The 14th Annual Jaybee-bies: 2024, or Love Among the Ruins

Billie Eilish

You don't need me to tell you how f*cked up 2024 was. I'll try to identify some silver linings.  

Executive Summary:

Music: Pop music good, if not exactly in my comfort zone. Jazz, Blues, and Oldies wonderful. Weirdos thriving. (More to come on that).

Music/Personal: No longer striving for competence on guitar. 

Personal: Retired and grandfather of two. Getting old fast.

Politics: Everybody knows the war is over, everybody knows the bad guys won. Fascism is cool again, apparently. The young folks - men, mostly - let us down.

Humans:

Best:

• Jimmy Carter
• Adam Kinzinger
• Liz Cheney
• Many, many others who, in my current state, I just can't bring to mind. Feel free to write in some names.

Worst:

The ever-expanding "Usual Suspects", as I called them last year, make a repeat appearance here. I'll only make special mention of their Rookie of the Year, Nancy Mace, whose popularity confirms the existence of a new mini-industry busily producing Awful Women, like veterans Elise Stefanik, Nicole Malliotakis, Marsha Blackburn, Kristi Noem, and others. However, I will risk being accused of sexism by saying they'll never quite match the production of Awful Men. But keep up the bad work gals!

Best Books:

During this, my first year of retirement, my ambition was to "just lie down on the damn couch and read a f*cking book or two". 

And I did! I read all of the following books with great enthusiasm:

• A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman: A remarkable history of Europe (mostly France) in the 14th century. 
• The Spy and the Traitor by Ben MacIntyre: A true-life spy story and a great one.
• Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain: A true-life restaurant story, and a very entertaining one.
• Consciousness Explained by Daniel Dennett: What's an "I", anyway? Mr. Dennett tries to explain.
• Karla's Choice by Ken Hardaway: John le Carre's son admirably continues the George Smiley saga.

The following are part of my World History Project, which has now reached the end of the American Civil War. I read a lot more than these five, but these are the best of the lot:

• The Good Lord Bird by James McBride: A hilarious and tragic retelling of the John Brown story.
• The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery by Eric Foner: Notorious flip-flopper's views on slavery. 
• Battle Cry of Freedom by James McPherson: The entire Civil War, miraculously, in a single volume. 
• Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin: Lincoln and his Cabinet. Possibly the best history book I've ever read.
• Lincoln by Gore Vidal: Vidal could be pompous in interviews and lectures but he did work his ass off to get his historical fiction right. I read this alongside Team of Rvals, and was in awe of his grasp of the details. And, like Burr, it's funny too.

Best Movies:

I did manage to get out and see a few movies, but the only one worth mentioning here is A Complete Unknown. What it may be lacking in specific details, it more than makes up for with Timothee Chalamet's performance (and performances). Ed Norton is also great as Pete Seeger. The music is pretty great, too.

Best TV:

• Somebody Somewhere
• I May Destroy You
• Insecure
• Bodkin

Best Concerts:

Still none. I'm still waiting for one that's worth time/trouble/$.

Music Awards:

Most Work (But Worth it): 

    Billie Eilish

Most Work (And Possibly Not Worth It): 

    The Dirty Projectors

Most Surprising (and Not Necessarily in a Good Way): 

    Nico

Best Nostalgia:

    Jimi Hendrix 

Best Artist:

    Daniel Nigro, producer of both Olivia Rodrigo and Chappell Roan

Best Albums of My Year:

1. Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep? - The key to this young lady, and what eventually wore me down - is not the loopy sound effects (that's her brother). It's the songwriting that stays consistent from beginning to the very end.
2. Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else - NOT "worse" than Billie. Just a slower burn.
3. The Quintet: Hot House: The Complete Jazz and Massey Hall Recordings - Ditto.
4. Jimi Hendrix: The Cry of Love - Not a masterpiece. Just a very consistent (that again!) yet relaxed set of tunes with great guitar playing.
5. Chappell Roan: The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess - I'll get to this at another time, but in short, she edges out Olivia by the sheer volume of hooks and emotion she brings to the table. Geez!
6. Olivia Rodriguez: Guts - A smart young woman. NOT worse than Chappell. Just a bit more professional sounding, which is both a plus and a minus.
7. The Chills: Brave Words - Another one for a later time. RIP Martin Phillips.
8. The Feelies: The Good Earth - "Only" rock n' roll and I love it.
9. John Cale: Paris 1919 - Professed weirdo plays it straight with lovely results.
10. Low: I Could Live in Hope - Just how depressed can you get? Find out here and come back alive.

Honorable Mention: Arto Lindsay, Fishermans, Steely Dan, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Stars of the Lid, David Behrman, Elliott Smith, Beyonce

Best Compilations:

1. Muddy Waters: Anthology
2. Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings
3. The Shirelles: 25 All-Time Greatest Hits 
4. Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven, The Best of...
5. Sir Warrior etc: Heavy on the Highlife!

The Album I Listened To Most but Had the Least to Say About It Due to Density (Mine, not the music's.):

Bach: Violin Concertos

Some of the best songs I heard this year can be found here.

Oh, and Mrs. Jaybee's Favorites:

1. Beyonce: Cowboy Carter
2. Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep?
3. Gorillaz: Cracker Island
4. Bill Withers: The Ultimate Collection
5. Amy Winehouse: Back to Black

Conclusions:

Now with two granddaughters, I'm slowly beginning to understand what life is all about. I hope I'm not too late. 

Pop continues to grow - sometimes away from me. That's okay. I don't have to be in the middle of it. As long as I can find some electric guitar music - now a small sub-section of pop - I'll be okay.

Jazz and blues (and oldies, and older pop) will always be there to fill the gap. I was hoping to keep you informed about new stuff, but if old stuff is new to both of us what's wrong with that?

And finally, I have come to realize that most of my countrymen think a dictator is someone who is NOT popular. A little more education might have helped. One can only hope the bad guys form a circular firing squad.

Happy New Year!

Post Election Blues

Given how one of our esteemed political parties was accused of being weird this election year, I could have called this post "Weirdos, Part 3", but since I'd rather focus on music, I decided not to. 

This one's about music for a special occasion, which the advent of fascism kinda is, doncha think?

Upon hearing the election results I didn't need an analysis. I didn't want some smarty pants nabob explaining things to me. Oh, I wanted to know the why and how all right, but the habit of our media ecosystem to provide an explanation while the fucking thing is still happening just rubs me the wrong way, even if that explanation were to be correct. (It wasn't, of course.) 

It's the same reason why I watch the Superbowl with the sound off. The event itself is quite enough thank you. I don't need the additional aural input. I could see what was going on, and now just f*cking needed quiet. 

Well, not complete silence, mind you - just something that takes that as a starting point, and adds the least possible amount of stuff to end up with something I can deal with. In other words, something that doesn't try to match the energy level of said media ecosystem.

Last time, I mentioned a few records that one might think would fit the bill. But no. They were good at dealing with negative possibilities. I needed something to get me through negative realities. Not overtly political music, either. Just music for (God forgive me for using this word) existential realities.

Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (1990)

When I bought King of the Delta Blues Singers about forty years ago I had trouble getting into it. I was young and still had a smidgen of hope. Not even Reagan could inspire me to gaze into the abyss from which it emerged. 

But this year, in the months leading up to November 5, I could listen to this two-CD set in its entirety and love every second. Was I - or it - tapping it a general vibe portending the collapse of what little was left of our social contract? 

This collection has alternate versions of some songs, which some folks might find annoying. If so, King of the Delta Blues Singers is for you. But for now, listening to the complete recordings is a willful act - the equivalent of refusing to leave my room until this new era is over. 

Perfect, but a lot.

A

Low: I Could Live in Hope (1994)

Funny story about this band. A few years ago, I was listening to their eighth album, 2001's Things We Lost in the Fire. It took until near the end of it for me to notice that - probably due to a syncing issue - iTunes had two copies of each song and was playing them in numeric order. In other words, like this: First song, First song again, Second song, Second song again, etc.

I remember thinking wow this album is longer than I realized. But since the songs were so glacial, mournful, and quiet I didn't notice they ended and started again. I thought, well, that's the way they are. They're slow so why wouldn't there be a pause in the middle of each one? 

This time around, I'm listening to their first record where, if anything, they're even more quiet and mournful. I had to listen hard (even with the hearing aids) to confirm there were drums. Oh, yeah, there they are. But there's no beat to speak of here, except that of nails being hammered into a coffin.

Low's music comprises one man and one woman singing in harmony. He plays a muted electric guitar. She plays the drums. They sound like they're in an abandoned church. Their sound fills that space better than any organ or sermon would.

One-word song titles, cryptic, minimal, vaguely menacing lyrics about various states of isolation, disrepair, and dislocation, that don't become explicit until you get to "Rope", followed by their straight version of "You Are My Sunshine".

It's cold, but oddly beautiful. In other words, everything The Marble Index was aiming for but missed. Ripe for parody, but I dare ya. 

Perfect for the day after a particularly tough election.

A-

Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else (1958)

I used this as a palette cleanser in between listening to Captain Beefheart and Nico, who I always (well, since just now) saw as an ideal couple.

I've done my best to get exposed to all the top-tier jazz geniuses and am only now getting around to the next-level players. And if you think that's a knock I recommend you listen to "Freddy Freeloader" from Kind of Blue. Yeah, it's the ever-searching Coltrane who takes you to Mars, but Adderley's relaxed, open solo tells you how great things can be here on Earth.

Adderley worked for Davis on KOB and Milestones. Here Davis returns the favor, and one could be forgiven for thinking it's a Davis record. If it is, it's one of his best.

If Kind of Blue is quiet jazz played and heard in the middle of the night, then Somethin' Else is the jazz played - and heard - the following morning, after everyone has had their coffee and is ready to take on the day.

A

The Feelies: The Good Earth (1986)

Gaffa, in his one-star Amazon review, writes:

"I cannot figure out how anyone in their right mind could give this record a good review. You would have to be insane. In this day and age, to have a producer mix the sound of this record/CD to the extent of ruining the vocals is beyond me. This may have been a really good record if the vocals were able to be heard. The music for the most part is really catchy and well done. But, having to listen to the vocals so low ruins the listening experience. I cannot imagine that the band was alright with this, and if they were, shame on you. Terrible all the way around and a huge waste of money."

Now, for Jaybee, that's a rave.  I should say upfront that I was already a fan of the Feelies' first record, the nervous, jittery Crazy Rhythms. But I needed a push to go back for seconds. Thanks Gaffa!

Poor Gaffa. The vocals don't remind him of Lou Reed and the ominous momentum doesn't remind him of the Velvet Underground.  Of course, mere imitation would never be enough, and the Feelies know that, so they're faster, cleaner, and more modest.

Peter Buck from REM (another band known at the time for murky vocals) produces here, and suddenly the two band's similarities are obvious. REM's own third record - made the year before - is good but a little too tangled in the kudzu. This one beats it. The next REM record - while still short of magic - was a little snappier, thanks, I believe, to the influence of this record.

Alas, some of the Feelies' lovable/scary awkwardness got left behind (I can only wonder what Gaffa would have thought of Crazy Rhythms), the chord progressions are well-worn, and the solos usually stick to the scales. And yet they still sound great. Besides their trademark furious strumming, the guitars now chime and echo, too. 

This, their second album, was made six years after their debut. During those years they broke up and then re-formed with a slightly different lineup. That experience may account for some of the lyrical themes. Topics include not flying, taking the road, being away too long, and even company. In other words, rock cliches with aging added for spice, and sung in a manner that fits the music like a glove and makes one hear them as if for the first time. What a relief from singers who sing them as if they're hearing them for the first time. 

The cover of "She Said She Said" is less than essential but it's the thought that counts.

There is no funk here, and no syncopation I can hear. Just drums and bass marching in lockstep with those guitars. The sound of a renewed commitment after some setbacks.

The sound I need now.

A-

We Can Be Weirdos 2: Background-ish Music

Stars of the Lid

David Behrman

Arto Lindsay

If anyone remembers what I did in 2016 to deal with that awful election run-up and result, it will come as no surprise that I immersed myself in the following music for this one. 

Before we delve into our topic today, I offer this article to help with some terminology. I'll delve into three of the categories mentioned, but will ignore the rest because life's too short. 

Muzak:

Musical Kryptonite. It's ignorable if you're familiar with the song they're covering, but if it's something you love you will have heard the abyss. 

After hearing Muzak repeatedly emasculate anything resembling a beat, I waited for their version of John Lennon's "Love". Surely, its slow, gentle melody was impervious to any tinkering. After all, there was nothing in it to emasculate. 

But I was wrong. They did a perky version of it. I tried to track it down (well, I gave it about five minutes) to no avail. So instead I'll provide this readymade playlist, which is all you need to know. You can thank me later but I doubt you will. 

Foreground/Beautiful/Easy Listening/Mellow

I always considered this worse than Muzak, which was at least ignorable in theory and laughable in practice. But F/B/EL/M wanted to be more than that, and to their everlasting shame, they succeeded. 

After all, it's one thing to desecrate actual good songs but entirely another to pluck songs that might have served as individual respites amongst other, louder/faster fare, and then string them together to form a permanent environment of utter conformity, superficiality, and fake feeling. 

My disgust for this category goes back to when I spent years working in a large office where - briefly - everyone listened to their favorite radio stations. Our manager didn't like the "cacophony" (she said it like it was a bad thing) or happiness in general for that matter, and so mandated we all listen to WPAT, which for all intents and purposes was a Muzak station, although they called it Easy Listening. After years of agony, the staff requested a change and we ended up on another Easy Listening station, which played lame songs by the original lame artists. An improvement? Not really. Alas, I got an education in how many people like insipid music. I still have the scars. 

"Mellow Rock" stations might occasionally play an actual good song. But let's face it: the term "mellow rock" should be a contradiction in terms. But they wanted to have it both ways and ended up with lukewarm water. 

And no, I'm not saying you have to listen to actual rock 'n roll music all day long. Just understand when what you're listening to is NOT rock 'n roll, okay?

ANYWAY, I'm putting this record here because it sure sounds like it could belong in this category. However, I detect more than a little feeling here, like the original version of "Love".

Arto Lindsay:Mundo Civilizado (1997)

I thought this guy was all about the skronk. Exhibit A is all nine minutes of his first band's EP A Taste of DNA, circa 1981.

But it turns out I was wrong. I only recently found out Arto spent part of his youth in Brazil, where he absorbed its music (So today's version of white supremacist skinheads can f*ck off right here and go bowling.) before going full No Wave in the late '70s.

I really should have figured out where he was headed, given the relative pop slickness of Greed (1988) - his record with his next band, the Ambitious Lovers.

Here, he's gone full crooner, with very laid-back accompaniment, except when the snare drum makes you sit at attention. It's not dissimilar to "Girl from Ipanema", and just as well suited for early-morning listening. 

And yes, it could have been played on the Easy Listening stations, but it wasn't, was it?

A-

"Complicity"

Ambient:

Here's Wikipedia's excellent definition of Ambient music. But if you just don't have the time, the short definition is music you can put on but don't have to actively listen to. 

When done badly, it's hard to distinguish from New Age, which is just ambient music with an inferiority complex. In other words, it needs to draw attention to itself. 

Ambient just is, and when done well there's a slight chill or distance to it that can leave you feeling something without being manipulated into doing so. And some of it is so moving you end up actively listening anyway.

One of my all-time favorite albums - Brian Eno's Another Green World - has several quiet interludes, but it was really his Discreet Music where he dove in headfirst by programming a couple of tape loops to each play a brief theme - but, crucially, at different speeds - together for 30 minutes. 

And on the next day, he rested. (He really was kind of lazy.) Then he looked upon his creation and said "And it shall be Levon, er, Ambient!"  And the rest, as they say, is boring. 

Or it at least seemed so if you put it on, and like a fifteen-year-old, sat next to your stereo expecting revelation. If instead you put it on and then went about your business, you might forget about it, but then suddenly remember it's on and realize it was filling a void you hadn't noticed was there. 

Of course, one could go too far. The supposed ambient classic Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2 (all shall hear me and despair!), clocks in at over two hours, is daunting and cold, I found it worked best on those occasions when I needed a look into the abyss. If you're made of stronger stuff than I, you might try it to hear the musical equivalent of Zero Degrees Kelvin. 

(Election Update: 11/5/24 - I now give this record a complete - if unenthusiastic - thumbs up.)

I will instead direct you to two excellent examples of Ambient 101. The first is brief while the other takes its sweet time:

David Behrman: On the Other Ocean (1978)

At first, this sounded quite bland. A little too ignorable. For the first minute or so I kept waiting for William Shatner to intone "Space, the final frontier."

BUT WHEN I REALLY LISTENED (ie, when I finally broke down and got hearing aids) I could hear its simplicity and beauty. (And yes, just like my new speakers did, my new hearing aids might prompt a reappraisal of some music I first found blah-ish.) 

Like Discreet Music, this record uses some computer-generated tones. But instead of pressing the start button and going to lunch, Behrman mucks around a bit with it. And he has actual musicians react to it, and damn if the computer doesn't react right back. It works amazingly well. The second, less famous piece features a cello that could have passed as a droning electric guitar for any pretentious art band trying to empty a room, except it's so unassuming.

Perfect for reading, or doing things around the the house. And if you should decide to be naughty and, what the hell, listen to this not-meant-to-be-listened-to music it repays you many times over

A brief but ideal introduction.

A-

"On the Other Ocean"

Stars of the Lid: The Tired Sounds of... (2001)

This one's much longer. Two freakin hours worth, but still more concise - and bearable - than Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2.) The length makes it more functional as ambient because you really do get the opportunity to ignore it for a while before picking it up again later. It really has a chance to become part of the environment.

It's more somber than On the Other Ocean. It's difficult to imagine it accompanying a nature video, thus avoiding the New Age label. (I did include a video below that makes that pretty clear.)

I have played all the way through many times - probably more than any other album this year - and enjoyed every minute. Even the parts I wasn't paying attention to. (Hearing aids again, I think.)

It's best for mornings but evenings work okay, too. Acceptable in Summer but Fall seems optimal. This Fall in particular.  It amply supported two hour's worth of anxiety. Now that the election's over I'm going to see if it will do the same for depression (or Depression).

A-

"Requiem for Dying Mothers, Part One"

Next: Perhaps as a reaction to our current situation, It Gets Weirder Still.

We Can Be Weirdos: VU Alumnae

Nico

John Cale

The Time of Your Life vs. No Time At All:

Having recently retired, I veer between two contradictory ideas:

1. I now have all the time in the world, so I will get every Bob Dylan bootleg like my friend Nutboy recommends.
2. I am nearer to the end of my life and time is thus limited. Therefore I must be unrelentingly focused on the best of everything, not in every weird byway.

While my default approach is number one, lately I've been opting for number two.

WYHIWYG vs. WTFITS

Most pop records are pretty straightforward. In the olden days, there was a thing called "airplay", which was needed if a record was to become popular. Thus artists, "encouraged" by the record companies, would try to not scare off DJs, whose motto was "what you don't play can't hurt you". The song had to be short, sweet, and catchy right out of the gate. Thus, the end product tends to be what you expect. They hold no secrets and offer no mysteries. And it's good, even great, sometimes. You get what you pay for. Or, to put it another way, What You Hear Is What You Get (WYHIWYG).

Then there are records that, when you put them on, an unprepared listener is likely to say "What the fuck is this shit?" Call it the WTFITS (pronounced what fits?) Test. I'm not talking about records like Ruby Vroom or Second Edition whose first impressions are quite daunting, but that eventually pull you in. I'm talking about the ones that - after dozens of listens over the course of, ahem, decades - still make you shake your head.

I will never know who the WTFITS GOATs are, but I am aware of some real contenders. In Pop Music there's Pere Ubu and Captain Beefheart. Scratching the surface of Jazz reveals Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman. And out there in Classical Music, there's Steely Dan fave Cathy Berberian. And if there are Country and Western weirdos I don't want to know about them. I don't need Deliverance vibes.

In this series about, well, weirdos, I will try to limit myself to new purchases. Of course, my mind wanders, and now that I mention Pere Ubu I ask myself why I have not gotten anything else by them since Dub Housing in the early eighties? Oh, because that record scored highest-ever (in the Jaybee Universe anyway) WTFITS score with a 10 outta 10. Even Trout Mask Replica (9.5) can't match that. And my one listen to Metal Machine Music reveals it to be only a 9.0, as you get the joke rather early in the proceedings.

My reaction to such music can be perverse. Sonic Youth, for instance, has enticed me to buy at least six albums while not fully satisfying me on any of them. How did they do that? Is it like having an argument with someone and you keep going back hoping to come out on top of the conversation. 

This might explain why, after getting two rather mystifying Ornette Coleman albums I'm tempted to put this on my Christmas list.

But deep, deep (deep) down I realize the really really real reason is that cool people like these albums/artists and I want to be cool, too. Never mind that when I actually meet any of these cool people I guard my wallet and look for the exit. It turns out the cool people I meet via the written word tend to be the same ones I avoid on the D train.

So before I do any further damage I'm pulling out all my WTFITS albums and, before I die, come to some understanding of/with them.

In the meantime, I will look at some new (for me) records that are kinda strange. This time I'll limit myself to two Velvet Underground alumnae.

Nico: The Marble Index (1968)

Take Chelsea Girls, subtract the good songwriters (Jackson Browne, Dylan, Lou Reed, etc.) and add random background noise to announce that it's art. Nico mostly disavowed Chelsea Girls, and here she wants to prove her avant-garde bonafides, so she dragged John Cale - producer and fellow VU alum - into this project. Good soldier John doubled down on the Art with a capital A and thus must accept some blame. I imagine Nico standing erect wearing a Viking hat when "emoting" these tunes (a term I use loosely) from the top of Mt. Bindingsnuten.

If the theme is "life sucks and then you die" that's fine, but don't actively try to make it so. I like a lot of music that could make one want to slit one's wrists but this could take out an entire neighborhood.

It starts off okay, with an off-kilter little ditty that sets the doomy tone. Okay, fine, I'm thinking, you're preparing me. So I get comfortable in my chair and wait. Then she does it again. And again. And so on. 

I will admit that after repeated listenings, a few songs do emerge, but alas, they recede again as the accompaniment (again Cale) is erratic bordering on random. On one song the background adds tension and thus improves things a bit, on another song it just gives the sense of two blind people occasionally bumping into each other in a dark room.

The climax is "Evening of Light", which - as you can see below - belongs in a cheap '70s horror flick. It reminds me of the worst parts of Pleasures of the Harbor and the best parts of The Wicker Man.

And yet, I don't hate it. It just needs a label, like "Warning: Pretentious, Bordering on Silly".

B-

John Cale: Paris 1919 (1973)

Having spent last summer with Lou, I felt it only fair to dip back into John Cale's oeuvre (I always  have wanted to write - but not necessarily pronounce - that word!). I've got his three albums on Island Records, which are good, if not exactly catchy. His 1990 collaboration with Eno is a lot more fun.

Cale, by the way, was born in Wales, was quickly recognized as a musical prodigy, and ended up in America playing with avant-garde luminaries like La Monte Young and Terry Riley, and playing 18-hour concerts as one does. 

He then met Lou Reed and formed the Velvet Underground, playing, among other things viola. After he got tossed out of the band (just Lou being Lou) he went on on to produce numerous artists including the Stooges, Patti Smith, Nico, the Modern Lovers, and Squeeze. And his own solo career would be singularly idiosyncratic without all the Lou Reed nastiness.

This is probably his most accessible record. Quite lovely and way more enjoyable than anything Lou was doing at the time. I guess this is Cale's stab at commercialism, just to show he could do it. But he can't without it coming out weird anyway. How does one recruit half of Little Feat and get them to sink into the mix without a trace? (Well, they do manage to bust out for "MacBeth".) I guess after years of trying to bend Lou Reed to his will (and vice versa) Lowell George was a piece of cake.

It's a bit baroque, rife with literary and historical references. What undermines it is his not exactly unpleasant but kinda shaky voice. He sounds like he's hanging onto the melody for all it's worth, and occasionally falling off. If it were sung more skillfully, it might have been one of the best records of the decade.

Alas, it's only pretty freaking good.

A-

Next: It gets weird(er)

Normies but Goodies

I've been spending a lot of time with weirdos lately. And by "spending time" I mean listening to their records, not hanging out with them. So let's have a post spotlighting the infinitely sane folks pictured above could serve as a palette cleanser before I go down that deep hole.

Timing Really Is Everything:

Pre-1964: Music didn't mean anything to me. All I knew were the Irish records my mom and dad played, which were ridiculously uncool (accordions) and downright depressing (the Troubles). Elvis was no help because I interpreted his sneer as him being conceited, and six-year-old Irish Catholic me did not like that!

1964: One assassination later, the Beatles arrived and that was that. Anything before that may as well not have existed. My attitude would only harden as I bore my parents' constant criticism of any person with an electric guitar. Say the following aloud with a brogue and you'll get the idea: 

    There'll never be a Beatles record in this house!

So I figured the best defense was a good offense, and I'd show nothing but contempt for anything pre-Beatles. And that meant 1950's rock 'n roll, too.

1972: Two assassinations later, and I was in full rock-snob-mode. Long guitar solos meant rock musicians were virtuosos, prog rock meant they were intelligent, and the Grateful Dead meant they wrote better songs. (Well, one out of three ain't terrible.) I hated Fifties music. It was simplistic, sappy, and lame. It also emphasized vocals when I wanted electric guitars. When WCBS-FM switched from a pretty good AOR format to oldies I was outraged. Having a station devoted to something other than '60s music suggested that there might be something lacking in it. I wasn't having any of that.

So I reacted by mocking oldies mercilessly. One song was the epitome of all that was wrong with it: "Soldier Boy" by the Shirelles. The first time I heard it, I scoffed at the melodramatic opening line, found the melody to be simplistic in the extreme, and the rest of the lyrics trite. After all, there wasn't a war or anything, was there? Four girls singing with an orchestra was just as wrong as could be. 

1985: This was the year of the great Mr. and Mrs. Jaybee wedding and, almost as significantly, record-collection merge. Having only purchased quality music myself, I needed to ensure my collection remained free of any "impurities", so I made a point of listening to every one of Mrs. Jaybee's records before admitting them into the collection. 

Amidst the occasional good album was some disco, R&B - neither of which I'd yet come to appreciate - and, lo and behold, The Best of the Shirelles - a ten-song single record with a crappy black and white cover photo AND the corner cut away, indicating a budget buy. The presentation was a clear indication of the "quality" inside. After some rest and preparation, I put it on, patiently awaiting thirty excruciating minutes of bad pop music, and failed to hear any. 

1987: I played it again and couldn't detect a single awful song. I played it yet again, and couldn't detect a single mediocre song. I did hear a couple of great ones, though.

Like "Soldier Boy", whose melody now sounded timeless, and the lyrics innocent and longing, the singing utterly artless and all the more powerful for that. And although even they don't know it yet, they're talking about fucking Viet Nam. Or may as well have.

This was folk Art.

2024: I decided there is some music out there I don't want to leave undiscovered, and ten Shirelles songs were no longer enough. So I opted for this compilation.

Shirelles: All Time Greatest Hits (1999)

Okay, so it's not a thirty-minute flash of genius that the knockoff LP was. It's over an hour (26 cuts!) of usually great and otherwise excellent music. It feels more complete if less miraculous. 

Highlights:

"Foolish Little Girl", where I'm tempted to sing the first line of the chorus But I love him! out loud at random/inappropriate times (supermarket, airport, restaurant, etc.)

"Tonight's the Night" kicks the Rod Stewart song's ass, and gives Neil Young a run for his money.

Their comparably matter-of-fact version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" edges out Carole King's more emotive version. Ditto their "Baby It's You" vs. Smith's version.

I could go on, but will instead report the Shirelles are rightfully in the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. Luther Dixon, their main songwriter, alas, is not.

But I love him! (You see what I mean?)

 A

Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven: The Best of Fats Domino (2006)

Now who would want to get a record by Fats Domino? The songs are sweet enough but they are ubiquitous on oldies radio. So you sing along or dance along at a wedding because they're so damn simple and catchy, but don't take him seriously right? Indeed, his affable persona might cause one (me) to underestimate him. 

Slightly wider exposure to his music makes a strong argument for him as one of the founders of rock 'n roll, at least the New Orleans version. It's astounding that such simple music could still sound so vital.

How could this be? Is it the accompaniment that is terrific throughout? Good tunes? That affable persona? Good guesses, but here's some actual evidence:

The bottom of "Ain't That a Shame" is astounding. (No, not his ass. Although... Subject for Further Research: Did Fats have a nice ass?). The piano, bass, drums, and god knows what else that provides the bomp in between the poetry: 

    Oh well   BOMP BOMP   Goodbye   BOMP BOMP   Although   BOMP BOMP   I'll cry

    Ain't that a shame!

And have you ever heard anything that summarized the human condition so concisely? It makes "Love In Vain" seem like Infinite Jest. And speaking of concision, these songs all clock in at the low 2-minute range. Why did it take our '70s heroes twice as long to say essentially the same thing?

Other highlights include:

• The sax on "I'm In Love Again" is to die for. 
• Fats' singing is out front on "Valley of Tears" so you can hear his voice in all its glory.
• And who gets away with singing oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh for over half the song before he starts singing actual words as Fats does on "Please Don't Leave Me"? (The title does the heavy lifting.)
• And is that ska I'm hearing on "By My Guest Tonight"? Did he invent that, too?
• It ends, appropriately enough, with "What a Party". Try it out at your next one and see.

With all this under his, ahem, belt, you'd think Fats would be an asshole. But he appears to actually be the humble entertainer we all see him as. (Kanye, take note.)

A

Next: Things, Alas, Get Weird

Jimi

Ah, Jimi.

In 1967, you scared my young, white ten-(but in reality eighty)-year-old soul, with your (and Mitch's and Noel's) wild hair and even wilder music. The bent notes, sound effects, and suggestive lyrics (and suggestive music!) all put me off. 

I was a conservative Beatles fan and had strict rules for what was acceptable. Your hair could be long but not wild. Your clothes could be cool but not Dionysian (and no, I didn't know what that word meant and I'm still not sure, although the Olympics helped). And most importantly: you had to JUST PLAY THE NOTES. I could never quite put you in the pantheon because I suspected you were all show and no substance. 

And you looked nothing like that nice Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Yes, we did end up killing him even sooner than you, but you get my point. So for a guitar hero, better the admittedly paler (coincidence?) Eric Clapton who, well, just played the notes. And look how he turned out! 

I was sorry when you died but not devastated. Not like I was with John Lennon. You were one of those revered artists I couldn't bring myself to love. And yet, over the years your name kept popping up in conversations with friends, usually when yet another album of "newly discovered tapes" was released, albeit to less and less enthusiasm. Even so, everyone I knew - including my Mom - considered you a titan. 

After punk broke in 1977, when I learned noise had value, I began to suspect I may have missed something in 1967. So, in 1980, I broke down and began to buy your albums. 

Since I already knew most of the songs from Are You Experienced? I started with Electric Ladyland. (That record trip also yielded The River and Trout Mask Replica me being into double albums at the time.) With its vast swathes of material I'd never heard, it was a record I could immerse myself in. And I did! From the soul vocals of the title track to the hard jam of "Voodoo Chile" and the sheer beauty and majesty of "Burning the Midnight Lamp" and "1983 - A Merman Should I Be", and finished off by "All Along the Watchtower" and "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)", it was studded with sublime moments. I would play it more today except it's on vinyl and thus a pain in the ass to put on. As with most double albums, it's not as consistent as single ones, but it's about the overall impact, and in that it is  marvelous. A

I'd heard Axis: Bold as Love at Childhood Friend Mike's house around 1968 and remembered the time passing quite pleasantly. But by 1981 I couldn't hum it if I tried, so it was time, and I found it nearly as warm and weirdly laid back (at least compared to AYE) as I'd remembered. There are rockers with great guitar playing, of course, but it was the vocals and drums that drew me in. And the songs! This one is my personal favorite - very rewarding and highly recommended. A

We got married in 1985, and on the way to church that day, I stopped at the record store to pick up Are You Experienced? (Okay, I made that up but you get the idea.) In one of the rare instances when I hear a record where I already know most of the songs, not only was I not let down by an anticlimax, I felt I was hearing it for the first time. A stunning debut, and one of the all-time greats. Jimi turns out to be a better guitar player, singer, songwriter, and human being than Eric Clapton would ever be.  A

Having finally absorbed these three core records, I was sated. Temporarily anyway. 

Cut to 2008 when I kept hearing about how - like the Beatles and Stones records before him, and Elvis Costello after him - the UK version of Experienced differed from the American one. Since CDs can contain about 80 minutes of music, many record companies (bless their hearts!) took the opportunity to re-release expanded versions of many such albums. Most of the time they include dross. In the case of the Beatles, however, we got the longer, usually better, UK versions. For Jimi, they included all the US cuts in their original sequence first, followed by the missing British songs. Oh, and also singles like fucking "Purple Haze". Better than the American version for the simple reason there's more of it. A

This reminded me of the daunting Band of Gypsies that Childhood Friend Eddie used to play on his stoop when it came out. I remember how tense and forbidding "Machine Gun" was. Now I felt ready for it, and it didn't disappoint. One good thing about Hendrix playing live is that you get to hear what he could do with a single guitar outside a studio. The mood here is more somber than before. He's got a different band, and he's taking the opportunity to explore a more brooding sound, at least for side one. Things get faster and louder on side two, but it's "Machine Gun" that stays with me. A-

That kept me satisfied for a while. Now it was time to dig deeper. The problem is that we're now dealing with all those posthumous releases some of which are just cash grabs. 

The Cry of Love (1970)

This record was assembled from what were deemed completed or almost completed recordings. Lucky for us they are high quality. It wouldn't always be that way.

After the supernova of his first three records, Jimi is merely human here, albeit one who plays great guitar. Having proven himself many times over, he now shows his more relaxed side. Like he has all the time in the world. But that was just for show, as the voluminous tape vaults can attest. 

So while there's nothing epochal here it is full of moments that show what a superb craftsman he could be. "Angel", "Night Bird Flying" and "Freedom" all being examples.

A good balance of guitar and songwriting from an artist who had more to give.

 A-

Rainbow Bridge (1971)

This also came out in 1971. And since producer/engineer Eddie Kramer was involved it's not a rip-off. The barrel scraping had not yet begun in earnest.

It's more raw than COL, which is fine, but it's also a little lightweight. It contains an inferior studio version of "The Star Spangled Banner", and an overly dramatic "Roomful of Mirrors". The songwriting is not quite up to par. 

The guitar playing nearly makes up for it, though. "Hear My Train A Comin'" is magnificent. Sounds like what "Voodoo Chile" would eventually become.

B+

The rest of Jimi's catalog is far too vast and plagued by bad faith - at least until the Hendrix family took over - to dive into head first. There appear to be many worthy live recordings, but since they are usually made up of familiar songs, I'm less inclined to try those.

So until something changes, I'll take another extended break. 

Who knows? Maybe next time I'll get to meet him in person.

The (Not for) Summertime Blues

Reasons to (Not) be Cheerful:

1. Sweltering summer weather (courtesy of James Inhofe, who at least had the decency to die recently. Keep up the good work, Jim! Won't miss ya! #pissonjimsgrave), and
2. The lack of quiet central air conditioning (this one's all on me) 

have combined to frustrate my attempts to listen to new (for me) music. I can only hear it clearly when the humongous dining room AC is off at the beginning of the day or later when hypothermia sets in.

And no, don't tell me to wear earbuds. It's hot enough already without chunks of plastic in my ears. Plus, I'm one of those pessimists who assumes the call to get to a fallout shelter will occur while I'm listening to the Ramones. So no earbuds!

Thus, I'm left to report on some music I listened to this past winter, which you might understandably not be inclined to listen to in the hot weather. 

Of course, you may not be like me - a depressive type needing all sorts of artificial stimulants (coffee, alcohol, chocolate, the odd pill, music, etc.) to maintain a positive outlook on life - and can handle music in July that I'd only recommend for January, then be my guest because the first two below are great. 

Though to be on the safe side I've included one pretty damn good Afropop record that I have been able to listen to in our newly sub-tropical climate, probably because it was recorded in a similar one. It reminded me of our honeymoon in Aruba in 1985, where the island setting and intense heat taught me to appreciate reggae, which was playing by the hotel pool. It was too freakin' hot to listen to anything louder or peppier than that. So now, in Brooklyn - hot, steamy, noisy, pungent Brooklyn - Afropop is the way to go.

But before we get to that:

Reasons to be (Somewhat) Cheerful:

Muddy Waters: Anthology 1947-72 (2001)

Muddy had to play in the summer before AC was widely available. You'd think simple empathy would encourage me to at least listen to it in July, but no. It just makes me feel hotter.

So it's not your summer picnic music. But what it is is primal. It packs more punch per CD than the BB King box set I was raving about last year. And it's sharper than the Sonny Boy Williamson record from the same post. And because of his electric guitar, it's more impactful than his own acoustic Plantation Recordings record.

Oddly, I find I prefer Muddy in the studio rather than live. I caught him in 1978, when he leaned into his faster crowd pleasures, like "I Got My Mojo Working". Here he's basically alone with his electric slide, telling you his troubles and there ain't no white college students around pretending they can empathize. He's telling you the bitter truth, to no applause. 

This two-disc set is less comprehensive but takes up less room than the three-disc Chess Box Set. You see? I'm learnin'!

And yes, it all sounds the same, more or less. You gotta problem with that?

Not for an afternoon with friends in the Hamptons. Try it in January when the credit card bills start coming in. Then queue up Martin Mull.

A

"I Can't Be Satisfied"

The Quintet: Hot House: The Complete Jazz and Massey Hall Recordings (2023)

This is a recording of what some consider "the greatest jazz concert ever", aka "Jazz at Massey Hall". There are numerous incarnations of the event but this purports to be the entire concert, with improved sound. 

Why the greatest? First, there's the band, which actually deserves the label "all-star" - Charlie Parker (sax), Dizzy Gillespie (trumpet), Charles "not Charlie" Mingus (bass), Bud Powell (piano), and Max Roach (drums). Hint to fellow geezers: It's the rough equivalent to Cream, but with Jimi Hendrix and Steve Winwood added.

And they've all brought their A-game. Powell is the one I immediately respond to, then, in order, Parker, Gillespie, Roach, and Mingus.  And because of people like me, who notice the bass last, Charles Mingus (quite the character) insisted on overdubbing his bass lines, as one does when surrounded by four geniuses playing their asses off. My edition has an extra disc containing versions with said overdubs. I still don't hear a difference.

Oh, wait. Now I do!

I'm still partial to Charlie Parker and the Stars of Modern Jazz: The Complete 1949 Carnegie Hall Concert. It's not a fair comparison, since Carnegie is a showcase for several different artists, and thus unrelenting in its quality. HH is "just" these five men. But since Bebop is so insistent one can't help but be in awe of what they accomplish.

This one takes a bit longer to sink in but once it does you're hooked for life. 

A

"Wee (Allen's Alley)"

Dr. Sir Warrior and the Oriental Brothers International: Heavy on the Highlife (2006)

This is a compilation covering 1973 to 1988 by three brothers from Nigeria who make Oasis and the Kinks seem like models of sibling harmony. Just for fun here's a (probably incomplete) list of the "Artist Names" that have been slapped on the several records where these six songs have appeared:

• Oriental Brothers
• Dan Satch Orchestra
• Dr. Sir Warrior
• Warrior
• African Brothers International

That's approximately one artist name per cut, which makes the Artist Name of this compilation a wonder of concision.

Why this record, you ask? Blame Robert Christgau, who is my go-to guy for all things Afropop-related. He's been listening to it for over four decades and, dilettante that I am, I know I'll never quite appreciate it at the historical/political level he does. The liner notes are quite helpful, though. Either way, it's no biggie when the music is this good.

I can hear the enthusiastic vocals and the more-detailed-every-time-you-hear-it guitar accompaniment. The songs veer from the short and sweet to the long and insistent. It will take a few listens to take in the details. But give it a chance and this 67-minute CD will flow by in no time.

And like the reggae in Aruba (or, for that matter, Beach House's Teen Dream in cloudy, humid, rainy Brooklyn in June 2018) this one fits the weather quite well. 

No air conditioning required.

A-

"Uwa Atu Alamujo"

In the Meantime...

Enjoy yet another heat wave. I'm sure everything is just fine.