It seemed to me that there were a lot more choices for the 2017 <In Memoriam> theme than for 2018. The Ranker website seems to prove me wrong: 37 to 35. Wonder why I got that impression.
Looking at the Ranker list, I first thought: Charles Aznavour?
As an expat, I am probably more aware of M. -(that's Monsieur) Aznavour- than your average American, but .. I couldn't claim no affinity, no ties beyond having heard a lot of him as I grew up.
Then, it occurred to me that - considering that I (a) posted once about him [indirectly] this year, and that (b) I performed the same back in November, Ed King might be my best "go to" for this theme.
If you go back a ways in time, you'll find Ed King playing with Strawberry Alarm Clock back in the '60s.
And then he played with Lynyrd until he couldn't hack it no more in the mid '70s [and there is a decent film about the experience called If I Leave Here Tomorrow, preview below], fortuitously leaving before the horrible crash that took the lives of many of the band members.
Howsomever, I confess that I couldn't have named Ed King, or for that matter, any of the Lynyrd Skynyrd band. Knew of them? Sure. Ronnie Van Zant. More than that? Not much. But, once again, for my part ... the value of SMM - another chance to learn a little more than I knew yesterday.
I've a sneaky feeling this possibly unfamiliar name may mean more to the cinephiles out there than to the musos. I'd like to hope I'm wrong, but if you have been to the cinema over the past few years I am sure you will have heard some of his work, probably the most well-known being his soundtracks for sc-fi film 'Arrival' or the Stephen Hawking biopic 'The Theory of Everything'. But he was much more than a composer for films, even if that is where the bigger money lies, as other neo-classical composers like Max Richter and Olafur Arnalds have discovered.
What even is Neo-classical? Or indeed Contemporary Classical? Or even Classictronica as I prefer to call it, the indie mindset progeny of New Age and Ambient, fusing (often) elements of orchestral music with electronica? Here's a good, if a little already outdated article from UK newspaper, the Guardian.
Johannson had a what turns out to be a relatively typical start to his musical career. For Iceland, at least. Iceland, a tiny country of around a third of a million population, has been pushing way above it's weight for the past few decades, in a steady production of premier musicians across a vast gamut of genres. Go look! It seems every other person on the island is in a band. Well, Johannson, like fellow Icelander Arnalds, started off in rock bands, initially the brash postpunk of Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, via proto-(death?)metal with Ham, to the synth pop confectionary of Lhooq. And these are only the better known ones, his finger also in a number of other pies, such as Kitchen Motors, his think tank to bring together collaborations between all schools of musical theory, extending further developments already in his practice. Recognition outside his home was beginning to take place, and in 2001 he was the producer of the Marc Almond (of Soft Cell) album, 'Stranger Things', co-writing much of the material and playing most of the instruments.
Losing Hand/Lhooq
But it is his solo work for which his legacy will be best remembered. Often citing inspiration and building themes based upon arcane and/or doomed enterprises, two of his early works were 'IBM 1401: A Users Manual' (2006), using the actual instruction pamphlet for this early computer system as his source material and the electromagnetic emissions as sound sources, and 'Fordlandia' (2008), a suite developed around Henry Ford and his failed Brazilian rubber manufacturing enterprise. In each of these, and his other work, ambient noise mixes with the orchestral, found sound and spoken word with electronic. Stand alone pieces, unfolding over a perceived sonic narrative, clearly it was only a short step to soundtracking other art forms, stage, television and ultimately film.
Fordlandia: Melodia (Guidelines for a Space Propulsion Device
Working often with film director Denis Villeneuve, he was prolific up until the time of his death, picking up a number of nominations and awards. Runner-up for an Academy Award in 2015 with 'The Theory of Everything', for which he had to make do with a Golden Globe, he was again a runner-up in the following year, with 'Arrival'. Keenly anticipated, certainly by myself, had been his planned score for Bladerunner sequel, 'Bladerunner 2049', but Villeneuve eventually went with the more bombastic gloss of Hans Zimmer.
Sadly, Johannson was found dead, at 48, in a Berlin hotel room, in February of last year, apparently the accidental effect of mixing recreational cocaine with prescribed medication. In death too this emerging talent was seeming to echo his rockstar credential.
Before I send you down the big river, here's a clip from one of my favourites, 'Orphée', an almost orthodox classical composition from 2016. This is the opening sequence. The video apart, there is no film it accompanies. Close your eyes: make the images in your own mind.
My earliest music purchases, I think, were from the Bradlees store in New City, but I soon discovered the record department at Korvette's, with a pretty good selection of new music at reasonable prices, and a big bin of cheap cutout records, which basically satisfied my music buying needs until college. During my time at WPRB, I was often able to get free copies of records that I wanted, or bought things at the embryonic Princeton Record Exchange (or its traveling precursor), and I often frequented used record stores in the Village. And when I wanted new music, I usually went to J&R, down by the courthouses. There was only a brief period in my life that Tower Records, in the Village, near Lincoln Center, and even in Nanuet near where I grew up, was a destination. And by the time that the company closed, in 2006, it was a non-factor in my music buying life.
But you could argue that Tower Records created the music retail industry model that started in the 60s, and continued strongly for a long time, and it was created from the quirky mind of Russ Solomon, who died on March 4, 2018, at the age of 92. Solomon reportedly died from cardiac arrest, while watching the Academy Awards, after insulting someone’s clothing, and asking his wife to refill his whiskey glass. Here's Solomon’s obituary from his hometown Sacramento Bee.
Although Tower’s New York outposts, particularly the Village store, were important in their day, I always thought of the company as more of a West Coast phenomenon. And it was in Sacramento that Solomon started selling used jukebox records in his father’s pharmacy at the age of 16. After service in WWII and an early failure, he opened standalone stores in Sacramento, and then, critically, in San Francisco in 1968, just at the right moment.
Solomon’s genius, for the time, was to hire workers who knew and loved the music, to give them autonomy, and to stock “everything” in huge stores devoted primarily to records. He treated his employees well, provided tons of perks, fostered a party atmosphere, and expanded his concept across the world, while competitors knocked it off to create their own stores and chains.
One famous example of Solomon’s eccentricity was the collection of neckties in the company’s headquarters in Sacramento, confiscated from anyone with the temerity to wear one in his presence, tagged with the (former) owner’s business card.
However, Solomon, and his son Michael, who became CEO in 1998 when his father had open-heart surgery, failed to go public and instead relied on debt to finance expansion, and like so many others, didn’t foresee the effect of music downloading or online retailing, leading to the company’s bankruptcy in 2004, and again in 2006, at which point the company was liquidated.
Six months later, Solomon opened a new record store in Sacramento, but sold it after 3 unsuccessful years.
Much of this, and much, much more, can be seen in the excellent, loving, documentary, All Things Must Pass: The Rise and Fall of Tower Records, directed by the actor Colin Hanks, which was released in 2015.
I needed a song, because this is a music blog and all, so Steve Hackett’s “A Tower Struck Down” seemed appropriate, although that tower is from tarot cards, not music retailing. And I wonder if Russ Solomon would appreciate the irony of discussing Tower Records and offering a free mp3 download, and links to purchase a DVD and music from Amazon.
I'm going to cheat a little here, but about a year and a half ago, I wrote a piece about the opening of Jazz Forum, a jazz club in Tarrytown, and the opening night performer, Roy Hargrove, who died in November, at only 49, from cardiac arrest brought on by kidney disease. Hargrove had been on dialysis for 13 years. The picture above is from Hargrove's opening weekend gig at Jazz Forum.
Check out that post here, for some background on the great trumpet player, and here are obituaries fromThe New York Times, NPR, and Downbeat for even more information.
I will actually write a full post or two for this theme soon, although there may be a few of you who are pleased with the pithiness of this one.
Can you identify a musician's "signature style" just by hearing them play on a particular track? For a vocal artist, it's pretty straight forward - their "instrument" is highly unique. But whaddabout a guitar player or a keyboard player? To the knowledgeable, a Fender sounds different from a Gibson. A country picker sounds different from a rocker and so on ... But what is it about their style, their sound that sets them apart?
In the case of Nicky Hopkins - need I say, one of the most sought after session keyboard artists throughout the 70s and 80s - it appears that it was personality more than keyboard fingering that set him apart. Great work, but could you identify him on a track just by hearing it?
I've been to the Keyboard mag site and an article titled "5 Ways to Play Like Nicky Hopkins" in search of an answer. Among other notes, they report one of his signature techniques involved: " a sus2 embellishing the third scale degree". If that tells you more than your ears tell you ... Wow! Their review of his style only gets more technical as it continues (beyond my ability to follow).
His Rolling Stone obituary said he played "fast, accurate pounding piano lines to flesh out the sound of everything ...", as well as "skill, reliability and cheerful personality ensured he was the sort of session player untutored rockers could relate to". I want to believe that it is this that put him in such demand. When you play with others, how you fit in at the moment is as important as your speed or your technique.
My bad: I hadn't realized that Nicky Hopkins had passed - and it's been 25 years. I knew his name/fame primarily because of his session work with the Stones and the Kinks, but never delved particularly deeper than acknowledging his chops here and there. So ... let's post this under <Nick> but let it lead us into <In Memoriam>, even if he didn't pass this past year. (SMM might have missed him back when he did ... wait: SMM wasn't yet online back then!)
His Wikipedia page reveals so much more: all over the place, he was. The full list is overwhelming:
A taste below:
Art Garfunkel (above)
Jeff Beck (above)
The Rolling Stones - Sympathy (above)
The Grateful Dead/Quicksilver (Edward the Mad Shirt Grinder)
We interrupt the Un-Sainted Nick theme for our fourth annual listing of the most viewed posts of the prior year.
Through our (usually) two-week long themes, our international
roster of writers address many different kinds of music, and bring
different perspectives to their pieces. In our top 10, we have discussions about musicians who left us in the past year, pioneer independent artists, classic Brazilian music, the Vietnam War, fake Beatles, astronauts, the Mets, and the marriage of punk and reggae. Our posts throughout the year included folk,
rock, prog, power pop, country, comedy and other genres.
So, in
case you missed them, here are the most viewed posts from the last
calendar year. But they are only a small sampling of what you will find
in our archives, which we invite you to explore. Also, we invite you to like us on Facebook, so that you won't miss anything.
Fittingly, our number one post of the year honored the death of one of the fathers of rock and roll.
Because so many of the most viewed posts are from early in the year,
which makes sense, since they were available to view on the site for
the longest, below are the top posts for each of our themes not
represented in the total top 10:
Thanks so much for reading our work this year. If you are interested in joining our staff, contact information can be found at the top right of the blog.
And we promise more great music and writing in 2019!!
To nick is to steal in my land. That is, amongst myriad other meanings, including, bizarrely, to arrest someone and put them in THE nick, a prison cell. So St Nick could have been nicked whilst nicking and put in the nick. (You can also nick your finger on something sharp, but I couldn't find a suitable song by this lot, unless you think it's time to make some form of resolution.) This theme initially taxed me a little, I have to say, with only the odd (bad) seed germinating, however high or low(e) I hunted. (I know, it's the way I tell 'em.)
Soooo, the Triffids then. Newcomers to this page and possibly to many ears. Well, apart from the venomous and militant marching plants, they are (were) a great aussie band of the seventies into eighties, usually filed under post-punk and forming part of the then renaissance of cracking guitar bands from the southern hemisphere, all jangle plus plus plus, relentless drums, melodic bass with added organ, fiddle or steel when needed. Did I mention the jangle? Comparisons can be invidious but think other aussie shouldabeens like the Church and the Go-Betweens would be closest. The brainchild of mainstay and multi-instrumentalist David McComb, they came together in Perth during 1978. Prolific as a songwriter, he and the nascent band produced 6 cassettes of material and built up a small local following ahead of a first record deal and a single in 1981. A fairly fluid line-up in those early years saw a parade of members and a variety of instruments come and go, always based about McComb, although his elder brother, Robert, became nearly as constant upon being drawn in.
Did they ever amount to much? Maybe not, other than in the ears of music journos and authors, maybe most in those of feted UK writer David Cavanagh, stalwart of Sounds and Select, latterly the trio of Q, Mojo and Uncut (and who tragically died last week at the age of 54.) Here's his say.
Arriving in London in the early 80s, there they almost remained, stranded possibly, echoing yet another antipodean band in their peer group. The UK and northern europe, scandinavia, proved a more viable market for their brand of guitar based angst. Perhaps the best introduction would be 1986's 'Born Sandy Devotional', from which the featured song comes. Reaching a mid 20s chart position in Britain, for both the album and the featured single, it barely scraped the australian top 70. However, the with the help of the great god hindsight, nearly 25 years later had it ranked number 5 in the 2010 book, The 100 Best Australian Albums, itself a list well worth perusing. (Now revised and updated, last year, as 110 Best Australian Albums.) This recording gave them the credentials to get back into the studio, becoming, as the gated drum and synth sounds of the 80s receded, gradually more folk and country drawn. The lo-fi home recorded 'In The Pines' was followed by two further records, the band now on the inspirational Island label, 'Calenture' and 'The Black Swan'. Calenture is that sickly feeling homesick sailors get on long voyages, a maritime version of cabin fever, and gives body to the mood of the songs. The final and following album was more a mish-mash of styles and ideas, never intended, no pun intended, to be their swan song. But exhaustion and, yes, calenture together combined to enforce a hiatus that just stuck.
1990 had McComb back in London, dogged by crushed vertebrae and, arguably, concomitant escalating substance abuse, the latter contributing to heart failure and a 1996 heart transplant. Despite a prodigious programme of writing, a solo career never quite kicked off and he died, aged 36, in 1999, precipitated by a car accident shortly before. It is ironic that he only found real fame in his homeland thereafter. For more, there's even a book, a compilation of essays and tributes: Vagabond Holes-David McComb and the Triffids.
I’m sort of doctrinaire about the creeping expansion of holidays. I’ve accepted President’s Day in lieu of Lincoln and Washington’s Birthdays but reject the concept of “Presidents’ Month,” which seems to be the creation of car companies. Seeing Halloween candy in the stores in August is wrong. Christmas decorating and the like should start after Thanksgiving, and your decorations should be stored away not too long after New Year’s Day. And although I am happy to listen to holiday music in December, after the gifts are opened, it is basically time to move back to secular tunes.
But Un-Sainted Nicks is our holiday theme, so I’m going to ask you to disregard my guidelines, and listen to one more Christmas song, the amusing, original “Christmas At The Airport” by Nick Lowe.
If any musical Nick should be considered for sainthood, I’d suggest that Mr. Lowe could be the one. He’s already performed a number of miracles—writing “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding,” which has been magically transformed into an Elvis Costello song, producing, among other things, said Costello’s first five albums and Graham Parker’s first three, being part of Rockpile, whose best work was released without their name on the albums, and still became legendary, and having a late-career transmogrification into a pop crooner. And if that isn’t enough, his first, incredible, solo album was named Jesus of Cool. At least in England, originally.
“Christmas At The Airport” was inspired by Lowe’s experience, waiting in an airport in Geneva, nursing a hangover from a long night drinking with Mavis Staples’ staff and band—not the American treasure herself, as Lowe is quick to declare. He thought that a jaunty pop song about someone snowed into the airport at the holidays would be interesting. You can hear him discuss this story here.
The video for the song, above, is also a gift. It tells the story of an elf’s thwarted attempts to get to the North Pole in time for Christmas, and includes most of the typical indignities that air travelers must endure, including the forced removal of shoes, having your bags rifled through, and sitting on the floor to charge your phone, along with a few particular to magical creatures. But it ends with the promise of an airport romance. And a snowman being decapitated.
Although the animation styles (and studios) are different, the video reminded me of Bojack Horseman, which as you may know, Ilove. Not only does the video include humans with elves, snowmen, and what may or not be human/animal hybrids, the airport stores have amusing names that would not be out of place in Bojack’s Hollywoo, such as Snakes For Your Plane Petshop, or Downward Spinal Massage.
Well ... here's a new word for you that you probably won't ever need, but if you were to remember to pull it out at the right time, it might impress someone. hypocorism: a nickname that shows affection that can include both major alterations to the original (calling your sweetie "possum") or abbreviating Nicholas to "Nick". Ever wonder if they called Khrushchev "Niki"?
A search of the Intertubes will provide the dedicated researcher with lists of musicians with the first name Nick, and a deeper search can call up others that have some form of Nick somewhere in their full names, and that's all well and good. And then there are songs or albums that incorporate those four letters in that order somewhere within, as in <Nick of Time>.
If you have followed my posts over the years, you already know my lasting affinity for Ms Bonnie Raitt. About Raitt, I've posted, Seuras has posted, Darius has posted ...
Nick of Time was her 10th album and it includes a number of collaborators you'd be likely to recognize in their various roles. Among the better known: Herbie Hancock Michael Landau Don Was (who also produced) David Crosby Graham Nash It's a pretty long list of credits, and you might well know more of them than those I chose to list from my own limited experience.
The album got a ton of awards: Grammy's Album of the Year, inclusion in Rolling Stone's 500 greatest, but for some reason, never in my list of favorite Raitt works (I think that'd be <Give It Up>).
Although John Hiatt doesn't play on the album, one of his songs is included, and I choose that, in part because I included a Hiatt song back in out Spring <Steps & Stairs> theme
So ... this, partly for the purpose of comparisons of sorts: Hiatt in different hands sounds like this ...?
Christmas is so often a time of extras when it might be better looking for less. I'm looking at your plates and your glasses. (OK, you can insert a smiley face emoji there, I may be Marley but I ain't Scrooge.)The problem with extras is that they lead so often to left-overs. Esteemed colleague KKhafa records that so well with his post immediately below, as I find myself wondering how often those paper panties and giant size cards were used. (And don't get me started on hidden tracks.) But it automatically, as I mused, had me humming this early 80s hit, nearly the sole output of one Carmel McCourt. So why have we heard so little subsequently? Why has More, More, More begat less, less, less?
I absolutely loved this when it came out. I think I saw her play it on one of the late night friday night TV shows I used to like, aimed at the young and feckless on the return from pubs that then still closed at 11pm. Of course, I was already the wrong demographic, too old, too married and my first child barely a year old. I may have even been watching it on near silent, desperately rocking her into some semblance of sleep. But I remember being hooked, the retro organ and the resolutely unhip cheerfulness of the rhythm section. Lets's not forget the music of that day was often quite austere and clinical, an indubitably serious business, so to see this was fun, fun, fun. I was just beginning to wean myself into jazz, songs like this acting as a catalyst. But then what?
I have looked through my i-pod and discover I bought an album, 1990's 'Collected', clearly a greatest hits package for those without hits. (I have a number of such albums.) It's going to get a play, today even, but the track listing doesn't worm into my ear like the featured song, which is, I guess, why I bought it.
That's enough of that, says Monsieur Malheureuse of Marseille, for what I need to know is that just because my little tinpot country may not have kept Ms McCourt in riches and royalties all these years, that doesn't mean she isn't huuuuuuge in France. Cos she is. My near neighbours love a bit of bebop on the boulevards and have christened her the new Edith Piaf even, praise indeed, a compliment returned by her later producing an album of Piaf standards and deep cuts. In fact, since 1984 she has put out 10 records, including one this very summer.
New Years Resolution? Look out for more (more, more) Carmel.
I veer from the standard "post a song with extra" because I just couldn't get into my original idea. It's not that Lou Reed's Claim to Fame has no claim to fame, but ... it *is* just one more of a few hundred songs that happen to have the word "extra" in the lyrics. I wanted something a little more entertaining at this time of year.
There must have been like a million albums produced since the invention of the phonograph, and it must be a perennial quandary for the artist and the producer to come up with something that makes yours stand out. Sometimes good music in and of itself isn't enough. I think of my copy of Dave Mason's Alone Together, which was pressed onto somewhat psychedelic multi colored swirling vinyl - kind of unique. I've seen albums with funky shapes.
One album with something "extra" that sticks in my mind is Sticky Fingers, with its actual zipper "sewn" into the album cover. You can't help but pull it down to see what's ...
And aside from this kind of attraction, lots of albums have included band-related posters.
But going to a more extreme additional form of entertainment for the fans ... (and these - for the most part - are generally verified hearsay. Sue me if I'm wrong)
Cheech and Chong's Big Bambu included a huge rolling paper. No surprise there.
Sgt. Pepper's included a a cardboard page of cutouts - epaulettes, moustache, badges ....
ELO's Out of the Blue included a cardboard cutout of their iconic spaceship.
Three Dog Nights' Seven Separate Fools album came with seven oversize playing cards.
Alice Cooper's Schools Out came with paper panties as a wrapper.
If you purchased Cracker’s 1993 CD Kerosene Hat and looked at the track listing on the back, you would see 12 songs listed (including track 12, a cover of the Grateful Dead’s “Loser”), followed by a statement that 13 & 14 were “No Songs,” and number 15 was a :40 track called “Hi-Desert Biker Meth Lab." But if you put the disc into your CD player (I’m sure this sounds to some readers like, “if you put the wax cylinder onto your phonograph…), it registered 99 tracks. Hmmmm.
Now, the first 12 songs on Kerosene Hat are, for the most part, excellent—it really is a fine album, by a band that put out a bunch of good ones. So, even after “Loser” was over, you probably felt pretty good about your purchase. But you needed to hear "Hi-Desert Biker Meth Lab," so you let it run. And frankly, that “song” is just a bunch of random sound. So what about tracks 16-99? Let it run, right?
17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24…nothing…nothing....nothing…60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68……hey, it’s an extra song (at 69, designed to get a laugh from all teenage boys, and teenage boys at heart, or, as we call them, most men)! And it turns out to be a good one, “Eurotrash Girl.” An 8 minutes plus wistful travelogue of misfortune experienced by the singer as he searched the world over (actually, it seems, just Europe), for a “Eurotrash Girl.” I understand that the song was a popular part of Cracker’s live show, and it in many ways typifies their music—a somewhat skewed Americana sound with clever/funny lyrics and a catchy chorus. I’d note that at the time I first heard the song, back in 1993, my daughter was not quite born yet, and now she lives in Barcelona. She has no car, so hasn’t suffered the same fate as the singer, who had his car broken into, but she has had her wallet and phone stolen a few times.
Now, I’m sure that you are asking yourself, OK, Mr. J. David, that’s track 69 (yuk, yuk), but there are 99 on the CD. What gives?
More extra music. Track 88 is “I Ride My Bike,” a perfectly fine song, and the last song is a demo/outtake of the title track.
Cracker guitarist Johnny Hickman explained how and why they put this extra music on the disc, and in such an unusual way:
The story behind that was at that time we had a lot of songs. We’d been playing “Eurotrash Girl” live for awhile and fans were really reacting to it. There were even a few radio stations playing live bootlegs of it. The word got out amongst the fans, “Hey, check out “Eurotrash Girl.” They were talking about it and it developed its own bit of momentum. We told our record company, Virgin Records at the time, we gotta put this one on here too. They said, “But your record is already too long. People only have so much of an attention span. Save it for the next one. Blah blah blah.” We just snuck it on there anyway. We went to the mastering lab and just put that song and “I Ride My Bike” on there.
[Virgin] had no idea. We just went in and put it on anyway. We just snuck in the tape and said, “Just put it deep in there.” It was [producer] Don [Smith]’s idea to make it track 69 with his perverted sense of humor, which was fine with us. It was frustrating to some people with the song because they had things on shuffle. We basically just gave them another song. You only get paid for so many songs. We just said, “Well, the fans obviously like this one. We’re just going to put it on there.” So we did.
Apparently, it also helped them catch bootleggers, who manufactured discs without the extra songs.
In the spirit of extra, here’s some more information—the album title, Kerosene Hat, refers to a hat that singer David Lowery wore when he bought kerosene for the heater in the crappy house in Richmond, VA where they were living while recording demos.
And here’s a bonus track—Son Volt’s “Medicine Hat,” because I always think of that song when I think of Kerosene Hat, and because it is also a good song from the 1990s.
I
believe it was Darius who once noted that even a short post was better
than none. I'm going to add "better late than never" to his remark.
We've moved on to our next theme, but since it hasn't yet been touched,
it looks like I might get away with this cheat.
<Spill the Wine> is a classic - first published by Eric Burdon and the Animals - no wait ... Eric Burdon and War.
The
conceit of <spilling wine> is neither new nor unique to this song
nor The Animals (has something to do with the properties of wine itself
perhaps?)
But this song is a narrative that might best be
relegated to the frame of mind of some of us who came of age in the
early 70s, even if it is a classic example of that compus mentus, with
lyrics like:
just a dream/all in my head.. mountain kings and long-haired leaping gnomes
Last week’s Leftovers post was inspired by the I’m With Her concert my wife and I recently saw. Nine days later, we went to Symphony Space in NYC to see the final night of a Rhiannon Giddens residency week, a show billed as “Sisters Present.” All we knew was that the concert would include Giddens, Toshi Reagon, Amythyst Kiah, a young banjo and guitar player and singer, Birds of Chicago's Allison Russell, and Giddens’ sister, Lalenja Harrington, a singer, poet and, in her day job, Director of Academic Programming Development & Evaluation for Beyond Academics, a four-year certificate program supporting students with intellectual and developmental disabilities at the University of North Carolina Greensboro (and a Princeton alumna). Giddens herself has quite the bio, which you can read about here.
Giddens had already provided me with my favorite musical moment of 2018-her intimate solo workshop performance at the Clearwater Festival, followed by her full-band show on the main stage, and knowing the work of some of the other performers, the question was not whether it would be good, but how good. At the end of the night, it was clear that Giddens has now provided me with my two favorite musical memories of 2018. It really was an amazing night of music, and that includes the rhythm section of Jason Sypher on bass and Attis Clopton on drums, with Francesco Turrisi on accordion and piano. And beyond the basic quality of the singing, playing, songwriting and arranging, it was wonderful seeing how much the women appreciated each other’s work.
I’ve found two reviews online of the show, one from the New York City Music Daily blog, which referred to the performances as “riveting” and “intense,” and No Depression described the concert as one “where the power of music and the spirit of togetherness gave off a light so bright and true it is hard to find the words to describe it.” But finding words, the reviewer called it “two sets of highlight after highlight, with Giddens leading a stage full of immense talent.”
For the most part, the concert consisted of new or recent songs (or poems), all of which were informed by the past musical styles and history that influences the performers (many of which were the subject of an earlier show in the residency, “Sisters Past” which focused on covers of older songs). They played together, and individually, with some emphasis on music written by Giddens, Russell and Kiah for a forthcoming Smithsonian Folkways album, Songs of our Native Daughters.
While I agree with No Depression that it is hard to pick a single highlight, certainly, Giddens’ performance of “At The Purchaser’s Option,” is a strong candidate. An original song inspired by a slavery-era advertisement for a “remarkably smart, healthy Negro wench,” who is described as having “a child 9 months old, which will be at the purchaser’s option,” Giddens sings the heartbreaking song from the woman’s perspective, describing the hardship and oppression of slavery—particularly being a female slave—overlaid by the additional fear of knowing that she could be separated from her baby, by forces utterly out of her control. And yet, she recognizes that her master, and the system, can take everything from her, except her soul. It is a remarkably powerful song, in the studio version that you can see in the video above. Despite its roots in the 19th Century, NPR voted it the 30th greatest song by a 21st Century woman or non-binary writer.
And it was incredible in the live version performed at the “Sisters Present” concert. Luckily, someone named David Adler, who had seats very close to the stage, recorded it, so you can see it.
It was also great from my seat in the balcony, by the way.
Finally, if you think that the lyrics are just a bit too much, and just want to hear the music, as interpreted by the Kronos Quartet, go here.
Let's get this straight, tea is so not my cup of tea. I can't stand the stuff, being an avowedly (instant) coffee man. Yet it is an enduring image in the world of popular song, often used to evoke a peculiar englishness that has, bar the drinking of it, gone. But it gives me the opportunity for a list post, which, in the leftovers pile, will at least avoid any flak for using up "all the ideas" Thus, in time honoured, please warm your pots.......
Cup of Tea/Shack. Lovely peaceful vibes, with a hint of ye olde psychedelia which belies its youth, the song being barely a decade old. Given that it stems from the never more aptly named Head brothers, arguments might exist as to whether this song is about assam or darjeeling. Or indeed anything more exotic, but it has a timeless, restful quality I can drown in.
Penny Royal Tea/Kristin Hersh. I know, I know, it's a Kurt song, but I prefer this version to the original, excepting the Unplugged performance. I wondered quite what Penny Royal tea was, thinking it may even be a brand of teabags available in Walmart or some such, then that the song may have been a play of words, bemoaning the pitiful returns on his song publication rights: royal tea/royalty, right? As ever, wiki is my friend, and it is apparently an often unsuccessful chinese abortifacient...
Tea and Sympathy/Janis Ian. Beautiful string arrangement with typically understated Ian vocals, a wry reflection on loss. And at last a song about tea tea. I would politely endure a cup of tea under the circumstances described, and traditionally have about one cup a year, usually with aged relatives. And similar references, no doubt.
Tea For One/Led Zeppelin. Not an entirely dissimilar concept as above, portrayed and presented a little differently, it's true. Percy missing his missus, tea for one being the metaphor for alone. Whilst I can't imagine vintage Zeppelin drinking anything but (vintage) champagne, OK, maybe brown ale for Bonzo, strangely the idea of the current Plant drinking a mug of tea, probably in a Wolverhampton Wanderers mug, seems entirely apposite.
Tea Leaf Prophecy/Herbie Hancock featuring Joni Mitchell. Her song, mind, but this version has always appealed more, the original still displaying residual vestiges of a folk tendency within this, as we later learnt, decidedly jazz singer. It is also good to have a salient reminder of the erstwhile bonus in every olden days cuppa, that of having your fortune made available courtesy the leaves left in the base of the cup. Try doing that with a teabag, Mr Lipton!
Tea Stain/Tindersticks. Cripes, I love(d) this band. As an instrumental this isn't perhaps the most representative of their output, but does give the european arthouse soundtrack quality they inhabit so well. It's a pity as I can picture their lugubrious singer, Stuart Staples, finding it only too easy to imagine him with old tea stains down the front of a crumpled white shirt. (You wanna hear him sing? Sadly I can find no further tea references, Will coffee do?)
Tea For The Tillerman/Cat Stevens. Bit of vintage Cat when he was still Cat, rather than Yusuf realising he didn't sell so well without a bracketed reminder. This album and the follow up, Teaser and the Firecat, soundtracked my miserable teens, the angst and ennui of his vocals hitting a chord with lonely adolescents everywhere. There seem to be a lot of websites arguing the meaning of the phrase, but I think the picture says it well enough, whether the jovial beardy is the man who tills the soil or pulls the tiller. Personally I think the 1 minute version on the album is probably better.
Tea Leaves/The Snails. I'll be honest. This isn't the song I wanted to include, hoping that a song of equally little-known band UK The Scaremongers might be available on YouTube. It wasn't, but I encourage you look for the song, part of the Sound of Mature Huddersfield as they style themselves.
This song? It OK.
So, that's yer lot. Eight, as anything more might be seen as hogging it, seeking vaingloriously too wide a demographic where at least one song might appeal. (Memo to self, what do they drink in Tarrytown?) No room even for this......
I knew this guy had to get a mention ahead of year end, having briefly invoked his spirit in an earlier post. But once again I fear I may be accused of subverting this theme, supposedly around ways to, if not to get well, to at least get better, so here I go, dredging up yet another allegedly drug-addled troubadour and his lullaby to papaver somniferum or some such. Of course you'd be wrong as, try as I might, I can't squeeze a narcotic reference out of the ethereally vague lovelorn lyric. And there are apparently many Pill Hills, notably in Chicago, areas of town with a hospital at the peak, surrounded by the houses of the support staff. So there.
Lanegan presents quite a contrast. His somewhat daunting appearance and edgy reputation seems to hide a real pussy cat, capable of producing beguilingly beautiful songs like this, certainly more often and reliably than the grungy thrashfests he looks as if he should be performing. And was, at the start of his career. I probably missed out on that part, he first coming to my attention in his duo with Isobel Campbell, herself fresh from a stint with sensitive Glasgow pastoral-pop vendors Belle and Sebastian. Whilst no great fan of theirs, I had picked up Campbells solo offering Milk White Sheets, her record of traditional songs and airs, enjoying it enormously. I hadn't appreciated then that she had already one album out with Lanegan, and would soon produce another. But I heard her, and nominally he, interviewed on a folk radio show. She could and did speak volubly about their music together, interspersed with a session from them, he nearly monosyllabic. However, as he sang, his sandpaper and stubble baritone gave a formidable weight to the songs, underpinning her delicate higher tones in ways that entranced me.
As is my wont, this was my hint to explore the back catalogue. Not all to my taste, his work with the Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stone Age prove a little challenging to my genteel ears, if simultaneously reinforcing my realisation that his voice is a rare gift. And he has been always busy and/or restless, with always another collaboration simmering on one side, another direction pursued on another. So as well as those already mentioned, he has worked with Greg Dulli as the Gutter Twins (or, as well, in the Twilight Singers), Soulsavers, Moby and even Massive Attack, legendary Bristol trip-hop collective. In between time(!), there have been at least 9 solo albums, gradually incorporating ever more hues of electronica, fusing it with his old testament gravel and guts vocal. A good place to start would be either with last years Gargoyle, or Blues Funeral from 2012. (Links go to a song from each.) A more recent revisited collaboration is with protege and band member, Duke Garwood, a guitarist who uses the instrument, heavily processed and fed-back, to produce atmospheric soundscapes. While his own vocals provide suitably spare melody to these shimmers, guess whose makes them sound even better? With Animals came out earlier this year, but this, Pentecostal, is from Black Pudding in 2013.
I don't know how successful Lanegan is at home. Certainly he seems to spend a lot of time in Europe and seems to tour the UK at least once a year. I was lucky enough to catch him last year.
For the record, the song featured for this piece comes from his 5th album, Field Songs, dating from 2001, but helpfully came also as part of a thoroughly decent retrospective, Has God Seen My Shadow: An Anthology 1989 - 2011.
As a covers lover, I also want to give a nod to his many and varied appearances on tribute projects and soundtracks, for artists as diverse as Bob Dylan, the Kinks and the Velvet Underground. He also has a couple of records devoted to cover versions, with songs not always as expected. For 2015's Record Store Day he produced, again with Garwood, a terrific version of Needle of Death, written by the late great Bert Jansch, which just happens to be yet another druggy song, anti, as it happens, for this Remedies theme redux.) It isn't on YouTube so don't look. Have this instead, a reminder of what happens when the remedies don't work.......
If you have watched and listened to these featured clips, and via the links, you will have noticed a distinct trend, that of dissolution and the need for redemption, with the Massive Attack video being an especially galling view. I feel Lanegan knows and faces all these demons, or their reminders, on a daily basis, with the born again vigour yet stony blankness of a old west preacher with a gun.
Usually, when I go to a concert, I have expectations. That’s because I’m a fan of the artist, and I have a sense of what it will sound like. Most times, there’s an expectation of what you are going to hear—stuff from the new album, if there is one, some older favorites, maybe a cover, or a deep track. Of course, expectations can lead to disappointment, if the band has an offnight, or doesn’t play your favorite song, for example.
Seeing a show by an artist that you aren’t that familiar with, or even totally unfamiliar with, can be liberating. Sure, you might be totally disappointed, but you can listen with a completely open mind. For me, that has been part of the joy of attending music festivals, most notably the ClearwaterFestival (but also NewportFolk), because sprinkled between the familiar acts are new discoveries.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I saw I’m With Her at the Tarrytown Music Hall. When the tickets went on sale, I thought that it might be a good show, despite the fact that I was only vaguely familiar with their music. I was aware that all three members had reasonably successful careers in the folk music/singer-songwriter/Americana/bluegrass/roots music world, that Sara Watkins had been in Nickel Creek, and that I enjoyed all of their music, both solo and group, when I heard it on WFUV.
It turned out to be a great show. As much as I can enjoy a rocking show at the Music Hall (seeing The Mavericks shake the old building a few weeks before was a blast), there is something to be said to hearing beautiful music, well-played, in a quiet, appreciative concert hall. The show started off with another revelation, The Brother Brothers, identical twins David and Adam Moss, who played guitar, violin, and cello, and sang classic sounding (mostly) original folk music with wonderful brother harmonies. They set the stage well for the headliners, and seemed genuinely happy to be playing to a fairly large audience.
I’m With Her, which also features Sarah Jarosz and Aoife O’Donovan, made beautiful, mostly acoustic music on an array of stringed instruments, with beautiful harmonies. Apparently, they came together at an impromptu show in 2014 at the Sheridan Opera House in Telluride, Colorado where they had been booked to share a workshop, and during rehearsals, recognized that as good as they were individually, they had something special as a trio. They toured together, playing on each other’s songs and doing covers, before Hillary Clinton unwittingly commandeered the band's name as a slogan.
They began to write songs as a group, complicated by geography (O’Donovan and Jarosz live in New York City; Watkins lives in Los Angeles), busy work schedules as solo artists and as guests, teaching, and, for Watkins and O’Donovan, motherhood. Their album was recorded in England, in real time, with the musicians, producer and engineers all in one room.
And that, pretty much, was how the show went. The three women, facing each other on stage switching between instruments and between lead and harmony vocals. They played songs from their albums, solo tracks, and a few covers. And it was beautiful, and relaxing (less so for my wife, who was seated next to a very annoying person on her other side). In honor of Joni Mitchell’s 75th birthday the previous day, they busted out a new cover of “Carey,” with each member of the group taking the lead on a verse. You could hear how each of them was influenced by the legend, but also how they had made that influence personal.
I chose to feature “Overland,” not because it was the best song they played, although it was quite good, but because it has a really cool paper stop action animation video. Featuring lead vocals and guitar from Watkins, with banjo from Jarosz and O’Donovan on guitar, it is a song about leaving home, in this case, Chicago, and heading to San Francisco, with all of the hope and trepidation that entails.
Curiously, this has almost the same title as the last song I wrote about in this theme, albeit in translation, confirming, if ever needed, that March is one wet mother. It is also my birthday month and my unreliable and unravelling neurones told me I had celebrated last year by attending one Michael Chapman in concert. O, so wrong, it was 5 months later, but it is raining today so that's as much link as I need.
Michael Chapman is a remarkable fella, and one who is experiencing a bit of a late bloom, courtesy some heavy duty patronage from americans half and less his age. The fact that his style of guitar play is back in vogue hinders no little, the likes of (the late) Jack Rose and William Tyler taking the template and twisting it both back and forward. OK, it was earlier visionaries like John Fahey who first feted this structure, the confusingly to me entitled American Primitive, but it took, IMHO, bluff yorkshireman Chapman to give it song. Literally.
He has been around and on the road forever. Like so many musicians from the 60s UK, he was a product of Art School, actually teaching for a while before the lure of a penurious existence on the fringes of popular culture became too strong. The story goes that he was too broke to pay the entrance fee into a Cornwall Folk Club, offering instead to play, staying then for the entire season. A record contract materialised and he came to the ear of the iconic John Peel, tastemaker DJ to decades of pale young men. His first records were produced by Elton John producer, Gus Dudgeon, with the exquisite orchestral arrangements, as here above, of Paul Buckmaster, who perhaps deserves a leftover himself.
Early records tended toward the pastoral, primarily acoustic guitar to the forefront, with his never more z sibilant style of singing s's, as here on his 'greatest hit', 1970s Postcards of Scarborough.
Like the electric guitar? Sort of familiar? It's Mick Ronson, prior to Bowie, with erstwhile Steeleye Span stalwart Rick Kemp on bass. Following this early taste of success, he later pursued a rockier road, albeit often revisiting his earlier material, like Wrecked Again. Less satisfactory to my ears than the earlier studio version, he was nonetheless popular on the college gig circuit until a massive heart attack in 1990 seemed to beckon the end of his career. Having continued to be a guitar tutor alongside his playing, it was to this he retreated. His catalogue contains a number of discs for the budding virtuoso to brush up their licks, but he was also slowly, very slowly, climbing back onto the performance ladder.
It was probably galling to have Sonic Youth turn up at one such low-key performance, especially as they credited him with having inspired their own ouevre of feedback frenzy. Millstone Grit, from 1971, particularly inspired Thurston Moore, with the middle and last sections of New York Ladies giving the clue, say from about 4.50 onward, and again, more powerfully, at 7.49. Here's an interview between the two of them.
Now, as an elder statesman of guitar music, connecting John Fahey, with whom he has played and Steve Gunn, who has played with him, he has had the accolade of all-star tribute album, featuring both old friends from his past like Kemp and Kemp's ex, Maddy Prior, to Lucinda Williams, by way of the aforementioned Moore and Tyler, and the mercurial talent of Hiss Golden Messenger. I commend it. But even more I commend 50, his last release. A mix of new and of re-interpretations, this is a staggering piece of work. And no, no link, you can find the songs yourself. But I will leave you with an instrumental version of March Rain from 2015's Fish, together with his own version of many of the events skimmed over above.
Begun well before Thanksgiving, it only now occurs to me that many of you have by now shredded your turkey - that is what happens by the end of the day, no? But that wasn't what was on my mind as I chose/ran across this variation of "Alice".
I play both nylon string guitars as well as steel string electrics. In the past, I had a steel string 12-string as well as a 6-string steel: Neither of which I can still play (can't afford a "sweet" guitar of any kind 'cause of the cost, and my age makes it harder to finger cheap steel) Never considered myself more than an amateur, so the "shredded" style is way beyond me.
"Shredded"": a virtuoso lead guitar solo playing style for the guitar, based on various advanced and complex playing techniques. The result is a recognizable but raucous version of the original: This particular "shred" strikes me as a perfect example: it shreds the laid-back folk tones of the original into something highly recognizable but so perverted that is comes across as being torn to shreds.
Arlo mostly picked - not generally/particularly suited to raucous guitar as heard here. Sure ... you can pick an electric guitar (prime example: Hot Tuna), but generally, picking is for acoustic.
And so .. Jeff's music is interesting in how it bridges the divide: a little of both - rock style picking
Interesting to me: before looking up definitions of "shred", I would have assumed it meant to pull apart a song (in some unique way). I have since learned that the term only applies to fast play. So ... OK. the post still qualifies, but me-thinks it would even better qualify under the category of a uniquely piece-mealed version of a previously popular song.
You know how in “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree,” Arlo sings that it:
all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the Restaurant?
The friend at issue, an unindicted co-conspirator in the criminal garbage dump, was named Rick Robbins. They had been friends since the early 1960s, when they both attended the Stockbridge School, where the librarian was a woman named Alice Brock. That Alice. At the Stockbridge School, Robbins was exposed to American music from Bessie Smith to Arlo’s dad, to current stars such as Joan Baez and Bob Dylan. He's the guy on the left.
In 1965, Robbins and Guthrie set off on the road to discover music and themselves, and spent a lot of time singing and playing folk music and the blues. But rather than opt for the life of a professional musician, Robbins settled down to build houses and learn architectural design.
Fast forward to 1995, when Robbins was trading construction work at a music studio for recording time to create a record of some songs for his family. Rory Block, the blues guitarist and singer (who I saw the other day, opening for Richard Thompson), happened to hear him playing, added some vocals, and persuaded Robbins to release an album.
Block produced the album, Walking Down The Line, which also features Ramblin' Jack Elliott, John Sebastian, Eric Weissberg, and Larry Campbell, as well as old buddy Arlo. Not bad for an unknown carpenter/folk singer, right?
Robbins and Guthrie perform a fun, jaunty version of “Low & Lonely,” a song written by “the father of the Nashville music business,” Fred Rose, who wrote, under his own name, and as “Floyd Jenkins,” a number of legendary songs including "'Deed I Do" and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” He’s the “Rose” in the name of famed music publishing firm Acuff-Rose.
“Low & Lonely” was originally released in 1942 by Rose’s partner, Roy Acuff and His Smoky Mountain Boys, and has been covered a few other times, notably by Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, one of Robbins’ main mentors and influences, Hank Williams, and George Jones, who recorded the song with Acuff’s Smoky Mountain Boys.
Robbins has released two more albums of music, most recently an album of original songs, in 2006.
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