Songs From Movies about Musicians: Backbeat

Purchase: Backbeat Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

Backbeat, a bio-pic about the earliest iteration of The Beatles—well, The Silver Beatles, actually—came out in 1994, and at the time, I remember thinking: wow! What a movie! So cool, so uber-hip as to be so different from what was happening at the time. I’ve re-watched it since and all I can really say is, in deference to the aging process, the accents are good, especially the guy who played George Harrison. In fact, all the portrayals are good: Lennon is brooding and nasty, Paul is smiley, yet focused. George is quiet. Then there’s Pete Best, the world’s unluckiest drummer, but the focus of the film, Stuart Sutcliffe, the “lost Beatle” or the “5^th Beatle”, who left the band to become a painter and then tragically died from an intracerebral hemorrhage is the central story. The injury was the possible result of a vicious beating he took, and a kick to the head, in one of the Beatle’s many misadventures in Hamburg, Germany, where they cut their teeth as a bar band pre-1964 and their history-making splashdown in America to start the British Invasion. The film’s focus is on those wild times, as the Beatles sorted out just exactly who they were, and the irony of seeing them portrayed as pre-icons, unaware of what was to come, makes for interesting watching.  And the fact that the film devotes most of its image making to Sutcliffe and his relationship with photographer Astrid Kirchher, lends to the air of mystery around just who the Beatles were before they become the biggest celebrities in history.

Sutcliffe died a year after leaving the band, at the age of 21, after having secured a scholarship to attend the Hamburg School of Art. Pete Best was replaced by Richard Starkey…the rest is history.

It’s sad to think of what could have been when one discusses Sutcliffe (or Pete Best, for that matter). An artist first, Lennon convinced him to join the band and play the bass, which Sutcliffe had absolutely no talent for whatsoever. But, he looked cool, and in a band as image-conscious as this, that counted for a lot. In fact, it was arguably Sutcliffe that inspired and invented the Beatle’s image—point in fact: he was the first to wear a mop-top; the others were copying him. Same with the Beatle boots and the duds. But, with Lennon, McCartney and Harrison being as talented as they were, tensions were bound to arise—the looks would only get them so far. Seriously, think about it: The Beatles started out like any other pop outfit: thriving, rocketing to fame on their carefully cultivated image and the devastating good looks. But, they surpassed the look and did something as yet really unachieved at that time in pop/rock music, which was make music. 

Music, as in italicized music, asterixed music, real music*.  

The level of talent, of song writing and composition skills, has rarely, if ever, been matched since by a pop band. So, good looks, mop top haircuts, and those Chesterfield suits with the velvet collars and the drainpipe pants, would have only taken The Beatles so far if not for the god-given musical talents. Imagine a history where the Beatles were a relegated to a few oldies hits, dusted off on classic rock radio, never achieving Abbey Road, or Sgt. Pepper’s, because they were kind of Justin Beiber, or something even less, a factory made hit, here and then gone. Pop music is more flash than it is bonfire. The Beatles remain an ever-growing phenomenon not because they were among the first, but because they deserve, perhaps, had to be that. 

The movie itself, as I said, is…OK. It’s a nice period piece, full of authentic sets, haircuts, and great wardrobe. It shows the tensions in the band, defines the personalities that would go on to be more legendary the real, and depicts Paul’s anger and dislike of Sutcliffe, knowing he was better on bass than the aspiring art-school aesthete.  

But, it is the soundtrack that we will end on. Produced by Don Was, and featuring a veritable all-star line up including Dave Priner of Soul Asylum (huge at the time the movie came out); Greg Dulli of the Afghan Whigs; Mike Mills of REM; Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth; and a young kid named Dave Grohl from a little band called Nirvana. The album is a vanity project of sorts, with ace musicians, wildly popular at that particular juncture, covering, in a most un-ironic way, their roots. The music that Beatles started out with was and remains some of the most enjoyable ever written: 2-minute, whip crack rockabilly and soul numbers that really, though covers themselves at the time, were the very earliest traces of rock n roll. The DNA of the genre, if you will—what made rock n roll a cultural force, and not just a local southern radio oddity named after a slang term for sex, with a fast backbeat and a quicker guitar riff and shuffle.

This modern day crew cuts a fantastic, hyped up and warp-speed collection of such tunes as Little Richard’s “Long Tall Sally” and “Good Golly Miss Molly”, “Twist and Shout”, Chuck Berry’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll Music” and “Carol” and the Berry Gordy penned, “Money”, perhaps the most recognizable of the later Beatle’s hits.

The soundtrack is well done, recorded crisply and full of a buoyant, joyous energy. And like its predecessors, it clocks in at under a half-hour—those 2-minute pop classics, all jangle guitar, shotgun snares and ripping vox are a thing of the past, sadly.  I remember thinking of the album as a nice little novelty, a different kind of sound from musicians who I loved at the time, doing far different sounding music than what was popular (Greg Dulli, in particular, is in excellent form—but, then, the Afghan Whigs were really just a hyped up, angry soul band…). 

For me, having grown up on The Beatles and studied them deeply well before I even got out of middle school, the soundtrack was a lark, a fun reinterpretation. But, for a lot of people my age, in the confused post-Nirvana (Cobain committed suicide just about a week after the soundtrack came out), still growing grunge and alterna-revolution, the soundtrack to Backbeat was kind of a text book, a primer for what came before and laid the groundwork for the rock ‘n roll that was happening now (well, then actually…).  

The thing itself, rock ‘n ‘ roll, is constantly changing, but its roots, as open to debate of ownership and origin as they are, remain solid. The place rock music came from is sacred, a spring or an oracle, still able to mystify. Going back, regardless for the reason, proves, like all good art, that reinterpretation, not necessarily reinvention, will keep the thing perpetually alive. And kicking. Hopefully to a kicking backbeat…

Songs From Movies About Musicians: Tiny Dancer

Elton John w/ Stillwater: Tiny Dancer

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By conceit and definition, Cameron Crowe's 2000 semi-autobiographical timepiece Almost Famous uses a quite specific, carefully curated set of older songs as soundtrack fodder, the better to establish and maintain both the innate historicism of the cinematic summer of '73 it depicts, and the tonal tension of just-out-of-reach coolness that the film explores as it meanders through the intimate and often hilariously naive tour bus chronicles of reputation-on-the-verge and be-true-to-thyself challenges through the perspective of a 15 year old budding music journalist who misrepresents himself to Rolling Stone to garner an all-expenses-paid journey through America alongside fictional band-on-the-rise Stillwater. Indeed, the music used is so inherently integral to the film, it's no surprise to find that the official soundtrack was awarded the 2001 Grammy Award for Best Compilation Soundtrack Album; though the published product includes less than a third of the songs heard throughout the movie, the 17-track result offers stunning capture of time, tone, and topic in ways that befit the movie majestically.

But unlike most of the other songs in the film, Elton John's Tiny Dancer - at over six minutes, the longest song on the soundtrack, and arguably the one with the longest screen time and significance as well - also serves the narrative explicitly, in multiple ways. Lyrically, it's a perfect match: the song is directly about a groupie, a seamstress for the band who loves the music man, and sings along to the words from the crowd in performance as if they were poetry for her alone. And in many ways, the song provides the emotional climax of the film itself, serving to prompt a slow-build highway sing-along that doesn't so much resolve the building tensions of the groupies and musicians that storm around our narrator as it releases those tensions to the wind, trading them for the unifying factor that transcends and bonds the group - which is to say, the shared love of song and subject, which must be experienced in the heart and in the moment always.

I'm sure there's a word for soundtrack songs which the characters can hear, and react to - as distinct from songs which merely accompany the story, and lend their layers of meaning from overhead. But even if there isn't, this moment, which Rolling Stone Magazine lists as #11 on its list of the The 30 Greatest Rock & Roll Movie Moments (and, I suspect, only rates so low because it would seem smug and self-centered for RS to place a cinematic milestone about its own magazine at the top of the list), provides the prototype, the idealized incidence of how to do it right. And so today we share the song with context: the scene itself, with a tip of the hat to Crowe for making sure the music matters, and still does...and a bonus coversong, for those who want to hear every note, done live and lovely by tender geekpop sentimentalist Ben Folds, recorded just a year or two after the film was released, and thus perhaps at least partially in homage to the movie itself.

SONGS FROM MOVIES ABOUT MUSICIANS: EXPRESSO BONGO

This I can't resist, a timely tribute to the humming music scene of that there London on the cusp of the 1960s. Actually made first as a play for the West End in 1958, it was the 1959 film that remains the slightly less dusty memory. The plot mirrors any of the many true rags to ritual stories of the day, shady entrepreneur snaps up backstreet working class crooner, 'I'm gonna make you a star', gives the kid a new name and a new suit and the rest is cliche. Here is actually what George S. Davies in ImDB has to say:

"Johnny Jackson, a sleazy talent agent, discovers teenager Bert Rudge singing in a coffee house. Despite Bert's protestation that he really is only interested in playing bongos, Johnny starts him on the road to stardom. The deal they cut, however, is highly exploitative of the young singer, and their relationship soon begins to go bad."

Sound familiar? Try this. Harry Webb, young skiffle band enthusiast, is spotted by small-time mogul Harry Greatorex. He persuades him to change his name and sends him on the road to stardom. Much as I would love to report a reality as played out in the film, (un?)fortunately the newly named Cliff Richard, for it was he, went on to become a somewhat iconoclastic figure in UK pop, pop that is, rather than the rock he was originally deigned and designed to produce. I am prompted to this post by seeing adverts promoting his new album, 75 at 75, featuring the ridiculously 'youthful'© singer bouncing up and down on the cover. And, yep, quite a legacy of work it is, with at least 5 or 6 I can bear. Sorry, it's true I am no fan of the old bugger, sorry, blighter, lest any confusion occur. (Pity really, as his erstwhile backing band, or at least the guitarist, one Hank B. Marvin (real name Brian Rankin), is an acknowledged influence on legions of plank-spankers from Neil Young to Mark Knopfler.) So why the hell am I wasting your, his and my time with this piece? Easys: the stage name chosen for the fictitious Bert Rudge.........
(Drumroll)
Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer you Bongo Herbert:

Of course Cliff went on to appear in a myriad of movies, mostly, to be fair, as dire as the similar works of his onetime role model, Elvis Presley. From 'The Young Ones' to 'Summer Holiday' and beyond, ahead of various saturday evening TV variety shows, Cliff Richard seems always to have been in the background of my youth. And, in one instance, actually there. I was perhaps 7 or 8, on the tiny isle of Herm, in the Channel Islands, just off the french coast. For some reason the ferry back to St Peter Port was delayed. Amongst the stranded day-trippers was Cliff, uber-tanned and sporting a splendid pair of budgie-smugglers*. My elder sister was entranced, as everyone tried to get closer to him, without ever formally acknowledging his presence, in a masterclass display of british stiff upper lip. I am uncertain whether he even acknowledged his presence, thankfully sparing us the now ritual response to rain at the Wimbledon tennis tournament.

(As I review this, 'cos yes I do, believe it or not, I feel somehow a little churlish, belittling this pillar, this crown jewel of the establishment, indeed still hugely popular with many a blue-rinsed matron, so as recompense, have a Cliff and a Hank, together in their prime:

*

Buy the film or if you dare...

Movies About Musicians: Old Joe’s Place

The Folksmen (From A Mighty Wind): Old Joe’s Place

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For our new theme, we will be posting songs from movies about musicians. This is a deceptively rich theme that should yield some interesting approaches and results. We can choose, it seems to me, from any of the following: fictional films; documentaries about music and musicians; or concert films. To get the ball rolling, I have decided to start with a movie that could be said to fit all of these categories: A Mighty Wind. A Mighty Wind is a documentary about the making of a tribute concert for the folk music promoter Irving Steinbloom. In the film, Steinbloom may not have been the finest human being, but he did play a key role in the launching of the folk music revival of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Don’t feel bad if you never heard of Steinbloom; the film as actually a brilliantly executed satire of that revival, and the story and characters are fictional. The satire is gentle and loving, with many of the groups featured having obvious real world models. The Folksmen, for example, are based on pop folk groups of the actual revival, such as the Limelighters and the Kingston Trio, and the impression is spot on.

The Folksmen are played by actors Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer. They made their first appearance on a sketch in a 1984 episode of Saturday Night Live, and would later appear as the occasional opening act for the also fictitious metal group Spinal Tap. Astute readers may notice that both groups share the same lineups. Spinal Tap also were featured in a mock documentary, this one called This is Spinal Tap, and both films were directed by Guest. All of the songs were written by cast members.

motown 70s: I want you back

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A last minute post for the Motown 70s theme. Actually several days in gestation - paragraphs written and deleted (talk about Berry Gordy? Yes. No.)

And so, before the theme expires, at least to share some of the music that cropped up.

I loved the evolution of the Jackson five as seen in this collection of clips. First off,-  above -  we've got Jermaine as the definite front man of the group) Jermaine's name is all over the backdrop. The full clip has the MC talking to Jermaine about "his" group.

Fast forward a few years - same band/different front man (no surprise!)

 

And then a couple of covers to round it out. Starting with Cheryl Crowe at the White House

 

Janelle Monae at the Nobel Peace Prize 2011

 

And in case you need one more (but do not miss this one!) The Piano Guys.

70s MOTOWN: Machine Gun

Just a couple more days in this unravelling relay of revolt, and should I be looking for some Stax in the 60s or some Atlantic in the 80s? And why be restrained by genre; a country ballad or a folky dirge might be just what this thread is searching for?
Nah, can't do it.
Time to play nicely and, in order so to do, I have to take myself back to 1975 and the School House 6th Form Disco. 6th form in the UK is the last grade at school, ahead of university. I was newly 18 and this was a supervised, inevitably, dance for the seniors of my all boys house and the girls of the all-girls house. I had managed to wangle the role of DJ for the evening, the physics teacher astonishingly having the kit, a twin deck and microphone, to fade in between discs of the day. And we are talking discs of black plastic. However I had to share this role with a classmate, the exotically named George Panda. My selections were all current and recent chart hits, with the odd left field choice thrown in for luck. (Kevin Ayers?) All lapped up in the frenzied novelty of the evening. George tempered this, as his african heritage expected of him, with oodles of soul and reggae. And of course we fought to inflict our tastes on our victims, sorry, audience, each ahead of the other, belittling shamelessly each others choices, champing at the bit for our turn. His selection, clearly and obviously was rubbish, it being only with considerable hindsight that I have come to realise he actually had some corkers on show. And this was one of them:

Machine Gun, the single, title and best known track from the Commodore's debut of only a year earlier, 1974. On Motown records. I remember George had the eponymous album, and had insisted on playing it during the set-up period before the shindig. It was a revelation. I was not used to all that funky music (white boy) and it captured both my interest and my feet, however hopelessly arrhythmically they failed to meet the beat. At that stage of the career the Commodores were a very different beast to their later incarnation. Not a sappy ballad in sight, Lionel Richie was mainly occupied with a saxophone rather than at the microphone: horn not foghorn, although, to be fair, he does sing a bit. Fabulous LP and recommended still, although the lyrics are often, shall we say, of their day. Next album and it was all downhill, Easy on the bank balance, his and theirs anyway, less so on my jaundiced ears.

Get it here.

And, George, if you are reading, thanks!

70s Motown: Tears of a Clown

The English Beat: Tears of a Clown

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This is the first song I thought of when I saw our new theme, but then I saw that “70s” sitting there. I considered sneaking it in anyway. I could have told you that the original and classic Tears of a Clown wasn’t released in England until 1970. That’s true, but pretty feeble since I am American. But when even your moderator has broken decade, it’s time to acknowledge that our theme has, unofficially at least, become just Motown. So I had a couple of ideas for more 70s material, but this is better. If others put up at least two or more posts before then, I may do a 70s mop-up post on Saturday, but right now, I’m going to get this out of my system.

The English Beat were part of the Two Tone explosion of British ska in the late 70s. This song established a tradition of new ska bands establishing their credentials with a cover of a classic soul or R&B tune. At the time, The English Beat were otherwise doing original material, and other Two Tone bands were doing a mix of originals and covers of 60s ska from Jamaica. But the term ska reflects the fact that the Jamaicans who pioneered the style saw the music as a mix of soul and calypso. That mix done differently would also later give the Soca style its name. Many of the Jamaican pioneers of ska did covers of the R&B hits of the day, with varying results. At any rate, I could probably find a ska version of any Motown hit by this time with a bit of work, but this was one of the first of the new wave of ska, and still one of the best. This song and the original Mirror in the Bathroom immediately put the English Beat at the top of the Two Tone ska world. And no wonder. Tears of a Clown is what a cover should be. If you know their style, this song is instantly recognizable as the English Beat. They truly made the song their own.

There may be some doubters out there, who don’t believe you could find a ska version of any Motown hit. For them, I offer this to close. It may not be the best ska, but I think goes a ways to prove my point:

70S MOTOWN: CAN'T HURRY LOVE

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purchase [The Supremes]

Like more than one of my fellow bloggers, I am going to stretch the bounds of the theme - with an original from the 60s and its cover from the 80s - in essence, spanning the 70s.

While the end of the 60s brought us some major transformative musical trends -  consider the move away from the accepted AM radio 3-minute format, various musical styles that tore apart the standard I-IV-V chord structure that rock and blues were built on, musical instruments that expanded the choice of sounds that could be produced and recording studio improvements that changed the sound envelope that was possible before 1970 -  Motown headed into the 70s doing more or less  what they did in the 60s. Whether this can be called decline or just stasis in the face of all the changes happening around them is a point for debate. 

Apparently, Motown was aware that they couldn't go on peddling "Little" Stevie Wonder much longer - in 1970, he was 20 years old. I recently read an obit for Slyvia Moy, who is credited with "taking on" the project of (successfully) revamping Wonder's output. 

I refer to Stevie Wonder partly because he was the subject of my last post, so I was still stuck back there, but also because his situation was somewhat indicative of the Motown predicament at the time.

Can't Hurry love - originally by the Supremes (renamed Diana Ross and the Supremes the year after releasing the song - and then back to just The Supremes a few years later) - made it to the top of the charts in 1966. It hit the top of the charts again in 82/83 when Phil Collins re-made it.

Collins explains that one of his goals in the 80s version was to try to recreate a similar sound with studio equipment that had gone through 15 years of updates - he terms it a "remake".


One more cover, from the Dixie Chicks:

70s MOTOWN: (I HEARD IT THROUGH) THE GRAPEVINE

OK, I admit it. I last posted a track in this series that was released on Epic records, and now, in further blatant disregard, here I am posting a song from 60s Motown. My excuse? Hell, it was a long time ago and no-one will really remember, except those annoying pedants who always delight in the elementary nature of my errors. So, screw you, cos this is the ultimate Motown, and my bete noir of the label, keeping my teenage tastes in music off the number 1 slot for nearly as long as the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Lord, Mr Marvin Gaye, did I hate you when I was, um, 10, many years of (sexual?) healing having to occur before I could take you to my, um, bosom. But, time, as ever, is the wiser, and 1967's I Heard it through the Grapevine is really an absolute corker, one of a playlist I will always include one or other version of within.

So Gaye's version is pretty unbeatable? (You've heard it, right?) Hmm, maybe so. But there are a whole lot more inventions around that theme. So here's a trio that each dismantle, each reconfigure and each extrapolate way beyond the vision of Norman Whitfield, the producer. But did you know that it wasn't even the first choice Motown recording, with both Smokey Robinson's Miracles and Gladys Knight and the Pips having first dibs on the song?

Creedence Clearwater Revival always had a thing about soul, or was it that soul always had a thing about CCR. Fairly hot on the heels of "their" Proud Mary, covered so memorably by Ike and Tina Turner, 1970 saw their mammoth take on Grapevine.

In truth it adds little, beyond Fogerty's extraordinary diction, "hoyaid" it thru' the grapevine etc. A more extensive demolition/remolition had to wait until 1979 for the Slits. It is true that the vocals need a little tolerance on behalf of the listener to accept their dystonality, but, that apart, the arrangement is stunning, a spiky and skanky guitar, some frantic drums and a dub baseline, itself courtesy producer, UK reggae giant Dennis Bovell. I loved it so much I made the mistake of buying the album.

A completely different approach was taken by the UK folk club darlings of the mid 80s, Clive Gregson and Christine Collister, whose ballsy live take, on single acoustic guitar and voice was beefier than many a full blown orchestrated and/or electric version. A high point of their then shows, Gregson's masterclass guitar could double or triple the length of the song, spinning subtle excerpts of other songs mid picking. I still find this version astonishing. (There is talk of his reprising much of this much missed duo's work, with singer Liz Simcock, during this summer. Meanwhile Collister is back on the boards with Richard Thompson, for a special at this years Cropredy festival.)

So, dare you really say this wa s song unworthy of inclusion, if only for reason of accuracy? Shame on you.

Gaye, CCR, Slits or Gregson & Collister? Take your pick!

70s Motown: Smiling Faces Sometimes

Rare Earth: Smiling Faces Sometimes

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70s Motown strikes me as a curious choice for our theme, although there are great riches to share. We have heard some of that already, and there is much more to come. But the 1970s were a period of decline for Motown. Starting in the 1950’s, and lasting all through the 1960s, Motown was a music industry leader. The label perfected a distinctive sound, and other labels scrambled to catch up. By the end of the 70s, however, Motown had become a follower. They caught on first to funk and later to disco after their rivals had begun to move into the same space. Motown’s 70’s efforts to innovate largely failed to catch on with the masses. Oh, sure, there were still individual artists making vital new music on Motown, but the label overall would never again be the trend setter it had been in its heyday.

The song I am featuring here, Smiling Faces Sometimes, shows how Motown tried to stay relevant in the 70s. The song was written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong in 1971. The two were Motown in-house writers, and it was standard practice at the label to record versions of the same song with different artists. So Smiling Faces Sometimes was first given to the Temptations, and then, later in 1971, was a hit for The Undisputed Truth. Both versions were produced by Whitfield. By 1973, Motown was trying to adapt to a changing musical marketplace, so they launched a rock label. Their first signing to this new imprint was a band whom they asked for a suggestion of what to call the new label. As a joke, the band suggested that Motown name it after them, and they were quite surprised when Berry Gordy said yes. Both the band and the new imprint were Rare Earth. For Rare Earth’s 1973 take on Smiling Faces Sometimes, Norman Whitfield once again produced. This version was never a hit, but I like the sparseness of the production compared to the earlier versions. What you hear is just the instruments played by the band itself, without the lush arrangements of the older takes. But whoever heard this version at the time did not see it that way. Motown did not become a power in rock music, and the Rare Earth imprint was eventually shut down.

70s Motown: Doctor My Eyes

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Jackson Brown’s “Doctor My Eyes” is a staple: it’s his sound, one of his biggest hits, part of every live set he’s released. It’s a strange song, in a way: it’s about a world-weary, tired out soul, but the music is so upbeat—with that coursing piano line and the overdrive-tinged guitar—one can easily miss the point. Though, it’s more about accepting a certain numbness from seeing too much, the song evokes almost the exact opposite sensation.

Now, put little MJ—Michael Jackson—in front of the Jackson Five, and you’ve got an even stranger dichotomy: nothing the Jackson’s did in the ‘70s could ever sound downbeat. And their cover of Jackson Brown’s classic is one of my favorite cuts from their catalog.  Off their 1972 Looking Through the Windows, their take on the song is classic Motown to me.

Starting off with a chirping bird choir of doowoops, their take on the song churns through a great Motown styled strings and bashing drums soundtrack, while MJ trades off vocal duties with Jermaine, but providing his inimitable vocal harmony as a backing track

. This is Motown in the best way that Motown sound was its own unique entity, so self-evident of its perfection, vibrant and church choir worthy. I’ve always thought of that sound as something akin to the spiritual, rendered so perfectly and a part of nothing other than its own mythos and origins. A good cover, done on the Motown label, seems to do what a good cover should: reinvent and create anew from what we thought we knew.

70s MOTOWN: Harvest for the World

This could be a harder assignment than it might initially appear, so spoilt for choice is the vast legacy of this iconic label, the yin to Stax's yang in the history of black popular music. And whilst, yes, my personal taste errs now more to the southern grit(s) of Stax, my childhood was festooned and imprinted with all those hits from the Motor City. It seemed that for every guitar band in the charts, there were twice that number of sharp dressed dudes and shiny frocked floozies, singing and dancing their socks off, so ubiquitous were the Temptations, the Supremes, the Miracles, the (4) Tops etc etc etc. Indeed I came to resent their permanence: when Marvin Gaye was number 1 with (I heard it on the) Grapevine for the whole of one summer, I hated the ease with which all usurpers were kept at bay. Love it now, less so then. I acquired a dislike and distrust of the so-called the Soul that curdled mine.

So what changed it? Actually these guys, around long before and around long since, a seemingly inexhaustible supply of brothers, who suddenly, in mid 70s, discovered the alchemists stone, turning white rock boys onto black r'n'b with the simple trick of if you can't beat 'em. Namely the guitar, the electric guitar. Based around brothers, Ronald, Rudolph and O'Kelly Isley, the Isley Brothers were a potent force in the 60s with songs such as Shout, Twist and Shout and This Old Heart of Mine, but had found their star perhaps waning a little. (Innocently, I had always assumed that better known-to-me versions by Lulu and the Beatles were the originals, these being poor copies, rather than vice-versa. Forgive me, I was just a wee boy!) Perhaps picking a trick from their erstwhile supporting and session man, James Marshall Hendrix, younger siblings Ernie and Marvin were conscripted, along with bro-in-law, Chris Jasper, beefing up the sound with guitar, bass and keyboards, electric rock guitar, bass and keyboards. I found the 3+3 album of 1973, referring to the trio plus trio as outlined above, astonishing, my gateway drug to an appreciation of black music hitherto denied by a prejudice, not of colour but of image. But these were way cooler than the bands namechecked above: no more suits, replaced instead with bandannas and tie-dye all the way, arguably standing the scrutiny of time less well, but hey...... Scales dropped, Damascus seen and I was on the bus, with all the previous suspects  reciprocating my conversion, Stevie Wonder and the Temptations, for two, swiftly becoming suitable rock visionaries, whether by virtue of their music or lifestyle, irony not unintended.

This is my salute to the Isleys, who persevere, still with Ron and Ernie enrolled in the cause. This, their finest moment, Harvest for the World, an apt pointer for those, and there are many, who might see now as a time right to make a Harvest OF the World.

Disclaimer: 3+3 was on Epic records. That may be the truth, but that's not what most will think, so, spiritually, at least, I rest my case.

Entry level? (Recommended, a fabulous selection.)
Specific.

70s Motown: Living for the City

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When I first saw him live, he was billed as Little Stevie Wonder. I'm pretty sure he played the harmonica. And I probably had one of his albums and a few 45s at that point in time. That would have been late 60s. I recall being affected by My Cherie Amour - on AM radio - a decent piece filled with emotion over the medium that was "par for the course" back then.

Recently, there was an obituary in the NYT for Sylvia Moy. Moy was working as a songwriter for Motown at about the time when Motown sensed that  there was a serious limitations to the "Little" Stevie Wonder process. She asked to take on the project. One of the results of the collaboration was My Cherie Amour.

Talking Book, then Innervisions and Songs in the Key of Life spread out over the 70 along with a couple of other albums that don't quite make the grade for me - these are classic Wonder. Around 1972/3, there is a major style switch - away from the slightly tinny 60s soul style to a much richer production primarily fueled by a new keyboard style. And at about this time, Wonder takes more control of his music (switching labels, new contracts ..) and the quality of his work leaps forward.
We have here what is not really a cover - except that it is: Ray Charles works together with Stevie Wonder in this version of Living for the City.


Ray Charles was not a "Motown artist"- he had signed with Atlantic (back once again indirectly  to Turkey & Ahmet Ertegun). But Atlantic was poaching Motown at this point in time: Aretha, Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding .. they were all Atlantic artists. And ... collaboration often makes things better.

70s Motown: Ball of Confusion

The Temptations: Ball of Confusion

[purchase]

This one barely fits our theme, having been released in 1970. For the Temptations at least, the classic Motown sound of the 1960s was already a thing of the past. Musically, this one presented a powerful mix of funk and rock, a combination that would prove to be a fruitful mix later for George Clinton with his groups Parliament and Funkadelic, and even later for Prince. But here we see that Motown was there first. During the decade of the 70s, Motown would gradually lose their musical leadership role, becoming followers into the land of disco by the end of the decade. But, in 1970, the Temptations got Ball of Confusion onto transistor radios throughout the land. That is how I first heard this one when it became a hit. Probably its lyric of social relevance would never have made it onto AM radio had it not been the Temptations. They were already AM radio staples for their work to that point, so pop chart fans wanted to hear their new one. The new song was part of a trend of socially relevant songs of the period, but most were by white artists, and very few explicitly addressed the issue of racism.

As it was, a stream of songs that were bland and worse, by such luminaries as the Archies, was suddenly and almost violently interrupted one day by Ball of Confusion. The transistor radio I referred to earlier was not mine, and I hated most of the songs I heard on it. But I listened, because the radio itself was a novelty. I knew of only one transistor radio in all of the small town I grew up in, and it belonged to a friend. So I listened because he actually liked this stuff, and I wanted to hang out with him. Ball of Confusion then became an important song to me not for its social awareness, but as a musical lifeline in a sea of dreck. I am happy to say that, listening to the song today, the quality of the music still stands up.

70s Motown: I Want You Back

Graham Parker & The Rumour: I Want You Back (Alive)
[purchase]

“I Want You Back” was recorded by the Jackson 5 as the first single the band released on Motown, on October 7, 1969, so I’m kind of pushing the theme a bit. But it became a Billboard No. 1 single for the week ending January 31, 1970, so there’s that.

By the time that Michael Jackson died in 2009, he had gotten pretty strange, what with the skin lightening, the nose, the glove, the monkey, the Neverland ranch and the sexual molestation allegations. But as a child myself when “I Want You Back” was released (MJ was born three years before me), it never struck me how strange it was that the Jackson Five songs about love and loss were being sung by an 11 year old child.

And yet, it is hard to deny that “IWYB” is a great song, with an incredible riff. It was ranked 121 on the Rolling Stone list of the 500 greatest songs of all time, and the notoriously picky Pitchfork listed it as the second best song of the 1960s (sorry, theme maker). Apparently, the Daily Telegraph said that it was “arguably the greatest pop record of all time.” As a lawyer in my non-blogging time, I’m always wary when someone uses the word “arguably,” but it is certainly in the conversation.

Not surprisingly, it has been covered many, many times. My favorite version is by Graham Parker & The Rumour, who regularly began performing the song on their 1979 tour supporting Squeezing Out Sparks, the album that briefly catapulted them to fame. It was originally released as a single, with “Mercury Poisoning,” one of the great record company “fuck you” records of all time, and later as part of the Live Sparks radio station promo disc (ultimately released to the public as a bonus CD with Squeezing Out Sparks). Parker’s version is, predictably, intense. That it is being sung by an angry adult seems way more appropriate than the pre-teen fronted original. But who says rock ‘n’ roll needs to be appropriate?

Proof that “I Want You Back” is a great song is demonstrated by the fact that it works in pretty much any genre. My friend Patrick wrote about Five Good Covers of the song, including the Parker version, here, and it also is successful in jazz instrumental and vocal versions, Brazilian versions, performed by a steel drum band (hey--that fits the last theme!), as an emo song, in Japanese, by former Michael Jackson backup singer Sheryl Crow (here, inaccurately, but more theme-appropriately, introduced by Jamie Foxx as a “1973 hit”) and, predictably, if excellently, by Bruno Mars.. Although, I’m not liking this version.

But if you want to see something incredible, again, thanks to Patrick, here’s a version with just Michael Jackson’s vocals.

Steel: The Pipers

Sileas: The Pipers

[purchase]

Over the course of our Steel theme, we have heard an awful lot of music played instruments which are variants of the guitar. This is not surprising, but there are other instruments which also fit. To most minds, the harp is probably not one of them. The harp, like the classical guitar, is usually played with nylon strings. Of course, nylon was only invented in 1935, but the mellow sound we think of for harp music was played instruments strung with gut strings before that. Steel strings are far more unusual in harp music. In fact, Mary MacMaster of the Scottish folk duo Sileas is the player I know of who plays a steel stringed harp. What difference does it make? I could try to explain, but Sileas gives the best possible explanation through their music. That’s because the other member of the group, Patsy Seddon, plays the more typical nylon strung harp. The Pipers is a tune that presents the contrast in the two sounds to great effect.

Seddon and MacMaster first came together in a group called Sprangeen, which stayed together for two years, and made their only album in 1984. By the following year, that group was done, and MacMaster and Seddon had become the duo Sileas. They would eventually be inducted into the Scottish Traditional Music Hall of Fame, despite having only made four albums together as a duo. That’s because their other larger group, The Poozies, has proved to be far more stable than Sprangeen, accounting for another seven albums. Seddon and MacMaster are both also fine traditional singers in both English and Scots Gaelic. At least back when I first saw them in 1986, they were also wonderful live performers.

Steel: Leo Kotke

purchase [ Leo Kotke 6 & 12 String Guitar ]

The only 12-string guitars I have ever seen (or played) were steel stringed. Probably something about the tension/configuration. The one I owned had serious bridge problems - 12 strings of metal pulling against a wooden bridge had bowed the whole thing into contortions, making it almost impossible to fret/play.

It was back about the time I picked up this instrument that I was listening to Gordon Lightfoot, maybe a bit of Simon and Garfunkle, John Fahey and Leo Kotke.

There is a full-ness to the sound of a 12-string that - even with today's options of pedal effects and studio editing - is tough to replicate. The instrument rings like nothing else. (But, for some reason, brings to mind Doublemint gum - double the sound, double the effort) The richer sound comes about from the configuration of pairs of strings that are an octave apart: you're hitting an A, but there are two of them and they are an octave apart (one a higher/lower sound than the other). As a player, (if you are right handed) your left finger needs to depress both strings together and your right hand needs to figure out if you want to hit the higher or lower sound first. Maybe not quite as complex as a pedal steel style, but presenting more complexity than the standard 6-string version.

I came across Kotke's 1969 <6 and 12 String Guitar> album about the same time I found Lightfoot's <Sit Down Young Stranger>. They are both from about the same year (69/70). Lightfoot struck me as more romantic. Kotke as the more accomplished guitar player. (Check out his version of Bach's <Jesu>, which I still perform in my own variation.)

a selection of other Kotke performances:

(above 6 strings, but it's Allman Brothers!! Little Martha)

(above <8 Miles High>one of his signature tunes - but as he says :I haven't done this in a long time. However, it is fairly recent - showing that he still does his thing)

listen to the 12 strings on this version of Deep River Blues.

Steel: Steel Mill—He’s Guilty (The Judge Song)

[purchase Chapter and Verse]
[purchase Born to Run (the book)]

What would Lynryd Skynyrd have sounded like if it was fronted by a kid from Jersey named Springsteen? Check out “He’s Guilty” by Steel Mill, a band from 1969-70 featuring Bruce Springsteen on vocals and guitar, future E Street Band members Danny Federici on keyboards and Vini “Mad Dog” Lopez on drums, and “Little” Vinny Roslin on bass.

Bruce’s first band was The Castiles. When that band broke up, he joined a hard rock band called Earth, then formed Child, which then became Steel Mill, when another band had already registered as Child. As Springsteen described Steel Mill in his excellent autobiography Born To Run:

It was blue-collar, heavy music with loud guitars and a Southern-influenced rock sound. If you mixed it up with a little prog and all original songs, you had Steel Mill . . . you know, STEEL MILL . . .like LED ZEPPELIN… elemental-metal-based, bare-chested, primal rock. 

After becoming a big deal in Jersey, and somewhat surprisingly, in Richmond, Virginia, the band decided it needed to head to San Francisco and teach the hippies about rock n’ roll. Auditioning at the Matrix (the club co-founded by Marty Balin of the Jefferson Airplane) they got a gig opening for Boz Scaggs, Elvin Bishop and Charlie Musselwhite. Steel Mill was apparently good enough that a critic from the San Francisco Examiner wrote, “Never have I been so surprised by completely unknown talent.” Shades of Jon Landau’s famous quote from a few years later, "I saw rock and roll's future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” You can hear a bootleg of one of the Matrix shows here.

Steel Mill got to play a few shows at the legendary Fillmore (where Bruce heard future band mate Nils Lofgren’s band Grin perform), and were well enough received that Bill Graham offered to record demos, one of which was “The Judge Song.” But nothing happened. Instead, they returned to New Jersey, where they could make a living.

Over the next few years, Steel Mill went through personnel changes (including a period with Steve van Zandt on bass). Springsteen explored different musical styles in bands named Dr. Zoom & the Sonic Boom (early- to mid-1971), the Sundance Blues Band (mid-1971), and the Bruce Springsteen Band (mid-1971 to mid-1972), before getting signed to Columbia Records and, ultimately forming the E Street Band.

“He’s Guilty” was never officially released until last year’s Chapter and Verse, the companion musical collection to the autobiography. The official version is edited down a little from the original, which can be found on some bootlegs, but I couldn’t find one online to post.