Sunday, February 26, 2012

Secret History: 1976

If you ask me about 1975, I can tell you a hundred different great things that happened (and some that didn’t, since I put the Ramones, Eno and the Wild Tchapatoulas there instead of here where they belonged). When you ask me about 1976 I’m likely to give you a blank stare.

It was kind of a crappy year. Punk hadn’t quite exploded yet, Steely Dan and Dylan had peaked the year before, and singer songwriters were getting positively annoying.

So where did that leave us?


Rock and Roll:

Well, there was Graham Parker. Jaybee Sister One is a big fan who by now could run circles around me regarding Parker's later career. My preference is for his earliest stuff, which somehow got mixed up with/lost amongst punk. He also lost a close election that year for Angriest Young Man to Elvis Costello.

It's too bad because he's not a punk at all. He comes out of the English pub rock tradition and has an approach very similar to Bruce Springsteen. His first record, Howlin Wind is a bit more soulful, with horns being pretty prominent. His second, Heat Treatment pushed the guitar and organ up front. The production is clearer too, so even though it's only got ten songs, I prefer it to Howlin’ Wind. But both are great.

Jonathan Richman has had a long strange career, but The Modern Lovers is where it all starts. This is the one with “Roadrunner”, one of the all time great rock and roll songs. Also, he rhymes Picasso with asshole. You won't find that in a Rhyming Dictionary.


Songs:

I'd like to say that Have Moicy! by Michael Hurley, The Unholy Modal Rounders and Jeffrey Fredericks and the Clamtones (whew!) is simply a bunch of great songs. But I'd be a liar if I left out all the twists and turns, like Peter Stampfel's funny voice and the human digestive tract as subject matter. But I’ll take it over The Pretender any day. I made a point of buying this record when some idiot radio DJ criticized Robert Christgau’s “Best of the 70s” choices, singling this out because she never heard of it. This same idiot DJ (Carol Miller, actually) is still playing the same lame classic rock songs, doing her part to make sure you never hear anything interesting ever again.

Don't hate Kate and Anna Mcgarrigle just because every critic on earth loves them. You really can't blame them because their first record is one of the great singer-songwriter records of the decade. Take that James Taylor, Jackson Browne, etc.

Almost as good is Warren Zevon’s first record - another in the ongoing Chronicles of Albums Jaybee's Brother hated. “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” is a great rock and roll song (and a ding to the abovementioned singer-songwriters to boot) done a disservice by Linda Rondstadt. The real version is here.


Pop:

David Bowie was always at least one step everyone (and two ahead of me) but on Station to Station he makes it easy to like him. No obvious androgyny to make male teens like me uncomfortable. No fey/fake soul music. Just pop. “TVC15” is one of his best ever.


Guilty Pleasure:

Turnstiles is probably my favorite Billy Joel record. He’s not quite a superstar yet, but he’s coming back home anyway. It’s easy to hate the guy, and sometimes I do. I prefer guitars to pianos and strings, but below all that bs, I think his heart’s in the right place. And for a time he was the greatest pop melodist since Paul McCartney.


Wait'll Next Year:

So, my faulty memory makes it kind of a sucky year. My fact checking proves that it wasn’t so bad. But hold onto your hats. The times, as they say, were a-changin’.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Two and a Half Men Watching Television

“You and Mike were close.”
Friend Geri in 2007. She hadn’t seen either of us for nearly thirty years, but she still remembered that.

“Have you ever heard of a band called Television?”
My son, last week.


Mike I:

Mike and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and attended the same Catholic school. He was a year older than me, and friend of my big brother. They went to the same high school for a while.

When I was of drinking age, the corner bar became the local cultural center, and I'd run into Mike there. The patrons were by turns brilliant and more than a little crazy. They made Cheers seem tame. Mike and I were more reserved, and so gravitated to each other to talk about books and films.

After one of many periodic blowouts with my parents, I found myself in sudden need of an apartment, and a roommate to help swing the rent. Mike was the first one I thought of and, after some hesitation, he agreed to share a place with me.

All of this more or less coincided with the sharp left turn I was making in the type of music I listened to. So, in addition to my own annoying personal quirks, Mike would be dealing with whatever weird records I'd bring home. But by then Mike had already made several left turns of his own, and ended up turning me on to things like Rhapsody in Blue and Threepenny Opera, which now rank amongst my favorite music.

But while still on the musical fence, I'd bring home Hot Tuna and Ramones albums. Mike was always game, though, and we liked this first Ramones record more than that fifth Hot Tuna record.

Then in late 1979, I brought home Little Feat's Down on the Farm, probably more out of loyalty to Lowell George (who'd died earlier that year) than for any lingering interest in Little Feat . I played it a few times and lost interest.

The other record I got that day was Television's Marquee Moon. The first time we played it was, well, shattering.  Talk about out with the old and in with the new.

Marquee Moon was one of those records that hit us in several places at once. There were the guitars, of course. We both loved the Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead, so we could immediately appreciate the searing lead guitar playing of Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd. The music was passionate but not bombastic. The vocals strange, but urgent, and the words dark and cinematic. And it was all held in balance without compromising any of the intensity.

And it was all so freaking CLEAR, too.  None of the overproduction of commercial music, and none of the under production of punk. It was both alien (Verlaine kind of looked like one on the cover) and accessible at the same time.

The highlights for us were "See No Evil", where Richard Lloyd plays one of the greatest guitar solos ever, and, of course, the title song.  Everything else had something to offer and then some.

Mike tried playing it for some party guests but they were Lynyrd Skynyrd fans who preferred that more polished production. For some reason, we didn't care about that, and, unlike most people in the neighborhood, Mike and I took another left.

About a year later, I picked up their second album Adventure, which was relatively mild, but in a good way.  It was clearly not the classic Marquee Moon was, but so what?  It was peaceful, and in some spots, beautiful. 

And it has what may be my favorite song by them - "Days".  Mostly because of the memories it evokes.

We'd play music like Marquee Moon to launch us out for a night of drinking. When we came home we'd stay up talking or playing chess. And of course, we'd put on music. We tried to be considerate of our neighbors and put on "late night" music like Tonight's the Night or Another Green World by Eno.

And Adventure. I remember that one the best.

But Mike was more restless than me, and after a couple of years, he decided to move to Europe. I remember the Sunday when he left. It was an evening flight, so he had most of the day to get ready. I didn't have much to do other than wait around and play records to soothe the combination of excitement and dread I was feeling.

The last record I put on before we left for the airport was side one of Marquee Moon.  It was a pretty safe choice, but I'd underestimated how much it would intensify what I was already feeling.

There's an extended guitar solo in the middle of the title song, that just builds and builds and builds until you think you're going to burst. When it's over, you're left stunned.  And that day I was sure that I'd never heard anything quite so intense in my life.  But it made perfect sense.  The climax of the solo echoed what was the climax to a special period of my life.

Mike flew out to Brussels that night. He traveled Europe for a few weeks before settling down in Germany and getting a job. He stayed for over ten years, visiting Africa and Asia, and living a life I truly envied. What can I say except that Mike had guts.

I could never have lived on my own back then.  Mike was the one who got me through it until I could.  And I wonder how much musical exploration I would have done had Mike been a less enthusiastic roommate.

He'd visit occasionally, but never move back. He eventually met someone, got married and moved to Boston.

I got married, too - to the woman I was seeing right before Mike left for Europe.  I was glad that they made a connection before he left. 

We would visit each other, and he got to meet our kids - Daughter Theresa and son (surprise!) Michael.  Mike II to you.

We both went through our own versions of Life Sucking, and more or less came out the other side a little older and possibly wiser.

We call each other every few months, and spoke just a few weeks ago. I suggested that he come visit, but he said that travel was getting old.  Either travel or us, I thought.

Mrs. Jaybee reminded me that we're the ones with the van, so it wouldn't kill us to drive up to Boston. Seems like a good idea.


Mike II:

My son Mike plays a mean guitar, and I try to expose him to my guitar heroes whenever he shows an interest. When he mentioned Television I was all over it.

We found that iTunes not only had Marquee Moon and Adventure, but also Live at the Old Waldorf. And for a somewhat hefty (to me) $24.99, all three together - along with unreleased tracks and alternate versions - in one package called The Complete Elektra Recordings.

I had to mull it over. It was a lot of money for  music I mostly had already, which went against one of my core music-buying principles. But this was a special situation. I guess I could have just told Son Mike to put on the vinyl in the basement to hear Television, but he's still not finding vinyl very sexy yet. So I got it.


It's unlikely that he'll hear it in quite the same way me and "uncle" Mike did. After all, he's got his own music, friends and, eventually, children to experience.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Planning Your Own Funeral Soundtrack

There’s nothing that says “I’m Forcing You to Listen to the Music I Like One Last Time” more than planning your own Wake and Funeral Soundtrack.  I’ve had less than flattering things to say about wedding and gift CDs in the past, so you might think me a hypocrite to suggest something similar for my wake. But so what?  I’ll be dead.

And there are some who might consider such a project to be the ultimate in procrastination – after all, there’s got to be something else that requires more urgent attention than a playlist I'll never get to hear. Estate planning, showering, etc.

But I happen to think it’s a worthwhile exercise.

Do you want to make ‘em weep?  “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” might work. (Nothing says Do like Don’t)

Are you resentful of some people in your life?  Try Big Star’s sarcastic “Thank You Friends”.  They’ll end up glad you’re dead, which, when you think about it, is very considerate of you.

There’s also Warren Zevon’s “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead”.  Much more appropriate for those dying young, this might get a snicker since a more appropriate title for me now is “I’ll Sleep Right Here Where I’m Sitting”.

Of course, there are some songs that are best left out:
The Beatles “Getting Better All the Time” - Even I’m not that sarcastic.
Frank Sinatra “High Hopes” – A barn door closed too late, if ever there was one.


So here's my official list:


"Fox in the Snow" by Belle and Sebastian:



It's just so freaking sad, I had to include it.  I want to make sure somebody’s crying.



"My Friends" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers:


Since it's not all about me, I guess I should say thanks, as I have to make up for Big Star.  



 “The Story of My Life” by the Velvet Underground:




The music is so unassuming and sweet that you could miss the despairing lyrics.  


“My Life” by Iris DeMent:


Of course, if you think your life’s been a waste, it might help to put this on  It'd make you feel better, if you were still alive, that is. 



"At Last" by Neko Case:


This one's a little more defiant.


"When it’s Cold, I’d Like to Die" by Moby:


Wish granted!


"My Weakness" by Moby:


Moby's just so good at this kind of thing. This one's good for either death of alien abduction.




"Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens:




This one ought to get them crying again.


"When I Get to the Borderline" by Richard and Linda Thompson:


But let's not despair.  Richard's good for a rueful grin, if not exactly a laugh.


"Wall of Death" by Richard and Linda Thompson:





Another F*ck You Death! song.



"That Day is Done" by Elvis Costello:


Co-written by Paul McCartney, it's an uncharacteristically direct look at death.  You can play it instead of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken".



"Don’t Forget About Me" by Dusty Springfield:


If you want to haunt your relatives and friends.


“Boundary Rider” by the Go Betweens:


It has nothing to do with me, other than that I love it, but it sounds nice.  You can chisel those lyrics on my headstone if you like.


But for the mourners themselves I’d suggest playing most of Funeral by Arcade Fire, but I think I’d be presumptuous to assume that anyone would get that excited about my passing, except in maybe a good way. Your choice.


"Sweetness Follows" by REM:


It's going to be all right.


"Underneath the Weeping Willow" by Grandaddy:







Maybe the saddest song I’ve ever heard. But at the end you get permission to be happy again.


“It’s Summertime” by the Flaming Lips:




The Lips repeat that idea. You can play this on June 22 following my wake.  If anybody still gives a damn, that is.



And that's that.

Mrs. Jaybee thinks this line of thinking is nuts, but I think not planning this is like not getting ice for a party.  The iceman cometh.  Twice!  Lucky him.

Moving on.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Chronicles of Nutboy: 2011 Redux

Nutboy tells me I'm full of shit, but he’s about to buy a round, so I don’t argue. 

He goes on, telling me I'm not as fully engaged in the zeitgeist as I should be. My words. His exact words were more along the line of “Your top 2011 album list sucks. You've got exactly one album from 2011 on it.  What the hell is that? Complete bs.”

Well, that is the title of the blog, I'm thinking. But again, I say nothing. 

“You don’t really tell people about current music.  You go off on your little educational excursions, or you get stuff that’s decades old.  He’s right, of course.  After posting a song on Facebook once, a friend said thanks for the oldies.

“And when you do try to be current, you’re still a year behind, what, with your research.”  He spits out this last word with such vehemence that he starts to cough. And now, reminded of his own thirst, walks off to buy the round.

I want to object, but all I can muster is “I’ll have a Sam.”  First things first. If he’s going to insult me, he may as well pay for it.

But I do take this time to mull over his words, which he has every right to say. After all, his 2011 album list is made up entirely of, get this, albums from 2011.

I see him talking to the bartender, sharing a laugh, and I can’t help thinking it’s at my expense.  When he comes back with the beers I half expect to see a napkin with the bartender’s 2011 list on it.

But, hey, I’m not eighteen anymore. I can’t just sit in my room listening to current music all day. Who has the time, or the money? These days I need a buffer. I look to Metacritic, Pazz and Jop, Robert Christgau, etc. to separate the genuine talent from the hype, and distinguish what sounds good at this moment from what will sound great for years to come.

And it’s not to help me choose one record over another.  It’s to choose one record out of a thousand others. The Village Voice 2011 Pazz and Jop listed over 1,700 records, and that’s just ones that at least one person liked. When you add in what didn’t get mentioned, there’s got to be many times that number. So there isn’t enough time to listen to everything even once

I react to that daunting reality by doing my “research”. Nutboy deals with it by just diving in.

And I’m kind of slow taking in records to begin with, often not knowing whether I like something or not until the tenth listen at least. So, by the time I recommend something to you, dear reader, it’s gone through quite the gauntlet of opinion.

But I have to do this not only because I don’t have the time.  It’s also because I don’t have the time left. I’m closer to the end than I am to the beginning of…. you know, life.  So can you fault me if I want to spend it wisely?

Nutboy’s having none of it. His point is that by the time I’ve done all my research, it’s a year later. Part of pop music’s attraction is that you can enjoy it as part of a community. Now.

Nutboy’s a jump-into-the-pool-headfirst kind of guy, maybe even before he knows there’s water there.  I’m the type to check for water. Twice. Even at the beach.

And the other thing is that by focusing on great albums I probably miss a lot of great moments from the not-quite-great albums. So I’m guessing my method is more efficient – you know, more good songs per dollar or hour, depending on what’s more important to you - but Nutboy’s gets more good songs overall.

So who’s to say who’s right?  Which one of us has the better batting average? I don’t know.
  
But here’s his list, along with my reasons for holding out:

Nutboy’s comment: Flat out great !! Cap G. 
Jaybee: And the world would seem to agree. Nutboy called this one way back in the spring when we first got to know each other. I’m mortified that I still haven’t heard a single one of these songs all the way through. It’s not like I haven’t had the chance.  I’m surrounded by the damned thing. And that’s why I haven’t gotten it.  I assume that I’m going to hear it ad nauseum anyway.  But I haven’t yet.  Something’s got to give. I should get it, but I’m usually underwhelmed by popular records.  Championed by Americana stations, who I’ve found to be pretty tone deaf.

NB: By far the best rock n roll record of the year.  “Little Black Submarines” is fantastic.
JB: It’s showing midway up on a lot of year end lists. I’m holding back for now.

JB: I’m very ambivalent about Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and I make a point of distrusting any band that is popular on Americana stations.

JB: I like Mule Variations, but Waits has got so many records out I don’t know what to get - this well regarded record or something more deserving in the back catalog.

JB: I almost went for The Crane Wife, got scared off by The Hazards of Love and just don’t know if I’d like this other Americana favorite.

JB: Mrs. Jaybee and Jaybee Jr (Michael, actually) really like this record, but I’m not warming up to it.  I don’t hear them listening to it now, either.

JB: Another one I don’t trust because I just see it around so much.

JB: Michael loves this record too. It’s got an early seventies feel to it that I have trouble placing.  10cc possibly, but like them I’m not in love.

Nutboy: And finally, two hidden gems:
JB: Hmmmm, interesting. The sheer fact that I never heard of it gets me curious…

Ditto. Another obscure one that’s I’m thinking about.

I’ve no doubt that all these reservations have prevented me from getting some great music. Next time I see Nutboy I’ll be asking him about what he thinks the downside is to his approach. What records didn’t work out for him?

The bottom line, though, is that we’ve both found our “method”. If it wasn’t working for us, we’d be a lot more jaded by now. We’re both still passionate about music. Both having a good time.  Both feeling younger than we have a right to feel.