Stage Names: David Bowie

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I am pleasantly surprised that, on this, the last day of our Stage Names theme, no one has tackled David Bowie. Bowie, in my mind, qualifies twice. Born David Jones in 1947, Bowie took his stage name to avoid being confused with Davey Jones of the Monkees. And, in the course of his career, Bowie has taken on the identities of Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, and others. The first of these stage identities was Major Tom. Major Tom is an astronaut who begins by relishing the fame that space travel brings him. I grew up in the 1960s, and I can assure you that the Apollo astronauts did indeed receive rockstar-like adulation in their day that is hard to imagine today. But Tom also finds his experience isolating, and the alternate reality of his unearthly environment soon consumes him. He sings, “Here am I sitting in my tin can…” and it goes from there. David Bowie was a struggling unknown when he recorded the song, but his career mirrors it in eerie ways. Bowie would soon be rocketed into this same kind of fame, and he would eventually be consumed by it, and retreat into the oblivion of a serious cocaine habit.

Luckily, that is not the end of the story. Bowie was able to overcome his drug habit. He continued his musical pursuits with some wild experiments that, for a time, resulted in a string of unpopular albums. That may have been bad news for his fans, but it probably gave Bowie some distance from his fame that aided his recovery. By 1980, Bowie was able to revisit the character of Major Tom in the song Ashes to Ashes, and view matters in a way that was both rueful and a mature reconsideration of his career and life to that point. Since then, Bowie has continued to be a restless musical chameleon. Collaborators have included a list of people who little else in common: Nile Rodgers of the disco band Chic, Brian Eno, Bing Crosby, Freddie Mercury, and Iggy Pop, just to name a few. Albums have become less frequent of late, and there may never be another full-length tour. But David Bowie has endured far longer than Davey Jones of the Monkees, and whatever Bowie does next is sure to be worth paying attention to.

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Stage Names: Blind Boy Grunt

Blind Boy Grunt: John Brown
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Robert Zimmerman, better known these days as Bob Dylan, signed to Columbia Records in October, 1961. His first album sold about 5,000 copies the first year. But soon, he would become a pretty big star.

At the time, the folk music revival centered around Greenwich Village was taking off, and in 1962, Broadside, a mimeographed (!) magazine started publication. It became a hugely influential forum for folk music, including music and lyrics, as well as articles and reviews. It fostered the kind of musical debate about authenticity and the definitions and purpose of folk music that, while easily parodied, also did an enormous amount to define the sound of the era.

Broadside also sponsored recording sessions, and in late 1962-1963, Dylan recorded five songs, three of which, "John Brown," "Only a Hobo," and "Talking Devil," were released by Broadside using the stage name, “Blind Boy Grunt” (the other two were released years later). Whether Dylan did so because of his contract with Columbia or just as a goof is not clear and there is no evidence that anyone from the record company ever took any offense. And it is further obvious that Broadside did nothing to hide the fact that it was Dylan who appeared on the record. Here is a link to the issue of the magazine from March, 1963. You can see on page 3 that the lyrics to “John Brown” are credited to Dylan (as are the lyrics for “Only a Hobo” that follow). And on the last page is an ad for the album that the songs appear on, Broadside Ballads Vol. 1—with Dylan’s name prominently listed as a contributor.

Dylan’s choice of the name “Blind Boy Grunt” was likely a nod toward the blues music that he loved, and maybe was a poke at young white men who had become enamored of the blues. Interestingly, Dylan used other stage names during this era that seem to be the kind of names you would create if you were pretending to be a blues man. On a Ramblin’ Jack Elliott album, his harmonica part was credited to “Tedham Porterhouse” and his piano and vocal contributions to a Steve Goodman project were credited to “Robert Milkwood Thomas.” (OK, he also was “Bob Landy” as a piano player on the 1964 Elektra Records anthology album, The Blues Project.)

“John Brown” is a strong anti-war song, but not one that was written about the Vietnam War that would later consume the folk and rock world, and lead to some of the greatest protest songs ever. The Tonkin Gulf resolution had not yet passed, and U.S. involvement in Vietnam was at a pretty low level. Instead, the song is a more general broadside, if you will, against war. To further emphasize the meaning of the song, after publishing the lyrics, the Broadside editors included a page from Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, one of the great anti-war novels of all time, describing the death of a character during World War II.

Stage Names : Engelbert Humperdinck

   In the mid 60's his friends convinced Arnold George "Gerry" Dorsey to change his name to Engelbert Humperdinck, after the German opera composer from the previous century, because it sounded more interesting. 

    That's the true story... but I prefer Eddie Izzard's version.

Stage Names: Leon Redbone

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A look at the thesaurus provides the scholar with variations on our theme such as appellation, sobriquet, moniker, cognomen, eponym and more, each with its own nuance to the fact that it is a name, after all (think: a rose is a rose. )

There are any number of reasons why an artist might go by a name other than that which s/he was born with: the birth certificate name may sound pretty strange or worse, the manager may have said a stage name would be better, or perhaps the artist thought the stage name would convey a deeper/different innuendo.  Some artists put a considerably greater effort into obscuring their original designation, leaving fans to discuss among themselves the whyfor and wherefore.

Born Dickran Gobalian, Leon Redbone has been entertaining audiences since the 1970s. Various sources provide differing accounts of the origins of his name. Assuming that it is in fact Gobalian, I would be inclined to side with the version that puts his family roots in the Middle East (some say Cyprus). But that is actually of little matter except in an exercise like “Stage Names”. Obviously, what matters most to us here at StarMaker is his musical output.

Whether it’s on account of his physical appearance, his demeanor or his musical style, I have to second the remark that he does in fact come across as “ so authentic you can hear the surface noise [of an old 78rpm]." The man further endears himself to me because no small number of the songs in his repertoire are songs that Ry Cooder has also performed. To wit:

 Leon Redbone: Big Bad Bill

STAGE NAMES : JOHN WESLEY HARDING

John Wesley Harding: Sussex Ghost Story

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Eh? That's not Dylan and indeed it's not. In fact the image isn't even of John Wesley Harding, but of John Wesley Hardin, no g, 1853 - 95, outlaw gunslinger and, possibly, nemesis of "Wild" Bill Hickok, referenced within the title track of  the also otherwise stage-named Robert Zimmerman's 8th studio album. This isn't about either of them, but about a latterday minstrel from Hastings, Sussex, UK, who took on this monicker for the launch of his musical career in 1988. Quite the renaissance man, one suspects he could have made a go of nearly anything, as Wesley Stace, his real name,  has written 3 novels and has a First in English Lit from Cambridge University, as well as being responsible for upward of 17 discs. In fact, had he not been offered a record deal, whilst supporting (real name) John Hiatt, he may well have got his PhD as well.

I think it fair to say I took no great shine to his initial work, it seeming a bit sub-prime Declan McManus, perhaps hindered by the use of various "Attractions" in his studio band. Perhaps this gave him his greater edge in the states, where he is better known and has been resident since 1991. My real interest was sparked by his 1999 work, "Trad Arr. Jones", a collection of folk songs initially covered by a a fellow Brit, Nic (real name) Jones, who had been tragically injured in a near career stalling road traffic accident in 1982. (I say near,as he has, remarkably, started cautious gigging again during literally only this last year or so.) Here is a song from that record, perhaps better known in another version, as "Matty Groves", by the mercurial "Fairport Convention." This showed a voice that had now some more oblique and less affected character of it's own and a willingness to ignore fashions and conventions redolent within his earlier work. Since then there has been a number of releases, often increasingly diverse in styles and statement, demonstrating a confident eclecticism, absent in his sophomore efforts. It somehow seems entirely apt that he now finds himself on "Yep Roc" records, who seem always to specialise in individuals reluctant to embrace any great degree of  type-casting, such as label-mates Dave Alvin, Nick Lowe and Robyn Hitchcock, all real names, amongst many others.

The song  I feature above, "Sussex Ghost Story" comes from 2004's "Adams Apple", my favourite track on my favourite LP. I would have preferred the studio version, but could not find it on youtube, but this at least has the fabulously evocative string arrangement of (Richard) Gavin Bryars. Not particularly representative even of the rest of the record, I can play it time and time again, reflecting on the bleakness and the beauty in the lyric and the melody. And in case my selections are all, as ever, a touch melancholic, here's a (slightly) more upbeat song, give or take the lyric.

Ironically, to time with the year of this posting, for his most recent record he has reverted to his own name for 2013's "Self-Titled".

Finally, for those feeling unduly deprived of the expectation offered by my title, here's the "other" JWH, the song, or, more exactly, the album, but, indulge me, not that one either. Here is  folk phenomenon, real name, Thea Gilmore, with a song  from her cover to cover of Dylans's 8th. Enjoy

Stage Names: Courtney Love

Hole: Doll Parts
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Sometimes, it is harder to come up with an idea when there are so many choices out there than when the theme is narrow. When you consider the universe of performers who have used stage names, it is a bit overwhelming. Kind of like the cereal aisle at the supermarket.

Instead, I decided to work backwards. I haven’t written about that many women in the just under two years that I’ve been part of the SMM family (roughly 16 of my approximately 100 pieces have included songs with prominent female vocals—sorry, Kath), so, this is an opportunity to rectify that imbalance. Also, I’ve posted a bunch of prog rock, so I wanted to go in a different direction, and although I’ve posted a bunch of new wave and punk, I haven’t really written about anything like this song.

So I decided to write about a woman who was born in 1964 in San Francisco as Courtney Michelle Harrison (although some sources state that her birth name was “Love Michelle Harrison”). As a result of various adoptions, over the years she was also known as "Courtney Michelle Rodriguez" and "Courtney Michelle Menely". And a few years ago, it was widely reported that she wanted to be known as “Courtney Michelle,” but she shot that story down.

Love’s upbringing was unconventional. Her mother was a psychotherapist and her father was a publisher and was briefly the manager of the Grateful Dead. Her parents divorced in 1969, and her father’s custodial rights were withdrawn based on allegations that he had given young Courtney LSD. Even in San Francisco in 1969, that was not a good thing. Her mother moved the family to a commune in Oregon, where Courtney struggled in school and was diagnosed with autism.

After a brief move to New Zealand, she was returned to Oregon to live with her former stepfather and friends. In what may well be one of the great “what ifs” of all time, Courtney auditioned for the Mickey Mouse Club when she was 12, but her choice of audition piece, the poem “Daddy,” by Sylvia Plath, somehow didn’t get her the gig. A couple of years later, she was sent to juvie for shoplifting, then bounced in and out of foster homes before becoming emancipated at 16. She spent the next few years doing various jobs, including DJ, stripper and actress, while also taking college classes in Portland, San Francisco and at Trinity College in Ireland.

Starting in the 1980’s Courtney began performing, first with bands that she formed, then briefly in Faith No More, before leaving that band to form other bands and playing bass with Babes in Toyland. She taught herself to play guitar and moved to L.A., where she placed an ad looking to start a band—her stated influences were “Big Black, Sonic Youth and Fleetwood Mac.” That band became Hole.

“Doll Parts” was released on Hole’s second album, Live Through This, and was written about Love’s insecurity about her then new relationship with Kurt Cobain. The song’s rawness and simplicity masks its complex musings on beauty, love, fear and pain, much as Love’s unpredictable (to be charitable) behavior has often overshadowed her obvious intelligence and talent. The song starts with just Love’s gritty vocals and a guitar, and builds slowly to a climax, before ending with a pained vocal, cracking with emotion. It is a song that truly lets you into Love’s heart, and makes obvious her pain, her insecurity and her fear.

It is a damn good song, and was a big success for the band. While Love and Hole put out some more excellent music, to my mind, this album, and this song, was the best work she ever did.

Shutdown: Allentown

Billy Joel: Allentown [purchase]

My second post for Star Maker Machine, back in 2008, was about the difference between a protest song and a political song. The song then was Deportees, by Woody Guthrie. Like Deportees, Billy Joel’s Allentown is a political song. It attempts to persuade by humanizing a situation and thereby eliciting our sympathies. In this case, the issue was the plight of the steel industry in the United States in the early 1980s. This was the first appearance of what is now the trend called outsourcing. Joel in his lyrics cites the fact that the coal to fire the steel mills of Pennsylvania was becoming harder to find and mine, but it is also true that steel companies were starting to find that they could produce steel more cheaply overseas.

Joel takes for his narrator a generation of workers without work in Allentown Pennsylvania. Because this is a Billy Joel song, his sentimental streak shows up in his idealized depiction of how the generation before the current one lived. Joel contrasts this with the shattered hopes and dreams of the unemployed steel workers at that time. They not only haven’t achieved their own dreams, they also haven’t lived up to the hopes their parents had for them. Joel doesn’t assign blame for this, but he leaves us with the feeling that, whoever’s fault this is, it is not the hard working people of Allentown.

The video also attempts to be socially relevant, but the results are mixed. It begins well enough, although the impact is somewhat blunted by the stylized way the humanity of these unemployed steel workers is depicted. But the year was 1982, and when the song reaches the bridge, all of a sudden we start seeing these dancers doing eighties music video moves. At one point, they appear to be worshiping an American flag made out of Christmas lights. Huh? The dance sequences, in short, are best ignored. Billy Joel was, in 1982, a commercial songwriter and musician, but this song shows that something bigger than himself had moved him. The video shows that his label approved, but didn’t completely understand this.

Shut Down: Last Call

I have to admit that I cannot remember ever being at a bar for last call. Which is not a joke—you know, like “if you remember the sixties, you weren’t there” (variously attributed to Robin Williams, Grace Slick, Paul Kantner, Dennis Hopper, Judy Collins, George Harrison, Pete Townshend and Timothy Leary, among others, including a comedian, Charlie Fleischer, who may have been the first to say it). It’s just that my heaviest imbibing days came when I was in college, and we almost never went to bars. Not to mention that I’m generally too, say, thrifty, to pay bar prices for a long night of drinking.

But I understand that “last call” is a big deal, because it requires you to fight inertia and the effects of alcohol, leave the cozy confines and head out into the world. Either you have to go home, or you are with someone, or you are alone, maybe disappointingly so. But you are probably drunk, and you need to decide whether to find somewhere else to keep drinking, or you have to accept the fact that the drinking part of the evening is over.

Not surprisingly, last call is a topic that is not uncommon in the music world, and we will touch on three very different songs, but not Kanye West’s “Last Call,” or Semisonic’s “Closing Time.” And because I don’t have a clever organizing principle, let’s just go in chronological order.  

Dead Kennedys: We’ve Got a Bigger Problem Now
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I’ve written before about the Dead Kennedys, and how their very name was a slap in the face to political correctness. In their classic “California Über Alles,” they poked fun at the supposed hippie/fascist tendencies of then (and current) California governor Jerry Brown who, in the song, somehow becomes dictator of the United States. But not long after this was released, the country actually elected conservative president Ronald Reagan, whose vision for America scared the DKs even more than Brown’s supposed “suede denim secret police.”

Thus, the band released this revised version, called “We’ve Got a Bigger Problem Now,” which starts with a lounge jazz arrangement and the lyrics:

Last call for alcohol.
Last call for your freedom of speech.
Drink up. Happy hour is now enforced by law.

While most of the most dire predictions in the song didn’t come true, some did, and I think you can draw a direct line from the Reagan presidency to the current Tea Party fanaticism that led to the government shutdown.

But enough about politics.

Hüsker Dü: First of the Last Calls
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The loudest concert that I ever went to was Hüsker Dü at Irving Plaza in 1986. By far. And Dwight Yoakam opened, which was probably the oddest combination at any concert that I have ever been to. I’ve always appreciated Hüsker Dü’s ability to write poignant songs, with great melodies, while still keeping their hardcore roots. My wife, on the other hand, has trouble hearing past the feedback and screaming, and doesn’t get it.

“First of the Last Calls” is from an early EP, Metal Circus, and it definitely falls more on the hardcore end of the spectrum. But you can still hear songwriter Bob Mould’s gift for writing great riffs, in this song about a man’s losing fight with the bottle. Mould, who has struggled with various substance abuse issues, has had an impressive career with Hüsker Dü, Sugar and as a solo artist. Not to mention writing the theme song to The Daily Show (although the current version is a cover by They Might Be Giants).

Jay Bennett: Second Last Call
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Changing things up a bit, we come to a song by another excellent songwriter with substance issues, but who succumbed to them—Jay Bennett, who passed away from an overdose of prescription painkillers back in 2009. Probably best known for his work with Wilco, and for being fired from Wilco in a scene captured in the incredible film, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, Bennett was in a regionally popular band, Titanic Love Affair, before joining Wilco, and had an intermittently brilliant solo career after leaving.

His talent, as a songwriter, producer/arranger and multi-instrumentalist. cannot be denied, and from all reports, he is not the only person to butt heads with Jeff Tweedy. Bennett plays all of the instruments on this song, a kind of peppy story about failed love at a bar, from his posthumously released album, Kicking at the Perfumed Air.

Good night--time to leave--drive safely, and don't forget to tip your waitress.....

Shutdown: You Can't Always Get What You Want

Rolling Stones: You Can't Always Get What You Want
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One lesson that we might pick up from the stand-off/shut-down comes from a '69 Rolling Stones tune off the Let It Bleed album: You Can't Always Get What You Need.

While there isnt a direct reference in the song to our current theme of <Shutdown>, the indirect link is pretty clear: none of the parties involved in the events that brought about the US government shutdown came away with what they really wanted. My understanding of politics is that it is a business of trade-offs: give a little, get a little. It appears that I am supported in my knowledge by this, from the Online Etymology Dictionary:

Politicks is the science of good sense, applied to public affairs, and, as those are forever changing, what is wisdom to-day would be folly and perhaps, ruin to-morrow. Politicks is not a science so properly as a business. It cannot have fixed principles, from which a wise man would never swerve, unless the inconstancy of men's view of interest and the capriciousness of the tempers could be fixed. [Fisher Ames (1758-1808)]

Like the recent US political impass, the 60s were also a time of turmoil: not least the Vietnam war protests. Further still, there's a fair dose of politics referenced in the Stones' lyrics:

I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"
...[and] ...
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands

"demonstration ... abuse ..." Sounds like <Occupy> to me.
"art of deception" ... sound like <NSA> to me.
"blood-stained hands" ... Blackwater and more ...

There are some out there clamouring for a controlled kind of shutdown: close down some of the out-of-control powers of government. Maybe I am just overly influenced by the George Orwell frame of mind.

Shutdown: Closing Time

Tom Waits: Closing Time

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Our current theme is rich with possibilities, but they require some creative thought to tease out. Shutdown. All kinds of things can be shut down. It may be permanent, or very temporary. One example happens every night, and it has been a great inspiration to songwriters. I‘m talking about closing time. You went out to a bar for an evening. You had certain hopes and intentions. Now the bar is closing, and you are still there. How did those expectations turn out? Songwriters have answered that question in a wide variety of ways. To hear some of those answers, try searching for the words “closing time“ in the Amazon mp3 store. Three completely different songs bear that title, and many other song titles contain the phrase.

One Closing Time song holds my attention here. On an album of mostly vocal tracks, Tom Waits made the instrumental song Closing Time the title track of his 1973 release. The song, appropriately, closes the album. When Sting made the instrumental The Dream of Blue Turtles the title track of his first solo album, he was taking a tune that was the result of an impromptu jam session in the studio, and using it as a declaration of personal and musical freedom. Tom Waits is after something completely different here. The song Closing Time is a mood piece that sums up the emotions of the entire album. The song could just as easily have opened the album and served as a sort of overture. The album Closing Time is one of Waits’ most lushly romantic works. Waits is known for his portrayal of down-on-their-luck men who have turned to alcohol to dull the pain, with varying degrees of success. What is remarkable is how Waits makes us sympathize with these men by showing us that, even at their lowest, these men still dream of better things. The album Closing Time focuses less on how low these characters have fallen, and instead is about those dreams. Here are some of Waits most unabashed and beautiful love songs. Still, at the end of the night, the lights come up, and these characters leave alone. So the song is still lush and sweet, but it also has a melancholy strain. Nobody balances these emotions better than Tom Waits, and here he doesn’t even need words to do it.

Shutdown: Don’t Shut ‘em Down

Flogging Molly: Don’t Shut ‘em Down
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So, of course, the government shutdown is over, and we here at Star Maker Machine take credit for the ending, only a few days after we created this theme. It is sort of like why some baseball announcers won’t mention that a pitcher has a no-hitter, as if the announcer affects the game. Which is something that my father insists on, despite being quite well educated and intelligent. But if that is true, then why can’t a little music blog cause the reopening of the entire United States government?

I’ve previously written about my attendance at two Warped Tours, and why that demonstrates my credentials as a great father, but it also exposed me to some incredible music. Maybe my favorite discovery at Warped Tour was Flogging Molly, who combine Celtic music with punk in a way that I find incredibly fun. It is surprising that there is a whole slew of bands like this, like the Pogues and Dropkick Murphys, but of all of them, Flogging Molly is my fave. I will never forget the mosh pit that afternoon on Randall’s Island—I only watched because, hey, I’m a grownup—but it was a like a maniacal Irish dance in the dirt and mud. We bought some of their CDs at the merch tent that day, and I’ve been a fan ever since.

“Don’t Shut ‘em Down,” from the band’s latest release of new material, 2011’s Speed of Darkness, was written about the economic situation, primarily in Detroit where the band is based and in leader Dave King’s native Ireland. It is a plea not to shut down the factories that gave so many people work, the ability to support their families, and allowed cities to thrive. The title is taken from graffiti that King saw painted on a boarded up building in Detroit.

This song is, actually, one of the least Celtic sounding Flogging Molly songs that I can think of—it is more of a straight ahead rocker, with a poignant, important message.

SHUTDOWN : WORKING FOR THE CLAMPDOWN

Working for the Clampdown
Get it, here!

OK, so it's not the version you were expecting, but indulge me this opportunity to hit several targets at the same time. Or at least to aim at them. (You were expecting this, weren't you. Same song, same message, different ambience, both good.)

Some discussion.... Clampdown may not mean quite the same thing as shutdown, but I'm not going to bother Webster for fear of invalidating my argument, as the outcome is the same whether it is Congress (now) or the revolution (Strummer) that turns off the lights. The Clash were the archetypal politico-punks, Strummer inevitably drawn to left wing overthrow of the state, the camouflage of resentment held by so many of those in denial of their own privileged upbringing. Privately educated, the son of a diplomat, an example of that peculiarly british phenomenon, Joe Strummer constantly re-invented and re-defined himself, so as to deny his spoon, stainless steel if not silver, in support for the undertrodden and oppressed, most of that oppression, in his eye, stemming from the righter leaning ideologies of the wealthy upper classes. Arguably naive and simplistic, nonetheless one felt he believed it, despite the perpetual joy of the press, always reminding all of his roots. Even the more radical rock press delighted in this perceived whiff of hypocrisy, as if he could and should have chosen his parentage more wisely. O to be in England, now that class is here. Where it always has been, and, probably, pitifully, it probably always will be. (Relax, guys, my diatribe is done, back to the music.)

I liked the Clash. They always seemed to have a bit more to them than the Sex Pistols, who resolutely seemed a little cartoon-like. Like the Beatles and the Stones, you had to be in one camp or the other, and the Clash seemed a bit better read, perhaps underlining my own class issues. London Calling was, I think, their 3rd LP and was a massive breakthrough at many levels, straying from 4:4 wamalama and introducing many styles and statements, drawn, as Strummer would always return to, especially later in his career, from the musical diversities of many cultures. A double album, squeezed into one sleeve and the price of one, this too was part of the message. (Sandanista, their next, took this still further, being 3 for the price of 1, but, for me, was spread a little too thin.) From the iconography of the cover, to the brilliance of much of the music, London Calling was their pinnacle. Following on from Sandanista the band eventually fell into disrepute and dissarray, Strummer becoming a Pogue for a while, standing in for another "nice boy gone bad", Shane MacGowan, before a last gasp of creativity with his own band, the Mescaleros, and a premature death in his early 50s. Which, inevitably and yet again, gave the obituarists an opportunity to reprise his family tree.

I also like the Indigo Girls, torchbearers also, but for a more sexual politic. This version brings a different slant to the more overt posturing of the original, and comes from one of the better tribute LPs out there, Burning London, which includes versions of Clash songs by No Doubt, the Afghan Whigs and Moby, amongst others.

Shutdown: Shut Down

Beach Boys: Shut Down
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The exuberance of the '60s Beach Boys was infectious: so infectious that they sold millions. They were a kind of transition from the Kingston Trio folk genre to the Beatles pop/rock genre. They were California-carefree: surf, sun, and fun, fun, fun 'til ...

'Til the real world intruded. Much of the decade leading up the Beach Boys' prime-time were years of plenty - especially for America. Work, cars and houses for everyone. The late sixties (and the end of the Beach Boys' major successes) was the end of an era: a shut down of the values that America had previously espoused. Vietnam war protests, "free sex", hippies ... all flew in the face of what was established. Richard Nixon got caught trying to shut down his opponents by illegal means. The public aimed to shut down the Vietnam war. And much of the public tuned out one way or another: smoking pot or ... whatever... in itself a form of shut down or closing time.

Look into the Beach Boys late works (Heroes and Villains era stuff) and you'll see this change reflected in their music: The Beach Boys of the '70 definitely do not display the same "drive" you'll see in this clip. It's been shut down and the gears have been down-shifted to mellow.

At the same time, as we consider the relation to today's US gov't shut down, you might look deeper into the (most likely unintended) meaning you could ascribe to the lyrics of this song:



Shut it off, shut it off buddy now I shut you down
Sounds to me like one of the US political parties or another: "buddy"? I thought that meant "friend"?

Sisters: You And Your Sister

"

Chris Bell: You And Your Sister

[purchase]

When I first posted the original version of You And Your Sister here way back in 2010, I described it as a song that "offers raw redemption, with Chris Bell's broken delivery and slightly off-tune bass holding it together until the highly orchestral, swirling atmospheric bridge kicks in and all is lost to summery teen angst - just as the heavy-hearted homosexual, heroin addict, and struggling Christian himself was lost to a late night car crash in '78, the same year the song was first released as a non-album single."

What I didn't mention was that one of the most powerful choices Bell made in releasing this b-side was the use of a totally minor character - that of the sister who claims that the narrator is "no good", but is otherwise absent in the lyrics - in the song's title. Doing so forces us to enter the song as a companionate outsider, removed that much farther from the otherwise intimate performance and first-person narrative; the resulting experience of listening invites us to share both the desperate distance the narrator feels for his subject, and the inherent cultural disapproval that the titular sibling represents - itself a common theme in Bell's work, as evidenced most obviously by the parental role in Big Star's Thirteen.

Bonus track: the production on this recent cover from cinematic art-pop duo O + S, which appears on the award-winning indie-slash-dreampop 2010 lullaby covers album Sing Me To Sleep, uses plinking acoustic tones, chamberfolk strings, and lush, echoey, doubled vocals to add new atmospheric layers to the song, trebling the distance and desperation even as it calms the slumbering soul.

O+S: You And Your Sister

[purchase]

Sisters: Babylon Sisters

Steely Dan: Babylon Sisters

[purchase]

Babylon Sisters comes from the album Gaucho, which would be the last album from the original run of Steely Dan. After Gaucho, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen would split up. Fagen initially pursued a solo career, while Becker moved to Hawaii and kicked his drug habit, before eventually reemerging as a producer and solo artist himself. When Steely Dan finally went back in the studio as a group, they were without longtime producer Gary Katz.

Gaucho was the album from that original run that Becker and Fagen found the most difficult to make. In fact, there exists as a bootleg an entire album worth of material that would have been a very different album than the one we know. That one is called, alternately, The Lost Gaucho or The Second Arrangement. It has an alternate version of Third World Man with entirely different lyrics, an instrumental version of Gaucho, and a bunch of songs that were scrapped. To my ear, the “official” album, Gaucho, was well worth the effort it took to make. Compared to the previous album, Aja, the sound is somewhat simplified. The band is a large as before, and the background singers are still here, but the songs on Gaucho are shorter, and have less complex structures and harmonies. Aja is a great album too, but there are times when this Steely Dan lite, if you will, is just what I am in the mood for. The songs here have lyrics that are as opaque as always, but the musical directness gives these songs the unique feel of well crafted short stories, where Aja is more like a collection of finely wrought novellas. Babylon Sisters is a fine example of what I mean. Compared to the epic sweep of Home at Last, or even the storytelling of Don’t Take Me Alive, from the Royal Scam album, Babylon Sisters is a moment in time and a mood piece, and a very fine one.

Sisters: Don't Let Me Down

Pernilla Andersson: "Don't Let Me Down"

Pernilla Andersson: "Don't Let Me Down" (Twisted Sister cover)
[purchase]

In choosing a song to post about for the Sisters theme, I kept getting distracted by this cover of Twisted Sister's "Don't Let Me Down." Pernilla Andersson's subdued vocals coast over shimmering, fingered acoustic guitar and relentless shaker into a chorus accentuated by droning cello drags, stabbing mandolin yelps, and wandering piano notes that fall like stones into a bottomless pond. The orchestrated result is a dark mirror held to the 80s makeup metallers, perhaps with a tease and a taunt: anything you can do, I can do better.

Andersson ditches the overt loudness, speed, and tone in lieu of subtler approaches. Elements of the song's original characteristics all remain present, yet refined. A true application of the art of the cover, this interpretation targets the mood and message of its subject and strips out the pomp. I love this song on its own, but knowing where it comes from adds a lot to it for me. I found little to no value in the original but now have a reason to appreciate it as the base for Andersson's superior emulation.

Twisted Sister: "Don't Let Me Down"

Sisters: Sister Seagull

Be Bop Deluxe: Sister Seagull
[purchase]

I don’t know if it is because I’ve been writing for another blog that wants third-person analysis, or just that I’m running out of music related personal stories, but I seem to be writing more here about bands that I want people to listen to and less about me, my family and friends. Which may be a good thing, or not, but that’s sort of the way things go on a blog that requires you to react to a prompt. Either there is a personal story there, or there isn’t. But there is almost always a song to write about.

I do, however, have a sister—a wonderful sister—but music has never been something that we spent much time sharing. I never got the sense that she cared about it as much as I did (most people don’t, to be fair), and the irony is that now she is with a guy who drags her to concerts.

So, I did sort of bring in the personal a bit. Now, on to the feature—Be Bop Deluxe’s “Sister Seagull,” from 1975, a time when bands could legitimately be considered blues rock, glam rock and prog rock at the same time, without causing a meltdown of the structure of the universe. I suspect that I was vaguely aware of these guys before I went to college—it would not surprise me to find out that WNEW-FM played them occasionally, but I know that when I was digging through the stacks at WPRB, I found myself listening to and playing them. Despite the fact that they were generally considered to be more prog than not, the current wisdom is that they were also precursors and influences on new wave music. And as someone who was playing music on the radio as new wave was emerging, maybe I sensed that too.

OK—I brought in the personal again. Let’s talk about Be Bop Deluxe. They were, essentially, an instrument of Bill Nelson, one of the unsung guitar heroes of the era. His songs often had sci fi imagery, but also reflected on modern society and relationships. This song was from the band’s second album, Futurama, the first with the lineup that would essentially be the classic configuration. Despite what Allmusic thinks, it is a pretty good album, with a few great songs, notably “Sister Seagull” and the thrilling “Maid in Heaven.” “Seagull,” is a mellower song, with some fascinating guitar riffs. The album, though, was not particularly successful, although their later albums, most notably Modern Music, did have some success in the U.K., and even sniffed at the U.S. charts. The band’s final album, Drastic Plastic, began to showcase a bit more of a new wave sound, and because he wanted to try new things, Nelson disbanded Be Bop Deluxe, ending its short run. Thereafter, Nelson’s career turned into one of constant experimentation and collaboration, but limited commercial success. Here’s a video of the band performing the song on the BBC’s legendary show Old Grey Whistle Test.



I strongly suggest checking out this band’s limited output. Although certainly imperfect, each of their albums contains a number of now forgotten gems.

SISTERS: SISTERS by RICHARD & LINDA THOMPSON

Sisters : Richard and Linda Thompson

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Phew, I was worried I wouldn't get back on-line in time for this submission, the instantaneous thought that came to me, on reading about the theme from afar. Few can now claim to be unaware of the name Richard Thompson, the eternal critics favourite undiscovered artist, finally, finally seeming to get the attention due him, even if he is still hardly household. Indeed, he remains very much a marmite artist, to use the current british vernacular, marmite being a yeast based spread that advertises itself on the basis that you can only either love or hate it, with no middle ground. (I love it!) Elderly readers will remember him as the precocious guitar-slinger in Fairport Convention, doe-eyed and shaggy, effortlessly tossing off skewed and twisted lines, seeming to offer no links to the then received canon of blues and rock, with echoes of a deep folk mysticism, and hints of an eastern symbolism later more widely embraced. Indeed Fairport probably invented the european school of folk-rock, with their epochal album, Liege and Lief, from where this clip comes.
Following on from his exit from FP and an astoundingly unsuccessful solo LP, he teamed up with his then wife, Linda, herself already a well respected singer on the session circuit, producing 5 or so LPs, even managing a minor hit with this. During this period the couple embraced islam, even giving up the music business for a while, living on a sufi commune. The song I lead this piece with stems from this later period, which Thompson himself seems to think little of himself, it remaining resolutely unavailable on CD, re-mixed and added to or otherwise.(My purchase link comes from a later compilation of his oevre.)
They famously split up around their final LP, then experiencing an enormously vitriolic tour together to promote it.
Since then Richard has maintained a low profile permanent presence in the best of lists, whether as guitarist, songwriter or, less often, singer. Indeed, it his voice that tends to keep him away from any real chance of crossover, appealing mainly to bearded men of a certain age, perhaps explaining his place in the heart of so many music writers. Linda sort of fell by the wayside, having become prone to dysphonia, making singing live impossible. Fortunately, largely with the assistance and support of son, Teddy, she has again started to appear and perform again, and has just put out the 3rd of an occasional series of new songs. Which, full circle, includes her ex accompanying her on one track.
"Sisters" has a typically acerbic lyric, with bittersweet words of a distressed regret, fitting perfectly with the bleak vocal, and the typical spiky guitar underpinnings. A song, as are most of theirs, to listen to, to pick up all the words, all the instrumental nuances, to feel the pain and the pleasure of that pain, before committing it to fond memory for recall. Heart, head and soul music. Wonderful stuff.

Sisters: The Roches

The Roches: The Troubles

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“We are Maggie and Terre and Suzzy, Maggie and Terre and Suzzy Roche…” Those were the first words I ever heard from the Roche sisters. Their self-tiled debut was a delightful surprise in 1979. That was a great year for debut albums, also including Dire Straits, Rickie Lee Jones, and Steve Forbert, just to name a few. But the Roches were astounding in part for seeming to be a folk act on a major label. Suzanne Vega and others would soon follow, but, at the time, this was truly remarkable. Of course, that debut album was produced by Robert Fripp, who also added background noises on electric guitar, so I might have guessed that things weren’t quite so simple. Indeed, they plugged in the next year for their follow-up album Nerds. It was during the Nerds tour that I saw what was one of the most disappointing concerts of my life. The Roches came to Princeton with a rhythm section behind them, and played an incredibly loud concert that drowned out the subtle pleasures I so loved about them. Happily, in time they came to realize that the softer sound heard here was their strong suit, and this is how they perform these days.

Play the video above, and you will hear the playfulness and the close harmonies that distinguish the Roches’ sound. You will also hear the unvarnished tone in the vocals that you will either love as being direct and honest, as I do; or the sound will grate on your ears, because one hears it so seldom. This is a group that my wife and I disagree on, with her falling in the latter camp. But I can never hear the best work of the Roche sisters without smiling. Music can do more than that, but sometimes that smile is enough.

Sisters: Little Sister

Ry Cooder: Little Sister
[Purchase]

I had to go way back through the SMM search/archives to be sure that I hadn't posted this song before (it seemed I must have done so - at least once ?! and after my searches I am still not sure) By now, y'all must know that Ry is a favorite of mine (check out the number of times I have posted his songs); plus, this song ranks among his best. [I know this "SMM search" reminder is a repeat, but it can't hurt]: to search SMM, try  sixsongs.blogspot.com/search/lable/YourSearchTermHere

For example: http://sixsongs.blogspot.com/search/label/Sisters

Now, as to "sisters":

One of my favorites - from Ry Cooder's '79 "Bop Till You Drop" album- was once a '50's/'60s Elvis song. Written by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman (a song-writing pair who were actually related by marriage), the song touches on infidelity and insecurity. It's a case of 2 sisters who've been courted, seemingly neither of them terribly faithful.

Ry's version has so much more verve to it. Granted, the Elvis rendition here is from his later years-in-decline, and this clip shows it. However, it needs to be said that - master that Ry is - a major part of what makes Ry's performance that much better is in large part due to Bobby King's (and friends) backup vocals.


Elvis:

Ry:
 

　

Sisters: Soul Sister

[Purchase]

Producer and songwriter extraordinaire ( "Working In a Coalmine", "A Certain Girl", "Everything I Do Gonna Be Funky", "Fortune Teller") Allen Toussaint made  Life, Love and Faith with The Meters in 1972. Toussaint IS New Orleans music...though his songs are typically better served by other singers.

Not on this one.

In "Soul Sister" he gives a nod to all the head-turning sisters wearing naturals, an expression of pride and dignity and sexiness:

Hey you/ Hey you with the curly bush on your head baby

You know you're lookin good/ Soul sister

By the way if you see a sister wearing a natural, let me be the first to suggest you don't call her Afro "a curly bush". It doesn't sound right unless you have The Meters backing you up.

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

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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)