans sits astride the Mississippi River, is bordered by Lake Pontchartrain, sits in great part on land reclaimed from swamps, is crisscrossed by canals and bayous, and, of course, was memorably and tragically flooded by the effects of Hurricane Katrina (amplified by some bad human decisions). So it is hard not to think about water when you are in the city. And, on our way to the airport to leave, it started to pour rain. There, I did it.

reunions: mother and child reunion

 

Paul Simon: Mother and Child Reunion
[purchase mp3]



Moving from "Wet" to "Reunion" with this piece.  Here is Paul Simon  (and Art Garfunkel) doing some slipping and sliding.

Within the last week or so several news sources have referenced interview/comments from Art Garfunkel that make a new Simon and Garfunkel reunion seem even more unlikely that it might have already been. Granted, the duo split (after what was known as a difficult relationship) back in 1970 ... but they wouldn't have been the first to get together again for a reunion that would likely prove profitable. They did get together off and on several times over the years - never comfortably, it appears.

After 1970, each pursued solo careers. Garfunkel gravitated more towards film while Simon focused more on the music. 1972's <Paul Simon> album was well received/sold pretty well. Garfunkel - solo -wasn't as successful.

Getting back together off and on, together they managed >My Little Town> in the mid 70s and a couple of memory lane concerts afterwards.

Paul Simon, on the other hand, put out solos albums in 72, 73, 74, 75 ... that included major hits such as Me and Julio Down in the Schoolyard, Kodachrome, Loves Me Like a Rock, Still Crazy After All These Years, and - of course - Mother and Child Reunion.
 

Wet/Water: Energy Orchard's Sailortown

Wet/Water: Energy Orchard's "Sailortown"
Purchase

So much to say about this band that hasn't been said. Where to begin? Hailing from Belfast, they scored a criminally semi-hit with their track "Belfast" from the 1990 eponymous debut.
Led by Bap Kennedy (brother of the famous pop vocalist, Brian Kennedy), lifted and sent gloriously soaring by the lead guitar work of Paul Toner, Energy Orchard were one of those bands that probably (unfairly) got their shot at a major deal because: Irish. And because: U2. But they deserved better. Much better.

Their first album has been in my regular rotation since 1990, not only for the allegiance it pays to it musical predecessors, Van Morrison being the obvious comparison, but also because it is a collection of rock songs so solid, so perfectly played, so gloriously about the emotional lift that only rock music can bring, as to be timeless. Kennedy's vocals and themes are full of longing and hope; the music rises in hopeful crescendos, a spiritual and strange sort of aching that transcended the limited '90s studio production of gilded keyboard and polished glitz. The best songs on their first album smolder, then blaze like church hymns. The Celtic roots are unavoidable, both because of geographical origins, but also because there is something of that rollicking Irish pub sing-around that sits at the heart of this music. But, like all great bands, Energy Orchard kept that original idealism and took it well beyond the limits of genre.

Energy Orchard went on to put out three more albums (Stop the Machine, Shinola, and Painkiller) as well as double disc live set called Orchardville. The live set burns with a vibrant, ripping energy that never quite came across on the studio stuff, but one senses that labels and producers might have had more to say about that than the band did. It always seemed to me that Energy Orchard, left on their own, would have been much more of the amazing band they were, but also a truly influential rock band. I suspect there was always some meddling prat in their midst, pushing for radio-friendly pop songs. And if you recall early to mid-'90s pop radio, you might forgive the band for only making four albums.

The amazing potential the Energy Orchard had, however, is evident in Bap Kennedy's solo career. An incredible country singer, he's worked with the likes of Steve Earle, and his catalog, which includes a stunning album-length tribute to Hiram King Williams, Hill Billy Shakespeare ( you know him as Hank), is as stellar and legit as anything you'd label as 'real country'.  (Domestic Blues and Lonely Street are amazing, too among others.) Kennedy's still producing albums, including last year's Let's Start Again.

I went to Belfast a few years ago, and listened to Bap's solo stuff, as well as all of the Energy Orchard albums--it was something I always wanted to do: connect the place the music came from, see if the connection of place matched the emotional connection Bap's music had always made with me. It was a good experience, and I couldn't help feeling a little like the protagonist of "Sailortown", their other big hit and one the greatest songs  ever recorded about youth and all it's mysteries and how they can be figured out by escaping, out to sea, through the bottle, in the arms of love. It's a sad song, with an incredibly redemptive sense of celebrating even the darkest of our days.

...I can't sit still, too much on my mind.
Gotta get outta this place, while I'm
Still young and alive.

I'll go walking down to Sailortown,
And I look out to the sea.
When them big ships come sailing in,
Maybe this one's for me.

I've belted out "Sailortown" many a night when I felt the same way. I belted it out in Belfast that night, too, drunk on more than beer and whiskey. The power of great music: even the inherently sad songs, when played with the right kind of guts, can lift you. "Sailortown" has always made me think that no matter what, as long as I had a song (and perhaps a drink or two), I'd get to stay 'young and alive', too...

Sailortown, live :

 and studio:

And, a bonus track, just so you can get an idea of that gospel-true soaring takeoff and comedown these guys did so well, an incredible version of "Hard Street":

WATER/WET: CALIFORNIA, THE BEACH BOYS

Too obvious, huh? Well, yes and no, especially when the whole vast lexicon of Beach Boys songs that reference water, waves and Waikiki Beach is out there, so why this one? (Waikiki Beach? OK, made that up, but I bet there is one, maybe in the lyric of "Surfin' USA"? Answer: No!). Let me explain, at this time period, early 70s, this was when I suddenly re-got the Beach Boys. No longer lame dudes in candy stripe shirts, this was now a bona-fide band of beats, beards aplenty, sort of Charles Manson meets Paul Revere & the Raiders. Yup, sure the Manson reference is tasteless, but Dennis (R.I.P.) was part of that whole sad and sorry tale. The above image is taken from the very excellent 'Rock Dreams', by artist Guy Peellaert and writer Nik Cohn. Cohn, a longterm fan and "critical friend" of the band and their ouput, aptly contrasts their then world-weariness with the, by now, lost youthful innocence of before. (Lord only knows of what he makes of the currently still touring travesty helmed by Mike Love, but that's another story....)

Anyhow, this is about me and the music. Between 1970 and 1975 I was at what you might call high school, gauche and gawky, trying to find my way in the bitterly divisive cliques of music aficionados. I had decided I was not a full blown heavy rocker: this was the era of Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and the like. Quite keen on E.L.P and, less so, Yes, I felt I needed something a bit different. Luckily one of my chums was the son of a diplomat, spending school holidays in exotic climes, a.k.a. the US of A. He drew my attention to the likes of the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield and I was hooked. He also had a copy of the Beach Boys Live from 1973. The gatefold sleeve was enough for me, the band looking more like the Dead than the Dead: I just loved the way the cleancut popstars could have decayed so wonderfully. Hell, there were even a couple of black guys in the line-up. Of course, the music was still there, new songs mingling with all the classics, all the more exotic to hear those pristine harmonies emanating from these grizzled mouths. My own backward foraging led me to Holland, the LP not the country, although that was where they cut it. Still my favourite, above Pet Sounds, above Surf's Up. From the funky tropes of "The Trader" and "Leaving this Town," to the mystical triad of "Californian Saga," this hit all my spots. (Maybe not "Funky Pretty," in hindsight.) My titular track, is the 3rd part of "Californian Saga," and is a simultaneous flashback to 60s Beach Boys, with echoes of "California Girls," yet umphed into the 70s by a rather more muscular beat and quirky instrumentation. No surprise that it became a big hit, as a single, in the UK, though I bet the publicity showed more of the band then, as was, rather than their shaggy doppelgangers. Love it, love it, love it. Still do.

Buy the song
Buy Holland or Live
Buy Rock Dreams

Water: Water Song/Hot Tuna

Hot Tuna: Water Song
[purchase Water Song from Burgers]

Water: at the same time powerful and soft. It flows gently around your toes and ankles at the beach. It roars, surges and tears apart the largest, strongest edifice that man can build.

The therapeutic value of music is more or less established: you know, "music soothes the savage beast".

In fact, early practitioners of the art of medicine made use of the sound of water to heal the ill: there is plentiful archaelogical evidence that doctors at the ancient Greek city of Pergamon (Bergama) made use of the sound of running water to heal their patients. The Pergamon ascelepium (various spellings) was a medical center designed so that ran water past the hospital rooms.

G.F. Handel gave it a try back in 1717. Handel's <Wassermusik> flows almost like water - but that is easier accomplished with classical music and acoustic instruments than with electro-rock (not to detract from Handel's composition skills: and it's not just Wassermusic that flows like water - listen to the Messiah, and it's like listening to water therapy.)

Incorporating the sound of water in rock music is no mean feat. Yes, rock/music can soothe the soul, but the pump and beat of rock almost defies the relaxation that the sound of water signifies: imagine waves quietly lapping the shore of your summer retreat. Now imagine the sound of the Jefferson Airplane. Doesn't quite match up.

However, Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Cassady of the Jefferson Airplane came pretty close to conveying the sound and emotion on Water Song from their 3rd Hot Tuna album, 1972's Burgers.

There's a ripple to the notes. There's the rolling repetition of Kaukonen's finger picking style that makes the music come close to the sound of water. I loved it back then and am even more impressed to see this version, when the gentlemen are in their 70s and still going strong.

Let it flow.

Wet/Water: Cool Water

Joni Mitchell (with Willie Nelson): Cool Water
[purchase]
Sometimes a set of lyrics can change meanings depending on who sings them. On the surface, "Cool Water" is a simple enough song, about a thirsty man who sees a mirage in the dessert. (Old Dan, by the way, is his mule). But as I listened to the original version of the song by the Sons of the Pioneers, I was struck by a religious subtext, in which the song becomes a battle for the man‘s soul between the devil and God. In this interpretation, the poisoned water represents sin, while the clear water is the promise of Heaven. Joni Mitchell made minor changes to the lyrics for her recording in 1988, mostly to make the rhythm work for the way she wanted to sing the song. But this is Joni Mitchell, so the song, for me at least, still has a spiritual dimension, but now it is about environmentalism. Joni Mitchell rarely covered other people‘s songs, and this is the only time the meaning of the song changed. "Centerpiece," when bracketed by "Harry‘s House," became more bittersweet, but still expressed a yearning for perfect love. "Twisted" remained joyfully intact. "You‘re So Square" may not have been Mitchell’s finest interpretation, but the meaning of the song did not change. And "Unchained Melody" should be regarded as more of a reference than a cover, since Mitchell only used the chorus.