Blood: Love lies Bleeding

purchase [Love Lies Bleeding]

Back in the early 70s, I just about wore out the grooves listening to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. ("Wore out the grooves" harks back to the time when people spun a vinyl disk on a motor-driven turntable, scratching the ridged surface of the plastic with a diamond stylus: the more you played/re-played the music, the more likelihood of your permanently wearing down the ridges/grooves.)

The first song off the album, "Funeral for a Friend" segues directly into "Love Lies Bleeding" and the two are considered and generally performed as a single piece, although Elton has commented that they were separate pieces that just fit back to back because one ends in the key of A and the other begins in A. Together, they make up a powerful start to a powerful album. His best.

As for the lyrics (Bernie Taupin) - if you go beyond the driving piano/guitar/drums (there are no lyrics to Funeral), it's not the happiest Valentines Day message:

The roses in the window box

Have tilted to one side

Everything about this house

Was born to grow and die

As I revisit Yellow Brick Road on account of the theme relevance, I recall that there are several of my favorite (and I am not an overboard Elton John fan)/several of his best pieces all on this one the album: "Candle in the Wind," "Saturday Night's Alright," "Bennie and the Jets," "Your Sister Can't Twist," and of course, "Yellow Brick Road "...

Starting a little before Yellow Brick Road, but almost inseparable ever since, Elton John's go-to guitar player is Davey Johnstone. Similarly, beating the drums on this version  is the inseparable Nigel Olsson (see his name prominently displayed on the front-facing bass drum). Both of them adding vocal embellishments here.

 

(Goodbye Yellow Brick Road)

Blood: Beauty Way

Eliza Gilkyson: Beauty Way
[purchase]

For the next two weeks, our theme is Blood, vaguely derived from the classic heart symbolism for Valentine’s Day which falls during this period, but also because we thought it was a good idea.

Sometimes, when a theme is announced, I need to search my iTunes library for a song, and other times something just jumps into my head. And for some reason, that is what happened here, despite the fact that there are many more obvious choices.

The amount of music out there is staggering. I’m sure that there are many people whose musical taste and collection (tangible or virtual) has basically stagnated. But for me, and other music fanatics, it is impossible to keep up. I have a pretty significant collection of music, and a pretty broad range of musical likes, but I simply can’t know everything, or keep up with all of the new good things. I hear all of the time about music I should like or should check out, and often when I do, I realize, yeah, that’s pretty good. And maybe I’ll download a few songs and check them out more.

Which is a long way of getting to my point—there are people making great music out there—music you might really like, if you heard it, but you just haven’t had the chance. Eliza Gilkyson is one of those musicians who has had a long career in the industry, great reviews, but not a huge amount of name recognition outside of the Austin area. Although, to be fair, she has been pretty popular in these pages, having been tagged in 6 prior pieces, more than Aimee Mann, Alejandro Escovedo, Pete Townshend and Harry Chapin, to randomly choose a few people with bigger profiles.

Gilkyson comes from a musical family. Her father Terry was a folksinger in the 50s and 60s, and then became a songwriter for Disney movies—his songs include “The Bare Necessities” from The Jungle Book. Her brother Tony was the guitarist in Lone Justice, and for a period, X, and also produces. Her sister Nancy is a singer and an executive at Warner Bros. Records. Eliza began her career singing on her father’s demos and soundtracks, including a couple of Disney TV shows. She moved from Hollywood to Santa Fe, New Mexico in her late teens, started a family and began releasing records. Her musical and personal journey took her to Austin, then back to Los Angeles, then to Taos and to Europe, before returning to Austin. Her son Ryder has produced some of her albums, and her daughter Delia has sung on some of them. Her songs have been covered by Joan Baez, Lucy Kaplansky, Bob Geldof, Roseanne Cash and others. She even has a couple of Grammy nominations, and was inducted into the Austin Music Hall of Fame.

Our featured song, “Beauty Way,” from Gilkyson’s 2000 release, Hard Times In Babylon, is a semi-autobiographical tale about the hard life of a musician who comes close to, but just misses, hitting it big. What always struck me about the songs were her lyrics, which make it almost seem like her desire to play music was irresistible, and that she simply had to keep going, no matter what the result:

I worked the clubs along the Sangre de Cristos 
Polished the diamond in the rough 
By the time I hit L.A. I was hotter than a pistol 
But you're never hot enough little darling 
You never really hot enough 

I felt the lights on the big, big stages 
The fire burning in my soul 
I've had those nights when my guitar rages 
But it's not something you control little darling 
It's not something you control 

And there’s the blood reference—the Sangre de Cristo mountains, which run from Colorado to just north of Santa Fe. But I also think of the metaphorical blood that Gilkyson spent trying to make it in the music business.

A little side note--back in the days before iPods and CD burning, I was one of those people who made mixtapes, which I listened to on a tape player or in the car. In 2001, I included a version of “Beauty Way” on a tape, followed by a Los Lobos song, “Down on the Riverbed.” At some point, I was listening to the tape, and realized that the two songs mentioned red-tailed hawks, making it a great subconscious segue. Which is something that only ex-college radio DJs think about.

The Accordion: 4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

Purchase: The Wild, The Innocent, The E Street Shuffle

" 4^th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)", better known as "Sandy," is early Springsteen and the E Street Band at their poetic best, a beautiful image-laden tone poem about Asbury Park, New Jersey, where Springsteen cut his teeth as a young musician, the place that made him, in many ways. Or perhaps his legend—it’s hard to separate the two.  "Sandy" is a wistful, fairy-tale ode to ‘home’, or at least a place that is home in the heart, much like The Clash's tribute to London in London Calling and Van Morrison's Belfast in Cyprus Avenue, evoke more than just a sense of a place.

"Sandy," from Springsteen’s second album, The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle, is a beautiful little ballad that shuffles and skips along, mostly due to dearly departed accordionist Danny Federici's lilting and elegant accordion line. Federici, a founding member of the E Street Band, passed away in 2008. The song is a love song, for a girl, for a lifestyle, for a certain place in a certain time, destined to never really come back again, thanks to the way youth speeds away from us and leaves us with just memories. Hopefully, good ones—and the best part of good memories is how much better they get with time.

Robert Santelli, in Greetings From E Street:The Story of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, describes the song as “the perfect musical study of the Jersey Shore boardwalk culture.” The song is populated with the eccentric, vibrant characters that populated many of Springsteen’s youthful, Dylan-inspired street epics: switch blade kids, tramps, factory girls…all those faces that made Springsteen’s street-scene operas such wonderful pieces of not only music, but poetry as well.

His greatest work in regards to the neon, asphalt and brick fables is Jungleland, but it is "Sandy" that invokes a sense of nostalgia, even for places an times that the listener might have no claim on at all. Springsteen is that kind of writer: universal in the experiences he relates.  But, here it is Federici’s accordion that makes "Sandy" such a beautiful song, that as the major aural element works to emphasize the sadness that sits underneath the bright sun and the brash joking of the narrator, trying to get right, but just not making it. The accordion here sounds like youthfulness, it sounds like the carnival. It sounds, truly, like a a whole soundtrack to memory.

The E Street Band still brings this tune out, as a tribute to Federici, much as 10 Avenue Freeze-out is done now as tribute to the Big Man, Clarence Clemons. That’s a hell of a thing: a song that comes to serve as a monument to one who made it sound so distinctive.  "Sandy" has always a special place for E Street Band fans, and will now stand not only as memory of Danny Federici, but as a hat tip and a wink to youthful days, long gone by…

The Accordion: Come Unto Me

[purchase]

As a devoted listener to WFUV, I was certainly aware of The Mavericks, but they were really just on the edge of my musical consciousness. I recognized and liked a few songs, and that was about that. My friend Tom, a fine singer and guitarist in his own right, whose bands often cover The Mavericks, kept telling me how great they were live. As usual in matters musical (not to mention food, TV and soccer, despite his support of Manchester United), Tom did not steer me wrong.

My first exposure to the band’s live show was at the 2014 Clearwater Festival. My wife and I had spent an incredible first day, seeing, among others, an all-star tribute to Pete and Toshi Seeger, Dar Williams, Guy Davis, Dan Bern and Richard Thompson (and you wonder why we were upset when they cancelled this year’s festival). My wife had enough, and decided to leave, but I wasn’t going to miss The Mavericks’ closing set. And it was worth every second. They truly kicked some ass, and had me dancing. And if you know me, you know that’s a big deal, especially because I wasn’t even close to drunk.

What makes them such a good live band? Start with the music—a mix of country, rock, Western swing, and more varieties of Latin music than I know how to name. Singer Raul Malo, whose deep, expressive voice is one of those that you never forget when you hear it, is of Cuban descent from Miami, and there is definitely some of that in there, along with all sorts of Tex-Mex sounds. Then, add the fact that it is just played well, and with incredible enthusiasm. Plus, as we know, horns make everything better. Stir in Malo’s charisma and stage presence, the goofy charm of keyboard player Jerry Dale McFadden and the menacing intensity of guitarist Eddie Perez, and you have something that is not only unique, but incredibly infectious and fun.

For some time, the band has made regular appearances at the Tarrytown Music Hall, in my town, and when they announced their 2014 dates, there was no question that I was going to go. My wife, Tom and I caught the show from the front row of the balcony, and the full set was even better than the shorter festival performance. The crowd was on its feet from the first note, and the show was a nonstop party. The video above was shot by someone on the floor, sort of below where we were sitting. The sound isn’t great, but it gives you a sense of what was going on. Another friend, Bob, who is a volunteer usher at the Music Hall, and thus sees many, many shows, swears that The Mavericks are, by far, the best live band that plays there.

I picked that song, “Come Unto Me,” because it features the button accordion, a common instrument in Mexican folk and popular music. Michael Guerra, who is not a full member of the band, but tours and records with them, does a great job lending a Mexican flavor to the song, not to mention has a long solo. Also, at the end, Malo points at me. Sort of.

At last year’s Clearwater Festival, The Mavericks again closed the show. And again, my wife left early (it really was raining hard when she left, but I really wanted to see The Mavericks again). Unfortunately, due to the rainstorm, which had stopped, but led to delays and equipment issues, they took the stage late and their set was truncated. But what they played was, again, great. We skipped last year’s Tarrytown residency, but I do hope to go back the next time they play there, with or without my wife.

Speaking of my wife, as I may have mentioned, she, and my daughter, are proud alumnae of Smith College, as is this feminist maverick:

Say hi to the legendary accordion player, Gloria Steinem.

The Accordion: Flaco Jimenez

 

 

Buy "The Best of Flaco Jimenez"

 

Ry Cooder is the kind of eclectic musician that would include an accordion from time to time. He also would include a tuba, and you can hear them both in on his 1976 Chicken Skin Music album. Among other unusual instruments that he has included are the cimbalom, the tiple, the bajo sexto, the laud, the mandola - many of which he himself plays.

Since way back in the Chicken Skin Music days, his go to man for the accordion has been Flaco Jimenez. Jimenez also plays on the 1994 Rolling Stones' Voodoo Lounge. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Jimenez has played with David Lindley - kind of from the Ry Cooder camp. Or with Los Lobos because, of course, the accordion features heavily in Mexican music.

The paring of Mexican & accordion has a curious and circuitous history. A PBS show called Accordion Dreams relates how the ostensibly German accordion made its way into Mexican music via German settlers moving to Texas in the mid 18 hundreds. The Tejano music which resulted is a mix of polka inspirations and Mexican band. That's a simplification, of course. Mexican music includes all sorts of styles, but the accordion does seem to have been brought that far by Texas Germans. It's also a simplification to call it accordion music: there are several different types of accordion.

 

If all you came here for is the accordion, you can cut to Jimenez's solo at about the 7 minute mark.

 

The Accordion: John Kirkpatrick

Who? Shame on you, Kirkpatrick is the king of the English squeezebox, I would say single-handedly bringing back this instrument, or instruments, into the modern folk (rock) pantheon. You don't maybe know the name, but please accept you have heard him. Let me take you back, hell, over 40 years. Witness the boy (me!), awkward and lumpen, picking slowly up on the UK folk tradition, by way of Fairport Convention and this song. It's back to my beloved Top of the Pops, and a sadly currentlyunavailableonyoutube footage of this seminal band, performing a Dylan song a la Francais. Amidst all the striped jumpers and onions was one John Kirkpatrick, squeezing away for his very life.

Move forward a year or 2 and it was 'Morris On' that captured me, folk-rock interpretations of Morris tunes, leading me to years of dancing with hankies, eventually spending 10 years as a fully fledged, if flat footed, member of a side, spending my weekends dancing the dance and, it's true, drinking the drink. In the album sleeve above, Kirkpatrick is the chimney sweep, singing and playing this song. Incidentally, should the anathema of electric Morris prove too alarming, he was the prime culprit in an eminently recommendable album, 'Plain Capers', all acoustic and straight from the village green.

But he wasn't entirely tied to tradition, something Richard Thompson, erstwhile Fairport alumnus, and the green woodsman in the album cover above, was able to exploit in his initial run of duet records, with then wife Linda, and later solo records, someone much missed from his current output IMHO. Here is an astonishing live song, with quintessential Kirkpatrick holding it all together.

For reasons never acknowledged or admitted, despite an ongoing willingness expressed from Kirkpatrick, Thompson seemed to drop him after a while, with Kirkpatrick retreating back to the folk clubs from whence he had sprung, give or take a short caretaker role in Fairport "rivals" Steeleye Span and with his own band. Before, after and during this, he has continued, solely or, in earlier days, with ex-wife Sue Harris, to play alone or as a duo. Here is his tour de force, apologies if it is too raw for your refined ears.

Of course he is intricately linked in with the incestuous family tree of UK folk, plus or minus rock, via the various Albion Bands, Country and or Dance versions, and brass-folk pioneers Brass Monkey. Perhaps to and in my mind and ear, his seminal piece of work, in cahoots with another ex-Fairporter, Ashley Hutchings, the 'Godfather of Folk-Rock', is 'The Compleat Dancing Master'. Sorry, no clips....

Without this man I honestly believe there would be lesser an english folk tradition, vibrant and alive, with very much less a likelihood of an ongoing squeezebox legacy, through John Jones/Oyster Band,  Simon Care/Edward II or Gareth Morris/Little Johnny England.

Buy at his page, astonishingly he has one, albeit entangled with others, but 'Morris On', 'Plain Capers' and a lot more are there......

THE ACCORDION

I love a squeezebox, me, and have for as long as I recall, and certainly as long as I have been addicted to music. I don't care whether a concertina, a melodeon, an accordion, piano- or otherwise, a bandoneon or whatever, and it can be from within folk, tex-mex/conjunto, zydeco/cajun, country or even just slipped into good old rock and roll. But I fear I may be an odd boy in this perversion, the majority of my chums placing these pre-cursors to the synthesiser* low in their pecking orders, arguably down near the bagpipe and the banjo, both of which I also adore. So where do I begin?

Lets's set the scene: I think my favourite ever use of these delightful instruments is within this stonking cajun version of Chuck Berry's 'Promised Land':

This belter of a song rattles along quite tidily under its conventional rockabilly steam until lifted twice, a middle eight and at the end, by the glorious surge of louisiana provided by Belton Richard, a lesser known name than that of Johnny Allan, the singer, but a man who has put out a fair bit of swamp-pop in his own name, before and subsequently.(In fact, so good a solo is it that it reappears, note for note, in this, by Los Lobos, their David Hidalgo being no slouch on the instrument either.)

But what was that I said about *pre-cursors to the synthesiser? What tosh, you say, how can you compare primitive bellows with the majesty of, um, say, Gary Numan's chosen? Let me explain, with reference to economies of scale and a journey into the mysteries of the Morris dance. These folk dances of old england were traditionally led by pipe and tabor, the simultaneous one hand on a whistle, another on a drum, with fiddle later being employed as well or instead. The melodeon, a button accordion, could provide a much greater swell of noise and range, thus being able to replace a larger team of musicians on lesser instrumentation. Maybe mellotron is a better example than synth, but it's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

I could and I won't pontificate for hours as to the joy of squeeze, but that may not bring any converts, so how about a few more practitioners of merit wider than their genre might suggest.

Gotan Project are a Paris based collective of French and South American musicians dedicated to, largely, the tango. By imaginative use of electronic breaks and beats they endeavour to bring this dance and it's attendant culture into a 21st century setting. I think it works.

Still in France, there is of course a longstanding Parisian cafe culture built around cheesy chansons. This guy, Yann Tiersen, somehow explodes that. Oft dismissed as a mere soundtrack auteur, his repertoire is much wider. Accomplished on many instruments, I hope you will agree he gives the bellows a hell of a kicking in this burst above.

If they are still going, the Felice Brothers offer a delightfully ragged take on a ramshackle Americana that smacks of the subway busking sessions they began by playing. Based originally around the 3 Felices, now but 2 are still playing together, including James, who plays the accordion on this track, to brother Ian's singing.

As a final thought, I scribble recreationally on message board, the Afterword, a lifeboat for the aficionados of late lost music mag, (the) 'Word', and I am pleased there are other odd boys there; even the occasional odd woman. Here was a string about accordions you may enjoy.

The Accordion: Cabbage Rolls And Coffee

[purchase The Last Polka on VHS]

I’m old enough to remember seeing The Lawrence Welk Show on TV, featuring polka music which, of course, highlighted the accordion. Not that I ever watched it—but in those days, to change the channel, you had to turn a dial and pass through each channel, so sometimes I would see a snippet of the show which looked like it was from another time. It just seemed so incongruous that during the rock era, there was a show featuring polka music, on television, and that there were people who actually watched it. The concept just was, to my mind, farcical.

So, when Eugene Levy and John Candy at SCTV created the Shmenge Brothers, a pair of “Leutonian” musicians, one of whom (Stan) played the accordion, I got the joke.

I’m also old enough to remember when Saturday Night Live was a subversive, counterculture program that quickly became mainstream entertainment. And then discovering the lower budget, more anarchic SCTV, although it never seemed to be on at any regular time. I think that, at least initially, the fact that SCTV flew under the radar allowed it the freedom to display a more subtle and weird comedic sensibility than SNL. The premise of the show—that it all related to a fictional TV station/network, also gave the show a narrow focus, yet allowed it the freedom to do wide ranging parodies. And it is hard to argue that the SCTV cast members haven’t had incredible influence on comedy—we’re talking John Candy, Rick Moranis, Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin, Harold Ramis, Dave Thomas, Robin Duke, Joe Flaherty, and, of course, Martin Short, among others.

The Shmenge Brothers were just one of these parodies, and like so many of their skits, the humor was subtle and character based. Candy apparently based the characters on Gaby Haas, a Czechoslovakian native who had a polka-based show based in Edmonton—meaning that there was actually more than one polka-based TV show on the air. The brothers appeared on a few episodes of SCTV, starting in 1982 and ending in 1983, with an ill-fated attempt to cash in on the “New Wave” and music videos. Their retirement was chronicled in an hour-long mockumentary called The Last Polka, based, of course, on The Last Waltz. The clip above, of the Shmenges and the Happy Wanderers playing their “classic” “Cabbage Rolls And Coffee,” comes from the film. They also performed this song on Late Night With David Letterman and at Comic Relief.

Part of the humor of the sketch is the fact that polka music, and the accordion, was at that time considered a joke in itself. Of course, the accordion, and its related instruments, has a respected place in the music of many countries and cultures.  And as the roots music movement spread, more and more musicians proudly feature a squeezebox, so that when, say, David Hidalgo of Los Lobos, picks up his accordion, no one laughs.

One last admission—for a brief time in my childhood, I tried to learn to play the accordion. It didn’t take.

BEGINNINGS: IKE TURNER

If, as is widely surmised, 'Rocket 88' was the first evidenced relic of ye olde rocke and roll, by definition, Ike Turner, tho' neither the writer nor the singer was the first rocker. Sung, written and credited to one Jackie Brenston (and his Delta Cats), the band was actually Ike's Kings of Rhythm, for whom Brenston played sax. Dating from an astonishing 1951, when Ike was 19, a cocktail of western swing, jump blues and the accidentally 'fuzzed' guitar produced by a damaged amplifier. Raw and raggedy around the edges, to my ears it holds up a lot more successfully than other and later contenders for title as first.

Which made me think a bit about Ike, more famous now for his alleged misogyny and mistreatment of Tina, than for this or any other part of his wide-ranging legacy. Now this is not the place to assess his character and I won't. If we are to only glory those spotless in reputation, then the canon of modern music, like literature and art, will shrink to nought. OK, neither should we necessarily celebrate the blemishes and behaviours, even though we often do. Especially as it is difficult to tiptoe through the morals of one era in the shoes of another. So what about Izear Luster 'Ike' Turner, junior, 1931 - 2007?

Born the son of a minister, a recurring theme in rock music, he immersed himself in the musics of the juke joints from an early age, boogie boogie, blues, jazz, setting up and setting out on the road with his Kings of Rhythm, gaining experience by backing anyone from Sonny Boy Williamson to Muddy Waters. The success of 'Rocket 88' led to a temporary suspension of the band, as Turner became a session man and record producer, until, with 3rd wife Tina, or Annie-Mae Bullock as she was christened, a reformed Kings of Rhythm hit the road in 1956, becoming the Ike and Tina Turner Revue 4 years later. No more the rock'n'roll frontman, Ike was now the understated conductor of the band, Tina and her Ikettes taking the full focus of what was and to become a full blown R'n'b extravaganza, second only to James Brown. Arguably their best remembered early song would be the Phil Spector production, 'River Deep, Mountain High', the deal for the song being that Ike had little to do with it. And Ike, maybe uncharacteristically, always shrewdly, went along with it. Not initially a hit in the U.S., it was huge in Europe and beyond, leading to tours with the Rolling Stones.

Roll forward into another decade, popular on both sides of the atlantic by now, a staple in the charts, with covers, 'I Can Take You Higher' and 'Proud Mary', there was one further classic in store, with even now there being barely a wedding disco, or similar, that doesn't include 'Nutbush City Limits.' Both of mine did!

After that it was all about Tina, her revelations about life with Ike piling on the wretchedness already there courtesy old showbiz faves, drink, drugs and paranoia. I can't help but note some irony in that, aged 30, he was teetotal and drugs eschewing, and yet to introduce Miss Bullock into his band and his life, but that's conjecture. He did, however, manage to survive the storms, reputationally and personally, reviving again the Kings of Rhythm in 2001 and achieving his 2nd Grammy in 2006, for solo album, 'Risin' with the Blues.' He died the following year.

So let's get a bit of his finishings, remembering him for his music, not just his onetime amanuensis. (Sadly YouTube didn't have an available version of '18 Long Years', his re-write of earlier Ike and Tina song '5 Long Years'. They, inevitably, were married for 18.)

Beginnings: Brand New Day

Purchase: Brand New Day

While certainly not his finest hour as a lyricist, Van Morrison’s Brand New Day, from Moondance (the album every one you know has in their collection), fits the bill for our theme this month. It’s a simple song, both hopeful and soulful. The mellow groove is pure Van Morrison blue eyed soul, with his lush and plaintive vocal styles, wavering piano and guitar lines and gospel chorus. Van Morrison crosses genres with grace—balladeer, soulster, mystic poet, party hound. Brand New Day is a small blip in the catalog he’s created, but it’s a beautiful song, in its own sense. The man himself explains the origins of Brand New Day as:

"Brand New Day" expressed a lot of hope. I was in Boston and having a hard job getting myself up spiritually...Then one day this song came on the FM station and it had this particular feeling and this particular groove and it was totally fresh. It seemed to me like things were making sense....I didn't know who the hell the artist was. It turned out to be The Band. I looked up at the sky and the sun started to shine and all of a sudden the song just came through my head. I started to write it down, right from "When all the dark clouds roll away…” (Wikipedia)

What song do you think it was? Have to be The Weight? Perhaps I Shall be Released?

For good measure, we should also mention Morrison’s Into the Mystic, itself a soulful meditation on a new beginning of sorts, magical and supernatural, and of heading into new and unknown places, concerning love and other delights…

Happy New Year to all our readers—I hope history proves 2016 to be a far better year than all the doomsayers are predicting. Starting out a year with forecasts of our guaranteed destruction before the next one begins gives me all the more reason to listen to good music and try to see the brighter side of sun. Harmony!

Beginning: Windows 95 Sound

[purchase Windows 95 For Dummies, because, why not?]

Remember Windows 95? Probably not, but when it was released, appropriately in 1995, it was a pretty big deal. For the first time, Microsoft merged its Windows and MS-DOS (remember MS-DOS?) products, and made a bunch of technical improvements that I don’t really understand (although being able to use long file names was convenient). But what was great was that, for the most part, I didn’t need to understand them because they were buried behind an improved graphical user interface, which included a taskbar and a better file navigation system.

However, what is most important for our theme, is that Windows 95 marked the introduction of the “Start” button, which allowed a (relatively) quick way to start stuff. The Start button was part of all subsequent Windows releases, in some form, until the powers that be decided to leave it out of the crapfest that was Windows 8. The outcry was such that it was immediately put back, in the slightly improved Windows 8.1, and was included in the much superior Windows 10.

Now, the personal computer world is mostly divided into two camps, Windows and Mac, with a fringe of Linux and other operating system users. But back in 1995, there were other players in the market, particularly IBM’s OS/2, and the success of Windows 95 essentially drove them out of business. Part of that was based on the technology, but most of it was marketing.

Part of the strategy was to create an iconic “Microsoft Sound” to play when the system was booting up. Microsoft execs approached the master of ambient sounds, Brian Eno, to create the startup music. As he said:

The idea came up at the time when I was completely bereft of ideas. I'd been working on my own music for a while and was quite lost, actually. And I really appreciated someone coming along and saying, "Here's a specific problem – solve it." 

The thing from the agency said, "We want a piece of music that is inspiring, universal, blah-blah, da-da-da, optimistic, futuristic, sentimental, emotional," this whole list of adjectives, and then at the bottom it said "and it must be 3-1/4 seconds long." 

I thought this was so funny and an amazing thought to actually try to make a little piece of music. It's like making a tiny little jewel. 

In fact, I made eighty-four pieces. I got completely into this world of tiny, tiny little pieces of music. I was so sensitive to microseconds at the end of this that it really broke a logjam in my own work. Then when I'd finished that and I went back to working with pieces that were like three minutes long, it seemed like oceans of time. 

The final version of the sound, as heard in the video above, was actually 6 seconds, and it successfully became ingrained into the psyches of Windows users. Amusingly, Eno wrote the music on a Mac. I admit that hearing it again for the first time brought me back 20 years to an age of smaller, but bulkier, monitors, slower processors, tiny hard drives and floppy discs. But others have used Eno’s snippet as inspiration. Here’s a piano cover version:


And here’s a version slowed down 23 times, so it sounds like something from Music For Airports:


And here is just one of many remixes of the sound:


In addition to commissioning Eno’s genius to create a 6 second sound, the Windows 95 marketing blitz included a 30 minute cheesy faux-sitcom operating guide starring Jennifer Aniston and Matthew Perry of Friends, and a memorable commercial, highlighting the Start button, in which they licensed the Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up.” At the time, it was reported that the cost to license the song was in excess of $10 million, but that was apparently not true, and was an attempt by the Stones to inflate the licensing value of their catalog.

Beginning: Velvet Underground

 

[purchase it]

The summer of 69, my rather small LP collection would be enhanced with a copy of Blind Faith (there's really only one LP), because I had seen them live in July 69. And some Doors (by then,both the first and second albums, both of which I memorized the entire lyrics to).

I wish I could recall just from where the Velvet Underground came into my peripheral vision. I was starting to become somewhat eclectic at the end of the 60s - moving on from Top of the Pops and into music that various folks were introducing me to.

There was this guy (we are talking 13 years old) who was a friend of my younger brother's who was pretty well musically informed. He's the one who brought Are You Experienced our way and likely changed my musical perspective forever.

I guess it must have been his infuence that led to our purchase of the Velvet Underground and Janis Ian - a long cry from the Motown that made up a majority of my LP collection.

I confess: I was never really wild about VU: Yes, I recognize the "genius". Yes, I listened again and again ... but it always hit me as a little too hypnotic, too mesmerizing for true enjoyment. Maybe not enough joy. Kind of like what I imagine heroin might be like, and that's a path I never wanted to trod. David Bowie ... maybe ... Velvet Underground ...at arm's length.

That said, 40 years down the road, I guess that is part of what drew me to Talking Heads. There is a lot of similarity in the repetitive style. And I still - at a distance - appreciate the Velvet Underground (and Bowie and John Cale and Lou Reed). Within limits.

The live version above slightly more up tempo than the original on the eponymous album from '69, below.

Beginning: From the Beginning

Emerson, Lake and Palmer were never a take it or leave it band. You were either on their bus or off it, at least when I was a boy and they were just beginning. It's funny, all these years later, wondering quite what the fuss was all about, their star having faded both so far and so fast. Even their erstwhile fans seem content to dismiss them as the stuff of youthful inexperience, with very rare ever a kind word said in retrospect. And I'm not even sure if this is it, but, hell, yes, I was on the bus.

So, in the beginning was (were?) the Nice, I guess Keith Emerson's prototype for the later band, a trio of keyboards, bass and drums. We'll ignore their starting block for transplanted-to-the-UK ex Ikette, P.P.Arnold's backing band, as they were, or the short-lived 4 piece with eternal nearly man Dave O'List, later to be nearly man again, for Roxy Music, ahead of Phil Manzanera's joining. I confess I struggled with the Nice, as the bassist, Lee Jackson, couldn't sing. And I mean, really couldn't sing. But, between the songs came the most remarkable of hammond organ histrionics, an instrument that was mainly for adding background in pop and rock until then. Combining a driving rhythm section with half-remembered classical themes was pure catnip to my teenage tastebuds. Try some:

Come 1970 and the band broke up. Emerson clearly was the one to watch, lifting doleful bassist and singer Greg Lake from King Crimson, and drumming wunderkind Carl Palmer from The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, forming what the rock press greeted as one of the first supergroups. The brief was much the same, driving classically influenced instrumental rock music, up a few gears from the Nice, but with, this time, a singer who could sing. The instrumental palette was likewise wider, with a lot more piano and shedloads of the brand new Moog synthesiser to complement the organ, Lake competent also on guitars electric and acoustic, six string and four. His powerful songs would give respite to the sheer freneticism of Emerson's set piece juggernauts, a break in the records and on stage. I think it fair to say that their first 3 LPs were amongst my most treasured possessions back then, 'Pictures at an Exhibition', their live interpretation of Mussorgsky, being my 2nd album purchase ever and certainly my favourite of theirs. Here's my favourite moments:

At my school it was all very simple. You either liked Yes or you liked ELP, strangely never being allowed to like both, which led me to missing out on a lot of music I only came to later. But the honeymoon had to end. The sheer exuberance of 'Pictures', the majesty of the first eponymous record and the inventiveness of 'Tarkus' were followed by the is-that-all of 'Trilogy'. Sure, I lauded it at the time I bought it, on the day of release, as bravado demanded, but the rot had set in. Not even the thrill of my first big arena show, at London's Earls Court, could hide the fact that 'Brain Salad Surgery' was an empty vessel. The dream was over and I bought the 'Yes Album'.

So that's it, from the beginning, my all too brief infatuation with my first musical love. 3 or 4 years. Their legacy lives on with me, however. Unlike rather more fickle folk, I still have a yen for an occasional blast of 'Tarkus', side 1, or the whole of 'Pictures'. Or 'Lucky Man', killer end piece from the first record. I'm transported back to a mixture of acne and innocence. Let me finish with the title song for this scribble, ironically from 'Trilogy', perhaps the epitome of a Lake interlude, all vocal and multi dubbed guitars, before Emerson weaves in at the end, to remind that it's his group really.

Of course the band played on. And on, becoming eventually what legendary DJ John Peel called, famously, a waste of electricity. Pity, that.

From the beginning, the song, is here, (but I'd get this or this if I were you.)

Beginning: Beginnings

Chicago: Beginnings
[purchase]

As the end of the old year makes us think about those we have lost, the start of a new year makes us think of beginnings, fresh starts and new things, and thus the theme for the next two weeks.

I’ve previously mentioned that the beginning of my concert going life was a Chicago show at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center with my parents. Chicago was one of the first bands that I called my favorite, and I will defend their early output as brilliant. After that though, they went downhill, and fast, to the point that they became a joke. Take their first 5 or 6, or even 8 albums, and they created a body of work that warrants their impending induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Take their next almost 30 albums, and you have an impressive stack of mostly junk.

I’m not going to get into a long analysis of what happened. I mean, listen to the first album—Chicago Transit Authority from 1969. Complex songs, long, interesting solos, intricate horn arrangements, political statements, and yes, some catchy tunes. As time went on, though, the balance between the complex and the commercial began to shift until, certainly by Chicago X, and probably sooner, there was little interesting, and lots of shlock. Whether it was the influence of Svengali producer James William Guercio, or an increasing desire by some band members to make a buck, or the changing music marketplace, or whatever, it happened, and that’s about where I jumped off the Chicago train, never really to return. And then came David Foster, and the guys from Toto, and a revolving door, and it really got ugly.

But let’s forget all of that stuff, because it is forgettable, and just focus on “Beginnings,” from the debut. CTA was a double album, a rarity for a first album, and side one of the original vinyl has three songs—the aptly titled, “Introduction,” a jazzy, horn laden song, which then flowed into the piano intro to the great “Does Any Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (wait—you don’t remember the piano intro? Because it was cut for radio play), which led into the guitar strum opening of the nearly eight minute long “Beginnings.” Written and sung by keyboard player Robert Lamm, it is a wonderful love song. It captures that feeling of the start of a relationship, when everything is exciting, time stops when you and your lover are together, and you want that feeling to go on forever. It expresses these emotions without being sappy or maudlin, and features great horn work, fabulous drumming by Danny Seraphine, and, yes, a nearly 2 minute Latin percussion fade out (wait, you don’t remember that? Because it was cut.....) “Beginnings” was the band’s second single and failed to chart. But in 1971, when Chicago was more popular and established, it was re-released, and hit #7 on the Billboard Singles Chart.

It would be easy to analogize the new love feeling of “Beginnings,” a feeling that everyone knows doesn’t last, to the gradual crappification and critical rejection of Chicago, so I’m going to do that, because unlike Ike & Tina Turner, sometimes, I like to do something nice and easy. The question (not "Questions 67 and 68," the next song on the album, a personal favorite of mine, and from the number of times he played it on The Late Show, of Paul Shaffer’s), is what happens after that first heady rush of love cools down. Does it morph into a real, true, long-term love, like you find with people who are happily married for decades (like me!), or with bands that you like forever, or does it flame out, and lead to separation, or giving up on a one-time favorite?

When Chicago gets inducted into the Hall, there are going to be articles bemoaning their inclusion, and I get it—they have inflicted many, many bad songs on our ears since the mid-1970s. But before you join the hater bandwagon, listen to Chicago Transit Authority, from its “Introduction,” through the noise of Terry Kath’s “Free Form Guitar,” past the great cover of “I’m A Man,” to the overtly political last side, featuring samples from anitwar protests at the 1968 Democratic Convention and the searing nearly 15 minute instrumental, “Liberation,” and tell me that these guys didn’t begin their career with a masterpiece.

In Memoriam: Joe B. Mauldin

[purchase]
There are lots of talented musicians who have had zero professional success, and there are many reasons for that. On the other hand, sometimes just being in the right place at the right time can lead to a place in rock history—even a spot in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Joe B. Mauldin is a name that is probably unknown to many, even die-hard rock fans. But, as the bass player of The Crickets, backing up Buddy Holly, it is fair to say that he helped create rock & roll.

Mauldin grew up in Lubbock, and was friends with Holly and other musicians in the area. At 15, while still in high school, he played with a band called The Four Teens, which included another local musician, Larry Welborn, on guitar. When Holly made his legendary trek to Clovis, New Mexico, to record with producer Norman Petty, he brought along drummer Jerry Allison, rhythm guitarist Niki Sullivan and Welborn, with whom he had played in an earlier group, to play bass. They recorded a number of songs, including “That’ll Be The Day,” during those initial sessions.

But going forward, the band needed a permanent bass player, since Welborn had other commitments, and also wanted to play guitar. Welborn’s “Wally Pipp” moment came when Mauldin—all of 16 years old—replaced him in the band, soon to be named The Crickets, for boring contractual reasons. Welborn went on to a long, if obscure, musical career, and, if you believe him in this interview (and I do), he had no hard feelings. In fact, he even joined The Crickets briefly in the 1960s.

I’ve written before about the place that Buddy Holly has in my family (and also about the effect that Holly had on Don McLean), so I won’t repeat that here. Joe B. Mauldin, at the time he joined The Crickets, was considered only an adequate bass player—not as good as Welborn—but he was only 16, so let’s give him a break. And playing with Holly and Allison led to rapid improvement, until his playing influenced generations of rockers, including another group of young musicians in Liverpool called The Quarrymen (who, in tribute, changed their name to something also insect related).

The video above, from the Arthur Murray Party TV show, features a subdued Crickets, all gussied up for the occasion, including Mauldin, who was generally more animated in his live appearances. Not long after this, Holly moved to New York and severed ties with his band, who continued on, for years, even after Holly died.

Mauldin moved to Los Angeles in 1965 and became a sound engineer, mostly with Gold Star Studios, and worked with Phil Spector, Herb Alpert, Ike and Tina Turner and Leon Russell, while also backing country musicians as “Joe Benson Mauldin” and occasionally participating in Crickets-related reunions. Because he had sold his portrayal rights to another film that never got made, in the movie The Buddy Holly Story, Mauldin’s character is called “Ray Bob,” portrayed by actor Charles Martin Smith, maybe best known for his part in American Graffiti, or as a TV and movie director (drummer Allison, called “Jesse Charles” in the movie, hated his portrayal as a racist, borderline alcoholic).

The Crickets, including Mauldin, were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2012, joining Holly, who fittingly was inducted in the first class in 1986.

Joe B. Mauldin died on February 7, 2015, of cancer, in Nashville.

In Memoriam: Curtis Lee

Purchase "Pretty Little Angel Eyes"

This is the obit from The Dead Rock Stars Club website, which is oddly, very poorly written. Seems like maybe they ought to be a little more reverential when talking about the dearly departed:

Curtis Lee- Died 1-8-2015 in Yuma, Arizona, U.S. - Cancer ( Pop ) Born 10-28-1939 in Yuma, Arizona, U.S. - Singer - (He did, "Pretty Little Angel Eyes" and "Under The Moon Of Love").

I chose Curtis Lee for this month’s post not because I know a lot about him, but more so for his biggest song, “Pretty Little Angel Eyes”. This track has been part of my personal playlist of years. I don’t know when I first heard it, but I do know that tripping, percussive vocal intro,

‘pretty little, pretty little, pretty little angel eyeeeeeeeessssssss…”

was always oddly appealing to me. I loved Curtis’ deep baritone, loved that ‘doo wopp ditty’ delivery. I thought that was what early rock vox was all about… And I will forever measure up all vocals from the golden era of American pop to Lee’s silly, rhythmic didy diddy bop… a little silly, a lot of rhythm, a whole lot of that ineffable sense of gotta go go go that made rock and rock what it was, what it still is… 

Top 10 Posts of 2015

We briefly interrupt our annual In Memoriam theme to start a new tradition—highlighting the 10 most viewed posts of 2015.

The variety of music discussed on this site is broad, and our international roster of writers brings different perspectives to their pieces. One of the great things about Star Maker Machine is that it gives our writers a forum to write about anything they want, as long as they can relate it, in some way, to our bi-weekly theme. In our top 10, there are personal memories, political and social discussions, remembrances of those who have passed, brushes with celebrity, and even just posts about songs, music and musicians. This list includes discussions of folk, rock, old-time pop, klezmer, and spoken word.

So, in case you missed them, here are the most viewed posts from the last calendar year. But they are only a small sampling of what you will find in our archives, which we invite you to explore.

1. Where I Live—Tarrytown
2. Self-Reflection—Wilco (The Song) 
3. Light→Darkness—From Light to Darkness with Richard & Linda Thompson
4. Songs South—The Southern Thing/The Three Great Alabama Icons 
5. The Future—Somewhere Down The Road 
6. Brush With Celebrity—Jean Shepherd
7. Self-Reflection—You Turn Me On I’m A Radio 
8. Light—Harbor Lights
9. Non-Christmas Holiday Songs—Happy Joyous Hanukkah
10. Water/Wet—California, The Beach Boys

And there is more to come in 2016.

In Memoriam: Demis Roussos

Demis Roussos (died 25 January, 2015, aged 68)

The things you learn bloggin for SMM!

The category “Famous Greek Rock Bands” is slim pickings. I’m sure if you live there or had similar interest, you might name a few, but none gained international fame like Aphrodite’s Child.

Having grown up in (more or less) Europe, I certainly heard my fair share of Aphrodite’s Child. I suspect (and confirm via Wikipedia) that the band didn’t make much of a dent on the ears of US audiences, but they were pretty big stuff in Europe. Their hit "Rain and Tears" was at the top of the charts in the late 60s. But - to me - the band was simply Aphrodite’s Child.

I flatter myself in thinking that with my currently-more-inquisitive mind, the name should have had me thinking a little deeper: Aphrodite... Greek... Hmm. Then again, in among bands with equally who-knows-where-this-name-came-from references, it would have taken more than casual interest to delve deeper and note that not only was Demis Roussos a member, but that the band also included Vangelis (who likely needs no further intro?).

All of which I only learned just for this piece. Extra points if you recognize the classical source of the "composition".

IN MEMORIAM: LEMMY

3 score years and ten seems the yardstick of allotted life, and has seemed to be, as long as I recall, irrespective of the fact that, at least in the first world, longevity seems to still be getting higher and higher.  Add this to another truism, rock stars die young, and, by rights, the man I am writing about should have died years, decades ago. That he didn't remains a conundrum, but it was only today that I learnt of the fact that, at his allotted span, Ian "Lemmy" Kilmister has finally kicked his hell out of this mortal coil. Somehow there's something altogether admirable about that, proving his right to be an exception to most peoples rules, right to his very end. Surely only Keith Richards has defied the reaper so long and so contemptuously. Now, I should add here my disclaimer, as, in my real world I practise as a family Dr, spending my days countering against the lifestyle choices assumed by the Motorhead monolith. Very few can copy his alleged intake of alcohol and amphetamine without consequence, and I despair over those who might try, failing and faltering prematurely into soggy oblivion. But occasionally, just occasionally, I come across those who continue to spit in the eye of received wisdoms, and lurch vaingloriously into every deluge, bobbing back up, time and time again, protected by the mysteries of their mutant genes. Of course, maybe 70 is no age for an Englishman to leave his castle, and he might have lived until his 100 had he been more abstemious. But the non-smoking teetotalers, eschewing all drugs and other excursions off the road straight and true, can die of cancers at half his age, and it was one of that scabrous breed that bit him, not liver failure, not emphysema, not HIV. And for that we should be grateful. And maybe sympathetic to his new stomping ground?
Cue.......................



I am not going to rewrite any of the obituaries I have read, instead leading a link to this obituary , the best I have read and remarkable in many ways, most of which would be unthinkable even a decade ago. I should explain that the Telegraph, or 'Tory'graph, as it is known to many, has always seemed the pinstriped paper of the establishment, exuding comfortable income stream conservatism to its readership, way grander than the Times could ever pretend. That it could even acknowledge that there was even anyone called a Lemmy, let alone celebrate his life seems bizarre, but a celebration it undoubtedly is, perhaps displaying how far entrenched into this islands establishment is the business of rock and roll. OK, he hadn't been knighted like Sir Mick, Sir Paul and Sir Elton, but, once you reach a certain stage of notoriety and excess, suddenly there becomes an acceptance. Hence the attraction of Lemmy and his ilk to advertising companies, playing upon a national treasure iconography. Whether crisps or lager (chips and beer, that is, colonial friends), he was a reliable hook, and I'm sure the money always came in handy. And this film was an unlikely hit on the arthouse circuit, displaying the even greater incongruity of this gritty archetypal leatherclad warrior, authenticity hued from a heavier metal, ending up in the false and tacky glamour of L.A.



I never saw Motorhead play live and I don't own any album. I can't say I was a fan, even, beyond the obvious and inevitable Ace of Spades, above in it's original version. But I did see his old band, Hawkwind. 18 years old and my first festival, Reading. I've mentioned this before, but it's worthy of the memory, if I had any, blinded by cheap and potent alcoholic cider. Buoyed by their chart hit, penned and sung by the soon to be sacked Lemmy, they headed the friday night bill. The sore ears, sore head and upset tummy of saturday morning are all I recall, and maybe that's enough. Rest noisy, big man!

Remember him this way.

In Memoriam: Stephen R. Johnson

Anyone who reads my stuff would probably have bet on an In Memoriam post about the late Daevid Allen, of Soft Machine and Gong, who died on March 13, 2015. But I’ve already written about him here, and decided to look in a different direction--Stephen R. Johnson, one of the most important people in music history that you have never heard of, who died back on January 26, 2015.

If you are a person who came of age watching MTV when it still played music videos, and someone asked you what the most memorable video was, there’s a pretty good chance that you would say, “Sledgehammer,” by Peter Gabriel. And, considering that the video won a still unsurpassed 9 MTV Video Awards, and was the most played video on the channel, it is fair to say that it changed people’s perceptions of what a music video could be. The song is great and moved Peter Gabriel’s solo career from a prog-rock niche into mass popularity, but the video was what made it stick in our minds. It was directed by Stephen R. Johnson.

The animation was done, in part, by Aardman Animations, which went on to create Wallace and Gromit, and the production of the clip required that Gabriel remain under a glass sheet for 16 hours. I’m really not a huge fan of music videos, but this one was special, and still holds up. Johnson also directed similarly wild videos for Gabriel’s “Big Time” and “Steam,” which won a Grammy. He also directed the video for Talking Heads’ “Road To Nowhere,” and Dire Straits’ “Walk of Life” (which, at Mark Knopfler's direction, included sports footage and no shots of his large-nosed profile), received an Emmy nomination for directing the first season of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, and did work for Amnesty International.

Johnson was born July 12, 1952, in Paola, Kansas and attended college at Kansas University and the University of Southern California, where he created an award-winning movie using the stop-motion technique that he would use in many of his music videos. His first music video was an awful one for an awful 80’s band called Combonation, redeemed only by an appearance by a pre-stardom Robin Wright, and the fact that a guy in the video is wearing a Mets hat. From that humble beginning, his career went on a rapid upswing to the heights of “Sledgehammer.”

Unfortunately, Johnson passed away, too young, on January 26, 2015, of what was described as “cardiac complications.”