Well, I couldn't possibly say whether this post is a reflection on esteemed turkeyfest Thanksgiving, normally featured at this time of year, or not, being no celebrant, turkey being next month for us over here in Blighty, and, anyway, aren't you celebrating your freedom from "us"? (Which begs the question as to whether, in exasperation over the Greenland snub, your guy elects to take up our tousle-headed lookalike leader's offer to flog us off, or our health, lock, stock and barrel. Give or take an election in a fortnight, or two of your weeks, which ever is shorter.)
Drunk By Noon
So, the Handsome Family, or Mr and Mrs Sparks as they are known to friends, a little known institution until a recent stroke of luck, courtesy the first series of 'True Detective', launched into every living room in the land with the song that opens each episode. In these days of streaming, downloads, legal and otherwise, and youtubetomp3 software, money in music biz land is tight, the only real resource being touring, with then the merch table as profitable as the tickets. But you need money to tour too. Luckily, although they may dislike the concept and deny the vanity, the Handsome Family are cheap, basically husband and wife Rennie and Brett, she on bass, banjo and lyrics, he on guitar, keys and tunes. Both sing, but it is Brett's basso profound that is their main calling card. Over about a quarter century they have built an enviable body of work, with 11 albums, plus compilations, built on the back of solid touring, in the US and overseas. I first caught them back in about 2004, when they were part of a rolling roadshow, with and organised by venerable agitprop UK folkies Oysterband. The bleak mix of dark country and murder ballad that they revel in had me hooked.
When the Helicopter Comes
Always sort of a hidden gem, a secret passion, it must have been a huge boost to their profile and, I hope, to their income, to have the kudos of a boxset bonanza. (Here is an interesting article about the economics of such.)
Far From Any Road
Above is the song in question, but go search the back catalogue, there are myriad equivalent gems. As to 'Drunk By Noon', Rennie's lyrics are broadly unhelpful in interpretation of the absolute meaning or circumstance, but, if you are having the family over, and need to be, be my guest. To some decent music, of course......
The saying goes something like this: You can't choose your family, but you can choose your .... [??] - Fill in the blank, if you can.
[The answer is: friends]
I have to admit that I get along remarkably well with the the family I chose (my wife's family, that is...). And consider myself blessed for that. Yeah, they've got their faults. So do I. But we have managed to bungle along for the 35+ years my wife and I have recently celebrated.
That said, the <mother-in-law> problem is a standard of gossip (and marriage-related media of all stripes) but not so much of hit songs. Mother-in-law is always meddling, has seemingly had little kind to say (and more so for the outside wife who can't cook/doesn't iron/can't keep the house clean?) You tell me if there is a gender imbalance in this issue.
Now ... as for Ernie-K Doe. (Cool name, no?) It's pretty unlikely you have ever run across this name/this song. (Ernie K-Doe was on this planet from 1933-2001, and I don't think he was ever included in SMMs' In Memoriams when he passed. Wait ... that pre-dates SMM by an inch or two.)
His <Mother-in-Law> song - from '61 - made it to the #1 spot for Billboard/US. (#1!!!) It's more or less a one-hit-wonder, although he did appear on the charts a few more times at a lower ranking.
<Mother-in-Law> was written by Allen Toussaint. (If you knew Toussaint was an American, the name might direct you to the <French> part of the US, in this case Louisiana (which is famous for lots of things French - obvious from the reference to Louis.) And Ernie's link to the French? Well ... New Orleans. Which is in LA (not Los Angeles in this case, for those of you not familiar with US state codes).
The song's lyrics back up societal general perceptions:
The worst person I know, mother-in-law, mother-in-law
She worries me so, mother-in-law, mother-in-law
If she leaves us alone, we would have a happy home
...
She thinks her advice is a contribution
But if she will leave that will be a solution
And don't come back no more
Ouch! But true to the general perception. No?
Interestingly, his wife continued to operate the "Mother-in-Law" lounge after his death. Hmmmm ...
As for the musicality? Well... it's pretty standard '60s fare.
On the other hand, there is Eta James, who also came out with a song of the sane title,
Her lyrics are a bit different and the song clearly sounds different (given the limitations of what was commercially viable a that time!) That said - the essential theme is the same: older/outside woman who interferes in the next generation's ... er ... affairs.
Like most people around my age, I was familiar with Mike Oldfield because of Tubular Bells, his 1973 masterpiece that became famous when part of it was used in the movie The Exorcist. But because his music was, for the most part, album side-long instrumentals, it was otherwise rare to hear Oldfield’s music on the radio.
And when I got to college and began working at WPRB, I was able to explore some of Oldfield’s records, although again, even at that college station, it was unusual to throw on a 20 plus minute song. Unless you were alone in the studio and had to run to the bathroom, which was down the hall.
But Oldfield is a remarkable musician, playing most of the instruments on his records and overdubbing wildly—by some count, he has played more than 40 different instruments on his various records, and his music is very much worth listening to. So, I do recall occasionally playing “Part I” of Tubular Bells (which features Viv Stanshall of the Bonzos introducing the instruments, because Oldfield liked this song) on the air, or a few of the shorter songs he began adding to his records as time went on, maybe in hopes of getting radio airplay.
In March, 1982, not long before I graduated from college, Oldfield released Five Miles Out, which included a few shorter, poppier songs, including “Family Man,” sung by Scottish singer Maggie Reilly, that was actually pretty catchy. In fact, the song nudged onto the singles charts in the UK and Canada. It tells the story of a man approached by a sexy prostitute, and his rejection of her—“Leave me alone, I’m a family man,” he sings—although part of his rejection is based on fear that if she continued her seduction, he might succumb. I liked the song, played it a few times on the air, graduated from college and moved on with my life.
A year or so later, I heard a song by Hall & Oates (a band that is not my favorite—although there’s this) called “Family Man,” and it sounded vaguely familiar. Somehow, back in the pre-Internet era, I was able to determine that it was, in fact, the same song. Although to their credit, H&O definitely made it their own. And they added some lyrics that changed the song so that the man decides to take the woman up on her offer, but she had already left, leading to some apparent regret. This version, not surprisingly, did much better commercially, reaching No. 6 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 and No. 15 on the UK and Irish singles charts. Although what a cheesy '80s video...
Reilly also covered it, in 2009, but it is slick, commercial and not that interesting. Maybe I’m being a music snob (which would not be surprising, would it?), but I prefer the original—although I have to admit that the H&O cover isn’t terrible, so if you like it better, I’m not going to think less of you.
Well this was a stroke of luck, the two colours I haven't already covered, along with a cheeky pink for future reference, together giving an opportunity to offer a SMM debut to this much admired scottish group, active between 1979 and 1997. Never hugely successful in their lifetime, it is the accolades offered afterwards, by their peers and adherents, that have ramped up their reputation, even if their best known song, was not, strictly speaking, by them at all.
Confused? Song to the Siren, a song originally by Tim Buckley, appeared on a record by This Mortal Coil, more collective than band, the collection being, largely, of acts on nominal bandleader Ivo Watts-Russell's record label, 4AD. And within that was included Cocteau Twins, the performers on the track, and who subsequently included it within their CT repertoire. This Mortal Coil existed over three albums, 1984 - 91, the Cocteaus, as a unit, appearing only on the first, although with later member Simon Raymonde heavily involved with the second, leaving briefly the band he had decided to join, at the first sessions.
So, let's revisit this. Elisabeth Fraser, vocals, and Robin Guthrie, guitars and programming, had, along with John Heggie, on bass, formed in the scottish industrial port of Grangemouth, a dreamy mix of Fraser's ethereal vocal, lyrics largely indiscernible within a hazy swirl of effects pedals, anchored some propulsive baselines. When intelligible, the vocals remained, largely, still unintelligible, often being streams of sound rather than identifiable english. (The featured song here has words based around the latin names of various butterflies, but I guess you had worked that out......) After a trio of well-received records, Heggie left, leaving a gap they chose not to fill for the next record. Simon Raymonde, a multi-instrumentalist, then joined, left and joined again, apropos his This Mortal Coil responsibilities. Pink Orange Red comes from this time. Their closest taste of mainstream success arrived in the 90s, with Heaven or Las Vegas even denting the US chart.
Success is always a wily mistress though, with Guthrie retreating into dependency, casting friction on the band, not least with Fraser, by now his partner and mother of their daughter. With this limiting any build forward from that point, together with the time taken for rehab (his) and therapy (hers), the sound, having clarified and become possibly more commercial, retreated back into distort and shimmer. A further few releases and they were done, both as a band and a couple.
Raymonde and Guthrie have continued to work together, setting up the Bella Union record label, both individually and together, often in production and management of bands signed to the label. Fraser has led a quieter life, but has still cropped up in the occasional high profile collaboration, the best known being with Massive Attack, writing and singing the song below. Having had one abortive attempt at reunion, it seems unlikely the three will perform together again.
Here, below, is the acoustic version of Pink Orange Red. It can be found on their 1985 release, the EP Tiny Dynamine. The richer and more highly produced version at the top of the piece comes from Lullabies to Violaine, a 2005 4CD retrospective. Acoustic. Electric.
Trying not to overthink this, so I went with the first thing that came into my head when I heard what the new theme was.
Red, the album, released in 1974, was King Crimson’s seventh studio album, and was supposed to be the last, until it wasn’t. It is probably the King Crimson album that I listen to the most, and I still think that it is great. For starters, at that point, the “official” band was a trio, all of whom were among the best in the business—Robert Fripp on guitar and mellotron, John Wetton on bass and vocals, and Bill Bruford on drums and percussion. They were augmented for certain songs by, among others, David Cross on violin (who had recently been kicked out as a "full" member), and Mel Collins and Ian McDonald (both of whom had been in prior versions of the band) on saxophones. Also, there’s a cellist, who is uncredited, and apparently is unknown to this day.
The song “Red” and the album are considered to be influential in progressive rock, but interestingly, they are different from what other prog bands were doing at the time—Yes, ELP and Genesis, for example, were more keyboard driven, with music that was filled with classical influences, while King Crimson’s sound on Red is harder, more metal even, although there are two more “ballady” songs on the record, including the stately “Starless,” which features atmospheric mellotron washes, and numerous jazzy passages. That’s why Red is cited as an influence by artists such as Tool, Primus, Kurt Cobain, Henry Rollins and Dream Theater.
The title track is an instrumental, in the vein of the earlier “Larks Tongues In Aspic, Part Two,” and it is “one of the more muscular pieces of Robert Fripp's, in particular the deployment of open strings and heavily attacked and syncopated bass and drums underlines this aspect.” That quote is from this post, which analyzes that song in truly granular detail.
Clearly, King Crimson’s complex and challenging music has been analyzed by music obsessives, including the band members (and management). So, you can read Fripp’s diary about how the song “Red” was pieced together. Here’s a typically dense Pitchfork analysis of the album. And here’s a piece by David Singleton, Fripp’s business and production partner, about the making of Red. Or, you can buy a 21-CD/1-DVD/2-Blu-Ray box set, The Road to Red, which features recordings of many of the concerts from the tour that preceded the recording of Red, so you can, if you are inclined, listen for improvisational sections that turned into parts of Red songs. I’m not that obsessive.
I’ve learned writing these posts is that sometimes you find something that says what you want better than you can, and when you do, just copy it. This is from a review of The Road to Red:
Red managed to encapsulate all the things that defined mid-'70s Crimson: ear-crunching instrumentals like the title track; improvisation-heavy excursions into the outer reaches of rock, jazz and beyond on "Providence" (recorded live on the penultimate night of Crimson's final North American tour, included in the current box); dynamic, mellotron-driven ballads that morphed into thundering solo opportunities for members past and present via a lengthy middle section that milked the hell out of just a few choice notes ("Starless"); and two songs ("Fallen Angel," "One More Red Nightmare") that suggested a shifting direction for Crimson, with even stronger song form than on [Starless and Bible Black] but delivered with the same—or, even, more—massive weight-bearing load of what was one of the loudest, most mind-blowingly powerful power trios in the history of rock music.
Just to vary things up, though, the version of “Red” that I’ve embedded above is a live version recorded in Mexico in August of this year by the seven-piece version of King Crimson that features three drummers (!), Pat Mastellotto, Gavin Harrison and Jeremy Stacy (who also adds keyboards), along with Fripp on guitar, Tony Levin on bass and Chapman Stick, Mel Collins on flute and sax, and Jakko Jaksyzk on guitar and vocals (although not on this song). You can download it here, for free!
Compare that to the original:
As I noted above, Red was supposed to be the last King Crimson album—and it is amazing that a band that was falling apart could create such a masterpiece--but a few years later, Fripp put together a band with Bruford, Levin and guitarist/singer Adrian Belew that eventually became a new version of King Crimson. The cover of their first album, Discipline, is red.
purchase the whole Axis album. It's a classic that's worth every penny you spend.
[ Axis Bold As Love ]
Aaah... a confluence of luck and a subliminal message from beyond the grave bring this one to the page.
You see, as an amateur guitar player who hopes that some day he's going to have the time to devote to improving his technique by tracking other folks' methods, I periodically check out various "tutorial/ How to .." for songs I wish I could. More than once I have looked at versions of this one, perhaps filed them away for that future day when I do have the time, or simply enjoyed them for what they are: great examples of covers of the masters.
Some time within the past 10 days, I picked up the above version of Hendrix's Axis Bold As Love. There are a number such tutorials you can find @ YouTube, but this one I played again and again: smooth style, accurate representation of the original - and besides, it's a great song.
So great, IMHO, that I was surprised that I couldn't find any other dedications to it here at SMM (although I seem to have circled the song more than once). Further, it's not just Red, Yellow or Orange. It's all 3 at once.
I revere Hendrix as both a master of the guitar, but also as a lyricist. I percieve a depth in his word choices when, for example, he sings about
Crosstown traffic, so hard to get through to you
and figure he intends not just the modern=day difficulty of navigating city roads to get to his girl-friend, but also the underlying mental issues of dealing with allegorical additional garbage on the road there.
In terms of the lyrics of Axis, it is particularly colorful. And accurate. The psychological influences that colors have on the human psyche are in full play here:
My red is so confident that he flashes
Trophies of war and ribbons of euphoria
Orange is young, full of daring
But very unsteady for the first go around
My yellow in this case is not so mellow
In fact I'm trying to say it's frightened like me
And all these emotions of mine keep holding me from
Giving my life to a rainbow like you
The words, the story ... it is able to take me all over the place: visions of the "life-giving waters" and the "happy turquoise armies lay[ing] opposite" come easily as I listen. And I believe it is a combination of the lyric choices and the melody that supports it. Masterful indeed.
Pick a colour, any colour. Well, from the three offered, and, bang, into my I Tunes search in goes yellow, coming up with the delightfully unwoke title above. Good as any, say I, little dreaming the deep and rich seam of history associated. And not a little fantasy/phantasy, as I soon learnt. So, just because I starting with Kacy and Clayton hipster central, don't for a second feel I am going to not immerse you in the full trad.arr.
Kacy and Clayton seem to have hit a rich seam of late. Having started off as mere celebrated Canadian folkies, by dint of association with Jeff Tweedy, he producing their last two recordings, and, before you know it, they are on trend and turning up on Aquarium Drunkard's esteemed Lagniappe Sessions. And good for them, say I. Gypsies comes from their earlier (and well entitled) 2015 debut, Strange Country. The song? Much earlier. A staple of the british folk song tradition of landed ladies running off with ne'er do wells and scoundrels, it has existed in many forms and has had many names. With yellow a colour I have never necessarily associated with either the romany or irish itinerant gypsy populations, the song also comes in as raggle tangle, as well as may other descriptors or titles. Here is a pretty good synopsis, even if it fails to mention some of the more mainstream connections, which is my job. So, no surprise, it has been covered by the great and good of the UK folk tradition, any variation of Watersons and Carthys, to the great and much missed Nic Jones (the definitive version, IMHO). But you may not have appreciated also the selection of more mainstream artists who have either also covered it, or used it as a starting block:
OK, so maybe not such a stretch, Mike Scott oft ploughing a rich seam of celtic into his big music, especially in the Spiddal years, but this is the closest to pure and unadulterated fiddle-dee-dee in his repertoire, his vocal shifting from his usual mid-irish sea amalgam to the pure scots of his Edinburgh birthplace.
Yup, Black Jack Dav(e)y is another variant of the song, the lyrics and bits of the tune the same message. The White Stripes strip it back and amp it up, but it is all there. Tucked away on the b-side of a single, it's worth the search.
A pretty straight version here by Hooray For the Riff Raff, another Black Jack Davey. Now more an overtly americana act, this earlier piece sounds way more appalachian than any doo-wop loving child of the Bronx should ever produce.
Well, a bit different, and perhaps not what you's expect from the voice of Yazoo, orchestral and cod-operatic. Back to the (w)raggle taggle, I don't think it is one I'll seek out again.
That's much more like it. I confess I had never heard this version before, despite loving all of his work. Possibly put off by the running together of black and jack into blackjack, I had never seen it as being the same song, assuming a gambling and drinking connection, not unheard of in his song choices and writing.
Finally something completely different, ol' Taj here seems to be channeling Sam Cooke over an acoustic skank. It shouldn't work, but, o my, it does, it does. "My man Black Jack Davey" indeed.
I'm guessing that there aren't too many of you who have heard of the J. Geils Band. I think you need to be of a certain age. Jay Giles passed away last year at the age of about 71. The man was originally a jazz trumpet player who later switched to guitar and went on to set up his own band - eventually naming it the J Geils Band. Although the band broke up in the 80s, they sporadically got together for reunion concerts after that.
The J Geils Band is classic blues - in fact it was originally named the J Geils Blues Band. Their first album brought them some notice with the song "Wait" - some nice blues "harp" from Richard Salwitz (aka Magic Dick) along side Geils' solid guitar and vocals from Peter Wolf.
Perhaps the band's next notable hit was Orange Driver, with essentially the same lineup and style: blues all the way.
Orange Driver's lyrics don't include many hints as to why the song carries the title it does. In fact, I challenge you to find any link to colors or fruit of the citrus variety in the words or the music. I couldn't. But that doesn't detract from the power of the song. Or the fact that it is named such that it fits our current theme.
If you're gonna listen to J Geils, you might also want to check out this one (Angel in Blue) from the 80s:
Someone has to do this: there was once a band named <Spirit> and it seems wrong not to include them in this theme.
You must have heard the name Randy California - a prime example of re-branding (Randy Wolfe becomes Randy California). Incidentally, the grape-vine believes that the Randy Calıfornia moniker was bestowed by Jimi Hendrix. (see the California Wikipedia entry for more). If you follow music history, you may also have heard of Ed Cassidy (known by his bald head, RIP 2012)(I learned as a result of this research, that Cassidy also played with my man Ry Cooder in a band called Rising Sons in the mid/late sixties) The relationship between California and Cassidy is worth noting: Cassidy was California's step-father (which may possibly have been part of the idea behind their "The Family That Plays Together ..." album name.
Spirit essentially came out with one song that made the charts: "I Got a Line on You". But the band also made headlines when (it appears) Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page may have "borrowed" most of "Stairway to Heaven"s guitar work from Spirit's "Taurus".
Until California's death in '97, the band went through a number of permutations and come-back attempts (none particularly successful). But the name and the spirit lives on.
Some might say I am, again, entirely missing the point of this theme, submitting posts around arcane or unknown musicians, rather than jolly japes around the spirit world that befit the feast of St Michael (Myers). So be it, my defence arguably resting on the deceased nature of the musicians concerned. In this case, rather than the takentoosoon of cancer, this time it was the at least as ghastly act of suicide that took Mark Linkous, singer, songwriter and, in reality, the end-all and be-all of Sparklehorse.
Spirit Ditch
I would expect most readers of this site to know the name, even if little known in the civilian world of charts and videos. His band, which lasted between 1995 and his death, 15 years later, gave us 6 albums, including collaborations. These are a scatter shot of styles and influences, possibly denoting the scatter shot status of his brain waves, he having been no stranger to the use of mind-altering drugs, not least in their life-changing capabilities. And not in a good way, as you may below follow. They're good records, though. Spirit Ditch is from the first, vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot, and is as good a place as any to get to grips with his impossibly fraught vocals, a whispered scream of frailty. With stream of consciousness lyrics, it is hard to say quite what it is about, but the lifted transcript from a(n actual) phone call with his mother, she talking of a bad dream he had described her, gives a clue to the mindset. I like what I see as a lyrical nod to After the Goldrush: "I woke up in a burnt out basement", sensing some psychological kinship with Neil Young. Having said, he is just as capable, like Young, of a raucous wig-out like Someday I Will Treat You Good.
I first came across the band for their second outing, having read of the horrendous incident that pre-ceded its release, widely felt to preface much of the material. This was later denied by Linkous, saying it had already been written. (Musicians traditionally always deny any obvious inspirations to their muse, whether Bob Dylan or Nick Cave, mind.....) But I am drawn to such, and found the slightly more synth embellished textures of Good Morning Spider being to my taste. (Below I shoehorn in a track, later covered by Susanna Hoffs, if unreleased, in a lame attempt to fit in with the theme.)
Ghost of His Smile
Next album, the was it ironically entitled It's a Wonderful Life, is said to be more straight ahead, made without added stimulants (or downers). Ditching any firm concept of a band, it is rammed full with collaborations, from PJ Harvey and Nina Persson, to, Linkous' hero, Tom Waits. Whilst some of these extra voices add to the overall, largely I feel they detract, the earlier shambolic being key to my enjoyment. These songs are just too conventional. (Don't get me wrong, they're fine, it's the comparison. And the Waits' one is shit.)
Brian Burton, aka Danger Mouse, the now big name influential game changer for Michael Kiwanuka and Karen O, and electronic ambient artist Fennesz now entered Linkous' orbit, both and/or either intrinsically involved with the rest of the Sparklehorse canon. Firstly with Dreamt For Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain, which comes across as a bit of a muddle, with tracks redolent of each of their stylistic tropes, together with a leftover or two from the earlier album. Again, don't ignore it, just don't seek it first.
Getting it Wrong(?)
Chronologically the next should be In the Fishtank, Vol. 15, jointly credited with Fennesz, but delayed in release until after his death. I guess you have to be in the mood, but it smacks to me of too much self-indulgence. It looks a whole lot better live. So I will move swiftly to the last, this time a direct 3 way credit with both Danger Mouse and with David Lynch, the film maker, for his photography. Too many egos? I don't know, but legal difficulties delayed the release by a year, during which Linkous took his own life. Designed as a feature for songs Linkous felt uncomfortable singing himself, this features an array of bussed in vocalists, some of whom work better than others.
I would prefer it to have been Linkous, personally, and, thankfully, he features on a couple. It works best when similar voices are used, like Grandaddy's Jason Lyttle, less when a different atmosphere is sought, like with Iggy Pop. A sum less of its parts, it features the song below, almost clairvoyant in mood, featuring vocals shared with Linkous and, again, Nina Persson. Because, all too soon, he was.
Finally, back to where I began, with the realisation of his talent bearing fruit, here is a remarkable cover version of Spirit Ditch, made by Nadine Khouri, the up and coming UK based melancholist.
Spirit Ditch
Spirit Ditch here, or, with and in respect to the relative newness of the cover version, AND here.
I was on a Lufthansa flight this past week where the film offerings included a bunch of films I'd already seen, and <Rocketman> - the Elton John bio, which I hadn't seen.
After I consumed that, further entertainment also included a made-for-TV short about Elton John, which, not having had my fill and with few choices, I also watched.
Included in the TV short was information I did not previously know - something about Elton as a prolific session musician in the mid- to late 60s. There was a reference to Norman Geenbaum's Spirit in the Sky.A little research shows that Elton did <certified> session work on that one and maybe quite a lot more [see the link].
Norman Greenbaum's Spirit in the Sky. Consider the idea of Spirits in the Sky. What kind of spirits? Where else might you find spirits besides "in the sky"? In the ground (but not yet risen from their graves?). In your mind, of course. And in your soul. But mostly in the air/sky - you know ... where ghosts tend to float. OR .. it being the be-witching season ... maybe knocking at your door. What might Greenbaum have been thinking? Are there Internet links that enlighten us 50 years after the song came out?
A look at the lyrics seems to indicate what you'd expect:
... a friend in Jesus ...
... they lay you to rest ...
... Never been a sinner, never sinned ...
Pretty solidly related to standard "holy" spirit and such. All the same, it seems incongruous that a message of this sort should have made the charts in the late 60s. Maybe it wasn't the message but rather the medium. (That bass beat ... or ...?)
Musically, the song is fairly 60s: and it's really the only song Greenbaum "made it with" - the rest of his career appears to have been seriously below the level of this song.
And so - established that Elton John did some session work,, his version of the song (must have liked it enough to do so ....)
The name of Stephen Bruton may be known to fewer than those who have heard his songs, and, if and when then, possibly when sung by others rather than by him. I was sort of amazed he hasn't previously had a shout here, given the love of roots oriented musics: blues, folk, country, in the many and various scribes who have written for the site over the past decade and more. If you like a bit of Willie or Kris Kristofferson, the chances are that you are familiar with his work. With a style that effortlessly bridges the oeuvres above, it is when he plays his own that the class really outs, aided and abetted by his lifetime perfecting his precision on guitar. Perhaps it was the experiences of working as Kristofferson's right hand man for nigh on twenty years, ahead of a similar role with Bonnie Raitt, that imbued him with such apparent ease with a song. And I can't help but feel, had he not died from the throat cancer that beset his last few years, that he would have become better known. But he did, in 2009, aged 60.
Spirit World is both the name of the featured track, and of the record it comes from, his fourth solo release, in 2002, on the prestigious New West record label, always a reliable home for quality americana and roots. Especially if you happen, like Bruton, you come from Texas. If you like a loping swagger down dusty byways, perhaps stopping to slake your thirst in a beat-up roadhouse, this is probably music you will like, and his other records have more of the same. Live? Well, his would be the sort of band booked to actually play that roadhouse. Here's the same song in a live setting.
Something I didn't know about him was his involvement with the soundtrack of Crazy Heart, the award winning film about a down and not quite out country singer, wedded to the bottle, ahead of being rescued by the love of a good woman. So far, so cliche, except it wasn't quite that simple, the good woman being a music journalist and happy ever after remaining, arguably, elusive. But, with Jeff Bridges, who blagged a deserved oscar for his portrayal, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, any tawdry sentiment is transcended. Based on a book, itself based loosely on singer Hank Thompson, many of the set pieces in the film are embellished with the real life experiences, on the road, of Bruton, himself a recovering alcoholic. (And, even if this weren't true, the character Deacon Clayborn, in the TV series Nashville, actually was certainly based upon him.) The job of the soundtrack was given to T.Bone Burnett, his first call being then to enrol his life-long buddy Bruton to the task, despite already his cancer biting hard. The bulk of new material for the movie was written by the pair of them, although Bruton was not to see the official release. He died at Burnett's home, so closely were they working, even right up to the end, this being six months ahead of the opening.( Here is one hell of an article, telling his tale so much better than can I. And please note the comments around his becoming, on attaining sobriety, a tireless rescuer of livers, rather than any lasting pitiful drunk.)
There are a host of similar artists I love, dependable names in, usually, second billing, or third, to more lauded souls, yet providing the ballast that boilers the bigger name. Sometimes the accolades come, often they don't. I am thinking of Sonny Landreth and the late Neal Casal, journeymen players and singers, often overlooked in the chase for a bigger story. Do yourself a favour. Look 'em out.
I’ve openly discussed my love of prog-rock in on this blog, so you might be surprised to discover that I’m not a big fan of Rush. They are one of those bands who I’ve never particularly gotten into, maybe in part because I have never spent much time really listening to their substantial output, but there are a handful of Rush songs that I like. One of them is “The Spirit of Radio,” from the 1980 album Permanent Waves. Why this Rush song as opposed to any other? I can’t give you a good answer, but I think that it is probably a combination of the song’s relatively straightforward structure, the somewhat surprising reggae touch at the end, and most of all, its message.
When I first got interested in music, you could still find relatively free-form radio stations that weren’t afraid to play deep tracks and long songs, and there were still DJs creating thematic sets and talking, knowledgeably, about the music. I learned so much about music from listening to, mostly, WNEW-FM during my high school days. The three members of Rush are all 8 or 9 years older than me, and came of music listening age during a time when radio was even more wide open.
But like so many things, once someone realizes that money can be made, people, or more likely, companies, with big bank accounts step in, and the distinctive character of whatever it is gets lost in favor of standardization and the profit motive. The days of free-form radio are mostly over, at least on the commercial part of the dial, and that’s a shame. Most stations play a very circumscribed set of songs, narrowly formatted, and often the DJs are just people with good voices, without the knowledge, or love, of the music that they play. At the time that Rush released “The Power of Radio” this trend was speeding up, and it was certainly something that I, sitting in the dorm-basement studios of WPRB, was acutely aware of.
As Rush guitarist Alex Lifeson said about the song:
That song was really a statement of where radio was going, where it had been. Growing up in the early 70s, FM radio was such a free forum for music; you’d have DJs who would play stuff for an hour. They’d just talk about the songs; there were no commercials or anything. So free-form, really a platform for expanding music at the time. And then it was moving more towards a format, and away from that freedom, becoming more regulated, more about selling airtime. It just speaks about that, really.
The irony was that the song that attacked radio became a hit, and presaged a move by the band toward more radio friendly music, at least for a while.
Not only is “The Spirit of Radio” a shot at radio programmers, it is also an attack on bands that Rush believed were more in the business for the money, and not the art. In one of the most well-known lines from the song, which consciously echoed Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sounds of Silence,” Lyricist Neal Peart wrote: ‘The words of the profits are written on the studio wall, concert hall/Echoes with the sounds of salesmen.’ The salesmen, in his opinion, being the disingenuous front men of bands who told each city that it was the greatest, or that its fans were the best.
These days, of course, we don’t have to rely on radio stations to discover music anymore. There are tons of other places to hear music—streaming services, the Internet in general, satellite radio, and so on. On one hand, that’s great, because access is now in the user’s hands. But on the other hand, this model has made music much less profitable, preventing some artists from having the resources to create their art to the fullest (although it also has probably cut back on a good deal of excess). Maybe worst of all, though, is that this model makes it easy for listeners to stay in a rut. Most Sirius XM stations, for example, play a small slice of music, and when you choose music on streaming services, it is easier to pick music or artists that you already like, than to search for something new and good in the mass of available songs. That curatorial service that a good FM DJ provided, which allowed me to simply tune to 102.7 (or to have listeners tune to 103.3, when I was on the air….) and have my musical horizons broadend is mostly gone.
I've wanted to do this post for a while, just waiting for the right opportunity, serendipity offering perhaps the least obvious way to shoehorn it in. Collins, erstwhile pin-up poster boy for Glasgow 80's band, Orange Juice, has had a (brief) mention here before, but given his current renaissance, a fight back against most expected odds, and on the back of a new and acclaimed album and tour, time to stake his claim as an ongoing artistic presence of merit.
The two photos are decades apart; that much is obvious, but, following his pair of devastating brain haemorrhages in 2005, when it was assumed he might never fully function again, not only is he writing, singing and performing, he has become a pillar of his home community, Helmsdale, in the far north east of scotland, a small coastal fishing community, from where his forefathers had arisen. Initially unable to speak, one strange quirk of such a brain injury can be the retention of ability to sing. Following surgery and through intensive therapy, he was able to build up from only 4 words/phrases: 'yes', 'no', 'Grace Maxwell' (his wife's name) and, intriguingly and prophetically, 'the possibilities are endless'. True, he can no longer play his earlier and visceral guitar, at least by himself: his right arm is significantly weakened, but, with another person making the chords, he can still strum and pick. Making music again these past twelve years, a momentum of appreciation has built up, as his powers and prowess have built back up, using the recording studio almost as an instrument.
I can commend a documentary made in 2014, The Possibilities are Endless, recounting his progress until then. This year saw his latest record, Badbea, an older name for the ancestral home to which he had returned and where he had his own studio built. (More accurately, Badbea is the name of the clearance village, to which the local clans were herded, ahead of being "emigrated" to the new world: read about it here.) The picture of the bekilted Collins is from the 2010 Helmsdale Highland Games, at which he had been asked to be chieftain, able to reprise the role of his grandfather decades previously.
So far and so few witches, you say. Yes, indeed, so let me draw you to a superlative sampler of Collins' earlier output, ahead of the event described, featuring Orange Juice and his early solo works. Entitled Edwyn Collins & Orange Juice: A Casual Introduction, 1981-2001, this came out in 2002, it's need more a reflection of some slight industry dissatisfaction with his direction, the business wanting more poppy fare than the angrier material he was putting out following the demise of that group. It is an excellent sampler and an excellent round-up, ideal to prepare the palate for his current. The OJ hit single is there, in a unique melding of both the 7" and 12" versions, Rip It Up, alongside still standout highlights of his live repertoire, Gorgeous George, and, single, A Girl Like You.
(Witches? I'm getting there.......)
Also included are a pair of covers, coincidentally linked by their subject matter of, you guessed it.
Witch Queen of New Orleans
Quite why this cheesy one hit wonder was chosen has continued to baffle me, an ear worm that burrowed into my youthful hatred back in 1971, by the weretherealorweretheyMemorex native indian band, Redbone. I learn, in fact, that their credentials were actually genuine, and that they had a number of hits, even if Witch Queen was the only one to cross over to my side of the pond. And, to my horror, having always devoutly skipped this version on playing this cd, I played it for this piece. You know, it's OK. It IS definitely and desperately cheesy, sure, but more in a mature scottish cheddar way than a monterey jack. It is only available on this disc.
Witchcraft
Showing off Collins' masterful croon, this is a cover from the great american songbook I am usually so wary of, although, written by Cy Coleman and Carolyn Leigh, and dating from 1957, I guess it could have featured in my last post on this theme. Collins here has me thinking more of mid to late period Motown, the time of big ballads and slinky synths, and is, more generally, a style, Motown, to which he increasingly returns, motor city horn arrangements being especially prevalent on Badbea. Frank Sinatra loved it so much he cut it thrice, but other and more modern versions have included everyone from Robert Palmer to Robert Smith, by way of even Siouxsie Sioux. They all diminish in comparison.
So maybe not so witchy, but hopefully will still cast a spell on any unknowing ears.
The featured album is tough to find, but newbie, Badbea, isn't.
Here's a taster.
The following is all possibly "fake".
How would you know?
Yoko Ono is an artist? (True/False?) Yes, I guess so.
You are what you claim to be? Well ... that's certainly part of the road to your destination. But it generally doesn't guarantee it (see the various unknowns I try to include every now and then in my post of famous people's songs [JimiHerbie]. It's a fact that some of us are better positioned for one reason or another (and some are luckier)
Is Yoko Ono a witch? The jury seems to be out on that one.
You don't need my history lesson about Yoko to guide you towards your decision. (you can get your own here). On the other hand, I was one of millions that tracked the story of John and Ono in real time (because I was born in the 50s).
Yoko was one of the primary reasons the Beatles dis-banded? (maybe). Yoko "twisted" John's mind. (love tends to do strange things to your perceptions). Etc ... etc...
Does/Did Yoko Ono bring a new (artistic) dimension to John's (read: the Beatles at that stage) perceptions? (yes). Was it (artistically) creative? (Um ... yeah) Does that mean that she should be making her own albums at this point (2019) in time? ( uh ... no. But I am clearly biased from the start.)
I think the first time I really noticed Yoko's musical influence (yes - knew, but didnt register back in the 70s), was Plastic Ono Band - the husband/wife collaboration
Other input towards our theme - (witch or not) -Yoko is somewhere in the picture(like a true witch)
I'm Losing You
Watching the Wheels Turn (again .. Yoko here or not?)
Pardon the extensive parentheses - they seemed needed to separate my wandering thoughts this time around ...
The Great American songbook is something that has me normally running for the hills, especially when utilised as a vehicle for ageing rockers who have overdrawn on their inspirations. Most such vanity projects have given such a bad name to the originals that one could be fooled too that the originals are cheesy and cheap. And sometimes they are, but there are a bevy of writers of such reliability that any such fear is misplaced. These would include Cole Porter, the Gershwins and Richard Rodgers, cited mainly as three who transcend the celluloid vintage of their origin and can hold their heads up against often the most lumpen of current interpreters. My title song, above, as played out by Ella (do I really have to add) Fitzgerald, was written by Richard Rodgers (music) and Lorenz Hart (lyrics). Although Ella was not the first, and, as someone I totally didn't "get" until maybe a decade ago, arguably she provides the definitive version. Quite how I couldn't see past the elderly and bespectacled, grandmarmy-like woman she had become, now defies me, it taking my Uncle George, a jazz lover who instilled in me the love of music if not, initially or necessarily, his tastes, to get me to see with my ears open, hear with my eyes open. He played me some Aretha Franklin, shocking me with his eclecticism, seamlessly then comparing and contrasting with Ella, getting me to allow both in my appreciation.
It's a great song, though, isn't it? From a 1940 musical, Pal Joey, it was originally sung by a Vivienne Segal on Broadway, reprised in a revival, 14 years later, with an ongoing life of it's own since then, with perhaps the most bizarre appearance coming in the UK royalty biopic, The Crown, as possibly sung by King George V and his daughter, Princess Margaret.
Here are three of the better contemporary versions. (With apologies to those who would say otherwise, Frank doesn't count as sufficiently contemporary.)
Boz Scaggs has one of those voices that hinges on the cusp of being just, and only just, right, fitting no definition of being good in any accepted classical sense. But, on the right material, perfect. Personally I am no lover of peak Boz, his disco years, Lido Shuffle and all that, much preferring his earlier and later more blues based work. But here, the juxtaposition of his strained holler alongside the consummate lounge jazz setting, is a glorious peanut butter/jelly combination. It comes from a 2003 release, But Beautiful: Standards, Volume 1. Strangely, no second volume has yet appeared.
Rufus Wainwright adores this stuff and it adores him. Many say he sings like a corncrake; I have to say I differ, finding his high camp self-belief so intoxicating as to have me forget the sentimentality of (some of) his material and the archness of his presentation. This version shouldn't really do it, as he milks the saccharine and cloys it to near curdle. But I love it. Just don't tell anyone. This comes from the film of Alan Bennett's The History Boys, my imagination that Bennett himself would be not amiss to crooning along with it.
Yes, that Jeff Lynne, Mr E.L.O. Astonishing, as I really cannot abide most of his output, in particular some of his trademark mannerisms, the echolalia backing vocals, for one, which threaten to appear here, retreating, thankfully, just as swiftly. This avoids the tweeness he often can bring to material, his voice managing to sound warm and genuine. It doesn't even make me think, that much, of the Beatles. Like the Boz Scaggs above, this comes from an oft overlooked record in his canon, Long Wave, in 2012, a album entirely of covers from the 40s and into the 50s.
Of course, there are some other crackers, Linda Ronstadt and Sinead O'Connor, as two women who have the pipes to nail it, each capable of singing the phone book and still sounding sweet. And clunkers aplenty, mentioning no names.
Herbie Hancock? ... I had a vinyl copy of one of his albums way back at the end of 60's. It was so long ago that I have a hard time remembering which one it was (I certainly no longer have a copy)
Wait ... does anyone even know his name today, let alone still have vinyl copies of this stuff?
The man has come up with 41 live albums, 12 studio, sixty-two compilations, five sound-tracks, thirty-eight singles ....I can hardly continue. Oh yeah ... he's also got a song that fits our current theme. Well, .. actually more than one (considering the above lengthy repertoire): the man has credits on <Witch Fire> as well on <Witch Hunt>. The titles sound awfully similar, no?
Witch Fire, from the Smoking Keys album, is credited to - can't find anything. There's relatively little online about this album. The first Google link takes you to a site in Asian/Chinese characters and not much else. The Google images link includes a screen shot of an album of the same name, but the trail seems to peter out about there. Except that that link resolves to give you a list of songs on said album. And another link (if you enclose the album title in quotes, leads you to (WTF): a link about Blue Cheer (now that's history for you) - "Peterson is at the wheel *smoking, keys* in the ignition but the motor is silent"
There's more online info about Witch Hunt, credited to Wayne Shorter from his '66 album <Speak No Evil>, which includes a number of ECM studio alumni: Shorter, Freddie Hubbard, Ron Carter, and Herbie Hancock. (ECM going back to the end of the '60s and a major jazz publishing influence throughout the 70s and still thankfully going today)
But .. back to the story line (witches, Herbie Hancock)...
Herbie Hancock makes Rolling Stone's list of top "Stoner" albums, but not for this one (although that should come across as slightly auspicious - Halloween, anyone?)
First, Anne Boleyn, King Henry VIII’s second wife and Queen of England from 1533 to 1536, was not a witch, although she has been accused of being one in popular culture. In fact, her execution was based on (probably false) claims of adultery, incest, and high treason designed to get her out of the way so that Henry could move on to wife III. But she was an incredibly divisive figure in English life of the day, ascending to the throne after the controversial end of Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon and otherwise contributing to the move of England from Catholicism to Protestantism. The politics of this period is fiendishly complex, with lots of players and shifting alliances, so, I’m not going to even try to explain all of this. I do recommend reading Hilary Mantel’s novels about this period, Wolf Hall, and Bring Up The Bodies, or watching the PBS adaptation of them, Wolf Hall, in which Claire Foy portrays Anne (before being cast in The Crown as the young Queen Elizabeth II, who was a descendant of Anne’s older sister Mary, a mistress of Henry VIII before her sister took her place. Like I said, complex.).
It seems that the witchcraft allegations stemmed from two main sources all derived from basic misogyny—first, if you were a powerful woman, and had enemies (and Anne fit that bill perfectly), it was likely that you would be called a witch. For example, while many contemporary commentators remarked on Anne’s beauty, brilliance and charm, one Catholic writer, long after her death, described Anne as having a “protruding tooth,” a “large wen (growth) on her neck,” and six fingers. You know, sort of like a caricature witch. There is no claim, however, that she wore a pointy hat, rode a broom, or weighed as much as a duck.
The second basis for the claim that Anne Boleyn was a witch is based on a comment reportedly made by Henry VIII, not the most reliable of narrators, to be sure, that he had been “seduced and forced into his second marriage by means of sortileges and charms.” “Sortilege,” however, appears to have been used to mean “bewitched or enchanted” in both the supernatural and non-supernatural sense, and there is significant evidence that Henry was smitten by Anne’s beauty, intelligence, charm, and expertise in flirting, and not so much by witchcraft.
If you are really interested in delving more into this question, check out this page.
Myth 2—Rick Wakeman’s 1973 album, The Six Wives of Henry VIII, is a terrible example of the worst excesses of progressive rock.
Yes, it was a concept album about historical figures, and yes, it is mostly Wakeman showing off his talent on various keyboards and synthesizers, and yes, there are moments of pomp and excess (which, to me, can have their place, anyway). But overall, the album contains beautiful music and great musicianship. And there are many, many worse examples of over the top prog pretension, so I think that, in retrospect, at least, the album holds up reasonably well.
The album was inspired by Wakeman’s dissatisfaction with his playing on his first tour with Yes, and his attempt to find a personal style. In an airport in Richmond, Virginia, Wakeman bought a copy of The Private Life of Henry VIII by Scottish writer Nancy Brysson Morrison, and the chapter on Anne Boleyn reminded him of a musical idea he had previously recorded. Wakeman decided to focus on each of the wives, “interpreting the musical characteristics of the wives of Henry VIII. Although the style may not always be in keeping with their individual history, it is my personal conception of their characters in relation to keyboard instruments.”
Listening to his take on Anne Boleyn, can I hear “a tribute to her feisty temper and valiant courage that she maintained while standing up to her husband,” as the Allmusic reviewer heard? Maybe, but overall, it is a nice piece, and not, to my hearing, excessive or bombastic. Plus, it has Bill Bruford on drums, which to me is always a positive.
I’ve written before about my admiration for Hole’s album Live Through This, and in that piece, I summarized Courtney Love’s difficult life, so I won’t repeat the details here, except to note that if her life has been marked by addiction, wild behavior and anger, she came by it honestly. She is someone that I have found fascinating but not always in a good way. But I think that she has produced a bunch of good music over her career. There has been a lot written by young women who identify with her anger, her pain, and her attitude, and as an older man, I can’t understand her music the same way, but I don’t think you can listen to Live Through This without being moved by it.
“Softer, Softest” is a song that I really hadn’t paid much attention to, but in researching this piece, I think that it is one of the most poignant songs on the album. Introducing the song on MTV Unplugged in 1995, Love stated that it was “about the girl that always smelled like pee in your class, and she was me," so clearly it is autobiographical. The song’s lyrics appear to be about an abused girl, likely with the knowledge of her mother (or, at least, a female caregiver), because the litany of abuse is interrupted with the following lines:
Burn the witch The witch is dead Burn the witch Just bring me back her head
This is, of course, heartbreaking, and I don’t really think that there’s much more to say, other than, listen to the song.
Instead, let’s discuss whether Courtney Love is a witch, an issue which has a certain amount of currency on the Internet, with a number of sites claiming that she definitely is, although others point out that she has publicly discussed Buddhist chanting. I don’t know enough about witches to know whether you can be one and be a Buddhist.
At the same MTV Unplugged show, Hole covered Donovan’s “Season of the Witch,” although it wasn’t televised at the time, and was only released later. (That would be a good song to discuss in this theme, but Seuras Og already did so a couple of years ago, linking to Hole’s version). Love is friendly with Stevie Nicks, who has written songs about witches (and Love has covered “Gold Dust Woman,” Cover Me's No. 1 Fleetwood Mac cover of all time), but I’m not sure that is really evidence. Also, when she performed on Later... With Jools Holland in 1995, Love introduced a song by mentioning that she had “hexed” a “jerk” who was now losing his hair (probably former boyfriend Billy Corgan). No one, to my knowledge, has tried to determine whether she weighs as much as a duck. Although she has dressed up as Donald Duck.
Love’s daughter, Frances Bean Cobain has been pictured wearing what appears to be a Wiccan moon necklace, her Instagram user name is “space_witch666, and her Twitter handle is “The_Space Witch.” Of course, her daughter’s beliefs aren’t necessarily those of her mother’s, a distinction that Love, considering her childhood (and the lyrics to “Softer, Softest”), would probably agree with.
purchase [Electric Ladyland] because the whole album is one you should own if you are into owning your music
When I think back on it, my first listen to Electric Ladyland was one of a few musical experiences where I can remember most of the 5 Ws. I was maybe 14 and I had an invite to a limited audience, listening studio to hear the work. I left the room changed. In truth, I had already been "experienced" a year or so earlier when a friend played the Are You Experienced album, and I recall an even more abrupt awakening then - never had I heard anything remotely like this before. But even with that experience behind me, Electric Ladyland was ... stunning. electric. different. The sound system in the "auditorium" was pretty good: we are talking about the days when "stereo" was still cutting-edge, and good stereo with decent Hz rates and quality speakers even more esoteric - all of which meant that the phase-shifting and Hendrix's cross channel effects were pretty novel.
If I don't insert too much of my current perspective into this, Little Miss Strange was one of the weaker cuts from the album. I prefer the more melodic Rainy Day, Dream Away and 1983 ... A Merman [...]
When I listen to Little Miss Strange in 2019, it now seems obvious that it wasn't a Hendrix composition (indeed it wasn't: it is a Noel Redding piece) Curiously, by the time recording on Electric Ladyland had begun, Bassist Redding wasn't playing much of the bass on the album - Hendrix himself and the Jefferson Airplane's Jack Cassady were taking on some of the bass playing. Although I do believe the liner notes say that Redding did play on LMStrange.
The 1968 Rolling Stone review of the album calls this song the most commercial of the songs on Electric Ladyland. Hmmm - I guess I am not terribly representative of the commercial market: I would have chosen something more melodic, like the above (Rainy Day or even All Along the Watchtower). But the overdubbed guitar tracks (in 5ths is it?) work pretty well to provide an element of harmony to a song that comes across to me as kind of raucous overall.
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