Secret History: 1967

 
Well, this is the year when all that is good supposedly happened. Sgt. Pepper, Monterey Pop, Summer of Love, etc. I'll admit it: Sgt. Pepper is a very good album, but hardly my favorite. The Stones "Between the Buttons" is lighter and poppier than "Aftermath", and thus a bit less brilliant. Buffalo Springfield's second album, "Again" has several classics on it. You can even it pick it up in the cutout bin, if you don't feel like springing for the "Box Set". (That Neil Young's got quite the racket going for him, doesn't he?)

But you already know all that.

Cream's "Disreali Gears"? Eh. I'm just as likely to listen to "More of the Monkees", but more on that later.

The Moody Blues – "Days of Future Past"? Well, I guess this one's our fault. We all liked it a lot, and well, they just kept at it for years afterwards. It's not a bad record at all, just too many strings. (This was back when some people's idea of art was a classical music orchestra.) Do we really need to hear "Nights in White Satin" (Which at first I thought was Knights. Picture that why don't you?) again? Ah, but "Tuesday Afternoon"! That one'll always work on me.

As unfair as this sounds, I can't quite suppress a yawn. Not over the quality, mind you. It's just that we've all been over this already. So let's go deeper.


 
If ever there was a record that defines a cultural divide, it's "The Velvet Underground and Nico".  Yeah, I know Nico sounds a bit odd, and I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't love the more experimental at the end, but if you don't like what precedes it, please stop reading now. One of the greats. If you've ever wondered why people thought Lou Reed was a genius, start here.

If you were lucky, you could catch "You Set the Scene" on Saturday afternoons on FM radio. If you're luckier still you bought "Forever Changes". Love was
one of the first interracial rock groups, and is sometimes thought of as the West Coast Velvet Underground. That's because beneath the beautiful melodies and soaring strings, you get lyrics about the dark underside of the Summer of Love. But beautiful nonetheless.

Roger McGuinn is holding back a bit on The Byrds "Younger Than Yesterday", which is why I like "Fifth Dimension" a little better. And David Crosby contributes the hilariously bad "Mind Gardens", but he redeems himself with "Everybody's Been Burned", one of his best songs. Chris Hillman fills in the gap with several catchy tunes. It's not quite their best, but still damned good.

My copy of Jefferson Airplane's "Surrealistic Pillow" is on heavily scratched vinyl. But it's lighter on its feet than either "Volunteers" or "Bathing at Baxters". This might seem tame for a record that came out at the beginning of the psychedelic era, but it's tuneful and a delight.

With Moby Grape, it's more scratched vinyl. (I wish people would take better care of their records before giving them to me.) And yet the energy of this record is still shines through. I love the guitar riff that starts it all off, setting the mood immediately. The singing is great and songwriting isn't far behind. A tinge of country, but definitely rock. The classics are "Hey Grandma", "Indifference" and "Omaha", one of the most joyous rock and roll songs ever. "Listen my friends!..."

The Kinks "Something Else" is the kinkiest Kinks record ever, and almost as good as "Face to Face". Side one is a hard look at everyday English working class life. ("David Watts" is one of the best songs about class ever.) Side two is the Kinks at their strangest, with "Waterloo Sunset" as the finale.

Procol Harum's first album, "A Whiter Shade of Pale",
with
the title hit, the original "Conquistador" and a bunch of other excellent songs, may be their best. My vinyl copy is kind of woozy. The guy who punched the whole in the center must have been drunk that day. And because the sound quality on vinyl is poor, Robin Trower's guitar sometimes sounds like a kazoo. Hey, not your fault, man.

The obvious Jimi Hendrix album to own is "Are You Experienced?". Even if you're tired of the hits, the non-hits and the CD bonus tracks keep you coming back. But how about "Axis Bold As Love"? It doesn't burn as brilliantly, but it gives off a nice quiet glow. A great evening album.

Poor Richie Havens. Even in the sixties, they made you dress up for album photos.
Clearly taken prior to Woodstock, the cover shot of "Mixed Bag" shows him sporting
thick
glasses, a blazer and dress pants. He looks like he's attending private school. This is the record that provides the title for a very annoying radio program, but the record itself is very pretty and worthwhile.

And speaking of 60's folk, don't forget Nico's "Chelsea Girls", where you get a little bit of sixteen-year-old-Jackson-Browne-sensitivity, a Bob Dylan song where the singer actually hits the notes, Tim Hardin and the Velvet Underground all in one place. Quite the bargain I'd say.  But don't ask me.  Ask my wife, who, after a couple of plays, said "I can't believe how good this is."  (Hey, what that's supposed to mean, anyway?  Okay, I admit that I may have, on occasion, put her through some...questionable music.)



You won't hear these songs when your local radio station does a Top 1000 Songs of All Time holiday weekend special. But I'll bet you're so tired of the songs they do play that you won't be feeling nostalgic anyway. The records I mention above will remind you that there was more in the 1967 universe than our short term cultural memory can now imagine.

Brenda, or, For a Rocker

I first met Brenda back in 1981.  She was my girlfriend’s roommate and best friend. 

She usually wore denim, but I like to remember her wearing a leather jacket, because she always reminded me of Chrissie Hynde, even though they didn’t really look all that much alike.

But, like Chrissie, Brenda was a rocker.  Not a loud obnoxious poser, mind you.  Just someone who loved rock and roll, a cigarette and a beer.  She was actually quiet and unassuming.  But a rocker, nonetheless.

My friends could never figure her out.  But there was nothing to figure out.  Brenda was there for all to see and know.  She didn’t try to shove it in your face.  I thought she was just great.

Brenda was on the “other side” of the big musical debates of the day – punk vs. metal, Grateful Dead vs. Led Zeppelin, etc.  (Let’s not even touch politics.)  But, man, she could surprise you.  She bought “Purple Rain” before any of us – because she liked what she heard on the radio, and was honest enough to go with that.  I always admired that.

A few years ago, I got "Hank Williams Greatest Hits" as a Christmas present.  When I first put it on,  I braced myself for my wife's reaction.  But she just sang along.  It seems that Brenda would put it on when they were cleaning the apartment together.

Brenda took my poke at Led Zeppelin with good humor, even though I know it kind of pissed her off a little.  She was good like that.  Or she was just used to putting up with my  bullsh*t.

We hung out a lot, drinking, talking.  Then everybody started to get married.  Me and my girlfriend.  Brenda and her boyfriend.  When the kids came along, there would be the baptism or communion parties, but we saw less and less of each other.  And when she and her family moved upstate, and then to Pennsylvania, we’d go years without seeing each other.

One of my favorite memories of her was from September of 2005.  She came into town with her sister Mary (another rocker, and pretty f*cking fearless, I might add) and daughters Kelly - Brenda’s spitting image - and Shannon, one of the sweetest kids I ever met.  Kelly wanted to see the White Stripes, who were playing at a local outdoor venue.  The Shins, who we loved, were the opening act.  So what the hell, let’s all go.  We had a nice barbecue at the house, and then headed out to the stadium with - what else? - a cooler full of beer.

Brenda had just gotten over a bout of cancer, so although her outfit was the usual denim, her hair was a post-chemo crew cut.  She was by far the coolest looking person there, even though she was twenty years older than most of them.  Kelly got into the show while the rest of us hung out in the parking lot, or wandered around the boardwalk.  It was a beautiful fall evening at the beach with music, beer and old friends.  We even ran into my cousin the police captain doing crowd control.  I’ll never forget his What the hell are you doing here? expression.  Anyway, it was great night with too much beer drank by all concerned, so everybody slept over.

My wife had her own battle with cancer the year before, with more to come later, so we had the added dimension of post-war camaraderie.  Being all city kids, we were sharp enough to understand that we may have only been between world wars.  So I’d be lying if I said “little did we know”.  We knew very well indeed.  They would both have to fight their wars again. 

We last saw Brenda a month ago.  Nobody was kidding themselves about the situation – she was clearly near the end- and hospice arrangements were being made.  I’d like to say it was like a Hallmark movie but that would be a crock.  Real life is always there, staring you in the face.  But Brenda always just stared right back at it.

I tried to impress her kids with stories of her drummer ex-boyfriend, seeing Rocky Horror how many times, and going to local clubs to see some unknown punk band.  But it really wasn’t necessary.  They already knew she was cool.

Both of us being Irish, we aren’t very demonstrative with our emotions.  But when we left that day, we gave each other the strongest hug I can remember.  Even though she was wearing a heavy robe, I could still feel her bones.

Brenda died last Thursday. 

Now her kids, who also lost their father a few years ago, will carry on.  Sean, Kelly, Shannon – you are wonderful, intelligent, beautiful young people.  Go make your mom proud.  I know you will because you have a part of her in you.

Brenda wasn’t a celebrity.  She wasn’t rich or famous.  But she had class, which means she wouldn’t rate a mention on Access Hollywood.  I consider that a badge of honor.  She was just a friend (and a sister and a mother and…) who you could hang out with.  Brenda just was.

So, if you read this, goddamn it, you’re going to f*cking know she existed.

Love you, Brenda.  Rest in Peace.