Steve Jones is best known as the guitar player for the Sex
Pistols, thus, he’s kind of the godfather of punk guitar. There’s really no
debate: that’s his sound.We’ve all been
imitating it since 1977. But, Jones has led an interesting career, aside from
the guitar. He’s played with myriad acts that span multiple genres. He’s acted.
He’s written. He’s currently a DJ on the radio in LA.I mention this because, one: he kicks ass,
always had. He’s one of the major reasons I picked up the guitar in the first
place. But, two, and more importantly: I like the fact that Jones has traversed
so many sounds and styles for the simple fact that his talent belies the notion
that punk in general and the Sex Pistols in particular was dumb music made by a
bunch of one-syllable speaking knuckleheads. I mean, it often was, but I’ve
always loved the fact that Jones went on to such a varied and interesting
career.
Because of the magnitude of the impact it had and the
musical revolution he helped to spark, nothing will ever quite live up to
Jones’ work in the Pistols, but the man is a testament to being a multi-versed
renaissance player and the essential nature of reinvention.
Check out his 1987 MCA release, Mercy. It’s decidedly of the era, with some heavy, floating keys on
the power ballads, but tracks like That’s
Enough and Give it Up pack a serious, decidedly un-80s pop guitar drive
that sets these songs apart from the standard fare of the decade of silly hair
and way too many effects.Plus, the
album showcases Jones’ serious Elvis-inspired croon, which somehow works, even
over the more radio, Miami Vice-ready tracks. His 1989 release, Fire and Gasoline, is even better. It
mainly eschews the pop stuff and goes for full throttle guitars. It’s a little
metal, I suppose, but hearing it again today, it’s pretty much just rock n
roll: big beat, rip saw guitar rhythms and big courses. Again, decidedly not
what was popular at the time (I’m looking at you, Hair Metal), and really, a
little ahead of its time.
There are a number of good tracks from both albums, but lets go with Give It Up, from Mercy. If for no other reason
than it was the first song I remember hearing off the album, and one that I
could easily pick out and play along to in my bedroom on my Stratocaster. Learn from
the best. For fun, also, check out his cover of Bowie’s Suffragette City. It’s fun, loud and raw, like good covers should be.
purchase [ Brave New World] Seattle almost matches the STE* requirement - at least it has all the letters. And more. It's my legal home when I'm back in the US of A, but more important to you since you are currently reading this at SMM, is the strength of the city's musical output. I was sure that Steve Miller was from Seattle, but he isn't listed in the Wikipedia link to famous musicians from Seattle. However, the Wikipedia list hasn't got it quite right (your teacher always told you that you shouldn't use Wikipedia as a reliable source). Miller has in fact been associated with/lived in the Seattle area.
The Steve Miller Band was one of my favorites - for some reason up until about the time just after the band turned more commercial (after The Joker/Fly Like an Eagle, both of which I consider decent if not quite like the earlier output) We have here a cut from 1969's Brave New World, shortly after Boz Scaggs had left. Apparently recorded in a single session in London, the album includes a musician billed as Paul Ramon - doing backing vocals on the track, but also drums and guitar on other tracks on the album. You probably know him better by another name.
A Newsweek article from about a year ago noted Steve Howe's resemblance to a wizard: long white locks, an angular face, and spectacles to match. A wizard not only in looks, but at the guitar as well. Classically trained and multi-instrumental, Howe brought a jazz infused guitar style, combining with Rick Wakeman's keyboard and Chris Squire's bass to create a unique sound that is easily identifiable as the sound of Yes. He was then and still is today a man who flies under the radar. In a Guitar World interview, he suggests that rather than aiming to be a guitar player, he would advise aspring players to be musicians. Quite true - at least for him and his style.
More often than not, Yes songs ran to much longer than the default AM radio 3 minute limit - FM radio was only just beginning to take over the air waves, and Yes songs didnt fit the formula. But, for the first half of the 1970s, Yes alums regularly sold well. Yessongs - a live set that shows how close they could bring their style to the stage -not one of those bands that can do it in the studio but come up short in live shows.
The cover art work of many Yes albums by Roger Dean added to the band's appeal: out of this world - but plausibly realistic landscapes floating in space - which is where many listeners saw themselves at that time. Howe and drummer Alan White, both members of the 70s era lineup are still in the still-touring band: Wakeman currently plays with other Yes alumni including John Anderson, Squire passed away last year. Original member Peter Banks, who Howe replaced in 1970 also passed away a few years back.
I seem to have hundreds of Steves and Stephens on my i-pod, so who said anything about not jumbling it up a bit, which is an apt metaphor, because that is exactly what E.S.T., or the Esbjorn Svensson Trio, did. Nominally a post-modern piano jazz trio, signed to the notoriously serious ECM label, one could be forgiven for suspecting their music to be far too sombre and far too difficult for you, and, at times, you would be right. But at others it can be amongst the most life-affirming use of this most traditional of formats, especially when a scintilla of electronica is added to the blend.
I would be first to admit that I don't know a whole lot about either the band or Esbjorn himself, much above he is no longer with us, having been drowned in a scuba diving accident 8 years ago. So rather than making this a retread of his life and works: you can get that here, I thought I'd just tweak your ears with a snippet or two of his work.
So is it jazz or is it not? Clearly, I guess, yes, but the question merely epitomises the problem with pigeonholing. By applying the label as many potential listeners will be repelled as will be attracted, perhaps many more, jazz often still having a stuffy reputation. So if you recontextualise it as within the classical/electronica interface it still fits. Indeed, with the expansion of this well nigh impossible to truly describe music genre, your Olafur Arnalds and Nils Frahms and their ilk, I am struck how prescient of their current output were this trio a decade or more ago. (Here is an excellent article from the Royal Opera House, of all places, which ties to explain this paradigm.) Anyway I'm listening to them as I write and the drumming alone smacks way more of the dance floor than it is supposed to or that you expect. Uncertain if I'm selling this, so have some more music.
Did I say classical? But this is heavy metal, or could be, already defeating my risible attempts to classify. Which is my point. But never is the eclecticism a distraction, nor the purpose. This is no tailcoat riding exercise in hipster posing, as the more orthodox piece below shows.
The 3 songs showcased are, in order, 'Dolores in a Shoestand', 'Leucocyte' and 'Elevation of Love', perhaps demonstrating that his titles are arguably the only impenetrable within his oevre. I hope this briefest of introductions may entice some further exploring. (Hell, if you come to this site, your ears are probably already open, but, if not?) You could do a lot worse than a lazy start with 'Retrospective: the Very Best of E.S.T.'
If you love music enough to read blogs like this, I can almost guarantee that there are a number of times that you first heard a song or an album and had your mind immediately blown. A feeling that you have heard something that was so wonderful, so unlike anything else that you were familiar with, that it stays with you forever. I’ve written about other times this has happened to me, but today I want to write about Steve Tibbetts, whose second album, Yr was a revelation.
Tibbetts is not exactly a household name—he exists somewhere in the never particularly commercial intersection of jazz fusion, world music and ambient music. He is a virtuoso guitarist who painstakingly crafts his albums by overdubbing layers upon layers of instruments, sort of like Mike Oldfield used to do. I remember seeing the album at WPRB—I’m pretty sure someone directed me to it, and from the first listen, I was totally hooked. Our featured song, “Ur,” is the first one on the album, and thus the first one I heard, but they are all great. Beautiful guitar based instrumentals with Indian percussion that moved between soft and lyrical and fast and furious. Each side of the record flowed together as a piece, although there were separate tracks. I really lack the vocabulary to describe the music, so I’m going to steal a quote from a review of Yr from DownBeat Magazine:
Tibbetts overdubs acoustic and electric instruments in a Hendrixian mindscape of production wizardry, often combining up to 20 guitars on one track. He layers the sound into breathtaking guitar choirs and intricate superstructures. His solos are twisting, singing journeys that evolve with the sense of spiritual awakening you’d hear in a Coltrane soprano run. After building to an exuberant climax that nears the breaking point, he supplants it with a plaintive acoustic guitar passage that initiates the next trip.
If that doesn’t make you want to listen to his music, then you cannot be my friend.
Tibbetts was born in Madison, Wisconsin, but is based in St. Paul, Minnesota. His first two albums were created and self-released. Yr was the second, but the first one I had heard. We had a copy at WPRB that had Tibbetts’ original pen and ink drawing (see above) as the cover—and I vaguely recall that it might have been personalized for the station (although in retrospect, maybe not by Tibbetts).
Later, Yr was re-released, with a different cover, by ECM records, a legendary jazz label known for a particular sound, and for recording its albums quickly. Tibbetts’ first album for the label was done in this manner, and was not a critical success. His later works, done more in his painstaking, time consuming way, were more successful.
I have to admit that I basically lost track of Tibbetts after I left college. I don’t remember hearing that first ECM release, and it wasn’t like there was a place to hear his style of music on the radio, even in New York in the 1980s and 1990s. His output slowed significantly after the 80s, and even more so in the 2000s, with his last album, Natural Causes released in 2010. He has also released two albums with Chöying Drolma, a Tibetan Buddhist nun.
A few years ago, an Australian music site, Guvera, briefly was allowing free, legal, downloads of certain music using a system that allowed the amassing of a huge number of credits for essentially clicking on advertisements. I downloaded hundreds, maybe thousands, of songs during this brief period, which ultimately ended when Guvera decided that it would become a streaming service (probably, because giving away thousands of downloads wasn't a viable business model). It did allow me to download a bunch of Tibbetts’ later music, which all sounds pretty good, although I admittedly haven’t given it a huge amount of attention. And it never again blew my head up the same way it did when I first heard Yr.
If you only know the Pointer Sisters from their run of hits in the 80s, Little Pony will come as a surprise. This is straight ahead jazz singing, and as good as it gets. It comes from their 1974 album That’s a Plenty, which is mostly a jazz album, but it also features their country hit Fairytale. Fairytale is also the real deal; the song, a Pointers original, was good enough to win a country Grammy and land them an appearance on the Grand Old Opry. They were the first black artists to appear there. By this point in their career, the sisters had also recorded funk and blues.
Can you imagine such a career on a major label today? It couldn’t happen. As much as anything else, the Pointers’ story is about how much the music industry has changed since then. The sisters had varied musical interests and the talent to do it all, but they must have been a marketer’s nightmare. Nowadays, they would be independent artists, possibly self produced. Certainly no major label would want to touch them until they “decided” what they were. But look at them in the video, and you see four women who are happiest not having to decide. They are having a blast, doing what they love.
By the 80s, the Pointers were under increasing pressure to go mainstream, and they did. Their talent was realized in a string of major hits, such as I’m So Excited and Slowhand. But there was a personal price. The group had four sisters at the beginning of the 80s, then three, then two. Much later, one of the sisters wanted to rejoin the group, but was not welcomed back. By the 90s, pop music had moved on, and there were no more hits. They returned to jazz to perform songs from the show Ain’t Misbhavin’ in 1995 and 1996, but June’s health was failing by then. She died in 2006, and since then the surviving three sisters have rarely performed together.
Even in the 80s, the Pointers showed some stylistic range, doing numbers with contemporary R&B, girl group, and rock flavors. But I can’t help wondering what might have happened if their diverse musical interests had continued to be encouraged in that period. Quincy Jones made it big producing Thriller for Michael Jackson, but he came from a jazz background. What might he have done with the Pointers? And what might have happened if they had worked with Prince or George Clinton? We will never know, but I can’t help thinking that the sisters might have been happier, even if they didn’t sell as many records.
purchase [Stephen Stills: Love the One You're With] There are various multi-guitar version on the U_tube with any combination of CSNand/orY - acoustic/electric/mixed, many of them satisfying (tho not always), but few come close to the sweet harmony that the original version from Stills' album brings. CSNY aren't related - as in family - except that they are known to fight like members of a family are known to do, and, after so many years, they must be just one notch down from family. But this post isnt about them as family. It's about the Isley Brothers doing a Stephen Stills song:
Love the One You're With: strikes me as rather "hippie" in theme. Take a minute to think it through: If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with (a phrase ascribed to Billy Preston, but with likely earlier versions dating back to the '40s or possibly Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello in the 50s) Peace and Love, man. It's OK to love anyone on the moment/ go with the flow. Why not make the best of the moment: the time only comes around once. The structure of this song seems to call out for the incorporation of an organ (or whatever takes its electronic place). The Isely Brothers turned out a version of a CSNY song that almost matches Steven Stills' original. In the original, Stills (Wow) plays guitar, organ and various percussion (along with the vocal). Crosby, Nash and Rita Coolidge add to the original.
The 1971 Isley Brothers rendition is decidedly more gospel - see the vocals (gospel: may include clapping and foot stomping along with the focus on vocal harmonies) - the version linked to at the top
Hot, well, lukewarm on the heels of the splendid Thompson piece below, I was about to pen a sorry disclaimer on it being sum sum summertime and that most scribes were maybe elsewhere, before throwing together a few tired tropes about sparring siblings, Don and Phil Everly, Ray and Dave Davies, Noel and Liam Gallagher. But there is clearly only one correct follow-on to J.David's piece, namely to discuss the dynasty above, an extended family "band", convoluted, extended and with a fair side-order of dysfunction and debacle. So where do I start? You could try the family tree, for which I must credit interesting name tending site The Name Station, but, let's face it, it isn't easy to decipher. Where is Pete Frame when you need him?
OK, so we have in the one corner estimable folk troubadour, of the confessional songs and prehensile tongue, who has built a career in humorous and/or poignant self-deprecation, bringing in tales of everyday sadness to make us smile. In the other the youngest McGarrigle sibling, Kate, half of Kate and Anna McGarrigle, doyennes of an anglo french-canadian meeting place of traditionally influenced music. They marry, have children. They break up. Loudon sings songs about his son, Rufus, and his daughter, Martha, as children. Both become, like him, professional musicians. I guess if you had a dad you didn't see so much, to see yourself sung about on stage and TV may be not so great. So here's Martha singing about her dad:
And here's Rufus singing about his dad:
(I think it is probably allowable to comment on the fact that, as chance would have it, Rufus turned out, um, not to be quite the "tit man" his father had jested about.)
Meanwhile, Loudon forms a new relationship, another musician, would you credit it, Suzzy Roche, of quirky NY sister band, the Roches. He has another daughter, Lucy (Wainwright-Roche) and guess what career she chooses, possibly provoked, I wonder, by his song about her, Screaming Issue, annoyingly not on youtube, but the title gives a flavour of its content..... Of course, she's a singer. Her parents separate.
So how is this a family band? They clearly all hate each others guts. Well, no, and this is a number of happy endings. In itself that is at least fortuitous, as you could have the McGarrigles, Loudon, Rufus, Martha and Lucy, all out on their own tours. Inevitably their promoters could find them all in the same country, city, festival or even show. In recent years there seems to have been a warming of relations between the 2 elder children and their father. They have appeared on stage with each other and publicly come to terms with the past. This was perhaps and ironically accelerated by the illness and later death of Kate McGarrigle. Lucy has appeared with her father, opened for her half brother and currently tours, as the Wainwright Sisters, with half-sister Martha. (Check out the lyric of the featured song, potentially referring to their fathers further relationship and their further half sister, Lexie, career as yet unchosen or public.) Here's Loudon's take on his family dynamic, well worth a read.
Eagle eyed will have spotted another famous name in the family tree at the top, namely Cohen. Yes, that Leonard Cohen, whose daughter Lorca is the birth-mother of Rufus' daughter, Viva. I wonder what career path she might take?
Finally I cannot resist adding the interplay between the Thompson and the Wainwright families, as the links come steady and strong, unsurprisingly as the two paterfamilias have regularly shared a stage (often billed as Loud & Rich.) Rufus has worked frequently with Thompson's son Teddy, such as here. But somehow I think the most intriguing link was in the man who took on Kate and her children, post Wainwright, being one Pat Donaldson, frequent bassist for Thompson in his Richard and Linda years. I guess they couldn't help but all be chums.
How do you get a flavour this bloodline in one easy step? You could do a lot worse than with this, which features all of these bar Loudon. For his presence you need this, maybe for the first track alone, which features Loudon, Rufus, Martha, Lucy, Lexie, Suzzy and his current wife, Ritamarie Kelly, with Rufus and Martha each appearing on other songs. Even better still, here's the track in question, good video too:
Here we are, halfway through the second week of this theme, we only have one post. I suggested the theme, so it must be a good one. Therefore, I’m going to blame the lack of writing on the fact that it is the summer, and people are on vacation. Also, two of our writers live in a country that just had an abortive coup, and I’ve been busy with work and family obligations.
So, just time for a short piece about an album that came out in late 2014 called Family, from a group simply billed as “Thompson.” It is, overall, a very good album, if not a great album, but well worth checking out. The project began when Teddy Thompson, an excellent singer, songwriter and performer in his own right (when he is paying attention—don’t get me started writing about the time I saw him and he messed up most of his songs.....) reached out to members of his talented extended family to see if there was interest in working on a project. His father, SMM favorite Richard Thompson, and his mother, Richard’s ex-wife and legend in her own right, Linda Thompson, signed on. As did sister Kami and her husband, guitarist James Walbourne (who together make up The Rails). The next generation was also enlisted, including Jack Thompson, Richard’s son from his second marriage, and Zak Hobbs, the son of Richard and Linda’s eldest daughter Muna, who is not a professional musician, but also appears on the album (and drew the cover illustration). There are also contributions from Richard’s daughter-in-law Paulina Lis, Welbourne’s brother Rob and his wife Brooke Gengras.
The songs were, at Teddy’s direction, to be written where each of the writers lived. He gathered the basic tracks, then fleshed them out with overdubs in London and Los Angeles. So not surprisingly, the album jumps around stylistically, although if you listen carefully, there is a certain “Thompson-ness” about the album that somewhat holds it together.
Ultimately, the key song is probably one of the last written, Teddy’s “Family,” that opens the disc and gives it a title. A gentle waltz featuring Teddy, Zak and Linda, it opens:
My father is one of the greats to ever step on the stage, My mother has the most beautiful voice in the world. And I am betwixt and between,
Sean Lennon, you know what I mean. Born to the manor, never quite clamoring free. It’s family, its family.
My elder sister is pretty than you believe, My younger sister is prettier still and can sing. And I am the middle child, The boy with red hair and no smile, Not too secure, very unsure who to be. It’s family, its family.
Because this is a fairly recent song, I will follow our informal guidelines and not post a downloadable copy of the song. And I can’t find a video just of the song, so the video above is a short “making of” piece about the album, and it does feature some of “Family.”
Brothers qualify as family, and few others more deserve their place in the pantheon of rock star families more than Duane and Gregg Allman. Playing together through several bands beginning in the early 60s, the Allman brothers actually only played together in their eponymous band for about 2 years until Duane's untimely death in 1971. The band's Brothers and Sisters album came out after after the extended family had already suffered the seemingly irreparable losses of solo/lead Duane and bass player Berry Oakley, essentially decimating the family. But the legend/name lived on: it was at its commercial height in 1973 when the album came out, and various music critics agree that the album equalled or at least maintained the quality which the band had become famous for while Duane and Berry were alive. The conceit behind the Brothers and Sisters theme revolves around a large farm that they bought in Georgia, where they aimed to bring the remaining members of the band together as family. The center photo of the LP shows various members assembled at the place, while a son and daughter of the family grace the front and back covers of the LP. Off and on since the 1970s, a surprising number of the original members (Jaimoe, Butch Trucks, Dickey Betts and Gregg Allman) have managed to find ways to keep it going - more or less. My research came up with a couple of 2014 dates as their most recent concerts (some of them at least). As for the song here, the idea of a ramblin man seems too classic a part of blues/rock lore that you would assume that the song was a re-take on someone's previous version and not a Dickey Betts original. Hank Williams Sr did come out with a Ramblin Man back in the 50s, but it would take a better ear than mine to note a similarity. There's also a Waylon Jennnings song of similar title that comes a little cloer to sounding like the essence of Betts' tune - at least a little more of a ramble than the Williams' song. Woodie Guthrie treated the theme of ramblin - both in real life and in song, as did Leadbelly to some extent in (Goodnight) Irene, where he sang: Quit your ramblin, quit your gamblin - both notions included in the Dickey Betts lyrics.
First, here's Dickey Betts doin' the best he can to make up for the double lead all by his lonesome:
And then again several years later with Dan Toler as the 2nd lead guitar:
The Beach Boys' 409 came out early in their career - the B side to the Surfin' Safari 45. 409 refers to a Chevrolet with a 409 cc engine. Wikipedia says it was a 6.7 litre engine - a record setting Daytona stock car. ( I appreciate the motor power; having owned a 5.9 litre beast a few years ago, I know that they rocket you from 0-60 in just a few seconds. Any time you need a little more power, it's there. But, you can literally watch the gas gauge work its way down in real time - not so cool where I live with gas at about $10/gal - still!!) In fact - a lot about the Beach Boys ain't so cool when you look in to their 60's frame of mind, but at the time, it was "surfer cool".
Take for example the lyrics themselves: nigh on 1/3 of the song is comprised of the words <409>: but that fit the times: rock beat, AM radio play...
However, the Beach Boys again and again hit the top of the charts in the mid 60s - including 1964, when (maybe not the height of their career) they came out with Fun,Fun, Fun and I Get Around.
I never knew why “Four Sticks” had that title, and until I decided to write this, I never cared enough to try to find out. I’ve mentioned in the past that I’m not a stickler for good lyrics, which is not to say that I don’t appreciate them, but that I’m generally more concerned with the feel of a whole song. So what “Four Sticks” meant, or what the lyrics to the song are (which don’t mention any number of sticks at all) wasn’t all that important. But when I decided to write about this song, it seemed like a good idea to find out, if possible, why the title was chosen.
And it turns out to be pretty simple—drummer John Bohnam used four sticks when he played the song, believing that he needed the extra wood to get the volume he wanted. No mystical or mythical back story, just the pure need for power.
“Four Sticks” appears on one of the legendary rock albums of all time, the theme-appropriate fourth Led Zeppelin album, which is technically untitled, but usually referred to as Led Zeppelin IV (or the fourth album, or Runes, or Four Symbols). Each member of the band adopted a symbol (Sandy Denny, who sang on one song, got her own symbol), in an attempt to deflect attention from the band and the members personally and put the focus on the music, as a reaction to criticism that their popularity was all based on hype. As it turned out, pretty much every song on the album entered and has remained part of the classic-rock canon, most notably “Stairway to Heaven,” in my teenage years considered to be the greatest rock song of all time (before the predictable backlash, including from Robert Plant). The album sold many millions of copies, and is regularly cited as one of the best rock albums ever.
“Four Sticks,” though, is generally considered to be the worst song on the album. The band seemed to agree with this assessment—they apparently played it only once live, although it has been occasionally trotted out by Page and Plant, and re-recorded with Indian and Middle Eastern arrangements. It is also the only song from IV not on the band’s 1990 box set. It is a complicated song, in odd time signatures, with uninteresting lyrics. The original’s power, though, is undeniable, thanks in no small part to the four sticks used by Bonham.
Remarkably, more than a quarter century after their official breakup following Bonham’s death, Led Zeppelin has been in the news, with the jury verdict absolving them of plagiarizing from the song “Taurus,” by Spirit in creating “Stairway to Heaven.” That Led Zep was accused of plagiarism is not surprising—they have been accused of it numerous times, and have altered songwriting credits to reflect this. But this time, I just don’t hear it.
The songs of Neil and Tim Finn have be come so familiar that I sometimes forget that they are from Australia. Their songs have been covered by artists worldwide, and I am more accustomed to that treatment for American, English, or Canadian artists. Four Seasons in One Day makes no specific reference to Melbourne, but the song was inspired by the changeable weather there. For the singer, the uncertain weather is a mirror of the uncertainties in his own life. The video expands brilliantly on this idea, by regarding the seasons in the title as the seasons of a man’s life.
Does it matter that the songs of the Finn brothers are written and sung by men, or are they more universal? In 2005, the label EMI decided to find out. They recruited a roster of female artists from Australia and New Zealand to record their versions of Finn songs. They called the resulting album She Will Have Her Way. For the occasion, Sally Seltmann recorded Four Seasons in One Day under her stage name of the time, New Buffalo. She has recorded her more recent material under her own name. Her take on Four Seasons in One Day sounds like Laurie Anderson may have been is much of an inspiration as the Finns. Reviewers of the album on Amazon seem to either love it or hate it, and this song will probably get similar reactions.
In any case, the album was enough of a success that EMI decided to release a companion album in 2010. He Will Have His Way features all male artists this time, but still from Australia and New Zealand. You might have expected similar results, but reviewers on Amazon who loved the previous album seem to hate this one, and vice versa. Paul Kelly and Angus Stone deliver a Four Seasons in One Day that is certainly truer to the original than Seltmann’s version, but they still make some artistic choices of their own. The brass section is an especially nice touch.
In summary, I leave this post as a case study in the art of the cover song. The artists on both tribute albums offer a wealth of quality original material from their own catalogues as well; I invite you to seek that out and enjoy.
I'm on my holiday, deep in the Languedoc, in the South of France. Rain is the last thing on my mind and the last thing in the sky, altho' there was apparently a bit of a humdinger of an electrical storm the other night. I had been consuming and imbibing the best of the local produce and slept sweetly through. Since I have been away from my home all sorts of madnesses seem to have been visited on and/or by my country, and I'm not talking about the football. The temptation was to pontificate pompously on the foolishness of the small majority, but will bite my tongue; the foolishness seems mainly the arrogance of politicians prepared to gamble with anything for the sake of power, this time shooting a great big hole in their own foot, as they now have to juggle with an outcome never dreamt fully possible. Given no change there and such as it ever was, I am only sorry for laughing that you yanks might have a bouffant haired crazy in control soon. Not if we get there first!
Enough, here's the song:
What I have chosen might just seem to be yet another tired old song by a tired old band that tired old guys like me like to name-drop, as if there were a golden age when they were the sound of all for all, you know, like the Beatles or the Beach Boys. Or even, given most of them started off there in the first place, the Byrds. In truth the Burritos were more the anti-Beatles, probably bigger in Europe ever than at home. And usually, whenever they get a mention it is to praise the drug-addled rich kid "friend of Keef", Gram Parsons, dead way before his time. Don't get me wrong, I love the early Gram tinged version of the band, it's where I came in on 'em, but I hung on a bit longer, as Chris Hillman, ever the bridesmaid in all his bands, whether to McGuinn, to Parsons, to Stills, kept the brand alive until his thunder was stolen by Rick Roberts.
Replacing Parsons, sacked by Hillman, can have been no easy task, and the then unknown floridian Roberts had no track record to speak of, the Burritos flirting with just about every other ex-Byrd or Byrd-sidesman in their search, no small pool of musicians, and one they tapped upon for ever after.
Yet their 1971 self-titled 3rd album is arguably their strongest, a slew of Roberts and Hillman/Roberts compositions, along with a Dylan, a Haggard and one from the nearly but never quite a Burrito, Gene Clark. Most of the vocals are led by Roberts, with Hillman slotting into his familiar harmony role.
Just looking now at the track listing is making me tingle, remembering the thrill of discovering life with the brothers could continue.
I guess frictions were running high internally, as the band promptly then shed pedal steel whizz Sneaky Pete and soon to be an Eagle, Bernie Leadon. The next record was probably supposed to be titled emphatically, the live outing, 'Last of the Red Hot Burrito's', another absolute belter. However there seems to have been a U-turn in the skid pan, the recording being nearly free of reflective ballads, containing an enjoyable yet frantic hash of oldies, both Parsons' songs and standards, either as frantic electric country rock, Al Perkins proving himself a more than adequate replacement for Kleinow, or even more frantic bluegrass, with the likes of Byron Berline and Roger Bush guesting on fiddle and stand-up bass. There is not a sole Roberts credit in sight. Then Hillman left too, taking Al Perkins off to Manassas and Stephen Stills.
Details seem sketchy as to what happened next. With dates to fulfil, if no recording contract, Roberts took a rags and tatters version of the band on the road. I bought an odd double LP from this time, 'Live in Amsterdam', an awkward mix of Roberts songs and bluegrass battles. Here's the whole concert but the thrill had gone.
Roberts did a couple of solos, before forming barely country AOR band Firefall. The thrill remained gone. (At least for me as I gather they were quite successful.....)
Various Burrito bands surfaced, Flying and otherwise, usually with more promise and hope than delivery. I even bought some of the stuff, usually disappointed thereby, even the dream ticket collaboration, Burrito Deluxe, of Kleinow, perhaps already showing signs of the Alzheimers that took him, with Garth Hudson, tour of force keyboards man of the Band.
Finally, as it now seems compulsory that no band must ever end, please note this, the latest line-up. It may sound cruel but, no, me neither.
What better transition from Streets to 4's than a song that has them both? This actually only came to mind after I had gotten part way into writing about summer, the Beach Boys and 409. (Maybe get back to that at a later time) Dylan's Positively 4th Street dates from 1965 and comes with a couple of interesting distinctions: it was released as a single and only much later included on a Greatest Hits album. It has Dylan switching from his "folk guitar" to an electric. The studio band includes Al Kooper and Mike Bloomfield. There is no refrain that gets repeated, but it appears to be a message to someone who has thoroughly pissed him off:
You've got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend
A bit later, we learn that
You say you've lost your faith, but that's not where its at
You have no faith to lose, and ya know it
Here's trusting that you haven't lost yours. Have a great Fourth.
[purchase Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street] “Baker Street” means chlorine to me. Over the summer and winter holiday in high school, we had two-a-day swim practices, one from 6-8am and the other from 3-5pm. In between practices we’d scarf down donuts from Burger Hut or burgers from Dairy Queen. We’d hit the mall and play video games. Or we’d sleep. Exit the water and “Baker St” would be playing with uncanny frequency on the radio in the locker room. To save money on electricity, maintenance and maybe lawsuits, high school pools are kept very cold and are jacked with chlorine. Two hours in the West Bend natatorium and your eyes squeeze shut with a red crust, your skin burns and you can’t smell anything delicious: fresh donuts, pizza, oniony burgers. In hindsight, I don’t think two hours, much less four hours in that pool was very healthy. Neither is burning 3000 calories in a day. After the last lap, you’re in a druggy hungry haze. If you’re listening to the radio and lucky to hear “Baker Street” from the beginning, the flute, bells, cymbals and congos are all shaking themselves into the mood, all knowingly subservient to the alpha dog about to burst in: that massive, liberating sax. Then the opening glory is abruptly taken away, like a magician yanking the cloth off a table and leaving the cutlery and bowls. Gerry Rafferty enters with his modest coffee house voice and the song gets mellow and trippy. The song wasn’t meant for younger kids as far as I felt, especially with that flute and those congos, but the sax belonged to everyone. Solos are born when words fall short of expressing the leap our gut takes. I can imagine Dave Grohl listening to and experiencing that sweeping leap many times as a kid like I did, the solo remaining in his head long after the song finished. (Iwonder if he played that solo on an air trumpet or air guitar) And with the Foo Fighters cover of “Baker Street” in 1997, Grohl tried to summon the liberating effect of that solo by replacing the sax and with a whopping, epic guitar. Vocally, Grohl sings almost the same as Rafferty, but hits an emotional chord that the cool Rafferty didn’t. It’s almost as if Grohl brings more backstory into the song, sees howling storm where Rafferty saw grey clouds. Grohl is more tender and tenuous in his delivery, especially for the lines “He’s trying” and “When you wake up it’s a new morning/the sun is shining it’s a new morning/You’re going, you’re going home”. It’s a reverent, deceptively sentimental cover but like most Foo Fighters songs, a little too safe. I only go home in the summer these days and for a nostalgic trip, I usually go back to the high school pool once. Not trusting the water, I still wear a cap and goggles. Haven’t heard “Baker Street” in the locker room, just the sax loop in my head, lap after lap.
(Posted on behalf of Jake, who will some day do his own)
One of the funkiest pieces I know. It is a lesson in itself to compare Robert Palmer's version above with the original author's rendition, below. I used to have a vinyl copy of Sneaking Sally Through the Alley; I used to have a large LP collection that included a ton of Little Feat as well. I'm pretty sure, however, that I purchased this on it own merit and only later realized the signature slide guitar that ties the two together. It was in New Orleans that British singer Robert Palmer joined forces with Lowell George to create the album of the same name. The song is the third in a rolling sequence without break that begins with Sailing Shoes, continues with Hey Julia and then on to Sneakin' - arguably one of the finest sequences of songs ever. You may also know that Little Feat had earlier come out with a 1972 album titled Sailing Shoes - the song actually being written by Lowell George. The band for Sneakin' Sally is primarily the Meters, which included Art Neville (later one of the Neville Brothers), in addition to Lowell George and some slick mouth-harp work from Steve York as well. Sneaking Sally was written by Allen Toussaint, who we sadly lost in the fall of 2015. He is also the author of other hits you probably know, such as Dr John's Right Place, Wrong Time.
Bleecker Street, the New York City East-to-West thoroughfare that gives this song its name - once known as a nexus of the American bohemian movement and now home to Marc Jacobs stores and an apparently still-hopping nightclub district - is unquestionably a touchstone of art and culture: home of CBGB and Cafe Wha?, where Hendrix, Dylan, Bill Cosby and Richard Pryor began their careers, it is name-dropped in lyrics by Joni Mitchell, Bruce Springsteen, Fred Neil, Iggy Pop, Paulo Nutini, Steely Dan, and the title of an opera which won its composer the Pulitzer Prize in music upon its release in 1955.
According to Wikipedia, is it also the home of Doctor Strange's Sanctum Sanctorum and the restaurant Woody Allen's character owned in the movie Sleeper (The Happy Carrot). More recently, it served as the inspiration and name for a line of bags from popular designer Coach. Pretty cool, for a single street.
I've never been to Bleecker Street, and to be fair, I'm not likely to have reason to do so any time soon, unless I suddenly decide I want to hang out at its upscale eateries, or ogle Alicia Keys as she walks out of her stately home in the Village. But I've lived this song, pulled from Simon & Garfunkel sleeper debut Wednesday Morning 3 A.M., where it stands as one of just four original songs from a duo whose career would go on to help define the street in the wake of The British Invasion.
Bleecker Street never charted, though I'd argue it's one of Simon's finest, simplest compositions, a love song to the down and out that chills the bones. But its the cover, by Jonatha Brooke, which we've chosen to share today. Brooke's version recaptures the sweet ache of the dissatisfied outsider that so typifies the work of this particular place and sound in the distance between her inimitable voice and its ringing, high-production contemporary production; it appears on Bleecker Street: Greenwich Village In The 60's, an appropriately titled "various artists" collection of tender tributes to the great songs first written, performed, and celebrated in and around Bleecker that comes highly recommended, with beauty galore from Ron Sexsmith, Suzanne Vega and John Cale, Loudon Wainwright, and others. I listen to the album often, but ultimately and inevitably come back to this cut for the way it gentrifies bohemia without aggression, even as it celebrates its past - and so it is ever thus, on street and in song.
There was a time and place when the idea of a “supergroup” combining the members of Hatfield and the North and Gilgamesh would have been a big deal. That time was the late 1970s, and the place was England, particularly Canterbury. I’ve written in the past about the so-called “Canterbury Scene,” focusing mostly on the bands Gong and Soft Machine, but there were many other groups, often with overlapping membership, that created interesting music at that time and in that place. These musicians were, for the most part, profoundly talented, extremely adventurous, and mostly forgotten, certainly on this side of the Atlantic.
Hatfield and the North was one of the best regarded bands from this scene. After the usual musical chairs, its membership essentially solidified as vocalist/bassist Richard Sinclair (formerly of Caravan, later of Camel), guitarist Phil Miller (formerly of Matching Mole), drummer Pip Pyle (formerly, and later, of Gong), and keyboardist Dave Stewart (formerly of Egg and not the guy from the Eurythmics, but later of Bruford), and a trio of female singers known as the Northettes, Barbara Gaskin, Amanda Parsons and Ann Rosenthal. Gilgamesh was somewhat lesser known, was organized around keyboard player Alan Gowen, and included, among others, guitarist Phil Lee and bassist Neil Murray (later of Whitesnake and Black Sabbath). Both bands played music that was a fusion of rock, jazz and classical influences.
The new band, which came to be called “National Health,” was to include most members of both, but, of course, that was unlikely to work out. Initially, Bill Bruford was the drummer, but he was replaced by Pyle, Murray replaced Mont Campbell as bassist, and by the time the self-titled debut album was released, Gowan was credited only as a guest, along with Parsons, the only Northette to participate. Nevertheless, they created a great album, if maybe not quite a masterpiece. Mostly instrumental, it is complex, interesting prog rock without much of the pompousness that has given the genre a bad name.
Leadoff track, “Tenemos Roads,” a 14 and a half minute piece written by Stewart, has a catchy opening theme and a long instrumental section before Parsons’ ethereal vocals enter. Prog rock songs often have spacy lyrics, and “Tenemos Roads” is part of that tradition. Something about a place in the stars, and history and men making war and fish living in the sea. Whatever. After a bit of spacy noodling, the song picks up again, and almost rocks out to the end.
I know that may not sound all that enticing, but trust me, it is really good, so give it a listen.
National Health released a maybe even better album the next year, Of Queues And Cures, and then went into hibernation, reuniting in 1982 for D.S. Al Coda, a tribute to Gowen, who had died the previous year of leukemia. And that was pretty much it from this particular combination of musicians, except for some live releases and Missing Piece, a collection of early songs featuring Bruford, Steve Hillage and others.
The Dead are in my head a lot these days, the recent 5cd charity tribute, 'Day of the Dead', justly garnering a lot of media attention and revitalising my interest and curiosity in the band. Nobody born in the late 50s or 60s could fail but to be aware of this momentous band, but fewer actually have heard that much of them or have them on their shelves. OK, I discount of course the tie-dyed masses who can still congregate at the drop of a tab and can discourse eloquently, if carefully and slowly, as to the relative superiority between different performance, Oakwood 90 versus Santa Barbara 68, say, which, for all I know exist within the vast vaults of live available recordings, legit and otherwise. (Hell, I even know someone who felt this 80 disc box set an essential. Eight zero!!) I confess I have never really got the Dead live, or, for that matter, live recordings generally. Had I ever actually seen them actually play I guess that would have been a game changer, but their trips over the pond here to blighty were few, and I was at school when they played Bickershaw festival in 1972. Listening quietly and soberly to live concerts on disc or youtube at home seems somehow, sorry, such a waste of my precious time. One day, maybe, but I'm a studio guy. I like my records tailor made for the home listening experience, without the audience attention, duff notes and drum solos.
Like so many bands I became aware of in my teens, the Grateful Dead I probably liked as an idea more than as an actuality. Like Frank Zappa and the Mothers, they were a name I was happy to drop, establishing my dude credentials, or should that be pretensions, a band for a T shirt or a name check. I hadn't even really heard that much until I hit my country-rock infatuation. The initial releases of American Beauty were flawed by pretty dodgy stereo separation but I could still identify with the strength of the songs, so it was a delight when CDs ushered in remastered versions, and I belatedly put my wallet and my ears where my imagination and affectation had previously been. Yes, a decade or so late but that's me, always late to the party. My first trip to the U.S. resulted in the necessity of buying a Garcia T shirt and the latest record by the band, maybe purely so I could say where I bought them. Man. (Actually, Orlando, so maybe not so cool.......) This was 'In the Dark' in 1987, a patchy record but one that contains this, my favourite Dead song, one that even now I am thinking of how I can make seem appropriate to play at my funeral. (This is a habit of mine, making playlists for events I may not even be attending myself.) Since then I have cherry picked their studio catalogue, finding songs I like alongside one that, frankly, I don't so much, but an enjoyable trip anyway. (I am so not going to say long or strange within the context of this piece!)
So finally to the song in the title. I didn't get around to hearing this until probably only a year of so back, probably not until the release of this recommended double studio retrospective, which makes it last year. Sure, I had read about it, and was aware of the vitriol poured upon it. Indeed, the idea of the Dead do disco did always seem to smack of some bizarre desperation, and I hadn't wanted to hear the depth of the described disgrace. And I am 100% sure that, in the day and at the time, I would have been as horrified as the next hipster, sucking disco being anathema to me until I begrudgingly let Blondie and Roxy Music sneak some into my consciousness. But do you know, I really rather like it. In fact, I'd go further, I love it. Add the fact that it is an ear worm of such persistence that I find myself humming it all over the place. It is cheesy, cheerful and chock full of a chutzpah that, damn it, just ought to make the sanctimonious nay-sayers smile and celebrate. Maybe a bit like the shock of other icons and idols of yesteryear playing Sinatra songs, unthinkable in the day, but, you know, it works. Likewise, contrary to my above comments, I did take a wander through the youtube, browsing the live spectacle, and, if anything, the clip below adds to my pleasure. Garcia is smiling. I am now old enough to dispel the notion that rock gods should not smile during the serious ritual of performance. I love to see musicians enjoy their art rather than suffering for it. It's here
I mentioned the charity record at we started. It's too long, there are too many indulgent and lazy re-runs of lesser known songs, the sound is muddy and it is bloody brilliant. How is that my conclusion? Well, probably because between the reedy vocals and wibbly meanderings there are out and out gems. In particular those featuring the National directly and indirectly shine, arguably unsurprisingly as twin brothers, Bryce and Aaron, both of that band, curated the whole project. But Bonnie 'Prince' Billy and Orchestre Baobab, an afro-cuban band from Senegal of all places, throw in a couple of doozies. Even the reliably much reviled Mumford and Sons give a not half decent version of my second favourite Dead song, 'Friend of the Devil'.( War on Drugs take on 'Touch of Grey' hits my spot, too.) As for the version of my title song, thus by default my third favourite Dead song, this is by Unknown Mortal Orchestra and is pretty handy too, adding only a little extra funkiness. Below is their performance of it on Conan:
I'm am not going to send you to the big river this week, nor point you to the original recording. In the spirit of the whole, do some good, buy the charity set direct from the label.
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