A while ago, prompted by an Amazon.com $5 mp3 sale (admittedly, a core motivation for most of my life decisions) for the Woodstock soundtrack, I wrote about Woodstock, The Event. Now I'll write about Woodstock, The Place. Sort of.
I've never been there, although I may pass through in a few weeks.
Why is this coming up now? Because I just finished Barney Hoskyns' Small Town Talk, which is a history of the town during the reign of Albert I, who is otherwise known as Albert Grossman - aptly named by the way, depending upon who you ask. In A Complete Unknown, he's a cuddly teddy bear companion to Bob Dylan. Here he is somewhat less so. The ultimate Citizen Kane of rock and roll, he had as many admirers as detractors.
So why do I give a shit about him, you ask? He was a catalyst in the great migration of folk and pop musicians to Woodstock in the sixties, and the ruler of his little kingdom until, oh, the eighties or nineties.
Now, that area has been described by some of our more spiritual folk as a mystical place - a North Eastern Twin Peaks. (Come to think of it, each place had a rather monstrous person named Bob, but whatever.) As such, the town was always a haven for artists and oddballs going back to the beginning of the century, and each new wave of said artists would be derided by the now old guard for ruining the town.
And who are we talking about when it comes to the sixties? Well, there's Dylan himself, Bob Neuwirth, members of the Band, Paul Butterfield, Jesse Winchester, Charles Mingus, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Van Morrison, and Todd Rundgren, just to name a few.
Like episodes of Behind the Music, or any musical biopic, this is another long, sad story, only exponentially greater due to sheer numbers involved. It is one sad book.
Spoiler alert: The biggest asshole is a tie between Grossman, Dylan and Rundgren, with Van Morrison running close behind. The biggest substance abuser is god only knows who.
So, out of the wreckage, I decided to dip into two artists I've not previously had the chance to get into - Paul Butterfield, who is a character throughout, and Jesse Winchester, one of the singer-songwriter types from the 70s I used to listen to all the time. Somehow, I never got around to him.
Jesse Winchester: Jesse Winchester (1970)
Jesse's got a nice deep voice, and veers between rockin' little numbers like "Pay Day" and more serious numbers like "Yankee Lady". All in all, a good balance.
The production is so-so. Typical early seventies better-than-the-sixties-but-not-quite-there-yet sound. The drums, in particular, are quite muffled. (What's up there, Smartypants Todd??)
Speaking of the drums, they are nice when syncopation is called for, less so for forward momentum. I expect better from Levon Helm, and thus believe it's one of the other guys listed in the credits.
However, Winchester has a distinctive voice, both as vocalist and lyricist. It carries the record where it might otherwise slack off. I'm a big fan of great songs like "Black Dog" tucked away at the back of records.
Thus, this 55-year-old record, despite some sonic shortcomings, can often speak to us today.
It's not a Great Record, but a very good one.
A-
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band: The Paul Butterfield Blues Band (1965)
Paul plays a mean harp, and with Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop on guitar, along with Muddy Waters' rhythm section. What could go wrong? Not much. And it must have been quite exciting when it came out. It has less of an impact now. It packs a sonic punch, and the sheer momentum can overcome one's caveats.
It's just not Great.
Don't get me wrong. I rate it right up there with the other white blues bands of the day. Listening to the Yardbirds, Fleetwood Mac, and the Bluesbreakers, this fits right in. What those bands have in common is a guitar at the forefront. Forget vocals. Save that for the real thing. However, Mike Bloomberg hasn't quite emerged as the genius with an individual style just yet. Elvin Bishop is great, but I think I've heard it all before. And as a guitar lover, it falls ever so short due to that.
A fine album to put on, but one you may not go back to all that often.
B+
As I said, I'll be in the area next month. Given the time, I hope to go to Woodstock and possibly Saugerties as well. I expect more tourist-trap than either Peyton Place or Utopia. Humans, especially our beloved but flawed musical heroes, have a tendency to, in the short run, create magic, but in the long run, create broken families and succumb to addiction.
No judgment intended here, except for major jerks like Dylan (who seems to have mellowed a bit), Rundgren, and oh, Van Morrison (who has not mellowed a bit). They're great at what they do, but can we please just not idolize these guys?
It's a deal.
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