From their first album, and though it wasn’t a hit when it came out, it is now a title that has become ubiquitous with the band. They are the
kids. Were the kids. But, if you love them, they still are the kids. The
original punks, angry, playful, bombastic. Revolutionaries in stripes and
sneakers, dippity-doed hair, mod before mod was a thing.
Who? The Who.
The Kids are Alright set a great standard. The standard for rock greatness. Greatness
was Keith Moon’s frenzied, nuclear motored drumming. It is still the greatest
drumming I’ve ever heard. Townshed’s spectrum spanning guitar, crunching,
driving, melodic, a full on range of sound from a mere six strings.He wielded chords with an orchestral strength. Daltry sang like
he had a brass pair. Entwistle rolled thunder like a Greek god.
1965. They looked so clean cut, so reserved. Yet in this
amazing song one finds their personas of greatness, rock gods in waiting, like Clark Kent
behind his glasses - almost there, bursting at the seams to do what they were
destined to do. There are two versions, but the UK album version has a glorious
instrumental break that personifies Townshed’s ability to spin melodic gold.
The original promo video was filmed in Hyde park at the water’s edge, while
holiday makers rowed past. A number of them have stopped to watch the band play,
unamplified and lip-synching to a pre-recorded track. Moon is his usual self—a
ball of energy, barely able to stay in his seat. Entwistle is straight
knife-fight nonchalant, playing his bass with fingers the defied the limits of
the bones under the skin. Townshed is reserved, but breaks into a genuine
smile, a goofy grin that is unmistakable joy, then he throws in his classic
windmill, forever changing the way we would all play guitar thereafter. Daltry
is sullen, looking away from the camera rather than giving any of himself to
it. He looks off to the side, this way and that—later you see all the girls
that had gathered just the side of the band, and the boys on their bikes.Do you think they knew what they were
watching? The very evolution of rock ‘n roll…the kids were definitely alright.
The song is still as fresh as it was in 1965, still packs
the same raw, punchy joyous power. It’s a retrospective on youth now, but the
song itself is still young, still invokes and evokes the joyousness of abandon
and the joy of not knowing any better and not needing to. T
he assured swagger that comes with knowing everything will be fine.
In 2000, at the Royal Albert Hall, they extended the song,
and Townsend took the opportunity to sing a new interlude:
"When I wrote this song I was
nothing but a kid, trying to work out right and wrong through all the things I
did. I was kind of practicing with my life. I was kind of taking chances in a
marriage with my wife. I took some stuff and I drank some booze. There was
almost nothing that I didn't try to use. And somehow I'm alright."
Back in the bushes we find a cat Beat him up with a baseball bat And grandma says we’ll turn out bad And go straight to hell just like dad
I grew up in a sweet neighborhood where I could almost touch the window of the house across from me. But when you live that close, you can hear all the fighting and crying on the block. The loudest kids are seen as the worse. I remember listening to my quiet and boring neighbors next door try to make my mom crap on the loud boy across the street who ran out of his housescreaming at his parents. Shouldn’t we be more curious about the quiet houses where nothing seems to happen?
In “Kids’ Alright” Bettie Serveert has some fun with adults who get off on predicting doom for kids. Well these kids ain’t so nice actually, beating up cats and all with Louisville Sluggers and yet you cheer for them against their grammie through the line “But don’t you (grandma) get your hopes up high, The Kid’s alright.”
Bettie Serveert is from the Netherlands but played a lot more like an alt-country act from Missouri with some Dinosaur Jr guitar worship thrown in. Carol Van Dijk’s mumbles and snarls, the guitar twangs. “Kids’ Alright” is the fastest tune off their 1991 debut Palomine. In fact, you have trouble listening to this slow album straight through because “Kid’s Alright” is so catchy you want to hear it again and again. Yeah, maybe like a nude scene in a slightly above average film.
Bettie Serveert caught a good buzz early on, even opening up for Counting Crows on a leg of their tour (which made me respect Counting Crows a lot more) and then they fell. I thought Bettie Serveert had broken up shortly after their second album “Lamprey” and the Crows tour but I learned they made another 8 albums. So I dove into Youtube and came across a lot of playful pop which is pretty good but neglects the guitar chops of Peter Visser. Listen to them live and Visser’s work comes through.
Living in Istanbul where you can reach into the house next to you and grab the spoon out of a person’s hand, I always find it eerie how few kids I hear and see.
From the beginning, what made Steve Martin great was the way he turned expectations on its head. Martin first burst into public consciousness at a time when comedians were moving away from the buttoned-up look to a more 60s counterculture appearance. Yet, he was known for performing in white suits, virtually the dictionary definition of “uncool.” His routines were based on unexpected juxtapositions, and ironic goofiness, like putting a fake arrow through his head. Or interrupting his set with some banjo playing. He is a true comic genius, and isn’t bad as an actor, playwright, musician, author, and art collector.
For some reason, despite the huge number of possible songs that I could have written about, this routine from the 1986 holiday episode of Saturday Night Live immediately jumped into my head. It is a classic example of Martin’s way of twisting expectations. It starts off with Martin, in a stereotypical “sincere television” Christmas setting, with soft music playing behind him, stating that if he had one holiday wish, “it would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace.” A beautiful sentiment, but not particularly funny, and we know that SNL at least tries to be funny.
Of course, Martin actually has other wishes, and by the end, “the crap about the kids” gets shunted behind what people would really want for the holiday, even if they wouldn’t ever admit it, and certainly not as part of a sappy ‘holiday wish” TV segment, including a month-long orgasm, unlimited power over every living being in the universe, $30 million a month, and that his enemies “should die like pigs in Hell!”
Then, of course, the children joining hands and singing.
Without children ... we don't continue. I've got one, only one, and that's not "replacement" level. At my reproductive level, if we all do this over time, we'll end up with no one on earth. Without children ... well ... you know.
But, to zoom in on this week's theme: Here's a trivia question for you to answer: What is the B side of Jumpin Jack Flash? Of course, to answer that, you need to know what a B side is. But if you're following SMM, you already know. That would be the flipped side of the Jumping Jack Flash 45 RPM vinyl disk that came out in 1968. (The "hit" went on the A side, and the B side had some kind of filler.) So ... Child of the Moon is "filler". Of sorts. The song "backing" Jumping Jack Flash.
Among my limited collection of early LP albums were two from the Rolling Stones. The year being about 1967, the albums would have been <Between the Buttons> and <Aftermath>. Whereas Jumping Jack Flash appeared on album in the late 60s, Child of the Moon was left for later albums - kind of an obscure Stones song. Interesting to me is the fact that a Google search of <Child of the Moon> brings up a multitude of other references. I would have thought that "Child of the Moon Wikipedia" would resolve/result in the Stones as the first link. (They are - after all - the first) Not so. Child of the Moon, while not a major musical hit, has taken on a life of its own beyond the song: TV episodes and such riding on the name/fame.
Someone else said: ... [the song] actually feels closer to pagan curse than lyric poem, a mixed-bag mojo potion invocation of a dream lover pushed to ritualistic nightmare by the hoodoo “Rain” beat of Charlie Watts’ drums, Brian Jones’ hypnotic saxophone drone, Jagger’s own fixed-pitch chant vocals and Jimmy Miller’s deeply unsettling shouting in those murky opening moments. [www.mojo4music.com/11843/rolling-stones-child-moon] OK. Wow.
The song does appears to be a part of the Stones' acid journey - belonging more to the late 60s Satanic Majesty or Beggars Banquet than the mid 60s, when it came out. Must have been fast-lanes/ fast times in 1967-8.
As for lyrics:
Give me a misty day, pearly gray, silver, silky faced, Wide-awake crescent-shaped smile
... child of the moon
Fairport Convention are way more than a mere convention, being more an british institution, now a year shy of their half-century. Some may be surprised to hear they are still going, seeing them as a band time locked in the late 60s and cusp of the 70s, others stalwart fans of their ever changing line-ups. I am sort of within the latter camp, but my custom and appreciation has flagged and faltered over the years. Of course, the received wisdom is that they are a mere shadow of their earlier glories, but I am uncertain they were ever much more than a well thought of cult niche. A highly regarded cult niche, maybe, but it is the eye of retrospect that is needed to see that, and if all the people who so now highly rate the Sandy Denny/Richard Thompson years had done then, well, maybe the story would have been different. But it isn't their history I have come to discuss, more their penchant for a good historical narrative.
Starting as the UK's answer to Jefferson Airplane, they reasonable swiftly moved folkwards, arguably inventing folk-rock. The folk canon is full of tales of derring-do, real and imaginary, and the band have littered their output with historical narrative from the english civil war to WW1, from Mary, Queen of Scots, to Napoleon. But the most ambitious historical set-piece was Babbacombe Lee, the 1971 concept album, telling the true story of John "Babbacombe" Lee, the man who could not be hung. Lee was an ex-navy ne'er do well and petty criminal, who, in 1885, was convicted for the murder of one Emma Keyse, his then employer. Sentenced to hang in Exeter prison, the trapdoor bizarrely refused to function, despite testing, 3 times leaving him standing not dangling. As a result his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, the story building up layers of mystic significance year on year. He was actually released in 1907, for a while sustaining himself on the strength of telling his story, but later years, between the wars, are somewhat shrouded in uncertainty, he seemingly having died in the USA, during the mid 1940s, giving him a lucky bonus of extra 50 odd years longevity.
1971 had seen Fairport lose most of their more celebrated band members, shrunk to the quartet of Dave Swarbrick (fiddle/vocals), Simon Nicol (guitar/vocals), Dave Pegg (bass) and Dave Mattacks (drums). Swarb had found some old newspaper stories extolling the tale and the idea for an album was born. It is actually not a half-bad LP and has stood the test of time, perhaps better than some of their later output, possibly the reason why the current band, still including Nicol and Pegg, resurrected it for both a tour and a live recording, released in 2012. Here is the high point, the failed execution, in song, the 2 versions near 40 years apart. See which you prefer.
1971:
and 2012 (filmed in 2009):
Next year is Fairport Conventions 50th. They hold a yearly festival, Cropredy, in Oxfordshire. I was there for the 20th, 25th and the 30th birthday celebrations, unable to quite believe that last was nearly 20 years ago. I hope to return in 2017. Any of you be there? It will be history unfolding in itself. Again.
Back in high school, I lived in Northern Virginia. When I
got my driving license, in addition to cruising the McDonald’s parking lot and
feeling full-on superior to everyone without a license, I started making long
drives to various Civil War battlefields. Not the hippest thing for a 16 year
old to do, but there was so much history, so close, I didn’t see it as strange.
It was an easy way to get on the road and feel that ineffable sense of freedom that
comes with being behind the wheel. I was Kerouac, but, I didn’t have that far
to go. Of course, I went a lot of places I shouldn’t have (Washington, DC in
the late ‘80s was like a lurid, dangerous movie set), but getting out into the
‘country’, on my own, driving back roads, seeing America (I’d read On the Road
early in my teens, so I was ready to roll)…it was an amazing experience to
disappear from the suburban safety of my parent’s home and into the reverie of
history and my own romantic notions of being on the road. There were a lot of places
to go: Fredericksburg. Bull Run. Harper’s Ferry. Winchester. Further afield,
Antietam and even Gettysburg. I was into
Kerouac, but I was also into history, so proximity to the remnants of history was
exciting.
I was on my own particular beat extravaganza. One chapter in
the tale of my own history, personal, but epic (in the small sphere I walk).
About the same time as all this was going on, my musical
education was expanding exponentially due to a radio station out of Lanham, Maryland,
called WHFS. 99.1. If you’re from DC , Maryland or Virginia (the DMV) and are
of a few certain generations, “ninety-nine-one”
is a phrase that brings up many memories, both at once warmly nostalgic and sad.
But, mostly sad in a way that something great is gone.
‘HFS has been around since the 1960s and has spanned multiple
genres over at least three different FM frequencies and digital platforms. It
still exists, but, not as the traditional ‘HFS
I grew up with—the weak signaled (it came it good at night) humming little
broadcaster of funky, alternative musical oddities. ‘HFS was the place to tune into to hear everything from Springsteen
to P-Funk to Dylan to punk - beautiful sounds. Back then, we called it college
rock, or progressive, and ‘HFS was
amazing because it brought into tune a musical world that was bubbling on the
horizon of my budding musical tastes. Strange sounds from the ether, pointing
me in great new directions. I could do a lot of posts of bands I heard first on
99.1’s golden airwaves. A few? REM, The Cult, The Plimsouls, Chuck Brown,
Fugazi, The Feelies.
And there were lesser known, one off bands, half-a-hit
wonders that while they weren’t making musical history, were laying down a
solid foundation for what would become my musical pedigree, my own personal
musical history.
One of those unique bands that ‘HFS brought me into contact with was called The Brandos. The
Brandos are a New York rock outfit that worked in a interesting nitche: dudded
out in bolo ties, high collared shirts, sharp black suits, they played a
gritty, guitar driven, late 80s rock with a historical flavor. Their 1987 album Honor Among Thieves had a sound
appeal that was at once college-rock guitar but also grounded in historical
theme and detail.
Their highest charting track was “Gettysburg”, a smoldering,
first-person account from a long dead soldier, looking back on the battle and horror
that took place there. The song is
structured around the narrator seeing his name on a plaque, and at Gettysburg,
the names of the dead are endless. It’s not clear if it’s a ghost, or someone
having a visceral experience from standing on hallowed, horrored ground. The song
spirals back on an image-laden tour of the nightmare that battle was, and it is
full-throated and angry. As any song about the horrors of war should be. When I
was a kid, first hearing this, there was no irony, no wonder at how a great
rock song could be about a Civil War battle. The Brandos probably never took
off because their dead serious take on historical themes (with matching sounds)
made them seem like a gimmick. There was something strident and serious in
their presentation of themes concerned with the past, going so far as to make
the whole of their look, sound and feel to be a living recreation, and not in a
way that celebrates the anachronistic, but a truly informed embodiment of the
past.
The Brandos struck me as band that presented the same
strident energy and raw emotion of self-serious bands such as U2 or the Alarm,
but sang about hundred year old battles, factory fires, and the immigrant
experience. I think perhaps they didn’t take off because people sought the
irony, waited for the Brandos to take of the bolo ties and start singing about
contemporary problems. Maybe they came across as a band your history teacher
would like? There is something about a band with such an intense thematic focus
that makes them seem odd. Or perhaps, worse, uncool. But, what is it that kept
the Brandos, with their intense, historical bent, from making it big, when
other bands, like say, KISS, with their whole…thing…get huge. Or Motely Crue
and their post-apocalypse leather and fire and Satan motif, or Slayer’s Hell
come to Earth appeal? Some bands with an overwhelming motif seem to work, while
others don’t. Most bands with a gimmick – be it subtle or over the top – make
it, somehow. Gwar? No…they are a thing unto themselves. What to call the
brilliant Brandos? Did they make genre music? Is it reenactment? I don’t really
know. They are more akin to a band like the Pogues, who invoke old forms and traditional structure, mix it with modern sounds and instruments, and present it without...again, I use the word, becuause I think it fits - irony. It’s interesting. And damn good. The kind of music you’d hear and say,
“Whoa – who is that?” I don’t know why they weren’t more popular.
I do know that the Brandos, like a lot of bands, were far
more popular in Europe than the States. I wonder if that is because in Europe,
the focus on nostalgic ideas and sounds didn’t come across as an anachronism,
but was more appealing in that way that American cultural exports are so
meaningful in foreign culture. Think about: the Western, the Yankee symbol, NBA
jerseys, Marilyn Monroe, old school military garb, even the Stars and
Stripes…these are images and ideas that have taken on symbolic resonance well
beyond their original meaning. Historical symbolism invokes notions, romantic
ones often, about another culture, about a history that we may not be connected
to, but are fascinated with nonetheless. Here’s an example: cowboys are cool.
Clint Eastwood made sure the world would always think that. The Brandos and
their focus on the Civil War and the era of immigration were perhaps focusing
in on a part of history that had a shared aspect to it. They wrote about an era
when a lot of people from Europe came to America. But, more so, The Brandos
sound was seriously, unequivocally American. So, it’s not surprising they took
on a life and found a fan base in Europe.
The Brandos’ most recent release was 2010’s Live
in Europe, which was
recorded in 2004. It’s a great showcase of their ferocious, guitar-driven
sound, but also highlights their equally distinctive mandolin-fronted folk pedigree.
Equally brilliant, sonically and otherwise, is Town to Town, Sun to Sun,
which can be heard of Spotify – and serves as the band’s sole entry in the
Spotify database.
The album is interesting. From a musical standpoint, it is a
document of a tight, hard-driving rock band, and one that makes you wonder how
you haven’t heard of them before. And yet, it works to showcase the unique,
near museum-like sound The Brandos created. Perhaps it is here, more than
anyplace else, that you can kind of get why the band never made it - the niche
they worked in just didn’t have a broad enough, or universal enough appeal.
But, it doesn’t make it any less sad when you realize what a great band they
are. That gritty, decidedly un-modern sound was never really able to find
purchase, but perhaps that has more to do with trends than with talent. I’m
sure it does, actually…
I was a history major in college, and continue to enjoy reading about and discussing historical topics, so this theme is a natural for me. Over at my new blog, I’ve recently written about Civil War and Revolutionary War related things, and my wife’s family’s genealogy, and have occasionally plumbed the historical record in writinghere. So, I didn’t want to repeat myself (again) despite the apparent invitation to do so in the theme. Instead, I thought, how about writing about World War I, which seems to have been overshadowed by its more recent and more horrifying sequel. However, beyond the trying effect of the war on the Crawley family, I think it is fair to say that most people don’t recognize how much that war, which ended nearly a century ago, still has a profound influence on the world today.
To the extent anyone thinks of the First World War, you probably have in your head an image (probably in black and white) of trenches, or pointy German helmets, or maybe poison gas, or those cute, if deadly, airplanes. Turn on any of the TV channels that have history shows, and it seems to be about 80% about Nazis, with a smattering of Civil War and American Revolution programming, and maybe a rare Vietnam show. Not much about the War of 1812, for some reason. In a recent listing of the top news stories of the 20th Century, the outbreak of WWI only placed 8th, behind both the assassination of President Kennedy and Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon. Both of these were important, but as important as WWI? I don’t think so.
According to Wikipedia, more than 17 million people died, and 20 million people were injured during the war, making it one of the deadliest conflicts ever. More remarkably, the war, and its aftermath, resulted in social and political changes that echo to this day. You can trace much of the turmoil in the Middle East, for example, to the arbitrary borders that were drawn after the war as well as the promise made to create a Jewish homeland in Palestine. The wars in the Balkans were a delayed reaction from the post-war breakup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Bolshevik Revolution was certainly abetted by the war’s turmoil. The rise of the United States as a predominant world actor stemmed from its relatively unscathed position after the war, while the British Empire’s decline was accelerated. And of course, the short-sighted and punitive Versailles Treaty led to chaos in Germany, and was used as a rallying cry that helped vault the Nazis into power. That’s just for starters. Add the Armenian Genocide, the Great Depression, an influenza epidemic, the decline of hereditary aristocracy, weakening of colonialism, the League of Nations, the increase of the use of technology in war, improvements in medicine and surgery, and the expansion of the franchise to women in some countries, and you begin to see how the 21st Century is, in many ways, the product of the War to End All Wars (That Didn’t Even Come Close). And there are even more effects, but this is a music blog, not AP European History.
On a human level, though, it was the death of an entire generation of (mostly) young (mostly) men, and the disillusionment of the survivors that led to the dubbing of this period as the “Lost Generation.” (Compare that to how the WWII era is recalled—as the “Greatest Generation.”) Never before had so many been killed in so many countries in such a wide swath of the world. Huge cemeteries were created, or existing ones expanded, to provide resting places for the dead and memorials for the missing. Eric Bogle, a Scottish folksinger who emigrated to Australia in 1969, visited one of these cemeteries in Northern France, and wrote a song, “No Man’s Land,” reflecting on the (apparently fictionalized) gravestone of one soldier, and the pointlessness of war. Bogle, who likely was also reacting to the futile conflict in Vietnam, also wrote another famous WWI song, “And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda,”
The song owes much to the American song, “Streets of Laredo,” which itself is derived from earlier English and Irish songs (gotta love folk music!), particularly in the use of the line “Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the pipes lowly?” (Also the source of the title of the baseball novel, Bang The Drum Slowly). It has been often covered (and modified), sometimes under the title “Green Fields of France,” or “Willie McBride.” The lyrics are clear and unsparing in their sentiment:
And I can't help but wonder now, Willie McBride, Do all those who lie here know why they died? Did you really believe them when they told you "the cause?" Did you really believe that this war would end wars? Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame, The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain, For Willie McBride, it's all happened again, And again, and again, and again, and again.
The featured version is by Dropkick Murphys, best known as a rollicking Celtic punk band from Boston, who don’t do the expected thing and speed up the song. It is from their excellent album The Warrior’s Code which also included “I’m Shipping Up to Boston,” which featured lyrics written by Woody Guthrie (who wrote his share of anti-war songs), and was used in the movie The Departed (and in beer commercials, at sporting events, and on TV shows, including The Simpsons), and strangely, by two Republican candidates in Wisconsin, leading to denunciations by the band.
Since the armistice that ended the fighting of World War I, at 11:11 am on 11/11/18, and the subsequent treaties that formally ended it, there have been more than a few more wars—way too many more, unfortunately, some of which are happening even as you read this. Bogle was, tragically, right.
Gil Scott-Heron sang, rapped and read
poetry about history and history in the making. In the music industry, he was
history, literally for his groundbreaking work in the 70s and figuratively
because he disappeared for long spells.
Heron is most famous for “The Revolution
Will Not Be Televised”, a sardonic spoken word piece (with congos) that takes
shots at politics and media during the Nixon era (The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, Jackie Onassis, Glen Campbell
among others). Written in 1970, it has been sampled by many artists including
Common, Kanye and Queen Latifah. Listen to Chuck D’s barking delivery and anything
by Michael Franti and you can guess they both spent a lot of time listening to
Heron.
After disappearing for at least a decade, in
1992, Gil Scott-Heron surprised the industry with the outstanding Spirits.Fans of Heron might have expected something musically nostalgic or old-fashioned,
but Spirits was surprisingly in tune
with contemporary musical trends without at all putting Heron in uncomfortable,
insincere territory. Actually, Spirits
was beyond contemporary: it was visionary, looking back and forward lyrically
and musically.
Spirits was oddly distributed by TVT, an underground label which up to that
point in 1994 had mostly featured industrial artists such as Nine Inch Nails,
KMFDM and Gravity Kills.
On Spirits,
Heron is so sharp, funny and moving. He also seemed more at peace with himself
than before. It’s no secret he suffered through heavy drug abuse for many
years, and so for me it was stunning at how cognizant Spirits was of the modern musical world. As a college dj in 1994,
the only albums crossing my path, which were as important as Spirits,were Jeff Buckley’s Grace, Portishead’s Dummy and Pavement’s Slanted and Enchanted. Beck’s Mellow Gold also came out this year but
few would argue that it wasn’t a complete album.
On a few songs on Spirits, Heron experiments with hip-hop beats and synths and for
other tunes he just flows with live, jazzy accompaniment. The three-part “Other
Side” will leave you an emotional mess. It’s a sweeping live rearrangement and
expansion of his seminal 70s tune “Home is Where the Heartbreak Is.” In “Work for Peace” Heron breaks down the
endless relationship between “the military and the monetary”, going back to
take pot shots at President Eisenhower (“Back
when Eisenhower was president/golf courses were where most of his time was
spent”) and coming back to the present to muse over the confusion of the
war in the Gulf.
“The Military and the Monetary
from thousands of miles away in a Saudi
Arabian sanctuary,
had us all scrambling for our dictionaries,
cause we couldn’t understand the fuckin
vocabulary.
Yeah, there was some smart bombs,
But there was some dumb ones as well.”
Continuing what isn’t singing but isn’t
exactly spoken word either, Heron gives a one-line explanation for the history
of war: “The only thing wrong with
Peace/is that you can’t make any money from it.” For a naïve kid at
university looking for some sense, this line became canon.
As a dj at our radio station and director
of the concert committee at my university, I obsessed over bringing Heron in
concert, though I was sure that even with the best promotion (non-stop radio
airplay, spotlight articles and a forum on the content of his lyrics), we’d
probably get about 75-100 people to show up. Still, I skimped on several shows
early in the year to save up the money to the point where my advisor gave me a
Budget 101 lesson: “The point is to spend the school’s money so you get more
for next year. You’re making a profit! Get rid of it.” No problem. I was
working on it.
I think the initial quote was 1000 dollars
for spoken word and 4500 dollars for a concert with his live band. After a lot
of phone tag with his agent, we had basically come to an oral agreement (I
wondered if she wondered why this kid from Wisconsin was so fervent about
bringing Gil to a small university town). It was one of the few times I didn’t
negotiate the initial price. Another was when I booked Mudhoney for a measly
4000 dollars.
Of course the deal fell through and I
missed out on booking a legend and making history for my small university.
I heard little of Heron for the next 15
years. I had noticed he had played a few shows in Europe but I always came upon
these too late. Coachella brought him in for a 2010 (he was 61 at the time)
show which was shortly followed by his last studio album “I’m New Here”,
produced by Richard Russell and put out on XL Records, a label famous for rave
and electronica. Strange that it took an industrial label and then a techno label
to twice bring Heron back from the dead when a few high profile rappers have
pointed to Heron as the father of rap. (Even LCD Soundsystem references Heron
on “Losing My Edge”). “I’m New Here” is innovative and dark –sitting under the
turnpike homeless, lonely and strung out at 2am dark. “New York is Killing Me”
uses claps for rhythm; a dark industrial synth line fuels the frightening,
crackling “Me and the Devil”; Bill Callahan plays acoustic guitar on the sparse
and sobering title track. The album is also uneven and just needed more time.
Heron’s history is complicated and if not
for run-ins with the law, addiction and his dissolution with the recording
industry, we might have been treated to a richer evolution with more output in
between those 10 and 15-year gaps. In the meantime, Spirits has aged well, arguably more than anything he ever did.
Some artists clearly love a true story, if only and at least as a template from where to launch into fanciful forays of imagination. Knopfler is someone who seems forever digging around in the past as inspiration, uncertain whether he likes to research or has just a vast accumulated knowledge. Probably a bit of both, having trained and worked as a journalist, before a degree in english and working as a college lecturer, his career in music on a slow side simmer until the relatively advanced age of 28. Of course, Dire Straits became huge and possibly so ubiquitous that they and he became an easy target for the taste police, deeming him dull and anachronistic bombast, an irony given the majority of their/his songs retained a virtue of their lack thereof. I like him and always did, an early adopter, as Sultans of Swing soundtracked my student years in London. (Come to think of it, it's now so long ago it probably counts as history in its own right!) While Dire Straits dabbled in ye olde historical, meaning more WW1 than Italian familial vendetta, it is in his less acknowledged and still smouldering solo career that this side of his songwriting style has really found wings, now 9 albums strong, along with collaborations with, amongst others, Emmylou Harris and Chet Atkins.
Does the legend of Imelda Marcos' shoe cupboard count as history? I think it does, even if the song is a retread of that song indirectly referred to above. Arguably one of the weaker cuts from his first post Straits non soundtrack output, it wasn't until his 2nd record that he really found his narrative skills. The title track from that record follows, and I like to feel it alerted many a listener to the hitherto untapped world of cartography. A beautiful duet with James Taylor, himself no stranger to a shot at history*, it remains the high point of live performance.
Whilst his next record was largely a paean to his Northumbrian roots, it was 2004's Shangri-La that really outed his love of the biographic, with songs inspired by Elvis, by Sonny Liston and the UK King of Skiffle, Lonnie Donegan. And this one, about the developer of McDonalds, yes the meat patty people, Ray Krocs, with many of the lyrics, included below, lifted directly from his autobiography.
A distinct feature of successive output has been the greater immersion in traditional and rootsy forms, whether an anglo-celtic folk tradition or from country music. Lyrics increasingly based upon folklore perhaps, than hard evidence, but no less cinematic, like this whimsy around the Reivers, cross-border bandits really, who flitted between the english north and scottish south, sheep stealing, cattle rustling and generally causing havoc. (Hence the derivation of the word bereaved, meaning the fate of those who had been "reived".)
His next work substituted border cowboys for pirates, again using the metaphor of a band of marauding rogues for, maybe, the lifestyle of an itinerant rock and roll band. By this stage I fear the lyrical conceits get the better of his tune smithery, but it continued to add to his reputation as a reliable and authentic musician, selling respectably.
Finally we come up to date with last years 'Tracker', more confirmation of his comfort zone, but again featuring songs relating to real-life individuals, one to little known poet, Basil Bunting, and another musing on the legacy of novelist Beryl Bainbridge and her attempts at the Booker prize, the prestigious UK grail for novelists, and in style a tip of the hat to earlier musical memes.
So this is but a mere dip into the historical sources put to use by this gifted and self-effacing Northumbrian, clearly a well-read man, usually issuing these songs as either the title track or lead single. In concert he can seem embarrassed by his earlier successes, oft dashing off his hits with a grimace before another earnest folk-hued story unfolds. I suspect the audiences still come mainly for those hits, but overall, given the choice, I think I prefer the best of his solo work.
(*Machine Gun Kelly was written by Taylor guitar to go, Danny Kortchmar.)
An article in an old (not so old that it is history yet) NewYorker I recently read an article that indicates that I wasn't off the mark in pegging the Kingston Trio as one of the seminal forces that brought rock to the world ( but that is history). Among the piece's other observations, the article posits that - along with the 45RPM, the 33 1/3RPM and transistors radios, it was record players cheap enough that kids could have their own and be freed from the constraints of listening to music in the presence of -and on the hi-fi stereos of- their parents that helped bring about the rock explosion.
The songs of the The Kingston Trio's 1960 album (Here We Go Again) in which the concerns of the world appeared to be "eating Goober peas", "hauling away" at the oars of a boat on a stormy sea, or yodeling as you climb the Matterhorn, make their world appear rather light and removed from our current state of affairs. Much like Simon and Garfunkel, or Bob Dylan - they were among those that bridged folk and pop and lead to a "beat-ier" kind of music that lead to the Beat-les. Rock music didn't become mainstream until the Kingston trio and Simon & Garfunkel & Bob Dylan (and the Beatles) cut a path from folk music to rock music.
The NewYorker article mentions that teens getting their own recordplayers partially liberated them from parental oversight, but - for me - it was my parents who brought home the Kingston Trio's 1959 album "Here We Go Again". We listened again and again and now the Kingston Trio is relegated to ... history. My siblings and I memorized the entire album and can still recite the whole thing word for word more than 50 years later. If my folks had known that it was going to lead to the psychedelic music of the 60s that we soon were enjoying, I wonder if they wouldn't have left the album on the store shelves. More history from Here We Go Again: (As if the Civil War itself isn't history enough in itself)
Steely Dan, at their commercial and artistic peak, were a trio of Donald Fagen, Walter Becker, and producer Gary Katz, ably supported by a large cast of top notch studio musicians. They were a studio-only band, focused on the painstaking creation of recordings that were rich in musical and lyrical detail. But Steely Dan began as an actual band that split its time between recording and playing live. Do It Again is one of the standout tracks from this early period. This band recorded two albums, Countdown to Ecstacy and Can’t Buy a Thrill. Becker and Fagen were writing complex harmonies and long songs from the beginning, but these early albums have a stripped down feel compared to what would come later. There is also an immediacy in these early albums that would be replaced in the later work by a glittering sheen of artifice that gave albums like Aja its perfect pop sound. I love both periods of Steely Dan, but I can hear a random track and tell you which period it belongs to.
Do It Again is one of Steely Dan’s most direct lyrics. In one word, this is a song about recidivism. The song could be about one person, but I hear it as being addressed to people in general. It says that we cannot overcome the worst aspects of our natures. It identifies crime or violence, love, and gambling as bad habits that we are destined to return to once we have tried them. The song can be taken as a warning or an excuse, but it also serves as a template for the characters who inhabit most of Steely Dan’s songs. You may not ever want to meet such people in person, but you will keep coming back to Steely Dan’s music to learn more about them. For the rest of the 1970s and into the 80s, that is just what music fans did.
Springsteen made me want to become a guitar player--the opening chime of The Ties That Bind's riff was one of the greatest sound my 7th grade brain had ever heard. I knew then and there I wanted to play guitar. I distinctly remember going to my New York Yankees tin 'piggy' bank, pulling out about one hundred dollars in assorted bills--my haul from various birthdays, Easter Sundays and gifts slipped to my from my Grandfather--and handing it to my mom. I said: "I want to buy a guitar." Why did I give it to my mom to keep? I don't know--maybe I was worried, now that I had decided what to do with my loot, I might lose it? Who knows. I was buzzing, full of that strange, ritualistic kind of magic a great song casts over you, especially when you've just heard it for the first time.
I bought that guitar--still have it actually. And while Springsteen (who've I've written about many times here, and undoubtedly will again) may have influenced my to start playing the guitar, it was John Squire, guitarist for the Stone Roses, who, a few years later would influence me in how I wanted to play, how I wanted to sound. There's a profound difference, one that speaks to the development of nuance, of how influence works within and directs artistic vision. Vision is followed by execution and the direction one tries to follow. mistakes in that journey, missteps, can be brilliant errors and lead the player (writer, painter, sculptor, et al) in unseen directions and yield unintended results. And in art, especially music, the accidental discovery is the greatest place to find one's self.
The Stone Roses, like many of the artists I choose to write about, have had years of press, miles of copy, to proclaim their greatness. The combined shimmering, chiming 60s influenced guitar rock, mixed in magical harmonies and set it to a hybrid Rolling Stones/ dance hall groove that resulted in one of the most unique, influential and flat out brilliant sounds of the 1990s, or any era. Squire was a true ax-smith and his tendency to lay down long, multi-layered grooves that alternated between funk, pure pope, power chord aggression and biting, fired up solos is a sound unmatched in alternative rock.
When I play guitar, I tend to emulate Squire's verbosity, his need to roll and roll and roll, stabbing at the guitar at times, letting it know when to ring out and chime like church bells on a Sunday. Squire taught me what a glorious, multi-toned and many voiced instrument a guitar could be. He is one of many who have given the guitar, as a concept, a new voice. Guitarists will forever argue over the merits of their heroes, comparing skills, dexterity, prowess, super powers...For me, John Squire delivers brilliantly on such a sonic level, from tone to soundscape, that he is forever at the top of innovative guitarists.
Oh yeah...I picked this song because it uses the Biblical concept of "I am the Resurrection", which comes from John 11:25, "I am the resurrection and the life." The Roses use the phrase here, but I'm not sure to what metaphorical or symbolic effect. The song is bitter, and after multiple verses of describing an intensely adversarial relationship (record company?), the repeated refrain "I am the resurrection and I am the life/ I couldn't ever bring myself/ To hate you as I'd/ Like" comes across as both bitter and triumphant. Some fans like to make a big deal of the fact that the long, extended instrumental groove at the end of "Resurrection" ends their 1989 eponymous debut and wasn't followed up with new music until the opening track of 1994's Second Coming, Breaking Into Heaven. It makes for a nice bit of profluence to their story, a symbolic connection, but I don't know if I really believe it. For all the turmoil that has surrounded the Roses, and as little music as they've made compared to their stunning, stratospheric potential, I suppose stories are invented to fill in the gaps. Either way, Squire and co are one of the great groove guitars bands and remain influential in the pantheon of guitar gods. Rumors continue to swirl of a new album. We'll see...
In my research, I found one of those annoying, "10 Things You Didn't Know..." articles about the Stone Roses, and while I think this type of scholarship on the web, at least, is far too common, I did find it interesting that Chris Squire said this about being influenced by a sound and a song, speaking about the Sex Pistol's "Anarchy in the UK" : “I was fourteen when I heard that and realised how electric guitars could be made to sound. I got a paper round, and finally got the cash together by the following Christmas.” Influences come in all sizes, and sounds...
Yeah, me again. But unsure why I'm no longer Retropath, this being a cunning ploy by our friends on Google Plus to change my name or to out me. Unintentional. Unsuccessful. Not a ploy to spoof you all (!) into thinking another new scribe. And if you think it's time for a new scribe, read the top right hand corner and get writing!!
Hey ho, at least I have the theme right this time, but what's an 'n' between friends? Martial/martian, I mean aren't they the same? (Editor now declares martian law on my future posts.) I confess this one too took me on the hop for a second, and I nearly filed a post of the chimp loving one time governor of California/President of the USA, sending me scuttling for the Woodstock soundtrack, but I digress.
Stev(i)e Winwood has always been one of my heroes. Old enough to remember the Spencer Davis Group on Top of the Pops, he was the impossibly young singer and, usually, hammond player who has notched up an incredible 54 years of musicianship since he joined that group. Still at school initially, aged 14, it took 3 years for his distinctive vocals to be number 1 on the UK singles chart with 'Keep on Running'. Playing guitar on that song, the success allowed him to buy his first Hammond B3 organ. Staying with the band a further 2 years, he co-wrote a number of their further hits, 'I'm a Man' and 'Gimme Some Lovin.' During this time, in 1966, he made his first collaborative contact with another musician to feature frequently in his musical life. This was a one-off project called the Powerhouse, who had 3 tracks on an Elektra compilation album about the emergent white boy electric blues scene. With 3 tracks featured, here is one of them, the collaborator being Eric Clapton.
Traffic were the band perhaps most widely associated with Winwood, coming together in 1967 following a chance jam in a Birmingham (UK) pub. Setting the archetype for 'getting together in the country', the original line-up shared a cottage in the sticks, coming up with the psychedelic whimsy of 'Hole in my Shoe', written, like most of their earlier hits, by Dave Mason. Personally, at least on these shores, this seemed somewhat of a shibboleth, detracting from their serious credibility, and Winwood's desire to pursue a more folk-blues direction, possibly contributing to the first fracture of the group. This had been accelerated by the return of Eric Clapton, who, following the break up of his own band, Cream, teamed up with Winwood in short-lived supergroup Blind Faith. Cream had not been to my then taste, so I didn't then take much to this, only later appreciating the simple beauty of the sole record released.
Blind Faith's (mis)fortune was ultimately the making of Traffic, who promptly re-formed, minus Mason, as the core line up of Chris Wood, Jim Capaldi and Winwood. The time was right for their folk-blues amalgam, their version of traditional folk song 'John Barleycorn Must Die' making this teenage folkie delight. Over several albums they expanded their line up and widened their repertoire, always innovative and always interesting, Winwood's expertise on guitar now getting as much acclaim as his keyboards. Sadly, with physical health issues playing havoc with his stamina, Winwood walked off-stage in 1974, the band then calling it a day.
A solo career was always going to beckon, but it was a few years before he produced his 1st solo album, 'Arc of a Diver', with this and its follow-up each featuring Winwood on all vocals and all-instrumentation. My favourite period of his career, the songs 'While You See a Chance' and 'Valerie', remaining firm favourites. It is thus strange that the song that this piece name-checks is only now one I enjoy, with Winwood having been roped into producing a top-notch session-men New York record. I recall being distinctly upset by this polished and commercial product, the follow-up single, 'Higher Love', with Winwood gamefully mugging his way through an awkward video, seeming bereft without the prop of an instrument other than his voice. It was certainly the High Life of his career though, the videos still a staple on oldies music channels.
After this peak he has continued to produce intermittent albums, even reviving the Traffic name once more for the now duo of himself and Capaldi, but keeping a generally lower profile. I was lucky enough to see him play live, maybe a decade ago, in Birmingham, on home turf. Playing mainly hammond and occasional guitar, a tight band modelled on the Traffic template of himself on keyboard, percussion heavy backing plus reeds, he played songs from all stages of his career. He did not play 'Hole in my Shoe', perhaps a blessing, but all the others were there. And he still looked impossibly young.
Since then intermittent output, but, inevitably, yes, a further and possibly final collaboration with Eric Clapton, recorded for posterity with a sort of joint greatest hits. It has to be a Traffic song I include.
So, apart from the title, what's this got to do with 'again'? Probably only this, one of the several covers of the song out there, this being Warren Zevon, slowing the song and maximising any irony available, his 'High Life" being the terminal cancer he was facing. And duly succumbed to. I think that trumps any irony Steve Winwood may have felt about the song as he sang it.
Last post I referenced my age. There's a lot good in age: I more or less remember the birth of mainstream rock: we used to watch American Bandstand and its ilk -the precursors to American Idol? Is the "intro" the pre-cursor to Rap? Classic/elemental in my mind to the definition of rock music is Chubby Checker's "The Twist". You would probably agree. While there is no "Re/Again" in the title, the timeless lyrics most certainly include " ... let's twist again... like we did last summer". Actually, I must admit that I came across this song as a Re/Again selection via a website that shares/discusses song facts - including re-issues (songfacts.com). And there, the point is made that Chubby Checker's "classic" is actually a re-issue of a Hank Ballard and the Midnighters' 1959 song - which caught on in the Baltimore area, but had to wait for Chubby Checker's release to hit the bigtime. It gets stranger yet: Lawson Smith (aka Abdul Bin-Asad) lays down a bunch of claims about the origins of the song and that Hank Ballard usurped some of the credits. Whatever. Yet, what does seem clear to me is that a bunch of (white) businessmen took advantage of some rather naïve African-American musicians to produce/commercialize rock music as we know it. Usurped or not, the song we all know as "The Twist" was re-worked several times, certainly between the time Chubby Checker made it a hit and apparently even before the time the Midnighters released their version a few years before.
What is indisputable is that they all helped shape what we call rock and roll: the 4/4 beat and the I-IV-V progression.
Never Going Back Again is a Fleetwood Mac song, technically. But, really, it’s a Lindsey Buckingham song—and in my opinion has always stood as prime evidence of his masterful, poetically great skills as a guitarist. To proclaim Buckingham’s greatness as a guitarist is stating the well known to a room full of those who know it well. But, this song—Buckingham alone, laying down just two tracks—is such an exquisite piece of work, it always deserves another mention, and asks for another listen.
Never Going Back Again comes from the mega popular Rumors, the 1977 album that launched Fleetwood Mac into the stratosphere and has achieved legendary status—not just in terms of sales, but in ubiquity, as an omnipresent staple of classic rock radio. It deserves it’s status: the sheer number of songs on this album that are on so many “personal playlists” (a concept I’ve used before to talk about those songs, be they well known, or obscure, that are ones that you love, and return to over and over, without shame that the songs probably appear on everyone else’s fave’s list, too…) is kind of mind boggling, and Rumors is truly a historical artifact, a primary document of what a rock band, at their absolute apex, is capable of doing. Rumors is a greatest hits collection long before the band was at the point in their career where they would need to package a Greatest Hits Collection.
Rumors doesn’t need me to celebrate it in writing—it’s been celebrated for years, and will continue to be. There is a certain joy in going back to an album with so many great songs, and being able to listen, not critically, but just as a fan of good songs. And for me, the peak point of Rumors is Never Going Back Again.
Punchy, complex and sweetly harmonized, the song sinks in and stays there. It’s a summer day made musical in a few glorious bars and a repeating riff; it’s a pure example of a how a song feeds into the pleasure zones in our heads and makes us feel…great. Books have been written about the science of what a great song does to us at a neurological level. I don’t know how to say much on that. I do know when I listen to Never Going Back, a wonderfully quickening feeling comes over me, one that centers somewhere I imagine the soul resides, and for 2 minutes and 15 seconds, things are great. That’s what good music does.
purchase [Wont Get Fooled Again] I'm an old fogey, and there are 2 rock bands from my rocking days still more or less rating near the top: the Stones and the Who. (Got another? Then comment.) The first LP I actually bought after I purchased my own "stereo" - in those days you couldn't download no music - was Who's Next. Must have been about the fall of '71. I said "still more or less rating". Even as late as SuperBowl XLIV (that's 44, but looks like X-LIVE), Daltry and Townshend appear to have it together enough to come across as competent rockers- they put on a good show -but it does appear to me that it takes SuperBowl money to pull it off. Draw your own conclusions, but they seem to need a fair amount of backup/support and there are numerous missed/fudged cues that the supporting band covers well. However, Townshend seems to be surviving the years better than Daltry. He's certainly more energetic and seems to miss fewer beats/cues. This is not just true at the SuperBowl, but beyond.
I guess one of the things that has always bound me to Rock 'n Roll is the in-your-face/I'll do it my way (- thanks, Frank) attitude, which the Who (and Stones) embody: smash your guitar or .. whatever... Townshend's iconic round-wheeling "strum" of the guitar is yet another: slash .. bang ... reckless ... here's how we do it. That - to me - is a large part of what is embodied in the ethos of Rock: we don't subscribe to the standards of previous generations and we don't intend to get fooled again. In the end, I guess the part of "Wont Get Fooled Again" that most voices my perspective on life is (appropriately) the end:
Meet the new boss
Same as the old boss
Again and again. Plus ca change, plus c'est le meme chose.
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