BROTHERS ->SISTERS: Brothers and Sisters

Brothers and Sisters: One Night
[purchase]

What better way to transition from “Brothers” to “Sisters,” than to write about a band named Brothers and Sisters, which features an actual brother and sister? I mean, I could have written about the Allman Brothers’ amazing, hit-filled album Brothers and Sisters, you know, the one with “Ramblin’ Man” and “Jessica,” among others, but someone already did that.  So, instead, let's discuss a quality obscure band.

Brothers and Sisters was formed by Will Courtney, the son of Cynthia Clawson, a Christian music singer, and author Ragan Courtney. Born in Nashville and raised mostly in Texas, Courtney moved to Los Angeles, where he performed and became steeped in the classic Southern California country/rock sound. He returned to Austin and formed Brothers and Sisters with his sister Lilly. The band released two albums, the self-titled debut, which included today’s featured song, and a followup, Fortunately. These guys are right in my wheelhouse—at least one of my wheelhouses—with songs that are reminiscent of bands like the Jayhawks, Byrds, the Band and, not surprisingly, the Beatles and Beach Boys. “One Night” is a loping rocker, with a definite Jayhawks vibe, featuring lead vocals from Will and harmonies from Lilly. There is something about siblings singing together that is special (assuming, unlike me and my siblings, that they can actually sing….) Although the band is no longer recording (it seems that Will Courtney has embarked on a solo career), they are worth checking out.

Coincidentally, on Friday night, I saw a really nice show at the Tarrytown Music Hall—Alejandro Escovedo opening for Shelby Lynne. Escovedo, who is one of my faves (and who deserves his own post at some point) comes from a musical family—his brothers Coke and Pete were in Santana, his brother Phil is a bass player, brother Javier played in punk bands and with Alejandro in the True Believers, and brother Mario was the leader of The Dragons (which also included Javier). And let’s throw in Pete’s daughter Sheila E. and Alejandro’s son Paris, who has his own band. There are more musical Escovedos out there, but let’s stop here. Shelby Lynne’s sister Allison Moorer, who is married to Steve Earle, is somewhat less known than her sister, but as I can attest, having seen her open for the Drive-By Truckers, puts on a hell of a show herself. Here’s a video of the sisters singing “Miss Celie’s Blues (Sister)” from the soundtrack to The Color Purple at a show in Tarrytown in 2010 that I did not attend. But the guy who took the video seemed to enjoy it.

Brothers and Sisters: Crowded House- Sister Madly

[purchase]

I‘m sure that we will be getting to pure posts for our new Sisters theme soon, but I wanted to share this second transitional post before we leave Brothers behind completely. The Brothers Neil and Tim Finn were in Split Enz together before Neil formed Crowded House, and the two have since worked together as the Finn Brothers. Sister Madly comes from Crowded House‘s second album, Temple of Low Men. While Tim was not an official member of the band at that point, he did appear on the album doing background vocals.

Temple is possibly the most overlooked Crowded House album these days. The band was stretching out musically after the huge success of their debut, and the experiments on this album did not seem to resonate with their fans. But I am one of those people who is often drawn to albums like this, with the Cars album Candy-O being another example. Sister Madly has a jazzy feel that I love, and the studio version also has a guitar solo by Richard Thompson. What’s not to like?

Brothers and Sisters: Jessica

Allman Brothers Band: Jessica
[purchase]

I confess that right from the start of the “Brothers” theme, I had this album in mind – with the hopes that I would get around to it and that maybe no one else would get there before me.

Back in the ‘70s, I attended a college in the South (of the US, of course) that had hosted the Allman Brothers at about the time of their rise to fame (Atlanta not being too far from Greensboro, NC). I wish I had been there then because I had already been listening to their music when I was in high school (Idlewild South anyone?). I was also already a die-hard Clapton fan, which has made Derek and the Dominoes an eternal favorite (Duane Allman + Eric Clapton = made in  heaven)

The Allman Brothers’ <Brothers and Sisters> album came out in ’73, shortly after the death of the band’s lead guitarist Duane Allman. You probably know that Allman’s death was more or less quickly followed by the death of bassist Berry Oakley – in curiously similar circumstances. However, Oakley is credited and played on the Brothers and Sisters album that this clip is taken from.

Following Duane’s death, Richard “Dickey” Betts assumed the lead guitar position – less flamboyant than the lost Allman brother, but a highly competent guitarist in that he was the second guitarist of the band's original double lead guitar setup.

The photos that make up the album covers are “brothers” and “sisters” shots of the band members’ kids: I do wonder how much they still feel like siblings all these many years later. (Those were special years for those of us who were here back then, so I assume the bonds from this still tie them together somehow).

The clip I located (with the best video  that I could locate - and a live version to boot) is from well beyond the Duane Allman era, but it retains the essence of the original. You’ll see Dickey Betts on guitar and Greg Allman at the keyboard.

And so … on to <Sisters> …

Brothers: The Celtic Soul Brothers

Dexys Midnight Runners: The Celtic Soul Brothers
[purchase]

Here’s a little blatant self-promotion, which happens to fit the current theme. Over on Cover Me, I wrote a piece called “In Defense: Dexys Midnight Runners” about a band that I think has been wrongfully maligned over the years and pigeonholed as a “one hit wonder” because of the success of “Come on Eileen.” So, if you haven’t already, check out that piece—I think it is a good one.

What made Dexys interesting was their mix of soul and Celtic sounds, with the proportion of each differing depending on the makeup of the band, which was constantly changing, mostly due to leader Kevin Rowland’s whims and his apparently infinite ability to alienate his fellow band members. In many ways, this song, the first recorded by the more Celtic-sounding lineup featured on the Too-Rye-Ay album which contained “Eileen,” is like a manifesto of intent.

Supposedly, the song was the inspiration for the book, and later movie, The Commitments. If you saw the movie, you probably still remember the incredible performance by the lead singer Andrew Strong, who was only 16 at the time, but had an amazing, soulful voice. It seemed that his potential was unlimited, but despite some commercial success, his career never took off. Also in the film was Glen Hansard, better known for the movie (and play) Once, and the song “Falling Slowly.” Here’s a clip of Celtic soul brothers Strong and the Commitments doing the classic “Mustang Sally.”

Brothers: Jesse McReynolds & Charles Whitstein: Remember Me

Jesse McReynolds & Charles Whitstein: Remember me

[purchase]

I must admit that a favorite album which I regularly put back into rotation is “A Tribute to Brother Duets” from Jesse McReynolds and Charles Whitstein.  

What’s interesting is that this entire 37-minute collection draws from repertoire of many famous traditional country brother duets from yesteryear.  Classic songs come from such brother acts as The Delmores, Wilburns, Morrises, Louvins, Monroes, Stanleys, Yorks, Bailes, and Bollicks (Blue Sky Boys). These are the brother acts which influenced McReynolds and Whitstein and continue to inspire other artists today.

The album has many old favorites like "When I Stop Dreaming," "What Would You Give (in Exchange For Your Soul)?," "Rose of my Heart," "The White Dove," "Blues Stay Away From Me," "Kentucky," "Remember Me (When the Candlelights are Gleaming) and "Are You Missing Me?" The two also cover a few less commonly heard duets such as "Somebody Loves You Darling," "That's All I Want From You," and "Which One Is To Blame?"

Jesse McReynolds (born in 1929) recently turned 84.  Charles Whitstein is a little younger, born in 1945. Both of them spent many years performing with their own brothers. From Virginia, Jim & Jesse have released over fifty albums and joined the Grand Ole Opry in 1964. From Louisiana, The Whitstein Brothers (Bob & Charles) were once called “the second-coming of the Louvin Brothers” by Charlie Louvin.

Sadly, Robert Whitstein passed away on November 14, 2001, and Jim McReynolds passed on in December 31, 2002 (only two weeks after his wife had died).

While both surviving brothers were greatly saddened by their losses, they endured and bounced back by forming their own duo. The only new song on their album, "Gone But Not Forgotten," written by Jesse, opened with a touching tribute to their deceased brothers.

Besides Jesse (mandolin, mandolobro) and Charles (guitar), the rest of the musicians are Dave Salyers (lead guitar), Charlie Cushman (guitar), Glen Duncan (fiddle), and Kent Blanton (bass).  As they sing in "Gone but Not Forgotten," Jesse and Charles vow to "do their best," and they've proven that they can create strong and close harmony together that pays homage to their departed brothers.

Brothers: Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

Brother Can You Spare a Dime? was written in 1931. The Great Depression had hit the United States with its full force. Men who fought for their country in World War I, who had come home to work at transforming the nation for the twentieth century, suddenly found themselves on breadlines. In Washington, Roosevelt had not yet been elected, and the plight of such men fell on deaf ears. The song was written for a Broadway musical called New Americana. New Americana was a musical revue, so Brother did not have to fit into a larger plot. I can find no other information about the show, so I think it is safe to say that Brother has proved to be far more enduring than the show that spawned it. As was the custom in those days, the song was soon covered by the pop artists of the day, and both Bing Crosby and Rudy Vallee separately took the song to number one shortly before the Roosevelt election.

Dr John and Odetta render the song as a slow blues. Of course, this fits both the lyric and the style of the original composition perfectly. But they are two different kinds of blues artists here. Dr John, with his gruff delivery, renders a passionate reading of the song, beautifully capturing both the pride of his past and the pain of his present that the narrator feels. Odetta has a smoother delivery, and her reading of the song submerges the pain and subdues the pride; both emotions are quieter, but just as palpable. The two trade verses, and the tension between their two approaches creates a dramatic tension that makes the performance even more powerful. I have not included a purchase link in this post, because I have not been able to find a source for this recording; if anyone knows where it can be found, I hope you will share the link with everyone in the comments.

Before I go, I should comment about the video. It is the work of an artist and videographer who calls himself Spadecaller. Born Matthew Schwartz, Spadecaller specializes in artworks that make connections between spirituality and social justice. Here, he makes a brilliant connection between the Great Depression and conditions today by juxtaposing images from the 1930s with those from today. You can see more of his videos on his YouTube channel, and there is a gallery of his other artwork on his website.

Brothers: Deadstring Brothers: Heavy Load

Deadstring Brothers: Heavy Load
[purchase]

Supposedly, blues music is mostly listened to and purchased by white people, and it took white Brits in the early 1960’s to spearhead a blues revival, that, in many ways, created the rock music that took over the world. Bands like the Rolling Stones, Yardbirds and Bluesbreakers paid direct tribute to American blues, and Led Zeppelin stole wholesale from the blues canon. Then, of course, this music found its way back across the Atlantic and inspired Americans to revisit the blues.

By the time of Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., the Stones had perfected their sound, which while still based on the blues, was now a synthesis of other influences. But, despite the fact that Keith and Mick (sometimes known as the Glimmer Twins) have had an almost brotherly relationship, with all of the fighting and bickering that entails, this is not about the Stones. Instead, it is about an American band that clearly—very clearly—took the sound of the Rolling Stones, and claimed it for their own.

The band is pretty much unknown, so I’m writing to, hopefully, expose people to them. And it fits the theme, because the name of the band is Deadstring Brothers. Not surprisingly, there is no one in the band named Deadstring, and they aren’t brothers (for the most part). Especially the women (including, at one point, sisters).

Initially from Detroit, the Deadstring Brothers were formed in 2001 by singer/songwriter Kurt Marschke, and the band has gone through a number of different lineups over the years. And, as befits their blues-based sound, they became better known in England than here in their native land. The song, “Heavy Load,” from the band’s 2007 release Silver Mountain (which features actual brothers, Brits Spencer and Jeff Cullum), pays tribute to a London club known for playing classic rock. And yeah, it sounds like the Stones if the Stones featured both a male and female singer (which they sort of do, at least live).

So, add these guys to the list of bands worth checking out—including their most recent album, Cannery Row, which reflects the band’s move from Detroit to Nashville. Think a little more “Wild Horses,” and less “Tumbling Dice.”

Brothers: Big Brother and the Holding Company: Piece of My Heart

Big Brother & the Holding Company/Janis Joplin: Piece of My Heart
[purchase]

For better or worse, Peter Albin, James Gurley, Sam Andrew and Dave Getz will be forever associated with Janis Joplin – even though she sang with them for a little less than two years. The band was then, and is still called Big Brother and the Holding Company, and except for James Gurley, the guitarist, who passed in 2009, the original members are still making music and you can keep up with their tour schedule at their website (http://bbhc.com). Granted, they’ve taken breaks from it all off and on and they’ve added and removed additional members from time to time, but Albin, Andrew and Getz are still together. While not one of the musicians, Chet Helms is given credit for forming the band (the official web site calls him “the real Big Brother”); as one of the first SF rock producers/promoters/organizers, he brought them together. He, too passed away a few years back.

I must confess that I probably wouldn’t have kept them in mind all these years if it weren’t for Janis, and – although I knew deep in the recesses of my mind that Big Brother was not the band backing her on Pearl (her best work) – Joplin and the band’s Cheap Thrills includes one of my (many) favorite songs.

Piece of My Heart was first recorded by Erma Franklin in 1967. Erma Franklin (sister of Aretha) sings it with a different feel:  it’s the same song but nowhere near as rough as Janis’ vocals and Big Brother’s hard rocking, which seem to try to scratch their way out of the romantic situation the song describes (and you’ll find versions by many others, including Bonnie Tyler, Nazareth, Faith Hill ..) They all sing:

And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I've had enough,
But I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.

I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it,
Take it!
Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!

Janis and Big Brother (above)/Erma Franklin (below)

 

Buddy Holly: American Pie

Don McLean: American Pie
[purchase]

Following up on Dave’s prior post, the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, along with Ritchie Valens, J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson, and pilot Roger Peterson, is commonly known as “The Day the Music Died,” because of Don McLean’s “American Pie.” Even as a 10 year old in 1971 when it was released, I knew that the song was something special. Not just because it was 8 and a half minutes long, and you had to flip over the 45 record to hear the whole thing. I remember reading newspaper articles trying to decipher McLean’s imagery, and the debates over its interpretation. But there was never a debate that “The Day the Music Died,” referred to the death of those four men in a frozen field near Clear Lake, Iowa. If there was any question that this was the case, you can see in the photo above that McLean dedicated the album to Holly, although he generally has refused to comment on others’ interpretation of his lyrics.

I remember understanding that there was a wistfulness about the song, that McLean was bemoaning the loss of something. Although I probably couldn’t have described it well then, I think that I got the gist of his message that the decade between Holly’s death, at the beginning of the song, and the negative, anti-Woodstock violence of Altamont, at the end of the song, was a period in which dreams were smashed, hope was lost, and illusions were shattered. And this was even before Watergate. It was a very political time, and I guess I was kind of a precocious kid.

Dave is right—Holly’s brilliance is magnified by the fact that his career was so short, and it is hard to imagine that he would have been able to maintain that level of quality had he lived, but music definitely would be different had he been able to do so, much like it is hard to conceive what music would be like if The Beatles hadn’t broken up, or if Jimi Hendrix hadn’t died so young. Or if things would have been different if an Hispanic rock star crossed over to mass popularity, had Valens stayed on the bus. (I suspect that The Big Bopper, who was a songwriter and singer but was best known as a disc jockey, would not have been as influential, but he might have ended up as a power in the music industry like his contemporaries, Dick Clark and Casey Kasem).

Of course, we will never know. Holly’s music and death, though, have affected untold millions who have loved his music, been influenced by his sound, covered his songs, read the books, or seen the movies and plays and tribute shows. For Don McLean, it inspired him to write one of the great American songs, a song that brilliantly captured its era, and, yes, made it possible for McLean not to “ever work again,” as he flippantly remarked. For one 10 year old boy in suburban New York, “American Pie” showed that some songs needed to be analyzed and deconstructed and discussed. It only took another 40 years for that boy to start blogging.

BUDDY HOLLY: Well . . . All Right

Buddy Holly: "Well . . . All Right"

[Purchase]

I think one of the most incredible things about Buddy Holly is not that he influenced so many other musicians, or that he wrote so many songs that have withstood the test of time and have been re-recorded by so many other bands and singers, but that he did it all at such a young age and in such a short span of time. Holly had his first hit with the Crickets in May of 1957, at the age of 20, and he died in the infamous plane crash in February 1959, at the tender age of 22. Just a little over a year and a half, but what an impact he had in that short time! He was really just a kid through all of it, but he still runs strong in the blood of rock and roll.

Choosing a song to feature here was a tough choice, as there are so many great options. I considered the ones that The Beatles and The Rolling Stones chose to record early in their careers, acknowledging their debt to Holly -- "Words of Love" and "Not Fade Away," respectively -- and "Rave On," which I think could arguably be pointed to as one of the earliest forms of punk and power pop.

But I finally settled on "Well . . . All Right," the flip side to Holly's 1958 single, "Heartbeat." I find the song to be remarkably mature in its melancholy sound and confidently defiant lyrics. The message is actually quite an upbeat one, but there seems to be some element of wisdom beyond his years running through it. The acoustic instrumentation is also something rarely heard in pop music of that time, hinting at Holly's country influences but staying firmly within the bounds of a pop song. It's a sound that the Beatles fleshed out years later with Rubber Soul, an album heralded for its maturity very much thanks to that type of song, but its roots can most definitely be found here.

"Well . . . All Right" was covered quite well by Blind Faith (Steve Winwood, Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, and Ric Grech) on their one and only album in 1969, but it was much more forceful and lost the quiet fortitude of Holly's original. Listen here to Holly's original for a song truly ahead of its time.

Buddy Holly: That’ll Be The Day

Buddy Holly: That’ll Be The Day
[purchase]

A few days ago, I had a Skype video call with my daughter, who, as I mentioned in my last post, will be spending the year studying in Barcelona. All is going well in the first days, and she seems happy in her home-stay apartment, The call cut off a few times, due to Internet issues, and I was struck by the fact that we have reached a point where we get upset when our free video call with our daughter in Spain doesn’t work perfectly. It made me think about when I traveled in Europe during college, and had to go to some special call center to pay money to call my parents, probably to ask for money. Which reminds me that I was also upset that our attempts to arrange for Internet transfers of funds between my bank account and my daughter’s also didn’t go completely smoothly.

This, of course, has nothing to do with Buddy Holly, except that in my mind, Buddy Holly, who died in 1959, and my daughter, who was born in 1993, will always be linked. When she was 6 years old, we went to England for a week, and wanted to find a play on the West End that would interest her and her older brother. We got tickets for Buddy—The Buddy Holly Story. Considered to be the first “jukebox musical,” it was great (and more accurate than the Gary Busey-starring movie). My daughter fell in love with Holly’s music, and it is hard to blame her—he was a genius, whose unfortunately limited musical output still mostly stands up after all of these years. If you want to argue that the Beatles were the most influential musicians in rock music, that is fair, but it is no coincidence that the first song that The Quarrymen (the proto-Beatles) ever recorded was “That’ll Be The Day.” Or that their name was a tribute to Holly’s band, The Crickets.

At the time, my daughter’s school had an enrichment program called “Challenge,” and all of the students were required to do a research project for presentation at the “Creativity Fair.” You know, lots of smart, serious little kids, standing in front of trifold posterboard displays in the gym answering questions from earnest, well-meaning parents. My daughter decided to do hers about Buddy Holly. She immersed herself in his music, read some age-appropriate books and articles about him, and became an expert. Yours truly trolled eBay for cheap Buddy Holly memorabilia to add to her display.

Part of the project required the students to do an interview, which in this case seemed a bit difficult, when fate intervened. I found out that a lawyer I knew had become friendly with Dion DiMucci (of “Runaround Sue” fame). Dion had been a friend of Holly’s, and, in fact, turned down a seat on the ill-fated plane on that icy Iowa night, because it was too expensive. My contact convinced Dion to be interviewed, in writing, by my daughter, and he handwrote responses to the questions that she had come up with. Apparently, Holly loved the pizza in DiMucci’s native Bronx, because he couldn’t get anything like it back home in Lubbock. And, as I previously wrote, my daughter did a karaoke version of “That’ll Be The Day,” at a friend’s wedding.

Since then, my daughter’s musical tastes have predictably changed, but every once in a while, I know that she returns to Holly’s pure pop music.

Buddy Holly: (You’re So Square) Baby, I Don’t Care

Buddy Holly: Baby, I Don’t Care

[purchase]

It was September 7^th of 1936 when Christian Hardin Holley was born in Lubbock, Texas. How could a kid go wrong growing up with the music of Hank Williams and Bill Monroe, as well as the blues and Tex-Mex in his area? With friend Bob Montgomery, his first band “Buddy and Bob” pretty much sums up his approach to music: Western and Bop.

Beginning his career as a country singer, his first session (for Decca) wasn’t a big success. He had already dropped the “e” from his last name, but the 1956 session with some Nashville sidemen was a little too slick for his Texas rockabilly approach. They should’ve featured Holly with his own band, The Crickets.

Given Holly’s importance in the history of country and rock & roll before his untimely death in 1959, it’s nice to find a cool song from him that alludes to the music and lifestyle of teenagers in the fifties. I chose one that says something about Buddy Holly’s style.

“(You’re So Square) Baby, I Don’t Care” is sung to a girlfriend who doesn’t like crazy music, rockin’ bands, hot rod racing or drivin’ late at night. Not to mention the fact that she doesn’t know any dance steps either. Fortunately, she does like going to movies, holding hands, and parking where it’s nice and dark. The song (from 1957) wasn’t written by Buddy, but it sure lives on as a classic from the fifties, a golden decade for a whole lotta "crazy music" from the likes of Buddy Holly.

Buddy Holly: I'm Gonna Love You Too

[Purchase]

He was nerdy. He was hot. And he was dead. But in 1978 Buddy Holly was one of the most popular rock and roll artists of the day. Gary Busey earned an Oscar nomination for portraying Buddy Holly in The Buddy Holly Story. Elvis Costello, borrowing Buddy's look, was touring the US of A to promote This Year's Model. And Chrysalis Records picked Blondie's glossy cover of his "I'm Gonna Love You Too" as the first single on what would be the band's breakthrough Platinum album Parallel Lines. (Well, at least the single went Top 10 in Italy).

Buddy's version, credited to Joe B. Mauldin, Niki Sullivan and Norman Petty, was the lead off track on his 1957 sophmore album Buddy Holly.

I also like the Terry Jacks cover, which appeared on his hit 1974 Season in the Sun album and went Top 10 in Canada.

Buddy Holly: Peggy Sue

[purchase Buddy Holly: Peggy Sue]

I was alive the day the music died, but I didn’t start listening to the kind of music that Frank Sinatra called “the most brutal, ugly, degenerate, vicious form of expression it has been my displeasure to hear.” Sinatra was referring to the kind of music that Buddy Holly played. I was listening to that kind of music when Don MacLean came up with American Pie.

Although Buddy Holly didn’t single-handedly invent rock and roll, there are many, many musicians who credit him with being one of the most influential people in shaping rock and roll. One of his bandmates recalls that from the day after they opened for Elvis, they transformed their musical style from country to rock. When Holly’s band, the Crickets, chose their name, apparently bugs were in fashion for band names and there were a lot of crickets in the part of Texas they came from. One source says that they considered “the Beetles” but passed on that choice.

Peggy Sue was originally titled Cindy Lou for two of the women in Buddy’s life, but the name was changed following a bet with drummer Jerry Allison, whose girlfriend was named Peggy Sue. The Crickets were one of the first bands to have 2 guitars, a bass player (Joe Mauldin) and drums. In this clip, they are down to three: in fact, rhythm guitarist Niki Sullivan left the band after a year or so.

 

Vacation: Two Weeks in Spain

Gentle Giant: Two Weeks in Spain
[purchase]

Where you come in on a band’s career makes a difference. I’m fairly certain that my introduction to the work of Gentle Giant was this album, The Missing Piece. I liked the interesting music, the complicated song structures and even appreciated their attempt at writing an almost punk rocker. As I investigated their discography, I learned that their earlier music was even more interesting and more complex. In fact, I discovered that they were an incredibly thought provoking band, and I came to appreciate their entire body of work.

And I discovered that The Missing Piece was disliked by their fans, considered to be an attempt to dumb down Gentle Giant’s music to get commercial popularity, much as Genesis was doing (more successfully) during the same time period. That the admirable attempt to write an uptempo, simple rocker, was “unconvincing,” and that they were pretty much done after this (notwithstanding the release of two more studio albums, one even more reviled than The Missing Piece, and one grudgingly appreciated). But, I don’t care—I liked this album, and I still do.

“Two Weeks in Spain” is a fun song, an ode to the sort of English workingman’s vacation in the sun memorably lampooned by Monty Python in their “Travel Agent” sketch. It is also a good introduction to Gentle Giant, a pretty much forgotten band. Although it is relatively straightforward, it gives hints of the more complicated songs that you can find on earlier releases, so I hope it encourages you to do as I did, and explore backwards through their catalog.

Coincidentally (really), yesterday, my wife and I dropped our daughter off at the airport, and she is now in Barcelona, where she is spending her junior year. More than two weeks in Spain for her, and I hope a lifetime of memories.

Vacation (2 of them)

Mose Allison: Your Mind Is On Vacation
David Gilmour: Wish You Were Here

[purchase Mose Allison Your Mind is on Vacation]
[purchase Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here]

A vacation is “time away”. There is a Turkish saying that I love that seems appropriate. They say: every day is a holiday for the crazy man. Now, I realize that a holiday isn’t quite the same as a vacation, but it is still “time off”. Seems to me that the phrase says that your frame of mind colors the way you roll through life, your outlook on life - that if you can create a mind-frame that takes things not too seriously, life will be like a vacation.

Along these lines, the song “Your Mind is on Vacation” might be one perspective to look into. Granted, the lyrics are more about a mind that is wasted as opposed to one on vacation, but the title is right down the alley for this thought.  There are multiple version of this song out there: Asleep at the Wheel (2006’s Reinventing the Wheel), Elvis Costello (King of America, 1995), Van Morrison (1995’s How Long Has This Been Goin On) …This clip is of Mose Allison, the jazz pianist credited with writing the song. He once said “when somebody asks me who I had in mind when I wrote that song, I say: thee.” (http://jazztimes.com/articles/19434-mose-allison-cover-to-cover)

And, speaking of the “crazy man” and vacations, my thoughts also ran to the one-time Pink Floyd  member, Syd Barrett, who went on permanent vacation in the early 70s and inspired both “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” as well as the “vacation” song below, “Wish You Were Here”.

Several times on my latest vacation, I picked up a post card (how quaint/yet how valuable to the recipient!). While the text of my card (think: severely limited writing space) was little more than “Yo dude..”,  the undeniable underlying thought was “wish you were here …”

Vacation: Surfer's Holiday

[Purchase]

When 10,000 biceps go around 5,000 bikinis...you know what's gonna happen! A Muscle Beach party!

Brian Wilson and his songwriting partners Roger Christian and Gary Usher contributed to the 1964 film soundtrack, writing "Surfer's Holiday" among others. "Surfer's Holiday" sounds like something The Beach Boys might have recorded for Shut Down, Volume 2. The recently passed ex Mouseketeer, Annette Funicello ,  may have had a thin voice but as Tom Hibbert wrote in his book, The Perfect Collection, "when it came to a corny beach party anthem the beauty's tones were unbeatable".

Annette's Muscle Beach Party remains THE classic summer soundtrack for the beach and dune buggy set.

Vacation: Day Trip to Bangor

Day Trip to Bangor: Fiddler's Dram

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OK, uncertain about this one, vacation, or holiday, as we call them over here. So, I haven't had one for a couple of years, which I could blame entirely on the economy, the 3rd dip of the global crisis, blah, blah, blah, but, in truth, whilst it is true I am broke, this smacks more of circumstantial mayhem in the life of Retro than the bankers and sub-prime. So I can't and won't wax wistfully over my last bijou jaunt, seeking more, as is my wont, to educate and advance. (I should insert an ironic smiley here, but I am uncertain if they are still currency amongst the cerebrality here....) And all this over a song I don't even like.

Don't even like? Jeez, I'd go way further, I hate it, and always did, have and will. It is a travesty of a din, with screechy and shrill vocals and a plodalong dirgy beat, appealing only to the ill and the old. Yet it did very well in the UK charts way back when, as if they were ever an arbiter of taste. So why here? Well, nominally it is a holiday, theme ticked etc, and, topical or what, in line with the economy, not only is/was it a "stay"cation, but began and ended on the same day. How very 2013!! But....

My real purpose here is to show how these apparent no-hopers went on to become much admired practitioners of a credible 21st century political folk fusion, world famous in, well, nowhere really, yet big if not huge in my mind. Even if they have never had a pay cheque quite as large as the song I ask you to dip in to. (Please, worry not if you can't finish, it's the other songs I want you to really explore.)

Fiddler's Dram. Even the name is awful, but from their saccharine remains sprung The Oyster Band, later abbreviated to Oysterband. Go back to the video clip, if you dare, and reappraise the nodding guitarist with the large hair and the fresh faced pre-teen on fiddle. Look ahead to this 2nd clip from last year, and see if you can spot them. And compare and contrast this masterclass in interpretation of ye olde english folke canon with the earlier. OK, to be fair, a lot of the gravitas is gratis Ms. June Tabor, doyenne of the english folksong tradition, who has twice guested on Oysterband recordings, albeit 2 decades apart. But, in the myriad years since "Bangor", it is as if everything they have ever done since has been to make up for it. Do yourselves a favour, search 'em out. And here's a fast one, perhaps truer to the tradition, from a relatively early compilation.

And what of the singer from the first clip? Well, dear reader, even she redeemed herself, going on to become a respected singer in ex-Fairport Convention bassist, Ashley Hutchings', ever evolving Albion Band. I tried to find a decent clip but I'm afraid I couldn't. Still too shrill for my ears.

Could have been worse, tho', my first thought was the Dead Kennedys and Cambodia........ (By the way, the Bangor is unlikely to have been the one in Maine, some argument as to whether it is the one in Northern Ireland or in Wales. I wouldn't bother with either, either.)

Vacation: Slow Turning

John Hiatt: Slow Turning
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I just returned from a long weekend away with my wife to celebrate our 25th anniversary. Our honeymoon, back before we had kids, and still had some money, was a trip to Greece. The past weekend was somewhat less grand, but still enjoyable. Because there is just something great about getting away, changing your routine and seeing new things.

There is a huge difference between traveling with just your spouse, and traveling with kids. Yes, going on vacations with kids can be a pain—they need to be watched and entertained, and they often share your room. They like to do childish things, which, it is sometimes hard to remember, is what they are supposed to like. When they are younger, they only want to eat fast food, and when they are teenagers, they supposedly just want to be somewhere else (I say “supposedly” because somehow that never seemed to be an issue for us—or my kids were good at faking it).

John Hiatt is an incredible songwriter. He happens also to be a good guitarist and singer, but my guess is that, when the final report on his career is written, he will be best remembered as a songwriter. According to his Wikipedia entry, he has won two awards, Songwriter/Artist of the Year at the 2000 Nashville Music Awards, and the 2008 Americana Music Association Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting. Also in 2008, he was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. So, I’m not the only person who thinks he is a good songwriter (not to mention, he has been written about often on this site over the years). Despite his long career as a performer and recording artist, he is probably best known to the general public through covers of his songs, most notably Bonnie Raitt’s cover of “Thing Called Love,” the numerous covers of “Have a Little Faith in Me,” and maybe even Buddy Guy’s cover of “Feels Like Rain.”

Hiatt has the gift of being able to very quickly sketch out a character or tell a story, and his songs have made me laugh out loud, cry uncontrollably, cringe and think. And often, his songs make you nod with understanding, because he has captured something universal. “Slow Turning,” fits into a few of those categories. It is a meditation on the vagaries of life, and how sometimes things turn out for the best, even if they don’t turn out how you want or expect. I think the key line in the song, maybe the reason that Hiatt wrote the song which describes his family life, is: “And you can learn to live with love or without it/But there ain't no cure.”

But is this song about a vacation? I’m not really sure, but it certainly is about a car ride, so indulge me. In what have to be some of Hiatt’s most memorable lines, which I think most fathers can sympathize with, he writes:
 
Now I'm in my car
I got the radio on
I'm yellin' at the kids in the back
'Cause they're bangin' like Charlie Watts

You think you've come so far
In this one horse town
Then she's laughin' that crazy laugh
'Cause you haven't left the parkin' lot

You can just see the scene: the father, yelling at his kids, face red and eyes bulging, the kids banging on the seat—not just banging, but banging like Charlie Watts—and the mother, head thrown back, mouth wide open and cackling hysterically, because all hell is breaking loose and they are still in the parking lot.

Unusual Collaborations: Run-D.M.C. & Aerosmith

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Although I like to believe that I have pretty broad musical taste, I just don’t like rap music, with very few exceptions. And I don’t like Aerosmith, again with very few exceptions. And yet this pairing, which at the time was considered to be shocking, just works.

The original version of “Walk this Way,” by Aerosmith, is admittedly one of the few exceptions to my generalized dislike of the band. Not only is the title based on one of my favorite old rimshot jokes (the punchline being, “if I could walk that way, I wouldn’t need the talcum powder,” often referenced on Monty Python), it is a buoyant hard rock song with a great riff and clever, internally rhyming lyrics that made it a natural for a rap version. (And it actually sounded good in context the other night at my 35th high school reunion.)

Really, it is the video that really makes it work. The conceit is that Aerosmith (actually just Steven Tyler and Joe Perry—in a cost saving move, the rest of the band is impersonated by members of the band Smashed Gladys) is playing the song loudly in a room next to where the Run-D.M.C. crew is hanging out. The rappers are annoyed by the song, and yell for the band to turn it down. But when their pleas are ignored, Run-D.M.C. cranks up their turntables and drum machines, and the song begins in earnest.

Initially Aerosmith seems pissed off by the intrusion, and Steven Tyler breaks down the comically thin walls with his mike stand. Ultimately, everyone gets along, the two groups perform together in front of a rapturous (mostly white) audience and all is well with the world.

This version of the song charted higher than the original, and shot Run-D.M.C. to stardom. Not only that, it is credited with the dubious achievements of opening MTV up to playing rap, revitalizing the sinking career of Aerosmith and spawning the genre of rap rock. A great example of the Law of Unintended Consequences.

UNUSUAL COLLABORATIONS: ROBERT PLANT AND ALISON KRAUSS

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss: "Please Read the Letter"
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For my money, when it comes to unusual collaborations, it doesn't get a whole lot more unusual -- or, at the very least, "unexpected" -- than Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. Yes, true enough that Plant has done some fairly eclectic stuff throughout the course of his post-Zeppelin career, but few could have foreseen his joining forces with the queen of modern bluegrass, Alison Krauss.

Ultimately, it's T-Bone Burnett who oversaw the making of their 2007 album, Raising Sand, but Plant and Krauss first joined up for a duet on a Leadbelly song in 2004 when Leadbelly was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. When that went well, the two of them began discussing an album, and it was Krauss who brought in Burnett, having worked with him on his soundtrack for O Brother, Where Art Thou?

With the help of Burnett's expert production, Raising Sand works beautifully. Plant and Krauss come from different worlds, but clearly have much in common when it comes to music sensibilities. Their voices, Plant's now mellowed with age and Krauss's already angelic voice now truly a thing of wonder, complement each other perfectly throughout the album. And among all the excellent songs on the album, "Please Read the Letter" is the one on which they (arguably) work together best of all. Interestingly, as the album is full of covers, it's also the only song that either of them had a hand in writing -- composed by Plant and Jimmy Page, it originally appeared on that duo's 1998 album, Walking into Clarksdale. But it might as well have been written with Krauss in mind, as this version easily surpasses the original.

There was talk of a second album from these two, but apparently that is on hold after a false start in the studio a couple of years back. Whether that ever sees its way through to completion is an unknown, but until then there is always Raising Sand.

Unusual Collaborations: Michael Jackson and Dave Mason

How in the world did the hottest pop star of the 1980's team up with the founder of Traffic? Michael Jackson was recording Thriller in the same studio where Dave Mason was recording Old Crest On a New Wave. I'd say it was a pretty ballsy move for Mason to ask Jackson if he'd like to sing a song on his album. Jackson practically takes over the track "Save Me". Released as a single, the tune charted at #71 in the Billboard Hot 100. 

 "He'd done a song of mine,'Feelin' Alright', that I wrote when I was 19." Dave Mason told Dick Clark in 1980. " He'd done it when he was 9 years old with Diana Ross so the title ( of the album) Old Crest On A New Wave seemed to tie in at that moment."

Fans may remember that moment on a Diana Ross variety show way back in '69. Especially for the moment ( at 3:00 in) when Diana Ross was thrust in the midst of the dancing Jacksons  to "show them how it's done girl".


 

Unusual Collaborations: Herbie Hancock and Tina Turner and then some

Herbie Hancock and Tina Turner: Edith and the Kingpin

Herbie Hancock and Melody Gardot: Edith and the Kingpin

Herbie Hancock and Elvis Costello: Edith and the Kingpin
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I don‘t know why it took me so long to settle on something to post for this theme. I landed on one of my favorite songs in the world, so it shouldn‘t have been so hard. Long time readers of Star Maker Machine are aware of my love of the music of Joni Mitchell. It‘s hard to consider anything on her own albums an unusual collaboration, because Mitchell was always a restless artist, always changing her sound, always searching, and that meant that the make-ups of her bands were always changing as well. But tributes to her have certainly resulted in some odd pairings. In 2007, Herbie Hancock released his tribute, River: The Joni Letters. This one surely had Mitchell‘s blessing, considering that she sings The Tea Leaf Prophecy on it. But elsewhere, Hancock worked with some surprising partners indeed. Tina Turner strikes me as one of the most unusual, but the result sounds like they have worked together for years.
To back up for just a moment, Herbie Hancock is one of the biggest names in jazz today. His career began in the 1960s, with fairly straight ahead accoustic jazz albums, although very fine ones. He soon caught the attention of Miles Davis, and was with Davis for the birth of fusion jazz on the Bitches Brew album. Hancock then went on to make some of the best music fusion jazz had to offer with his Headhunters band. Later, Hancock collaborated with Bill Laswell on the hit Rockit. So it’s safe to say that Hancock is also a musical explorer, which may be what drew him to Joni Mitchell’s music in the first place.
Meanwhile, I can’t say that I ever followed Tina Turner’s career at all closely, but this is the woman who went from the R&B powerhouse performance of Proud Mary to the much mellower Private Dancer, (the result, by the way, of another interesting collaboration, with producer Mark Knopfler). Nothing there suggests that Turner would be a good jazz singer, but she nails Edith and the Kingpin.
I needed a video for this post, and unfortunately, that meant using the one above, where you stare at the album cover while the song plays. I did find a fan-made slide show, but I thought the choice of images showed a complete cluelessness about the meaning of the song. But looking for the video led me to the two live versions I have also included. Hancock was able to get the singers he wanted for the River album, but they were not necessarily available when he went out on tour in support of the album. That is what must have led to the version with Melody Gardot. Gardot is a young jazz singer who has already made quite a splash, three albums into her career. She is influenced to some extent by country, folk, and blues. Her performance with Hancock here uses the same arrangement as the album version, but the results are quite different. Where Turner is rueful and knowing in her performance, the younger Gardot is sassy and maybe a bit defiant. Gardot also is a bit freer with her timing, and that loosens up the band somewhat as well. The version with Elvis Costello (!), comes from a show called Spectacle that Costello hosted on the Sundance Channel. Costello had recorded his own version of Edith and the Kingpin for a multi-artist compilation called A Tribute to Joni Mitchell earlier in 2007. This version slowed the song down, and featured a lush arrangement that featured Costello in his crooner mode. But the version here is a stripped down arrangement that restores the songs original tempo, and leaves Costello less room to hide as a singer. I am afraid that Costello shows here why he is not a jazz singer. His performance is somewhat stiff, and he has trouble when he tries to bend some of the notes. But this version does have heart, and it shows that Costello gets the song.

UNUSUAL COLLABORATIONS: ASHA BHOSLE & MICHAEL STIPE

The Way You Dream: Michael Stipe & Asha Bhosle
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I'd not heard this when this theme began, it almost coming as quite some surprise when I did. Let me explain. Perhaps it is the same elsewhere, but the joy of record shop browsing seems to now be a thing of the past. There are nearly no record shops left in the U.K., HMV barely hanging on by the skin of it's teeth, and a shadow of it's former self. I used to love record shops, flicking through the racks in the search for the new and unexpected, it being a constant and reliable way of killing any number of hours in strange towns. And browsing is something that just doesn't work on Amazon. Anyhow, another product of the current  financial meltdown and austerity are the the adverts for companies who will buy up your CDs, computer games and, unfeasibly, hair tongs. (Well, not mine. Clearly. Have you seen my hair?) They will "liberate the space", as if that is the problem, taken up by  your longingly acquired collection of Northern Soul for anything up to, oh, say, 50p a pop. The upside is that a whole new slew of record shops have appeared, selling such product, again at knock down prices.In order to address my addiction I have begun to frequent such, picking up a stash of otherwise unthinkable or, hitherto, unexplored. Very hit and miss, but fun!

I remember when "One Giant Leap" came out, and it's being received somewhat sniffily, as a clever clever attempt to cross genres, the sort of thing now near ubiquitous and, almost, old hat. I didn't bother then, so, imagine my pleasure, in downtown Burton-on-Trent, August 2013, to find it in the 3 for £5 slot. And it's good. It's better than good, shuffling such disparates as Baaba  Maal and Eddi Reader, Horace Andy and Maxi Jazz. OK, and Robbie Williams, but it was 2001. The selection and the unusual pairing I have chosen is Asha Bhosle and Michael Stipe. The latter, the vocal lynchpin of R.E.M. needs little fanfare, but the former may be less well known , at least outside of the South Indian landmass. Aficionados of UK indie may be aware, as she is the "Brimful" acknowledged within "Cornershop"s hit of whenever, "Brimful of Asha". A superstar in India over six decades, largely within Bollywood, she has a niche perhaps similar, in her homeland anyway, perhaps to Tammy Wynette, again perhaps thus explaining her appeal to the counter-intuition of the counter-culture.

A brief word about "One Giant Leap", the brainchild of Jamie Catto, a member of the "live musicians" electronica/dance band "Faithless", and Duncan Bridgeman, the original idea was of a multi-media presentation of the concept and genre of "World", perhaps doomed in it's scope and ubiquity, and certainly ahead of it's time. With hindsight it sits perfectly happily with "Afro-Celt Sound System", "Banco de Gaia" and other such stylistic fusions. I like it, and this track is a very good example of it's content. I commend it.

Unusual Collaborations: Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson

Julio Igelsias and Willie Nelson: To All the Girls I've Loved Before

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I had a really difficult time trying to think of a song for this theme. In the past few years unusual collaborations have essentially become the norm, especially in pop music. Nelly and Tim McGraw? Jack White and Alicia Keys? Jason Aldean and Ludacris? Metallica and Lou Reed? LL Cool J and Brad Paisley? Shudder. While many of these modern collaborations obviously occurred in a Nashville board room rather than happening organically, and some that did form naturally were horrible ideas, many of these collaborations ended up becoming huge hits for both artists, crossing over genres, and exposing fans to new types of music.

To a child of the 80s like myself, the most obvious unusual collaboration, and the first one I remember hearing on the radio, has to be the collaboration of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson on the mega-hit "To All the Girls I've Loved Before." This song was originally written in 1975 by Albert Hammond and Hal David. Iglesias and Nelson recorded it in 1983 for Iglesias's album 1100 Bel Air Place (though it can also be found on a number of Nelson compilations). I can't find any information on how this collaboration came to be, but I like to imagine that Iglesias and Nelson crossed paths while touring through Europe, winding up at some London pub downing pints of ale (maybe at the Hard Rock Cafe where Nelson got his shirt in the above photo), and ending the night with drunken, "I love you man" hugs, and promising to do a song together.

"To All the Girls I've Loved Before" became an enormous hit for both Iglesias and Nelson. It was a breakthrough song for Iglesias in the English language market, and was Nelson's biggest European hit. The song went to #1 on the US country charts, #5 on the Billboard Hot 100, and was named single of the year by the Academy of Country Music. 1100 Bel Air Place sold 4 million copies in the US, and 8 million world wide.

This song is not the only unusual collaboration on 1100 Bel Air Place. On this album Iglesias also has a duet with Diana Ross on the opening track "All of You," the Beach Boys provide vocals for "The Air the I Breathe," and Richard Marx, who had a huge amount of solo success in the late 80s and early 90s, is listed as a backing singer on the album. As mentioned earlier in the week by Retropath, Nelson himself has had a number of unusual collaborations over the years, including Sinead O'Connor, Carlos Santana, Phish, and most recently Snoop Dogg.

So what about all of the girls that Iglesias and Nelson have loved before? Between the two of them, they have four ex-wives and 15 children. Iglesias married Miranda Rijnsburger in 2010, his girlfriend of 20 years and mother of five of his children. Nelson married Annie D'Angelo in 1991. They have two sons, one of whom (Lukas) has recorded with and is currently touring with his father.

Unusual Collaborations: Ellen Foley and The Clash

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So what's Meatloaf's duet partner on "Paradise By the Dashboard Lights", Night Court star Ellen Foley, doing recording an entire album in 1981 with The Clash?  Back then, she was dating The Clash's Mick Jones. She even sang on the Sandinista! single "Hitsville UK" and the track "Corner Soul". 

Right after the band finished up Sandinista! they dutifully followed Jones into the studio to record Foley's  Spirit of St Louis (with its infamous credit "produced by my boyfriend"). "Torchlight" , with its call and response lyrics featuring Jones, wouldn't have sounded out of place on Sandinista! Nevertheless, Joe Strummer told anyone within earshot the Foley album was crap.

The Clash had another good year and a half together. Mick and Ellen didn't last quite that long. But their rocky relationship inspired the Clash's only UK#1 hit,  "Should I Stay Or Should I Go"

Unusual Collaborations: Daryl Hall and Robert Fripp

Daryl Hall: Something in 4/4 Time
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Robert Fripp has stated that Daryl Hall had the best set of pipes of anyone he had ever worked with. This from a guy who has worked with Bowie, The Roches, Greg Lake and John Wetton, not to mention Peter Gabriel, Jon Anderson and Adrian Belew. That Fripp and Hall collaborated, though, seems pretty bizarre, especially back in 1977. Maybe overselling it a bit, Allmusic refers to it as “what must be the most bizarre coupling ever.” Hall was best known as a blue-eyed soul pop hitmaker, coming off of “Sara Smile,” “She’s Gone” and “Rich Girl.” Fripp was recognized as the mastermind of King Crimson, inventor of the oddly compelling Frippertronics tape loop sound, collaborator with the artsy Brian Eno and provider of edgy guitar for the likes of Gabriel and Bowie.

And yet, the two musicians apparently clicked. Hall, looking to expand his horizons, and Fripp, impressed by Hall’s voice, decided to work together. Fripp envisioned a trilogy—a solo album featuring Hall (and others) on vocals (which became Exposure), an album with Gabriel (which became his second album, better known as Scratch) and Hall’s album, Sacred Songs. Hall’s record company, though, was incredibly leery of the whole thing, concerned that he was embarked on a career destroying jaunt toward the uncommercial avant-garde. So ultimately the record company behaved stereotypically, blocking Fripp from using Hall’s vocals on more than two songs on Exposure (Fripp was forced to re-record the songs with Peter Hammill and Terre Roche), and locking Sacred Songs in the vault for three years. They pretty much did everything short of twirling their mustaches and laughing evilly.

While Sacred Songs languished unreleased, karma intervened, and Hall and Oates’ releases during this time were generally unsuccessful. Hall and Fripp began to leak the tapes of Sacred Songs, which resulted in a campaign to have it released, and when it was, in 1980, it actually sold reasonably well. And the critical response was rapturous.

So, what’s the deal with the album? Despite my skepticism about Hall, listening to Sacred Songs back in 1980, I recall being blown away by Hall’s voice, and finding that the unusual collaboration really worked. I had been conditioned, I guess, by my love for The Roches' debut album, another unexpected collaboration between the folky Roche sisters and Fripp. Fripp, as producer, had pulled performances from Hall that added a bit of edge and immediacy that his more overproduced and slick hits were missing. And Fripp’s interesting guitar parts somehow meshed with the overdubbed contributions from Hall’s regular band. But the album is still, for the most part, a pop album, but an intelligent one (albeit one with the occasional Frippertronic interlude).

“Something in 4/4 Time” has always seemed like the spiritual heart of the album. It starts off sounding pretty poppy, a jaunty tune with a nice piano part. Hall’s voice sounds pretty much as you remember from top-40 radio, but maybe with more of an edge. And you realize that he is singing about being forced to write easily digestible songs for the masses. Then the pop stops, and Fripp jumps in with a signature sinuous guitar solo, before the pop returns, and Hall’s voice soars into falsetto. It is the whole Sacred Songs experience in four and a half minutes.

Times and tastes change, and some later CD re-releases of Sacred Songs included Hall’s two lead vocals from Exposure. And in 2006, Fripp released an expanded version of his solo work, and was able to release the original Hall vocals. Here’s the Hall version of “New York, New York, New York,” and his vocals are remarkable. Supple, but urgent, and superior to the found vocals used in the initial release (titled “NY3”).



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There apparently was some discussion of Fripp and Hall starting a band together, and it is intriguing to think of what the 1980’s version of King Crimson might have sounded like fronted by the soulful Hall, instead of the more David Byrne-ish Adrian Belew, but that never happened. The "New York" song, though, did include Fripp and future Crimson bass player Tony Levin, so if Bill Bruford had been on drums instead of Narada Michael Walden, we would have gotten a hint. Instead, Hall went back to Oates (and covered Mike Oldfield’s "Family Man"). Fripp went off to reform King Crimson, and do a bunch of other guitar-related things, until his recent announced retirement from the music industry over his frustration with the business end of things.

Recently, Hall has been hosting a show on the web and VH1/Palladia called Live from Daryl’s House featuring guests from across the musical spectrum, with live performances, including this recent (Fripp-less) performance of “Babs and Babs” from Sacred Songs.

UNUSUAL COLLABORATIONS: Willie Nelson and Sinead O'Connor

Don't Give Up
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Well, it had to be Willie, didn't it? I'm uncertain whether it is his  work ethic or his tax-bill that keeps him going, seemingly effortlessly pumping out album after album after album, whether in his comfort zone of country, or all over the shop, with Toots Hibbert, Wynton Marsalis and Snoop Dogg all coming into his radar of potential partners. I was struggling to wonder what the grizzled old crooner might have in common with, allegedly, many of these collaborators from genres afar from his own. Then I remembered.
This is perhaps slightly more orthodox, yet still an inspired duet, not least as the song's author adds to a trirumvirate you would somehow feel surprised to see shooting the breeze together, in your local Starbucks or similar.

I don't know the story of how this came about, but I like to think good old avuncular Willie took to the beleaguered and distressed Sinead at the Dylan tribute concert. Yeah, yeah, I know Kris Kristofferson has taken most of the acclaim for the public consoling of her, on the "unexpected" reaction she received to her papal dissing, but I can imagine all the older guys feeling a little for her gamine weepiness. (Was Willie even there? I forget.) Anyhow, this, the standout track from the standout Peter Gabriel LP, So,  takes on the same mantle for his LP of, largely, covers, 1993's Across the Borderline. This was my first exposure to Willie Nelson, since when I have been avid in my admiration for his ability to transcend any concept of ageing, and to keep on delivering, by and large, competent goods.The fact I am a huge acolyte of Sinead helps here, another individual unafraid to explore similar dalliances into reggae, folk and "standards", undaunted of the response. (And, BTW, her folk and reggae albums are the best of her work, in my humble.)

An interesting interview with Peter Gabriel in Mojo this month told me something I didn't know,that being that PGs original choice for the Kate Bush part in his version was Dolly Parton. Somehow making Willie Nelson's choice of it as a song worthy of covering somehow all the more appropriate.