All That Jazz: That's Neat, That's Nice

NRBQ: That's Neat, That's Nice

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NRBQ: The Music Goes Round and Around

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Sadly, this morning's headlines provide an opportunity to combine two Star Maker themes: "All That Jazz" and the recent "In Memoriam." Tom Ardolino of NBRQ passed away yesterday.

The story of how Adrolino came to play drums for NRBQ is an inspiring one for groupies and lurkers everywhere. From his Wikipedia biography: "Ardolino was initially a fan of the band, and began corresponding and trading tapes with keyboardist and co-founder Terry Adams. On one occasion, original NRBQ drummer Tom Staley did not feel up to returning for an encore, so Adams invited Ardolino to fill in....When Staley decided to leave the band in 1974, his bandmates agreed that Ardolino was the natural choice as his successor."

Adrolino went on to play with NBRQ from 1974 until it went on long-term hiatus in 2004.

Throughout its long run, the New Rhythm and Blues Quartet did not limit itself to R&B (nor to having just four members on stage). The band's name was inspired by the Modern Jazz Quartet, and NRBQ embraced MJQ's improvisational ethos. The band was nothing if not versatile. In 1984, NRBQ played the Berlin Jazz Festival, the New York Folk Festival and the Grand Ole Opry. The group's leader, Terry Adams, modeled his keyboard style after Thelonious Monk and Sun Ra. The strains of modern jazz can be heard throughout NRBQ's recordings, but it's the numbers influenced by traditional jazz and swing that are the most infectious. The two cuts here are from 1978's At Yankee Stadium (fittingly, not recorded at Yankee Stadium) and 1980's Tiddlywinks.

Adams reformed NRBQ this year, but Adrolino wasn't in the group (nor are any other NRBQ alum except Adams). However, Tom Adrolino did design the cover to the band's record, Keep This Love Goin'.

All That Jazz: The Magnificent Seven

Alison Brown: The Magnificent Seven

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How many banjo players can boast that their music has been played in the depths of outer space? Well, Alison Brown can because her music was used in early 2000 as the official wake up call for the crew of the U.S. Space Shuttle Destiny on their journey to the International Space Station. Knowing few constraints, Brown epitomizes individualism. She enjoys the challenge of adventurously pushing the envelope and her own technical skills into banjo’s final frontier. While on her voyage, Brown’s mission is to explore strange new musical worlds, to seek out new musical life, to boldly go where no woman has gone before! Thus, I chose a wonderful little new acoustic jazz tune called “The Magnificent Seven” that she wrote with Solas guitarist John Doyle. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear a seven-beat meter in the tune’s head.

The song appears on her innovative album “Stolen Moments” with its expressive elements of many genres from Jazz to Celtic, and Pop to Bluegrass. The album is an astounding display of melodic invention that characterizes this one-of-a-kind banjo player. Another favorite jazzy cut on the album is “The Sound of Summer Running.” Alison Brown’s 5-string lays perfectly into the greater ensemble’s kaleidoscope of sound with such accomplished masters as Stuart Duncan (fiddle), Sam Bush, Mike Marshall (mandolin), Seamus Egan (low whistle on one track), John Doyle (guitar), John R. Burr (piano), Kenny Malone (percussion), and Garry West (bass). Some pop numbers on the album include superb vocals from folks like Amy Ray, Emily Saliers, Beth Nielsen Chapman, Andrea Zonn, and Mary Chapin Carpenter.

How did the impressively virtuosic Alison Brown get to be such a hot picker? Her expedition has actually taken her from Connecticut to California to Tennessee. Early bands were The Stringbenders and Gold Rush. The 1991 International Bluegrass Music Assn. (IBMA) Banjo Player of the Year went on to play, record or tour with Northern Lights, Alison Krauss & Union Station, Michelle Shocked, New Grange, and others. She owns her own record company (Compass Records). The Alison Brown Quartet formed in 1996. Her confidence and talent allow this daring stalwart of the banjo to play many genres including jazz. Listen to her creative and courageous musical statements that know few boundaries.

Guest Post by Joe Ross

All That Jazz: Consider Me Gone

Sting: Consider Me Gone

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Here’s one way to find songs for this week’s theme. Look up Dream of the Blue Turtles on Wikipedia, find the section where it lists the personnel on the album, and then follow the links to find out what else they each played on. You will find that this band had some serious jazz credentials, and that they went on to work with many mainstream artists who wanted to add a taste of jazz to their sound, if only for a song or two. Indeed, Sting said in interviews at the time that he was looking for the looseness and freedom that jazz offered for his debut as a solo artist. The title track from The Dream of the Blue Turtles was actually a jam session that was not even planned in advance, and it shows how good this band was. But, of the songs that Sting wrote coming into the sessions, Consider Me Gone best shows off the jazz qualities that came out in this music. Firstly, the song swings. But there are also some subtleties that surely come from the world of jazz. Listen to how the phrasing in Sting’s vocal line changes from verse to verse. Notice the little ornamental figures that Omar Hakim sneaks in on the drums. And then notice how the song’s tight groove loosens as the song comes to a close. The song runs just over four minutes, but it sounds like the band is just getting started, and like they jammed for another two or three minutes at least. I would love to hear what happened next.

New => All That Jazz: What's New?

Wes Montgomery: What's New?

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The popular torch standard What's New? was written in 1939 and like all great standards has been recorded by many terrific jazz musicians over the years, including Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, and Larry Coryell. The version I'm highlighting is much more understated and seductive. It features one of the finest guitar performances of Wes Montgomery (I can't believe we've never showcased him before!), here with the Wynton Kelly Trio—Kelly on piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and Jimmy Cobb on drums. It's from the 1965 jazz classic Smokin' at the Half Note (although this cut was actually recorded in the studio), which also includes one of my favorite tunes, Four on Six (she writes wistfully, as she waits for a numbers theme so she can post it, too…)

New: When the Wagon Was New

Sam McGee: When the Wagon Was New

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In recent decades, country music has branched off in a hundred different directions. In the days before “outlaw country” or “alt-country,” we had just simple, plain ol’ “country” music. I occasionally revisit those traditional roots to remind us of what the genre once was. So for that reason, I’ve chosen a song called “When the Wagon was New,” written by Sam McGee.



Who is Sam McGee, you ask? He and his brother (Kirk) were born in Franklin, TN. back in 1894 and 1899, respectively. Their father was a fiddler, bought 12-year-old Sam a banjo, and soon both boys (influenced by local black musicians) were out performing on banjo and guitar. After hearing Uncle Dave Macon about 1923, they joined his Fruit Jar Drinkers, and played on the WSM radio show that became the Grand Ole Opry. They began recording in 1928. The formed a popular trio called The Dixieliners with Fiddlin’ Arthur Smith in 1930. After WWII, we hear them on the Folkways record label, recording with Macon Smith (with the Delmore Brothers), touring with comedy act Sara and Sally, and playing regularly on the Opry. Sam died on August 21, 1975 in a tractor accident.

About this song he wrote in the 1920s, “When the Wagon was New,” Sam McGee once said, “Back in the days when I was just a kid we did a lot of that – went to church in wagons and even on horseback. Those were the horse and buggy days. I seen a lot of that during the twenties and thirties in Alabama and down through there in places that I played. In some places, especially in the hilly countries, some of that is still going on right now.”

I really like the straightforward, nostalgic feeling conveyed in the song. What better song is there to remember the “good old days” as we begin 2012. In the first verse, Sam mentions the “old rusty wagon that’s left to rot away,” and he remembers how “people all loved their neighbor, everybody was so free.” It’s an old style of country music, and why aren’t songs written today that mention daddy, mom, the children, grandma and grandpa too, riding off to church on Sunday “when the wagon was new”? Even though the song is nearly 100 years old, look how relevant and insightful the last verse still is today:

The automobiles are here now, and the wagon days are through,
The airplanes are a-hummin’, good neighbors are so few,
Everybody’s in a hurry, it’s the money that takes you through,
We didn’t need much money, when the wagon was new.

Now, that’s one heartfelt sentiment with a lot of wisdom that is very germane today.

Guest post by Joe Ross

New: New Virginia Creeper

Old Crow Medicine Show: New Virginia Creeper

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Never shying from creating modern railroad songs (and working their instruments to imitate the chugging, whistling sounds of the big, iron trains), OCMS gives us this song invoking the imagery of a relatively short-lived interstate railway between Virginia and North Carolina intertwined with some pretty heavy-handed euphemisms. The narrator in these lyrics comes across as a big-talking wooer seeking company in his plainly referenced bed. As always, OCMS does an exceptional job of recreating the plucky, easy-to-sing-along-to bluegrass style of old. Enjoy the train-like harmonica and traditional sounding bounce of this tune.

Guest post by Andrew

New: A New England

Billy Bragg: A New England

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An oft-covered punkfolk youth anthem from UK singer-songwriter and left-wing activist Billy Bragg's 45 rpm debut that chugs along with the momentum of a train hurtling down the tracks, deliberate proof that the same combination of anger, frustration, innocence and optimism that fuels so much of his explicitly political work can be just as deftly applied to the age-old story of boy meets girl - or, at least, to the liminal narrative that comes of setting aside the old affections for the new unknown - in part because, to Bragg, moving on from the inevitabilities of cultural narrative is, after all, part and parcel of the political.

Because sometimes, you don't need to change the world, just your heart.

New: New Toy

Lene Lovich: New Toy

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In the fall of 1981 I was a freshman in college who had unfortunately been raised on some pretty lousy radio in Cleveland. I was ready for something other than the Springsteen-Eagles-Zeppelin stuff I had heard to death for years. Luckily I soon fell into a pretty musically savvy crowd and my listening pleasures grew exponentially. One guy, Jim, was a junior and a DJ at the college station. I remember his big passions at the time were Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen, the first I had ever heard of those two groups. One day he was all excited and couldn't stop playing this weird (to my naïve ears at the time) song, angular music with funny lyrics sung by a hyper-sounding, possibly whip-wielding woman and a catchy “oh-ay-oh” background chant. “New Toy” by someone named Lene Lovich, I was informed by Jim as he put the needle down on the vinyl for the fifth or sixth consecutive time. When I think back on all the great music I listened to in college over the next four years, I always think of “New Toy” as the initial jolt. It still sounds great. The song was actually written by a pre-fame Thomas Dolby, who played in Lovich's band. So far, 2012 has been filled with new toys for me: a new (used) car, a new (used) computer screen, and a new (old favorite) blog for me to contribute to. Thanks Star Maker Machine.

Guest post by Dan

New: Love Puts On a New Face

Joni Mitchell: Love Puts On a New Face

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I divide Joni Mitchell’s career in my mind into three distinct periods. These are not even divisions by time, but rather periods where Mitchell tried various modes of expression. The first, early period is the one most people know her for, and her mode was the folk-based confessional songwriting that gave rise to the singer-songwriter movement. The second period is Mitchell’s jazz period, starting with the album The Hissing of Summer Lawns, and ending with Shadows and Light. In her songwriting, Mitchell turned away from her confessional mode, in favor of storytelling. Mitchell’s late period began with Wild Things Run Fast. Here, Mitchell decided to try her hand at rock n’ roll, with mixed results. Some of the more uptempo songs from this period are almost hard rock, a style that fits Mitchell uncomfortably. But some of the quieter moments are overlooked gems, and as fine as anything in her catalog. The late period also has some fine poetry by Mitchell, but there are also songs that are little more than angry screeds.

Love Puts On a New Face is one of the overlooked gems from this late period. There are only three players on the song, Wayne Shorter on soprano sax, Greg Leisz on pedal steel, and Mitchell on guitar and keyboards. There are no drums. Together, the band creates a wash of sound that shifts like a thing alive. The lyric is a wonderful poem, presenting three stages of a relationship in three stanzas. The song features key lines that come just before the chorus: “What a pocket of heavenly grace” becomes “Some bad dreams love can’t erase” becomes “I long for your embrace”. It’s brilliantly economical piece of storytelling, and Mitchell hit’s the right emotional chord. As brilliant as her folk and jazz periods were, I can’t imagine Mitchell doing a song with this kind of feel in her earlier days.

New: A Brand New Me

Dusty Springfield: A Brand New Me

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Released two weeks into a new decade – the 1970s – A Brand New Me was the title of Dusty Springfield’s first and only Philly album, and the title of the hit single from the LP (which would be released in Britain a month later as From Dusty…With Love).

Having previously done the Southern Soul thing with the immortal Dusty In Memphis album, Dusty now turned to Philly soul under the guidance of producers Kevin Gamble and Leon Huff, who together or with others wrote all songs on the album, and arranger Thom Bell.

The single “A Brand New Me”, a cover of Jerry Butler’s 1969 single which had been written by Gamble, Butler and Bell, provided Dusty with her last US hit for 17 years, reaching #24 in 1970. In her native Britain it didn’t even chart. In both countries, she’d not feature in the Top 40 for 17 years, when the Pet Shop Boys revived her career.

The album itself tanked, stalling at #107 in the Billboard charts, and a second set of recordings with Gamble and Huff was shelved.

When the album was made, Gamble and Huff were still relatively unknown and Dusty Springfield was a star. Soon the producers would become soul giants as serial hitmakers for The O’Jays, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, Billy Paul, The Three Degrees and so on, and would be invited to write the theme for Soul Train (read the story of that here).

New: The New Soft Shoe

Gram Parsons: The New Soft Shoe

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E.L. Cord was a visionary and innovator, the brains behind the famed Cord automobile of the 1920s and ‘30s. Cords were the first to sport front-wheel drive and retractable headlights. As technologically advanced as his cars were, Cord was known for lavishing even more attention on the way his vehicles looked. That tendency to put style ahead of profits had predictable results. Cord was derided by rivals, and his company, Illinois-based Auburn Automobile, went belly up during the Depression. Later, Cord headed west, where he made and lost and re-made a fortune in investments. He dabbled in politics and bought and sold real estate, oil wells, radio stations and the company that eventually became American Airlines. His critics claimed he lacked focus, his admirers said he was too wild and creative to be pigeonholed.

Something in Cord’s story resonated with Gram Parsons -- himself a restless spirit, who jumped from enterprise to enterprise. In his autobiography, Keith Richards recalls being told by Parsons that he was “writing a song about a guy that builds cars.” That song was “The New Soft Shoe,” one of the shining moments on "G.P.", Parsons’s debut solo album. The Parsons song offers only a brief biographical sketch. But he makes his point: Art has its place. Each generation needs a new Cord. And each will face new challenges.

New: Hope You Like the New Me

Richard Thompson: Hope You Like the New Me

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Richard Thompson can be downright creepy at times. Hope You like the New Me gives another meaning to the term “identity theft” Thompson imagines a narrator who takes everything he admires in a perceived rival, and steals it. The musical setting for this is disturbingly simple, as if Thompson is saying, “see how easy that was!” It’s mostly an acoustic guitar, playing a repeating pattern that changes only by getting louder and then softer. There is a subtle bass part, and a cello joins in for emphasis, and that’s about it. Nevertheless, the tension in the song builds to a climax, and then pulls back a bit, but there is never a release. Thompson’s vocal performance is suitably menacing. This is the kind of song that shows why Richard Thompson is so admired by his fellow musicians. The elements of the song are sparse, but Thompson knows that he has all that he needs, and he makes every bit of it count.

New: New Feeling

Talking Heads: New Feeling

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"The name of this song is 'New Feeling'. That's what it's about."
--David Byrne.

New: Part of the New America

The Groceries: Part of the New America
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I was a college radio DJ at WPRB in Princeton, NJ during the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, and we enthusiastically supported a couple of local bands—Regressive Aid and The Groceries. Someday, I will try to post about Regressive Aid, who had a few members that went on to more well-known projects, but this post is about The Groceries, particularly, their song Part of the New America.

I liked The Groceries, and almost certainly played them on the air. Through the fog of history, I’m pretty sure that I saw them play live, at both an eating club on campus (Terrace?) and at the somewhat legendary City Gardens in Trenton. Based on some recent research, they are fondly remembered in the Central New Jersey area. They were a good band, with an interesting sound. My friend and former WPRB colleague Hal posted on his blog a few months ago—“The Groceries were musical soup. In today’s terms, boil the Barenaked Ladies, and drop in Bob Marley and flavor with Madness, and you get the taste.” That’s a pretty fair description, and I don’t think I can do better. To my knowledge, were never signed by any record label and I don’t think you can buy it anywhere. (Aside—after I graduated from college, I worked at a major record label for the summer, and worked with another kid my age who later became a serious player in the industry. I found a Groceries tape or record in a pile of submissions and asked him about them—he told me that the band had been trying to get signed for a while, but no one seemed interested.)

The song is a satire of the American materialistic culture that was being fostered by the Reagan administration, but the song also skewers liberals and the “politically correct”. I’d have to say that its message is still timely in the “Occupy” era, too. (Another aside—the lead singer of The Groceries was Richard Auguste Morse, who later moved to Haiti, has released music under the name RAM and bought the supposedly world-famous Hotel Oloffson—and in that role appeared in an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations.) It is a fun song, and if you look on the Internet, you can find an amusing video.

New: New Hymn

James Taylor: New Hymn

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Put away your image of James Taylor as a poetic lightweight, mere chronicler of the gentle muse: though his radio popfolk canon is tailor-made for easy listening, this track is a difficult one, with slant rhymes, an odd flowing meter, and a baffled imagery of the unknown, chock full of despair and darkness.

And yet, in many ways, New Hymn represents the under-appreciated apex of Taylor's prowess as a songwriter. Released only on his 1993 live album, this new hymn lives up to its titular promise, honoring the challenge of modern spirituality head on in a song that lingers long after its final notes fade. If it doesn't give you chills, you're not listening right.

So sit with it for a while: it's worth the visit. Soak in the tensions of the warm harmonies against the known darkness and the unknown fears evoked in its dense lyrical incantation. Note how the arrangement supports its fragmented vision, how the performance so effectively parallels its flares and flashes. Let its tiny coda sink in, and play it again, reveling in the short uplifting moment, the four word rise into hope at the song's end a deliberate echo of the Zen perfection psychedelic visionary Baba Ram Das described. Listen, and then accept its challenge: may we work to be here now, and in every moment, for this year, and for the years to come.

New: New Speedway Boogie

Grateful Dead: New Speedway Boogie

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First of all, let me wish all of our readers a very happy new year.

To start our “New” theme, I wanted to share a song by the Grateful Dead. So, I had to decide whether to post New Minglewood Blues, New, New Minglewood Blues, or All New Minglewood Blues. I could even have gone with an obscure version of the song that is not the Dead at all, called Even Newer Minglewood Blues. I decided to avoid the problem by going with New Speedway Boogie instead.

Now, some of you have probably realized that the picture above is not the Grateful Dead at all, but rather the Rolling Stones. In preparing this post, I finally learned, after all these years, what New Speedway Boogie is about. The free concert at the Altamont Speedway in 1969 was originally conceived as a sort of Woodstock west. The show was headlined by the Rolling Stones, and the Grateful Dead were supposed to be in the line-up, but they decided not to do the show. Where Woodstock is remembered as an outporing of peace and love, Altamont is notorious for the violence that marred the occasion, even resulting in one death. It’s hard to say what accounted for the difference between the two shows. At Altamont, the presence of the Hell’s Angels is frequently cited as the cause of the violence, but the Angels had peacefully provided security at Grateful Dead shows for some time at that point. Whatever the case, Altamont is remembered as the concert shown in the documentary Gimme Shelter, and is sometimes regarded as a marker for the end of the hippie era.

New Speedway Boogie was written in response to the events at Altamont, and the Grateful Dead included the song for about nine months afterwards. The lyrics are typically cryptic, and the band probably assumed that their audiences would know the reference. But the Dead dropped the song from their set lists, possibly because they felt that it was too topical and becoming irrelevant. It would be almost twenty years before the band started playing New Speedway Boogie in their shows again. I heard the song when it was released on Workingman’s Dead in 1970. I was ten years old, so I hope I can be forgiven for not understanding what the song referred to.

In Memoriam: Bill Morrissey

Bill Morrissey: Handsome Molly

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Bill Morrissey: Birches

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His songs were like Elmer Rising's pen and ink masterpieces--you could admire each confidently executed lyrical brushstroke and melodic twist on the finest of scales, and never diminish the overall impression of their honesty and truth. At the height of his powers, on 1989's Standing Eight, 1992's Inside and 1993's Night Train, each Bill Morrissey record contained several songs that each would have been the life's work of a lesser artist. There may have been others writing songs equally detailed as "These Cold Fingers," "The Man From Out Of Town" or "Birches," but none were better.
- Mark Erelli, August, 2011

Darius and I have posted several tracks by Bill Morrissey over the years, including several duets of traditional folk numbers recorded with Greg Brown. But while I appreciate his handy coverage, and posted several of my favorites back in July over at Cover Lay Down, I'm partial to his more pensive songwriting - I count Mark Erelli's cover of Birches, for example, as one of the better covers in my vast collection, though in this case, at least, it's hard to outdo the original. And Handsome Molly was the very first track of his I heard, way back on Legacy, a 1989 folk compilation that perfectly captured the eighties folk movement, and my heart.

But I also owe that song an apology of sorts, one I hope to rectify by sharing it. Because at the time, I wasn't sure what to make of Morrissey's fragile, croaking tenor. It scared me a little, I think; the emotion was raw, and at sixteen, I wasn't ready. And so, although I treasured the album as a whole, I skipped over this track for decades, having not yet outgrown my penchant for the melodic.

Only in the least couple of years have I finally come to appreciate that the best music is most often wrung from a broken instrument, bringing me to Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, and through them, back again to Bill Morrissey, a man well admired by his songwriting peers even as they worried about his lifestyle. And so I rediscovered the genius songwriter, chronicler of pain, his lyrics still and hollow on the surface, yet possessed of intimate and universal depth, each song like a Raymond Carver story. And I shared what I had found, in the very first month of my foray into music blogging, in the form of a feature on his tribute to Mississippi John Hurt, which I highly recommend.

And then I filed him in my mind alongside a hundred other songwriters I admire without dwelling too heavily in their sounds.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

As I wrote on my own blog after his passing, Morrissey had his demons: he was known for his drinking, and the weariness of the solo road warrior which caused no amount of stress and desperation in his actions. The heart disease which killed him before his sixtieth birthday was a symptom of the hard life he led, to be sure. And as Cliff Eberhardt, who as a fellow Fast Folk alumni and friend served as pallbearer to this fallen giant of the folk movement, noted on Facebook after his funeral, “The casket felt so light. That’s when I knew he was really gone, because if his soul was in there with him, that casket would have weighed a ton.” I can offer no more fitting epitaph. May there be no more pain where he lies.

In Memoriam: Charlie Louvin

The Louvin Brothers: When I Stop Dreaming

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Charlie Louvin:"What Are Those Things (With Big Black Wings)?"

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The grand arbiter of what's popular and significant in music (a/k/a Billboard) would have us believe the Louvin Brothers were a minor act in country music. The Louvins scored just one number one hit and had only 11 other charting singles. (About the same as the O'Kanes.) Record sales don't accurately reflect the Louvins' far-reaching influence. Their harmony-soaked sound is echoed in the music of the Everly Brothers, the Byrds, Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris and others. Charlie and Ira Loudermilk began singing as the Louvin Brothers after WWII, achieving their greatest popularity (and Opry membership) in the 1950s. By all accounts, Charlie was a saint and Ira was a jerk. Ira's high-maintenance personality and carousing broke up the act in 1963. Charlie went on to have a productive solo career, logging many more Billboard-certified hits as a soloist than he did as a Louvin Brother. Most of those records, weighed down by 1960s countrypolitan arrangements, are forgotten. The music he made with his brother remained Charlie's claim to fame. While Gram Parsons was the first hipster to cover the Louvins (starting with the Byrds), it was Emmylou Harris's championing of the Louvin catalog that brought Charlie back into the limelight. He toured and recorded with Lucinda Williams, Elvis Costello, Cake and Cheap Trick, among others.

Official recognition by the Country Music Hall of Fame was strangely slow in coming -- the Louvins weren't enshrined until 2003, 40 years after they disbanded. Charlie continued to record and perform live until the end; he succumbed to pancreatic cancer in January 2011.

Guest post by Mt Vernon Mike

In Memoriam: Gerry Rafferty

Gerry Rafferty: Big Change in the Weather

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Stealers Wheel: Outside Looking In

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$125,000 a year in royalties can buy an awful lot of booze. Thanks to "Baker Street", Gerry Rafferty never needed to do anything else after 1978... but drink. He passed away in January of 2010 from liver cancer after spending his last two decades seeped in alcohol. Among his final performances was a five day drinking binge at a five star London hotel which led to both his hospitalization and newspaper headlines that he had "disappeared".

But let's remember the more sober and creative days. The Scottish born singer first played with comedian Billy Connolly and Joe Egan in a folk act called The Humblebums. When they broke up Rafferty and Egan started up Stealers Wheel. I'm posting "Outside Looking In" instead of the more obvious "Stuck In The Middle With You" ( or that Beatlesque gem "Late Again") just to ensure you that dipping deeply in the Stealers Wheel catalog is well worth your time. The duo disbanded in 1975. Only the lawyers got rich.

But with his 1978 album City To City, which sold 5.5 million copies and knocked Saturday Night Fever off the the top of the charts, Gerry Rafferty became a millionaire. ( "Big Change in the Weather" is the B-Side to "Baker Street".) He didn't like being a star. You won't find a treasure trove of Rafferty videos on YouTube. The Proclaimers' Charlie Reid, whose 1987 hit album was produced by Rafferty said " He struck me as a very very very sensitive man and for someone like that, fame was probably not appropriate." 

From the outside, looking in, it appears Gerry Rafferty found his hiding place inside a bottle. But just give a listen to what he left behind.

In Memoriam: Ralph Mooney and Marshall Grant

Ray Price: Crazy Arms

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Waylon Jennings: Rainy Day Woman

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Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two: Luther Played the Boogie

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The names Ralph Mooney and Marshall Grant may not appear above the title on many records. But, their contributions to music were instrumental -- in both senses of the word.

Ralph Mooney co-wrote one of the greatest country songs ever, “Crazy Arms.” It’s been covered zillions of times; Ray Price and Patsy Cline own the best-known versions, and it's one of the few covers in Chuck Berry's Chess catalog. It sounds good every time, in part thanks to some of the greatest lines of despair in country music. (“This ain't no crazy dream, I know that it's real, you’re someone else’s love now.”) But Mooney is even better known as one of the all-time great country sidemen. A pioneering steel guitarist, he’s often associated with the Bakersfield sound and can be heard on the early hits of Buck Owens and Merle Haggard. He also did some solo turns and made a fine duet album with James Burton. He found new fame in the 1970s as Waylon Jennings’ steel guitar player. Waylon’s band, The Waylors, lacked a standout lead guitarist. It was Mooney’s licks that propelled the arrangements. Mooney’s and Waylon’s interplay was at its finest on the 1974 hit, “Rainy Day Woman.”

Unlike Mooney, Marshall Grant didn’t leave behind distinctive solos or significant songwriting credits. But, he played an integral role in constructing the sound of Johnny Cash. He was the entire rhythm section of Cash’s original band, the Tennessee Three. (That was the group’s original name, the other two being Luther Perkins and Red Kernodle. They became the Tennessee Two when Kernodle dropped out, and went back to Three after drummer W.S. Holland joined a few years later.) Particularly on the Sun records, before Holland joined the band, it was Marshall Grant’s upright bass that provided the basis for the boom-chick-a-boom sound. The inevitable switch to electric bass dampened Grant’s sound, and his role in Cash’s shows and recordings diminished as players and singers flitted in and out of Cash’s band. He acrimoniously left Cash’s employ in the early 1980s, though the two reconciled shortly before Cash’s death. Grant died in the service of his old boss, after falling ill during rehearsal for a Cash tribute concert organized by Rosanne Cash.

Guest post by Mt Vernon Mike