The 16, 19, or Maybe Even My, 70s:

I’ve heard it said that your long term musical interests get imprinted on your brain when you’re around fifteen years old.  So whatever you were listening to at that time, is the type of music you’re listening to now.

For me, that would be 1972. And it works, to a certain extent.  I did become a huge Allman Brothers fan around then, with the Dead following close behind.

But I always thought my real musical imprinting came in 1979, when I was 22. It was the year punk broke (my eardrums, anyway). There was an avalanche of records that not only sounded great, but that put me on a decades-long path of exploration that is only now dying down (or branching off even further, depending on how you’re looking at it.)

But now I’m not so sure. As I find myself less and less moved by current music, I’ve been reaching back to albums from the early seventies for a boost.

In the past few months I’ve been enjoying records by Roxy Music circa 73-74 and the Kinks from 1971.

And now I’m reaching back another (three hundred) year(s) or so:




Fairport Convention: Liege and Lief (1970)

“Is this all one song?” asks Mrs. Jaybee, who, not being of Celtic origin (what a relief) doesn’t yet fully appreciate the subtle differences in/of these ten tales of tragedy and despair. To be fair it took her this long to get used to the drinking and passive aggressiveness.

“But it’s a good song!” I reply, using an argument once used against me by a fan of Slade back in high school when I was on the other side of the argument. Boy, did it sound dumb at the time. Not much better now.

Okay, I’ll admit that most of these melodies came from somewhere else first. At least half the songwriting credits say “Traditional”, which is a higher batting average than say, oh, Led Zeppelin.

Anyway, FC plays and sings these tunes with gusto. After all, they’ve got Richard Thompson on guitar, a damned good rhythm section, and Sandy Denny on vocals.

So much gusto, in fact, that the originals sound like they could have been written three hundred years ago.

And I’m sure whoever was 15 at that time would have loved them, too.

And I'm willing to bet Mrs. Jaybee comes around, too. She married me, after all. A-

“Come All Ye”

You're Welcome, World!

Having done the world a favor in my last post, my noble (and Nobel) thoughts moved on to another musical genre - this time the blues.

And to my great embarrassment I realized that, until about ten years ago, most of my blues records - or rather most of the individual blues songs I owned were performed by that well known oppressed minority - white guys.

Cream, the Allman Brothers, the Grateful Dead, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin (whose confusion would occasionally make them forget to credit actual songwriters, but I’m sure that was all an innocent mistake).  Christ, even Steppenwolf!

So my first foray into blues - really a half-step - was Duane Allman’s An Anthology, where actual African Americans played the blues (and soul) but - in a blow against that major problem we all face: Reverse Racism - with the white guy (admittedly that GREAT white guy) on guitar.

Eventually I’d get Robert Cray’s Strong Persuader - a record that some purists don't consider the blues anyway - in 1986,

But it wasn’t until the late nineties when I got the box-set Chess Blues that I got to delve deeper.

I went little deeper still, getting best-ofs by Allman Brothers fave Elmore James and Eric Clapton fave Buddy Guy, having more and more fun as I went.

Then, during my amazon.com boycott I noticed that Barnes and Noble had a decent $5 CD section, where I came across this two-fer:



Howlin’ Wolf: Howlin’ Wolf/Moanin’ in the Moonlight

It would be perfectly understandable to mistake this two-album single-CD set as a Best-of, but it’s not. It’s just the Wolf’s first two records for Chess recorded in 1962.

And they are just incredible.

So incredible I didn’t get kicked out the house for playing it on a beautiful Sunday morning, which is a tribute to Mrs. Jaybee’s tolerance. But then again once you hear Wolf’s voice (and harp and guitar) it might be a good idea to go to church.

How can I convey how important these records are? How about if I list some of the songs here that have been covered by others?

“Shake for Me” - John Hammond, with Duane Allman
“Red Rooster” - The Stones
“Wang Dang Doodle” - KoKo Taylor
“Spoonful” - Cream
“Goin’ Down Slow” - Duane Allman
“Back Door Man” - oh, I don’t know, but somebody
“How Many More Years” - LIttle Feat/Led Zeppelin
“Smokestack Lightnin’” - The Dead
“I Asked for Water (She Gave Me Gasoline)” - Lucinda Williams
“Forty Four” - Little Feat

And that’s just off the top of my head! These are all very good covers but rarely better than the Wolf versions. Which were all from just these two albums. You’d have to go to the Beatles to find an artist who attracted so many cover versions so fast.

Which makes these two records, in my limited and humble opinion, the two best blues albums I own, and are probably  among the greatest ever made.

One caveat: I’m annoyed that they dropped a song to fit these two albums onto a single CD. What was it with those old CDs? Did they only fit 65 minutes? What the hell!?  White people problems.

Another caveat: Dilettante that I am, I’ll move onto another genre by the time I finish typing this.

Otherwise these would be my top two albums of the year.

Howlin Wolf:  A
Moanin’ in the Moonlight: A-

“Moanin’ in the Moonlight”

Well it’s time for me to move on to redress yet more of society’s ills. What to do? What to do? Maybe I’ll try to bring more attention to overlooked artists like Miley Cyrus or Beyonce...

My 2012: Thanksgiving Fail

… I panicked.  The Thanksgiving downloads weren’t quite up to snuff, so out I went, back to the stores in search of that Thanksgiving high. But I only managed to make things slightly better, or worse, depending how you look at it.

My first mistake was at J&R, where I hedged my bets, and got two CDs that were not likely to offer any surprises:



Graham Nash: Songs for Beginners
In my never ending quest to replace my 8 track tapes (yeah, I set the bar pretty low) I came across this lovely little gem at a decent enough price.  If CSNY never toured or made another record again I could care less. But just as my interest in them was beginning to wane, Joni Mitchell dumped Graham Nash, which inspired a better than average level of songwriting. Bad for Graham, good for us. It’s not as good as your average Neil Young album, but it sure beats most of Stephen Stills solo work.  But since I’d heard it before, it could only give me so much of a charge.  B+


Grateful Dead
After the pleasant surprise of Anthem of the Sun, comes (in the Jaybee universe, anyway) the slight disappointment of GDs first record.  I love the Dead’s focus on revamping traditional music, but the production is pretty thin, the vocals aren’t there yet, and Jerry Garcia plays the same freaking solo on every song. Either he had the studio jitters, or he just wasn’t great yet. (Although the live version of “Viola Lee Blues” would suggest otherwise.) But again, my familiarity with most of it dampened the overall effect. B+


Then I was off to Other Music (a preface that is becoming less and less necessary) trying to pare a pile of eight CDs down to two. One that didn’t make the cut was a Go Betweens record - a victim of my tendency to err on the side of an unfamiliar artist. I probably overrate the GBs, but they’ve given me two of the best holiday records I have, so in retrospect I should have picked them.

The Baseball Project, Volume 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails
A makeshift rock n’ roll “band” (with Peter Buck of R.E.M. on guitar) that does songs about baseball can only have limited appeal to a lukewarm sports fan like me. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, exactly.  It just ain’t the Go Betweens. B+


So that left a fairly conservative pick:

Paul Simon: So Beautiful or So What
Like Andrew Bird in our last episode, this one’s a grower, but it just takes too damn long. A-

And so, by being super safe, I missed the boat altogether, and my Thanksgiving music for 2012, as good as it was, did nothing to make the holiday season magical. Which is what I need it to be.

Here’s looking forward to a meh-ry Christmas.

Secret History: 1974

My doubts about the mainstream are only growing by now. Good music is officially “hard to find”, at least for me, a seventeen year old. By which I mean I can no longer simply turn the radio on and expect to hear something I really like.

Forget AM radio. Never being fond of brass or strings, I only liked Motown from a distance. So I missed out on the pleasures of much ‘70s soul.

And FM? I could get by but not without constantly changing the station. So there’s very little below that I actually heard there and enjoyed at the time. So with very few exceptions, it would only be later that I’d find the records below.



The following, is more or less in descending order of quality:

The one true masterpiece is Richard and Linda Thompson’s “I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight” which reminds me of the first Paul Simon album - simple arrangements and great songs. But Richard's also got his guitar and wife Linda singing along, making this one of the very best of the decade.

Randy Newman seemed to be on a mission to piss off the world - something he wouldn't quite accomplish until a few years later with "Short People". He started with his very weird first solo record, moved onto “Twelve Songs”, where phrases like “yellow man” and “darkies” popped up all over the place. “Sail Away” was a bit of a relief, but on “Good Old Boys”, he goes all out with the strings and tells stories of the American South, now using the N word.

What Randy's got going for him, though, is brilliant songwriting. "Marie" is one of the greatest love songs ever (but only when sung by Randy himself). “Louisiana 1928” would be merely moving if it didn't also remind you of Louisiana 2005. This one's my favorite by him.

If you like to read about music, you’ve already heard about Big Star’s “Radio City”. So all I’m going to say is that what you’ve heard is true. On first listen you might not think much of it because the Beatles were better. Just remember that the Beatles were better than everybody.

“Feats Don't Fail Me Now” was the Little Feat album that made me a fan. Little Feat remind me of beer – the first one you have is always the best.

I'm still waiting for someone to turn “Between Today and Yesterday” into a Broadway musical. Alan Price proves that he's got it with this take on his childhood in the coal towns of England. There are moments on this record that elicit such an emotional response in me (something that I’ll explain at a later time) that I am certain most people will think I'm nuts. I’d like a second opinion.

Neil Young was well into his blue period by now, and people (including me) were beginning to wonder about him, but only after first actually purchasing his records. At first, I was disappointed by “On the Beach”. Side one could be better. I heard a better “See the Sky About to Rain” on a live bootleg with just Neil on the piano. And “Vampire Blues” just isn't funny enough. Ah, but side two! This isn't mood music. It's trance music. And it probably sent most people scurrying back to side one. But it was where I wanted to live. “Motion Pictures” is one of his great depressing songs, but it's the finale "Ambulance Blues" that’s a masterpiece. You're all just pissin in the wind….

I've come to distrust those albums with too serious a theme. But Al Stewart is very likable, so his take on history - “Past Present and Future” - is enjoyable anyway. And like me, you don’t have to believe the Nostradamus stuff to love the last song. This one’s just before Al hits the big time.

You’d think a white British guy trying to sing New Orleans-style and basically stealing Little Feat’s sound, would piss me off a little more. But Robert Palmer’s “Sneakin Sally Through the Alley” ends up sounding better than it sounds, maybe because he used Little Feat as his band. This one bought him a lot of good will from me. And it would only be when he started wearing a suit that I began to find him unbearable.

Most Billy Joel fans love “Turnstiles” or “The Stranger” the best. But don’t overlook “Streetlife Serenader”. It’s a little calmer than his major label debut, and less supercilious (it’s really a word, I swear. Someone called me it once.) There’s some filler on it, but the ones that aren’t, like “Roberta” are quietly wonderful.


And although the following records technically came out in 1973, I’m putting them into 1974, because the artists had already released something else in ’73. That, and ‘cause I felt like it:
It took until “Europe 72” for me to like the Grateful Dead. I then went back to rehear what I had been missing. So the subsequent “Bear’s Choice” almost slipped through the cracks. Plus, I preferred their harmonies to Pigpen’s blues. But side one is gentle and side two is almost hypnotic. Thank you, Pigpen!

One of the highlights of my musical life was that Saturday morning in my room doing homework when I first heard “Incident on 52nd St”. Another was that Sunday afternoon, again in my room, hearing “Rosalita” followed by “NYC Serenade”. I would have sworn that Bruce Springsteen was black or Puerto Rican. I found his mix of rock and roll, latin horns, semi-soul music, and female background choruses intoxicating. Then, when I actually bought “The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle” and found that these three songs took up side two, running seven, seven and ten minutes respectively. One of the great, and most audacious, sides in all of rock and roll. Side one’s a bit tame in comparison, but quite good under any other circumstances.



In sum, like the year before, I’m spending more and more time in my room listening to music, instead of hanging with friends doing so. That’s because my friends and I didn’t share the same tastes. That splintering of taste I referred to in prior posts is continuing unabated.

In retrospect, 1974 was not a bad year. The problem is that you should not have to wait for “in retrospect” to know.

Secret History: 1970

In January 1970, well meaning but silly people were asking “Are the Sixties over?”. I know. I was one of them. And smart asses were answering “Technically, yes.” The real question was whether it mattered or not.

So the prior decade had barely ended, and everyone was already prepared to engage in sixties nostalgia. But it’s years like 1970 that make me question the need. Putting aside the obvious choices for great albums, like “Plastic Ono Band”, “After the Goldrush” and “Moondance”, we’ve still got:

The Velvet Underground are getting tired of making great music and not such great money, so they set out to make “Loaded”, their fourth, and most accessible record. Link. They partly succeed, making accessible music, even if nobody accessed it, except for “Rock and Roll” and “Sweet Jane”. So Lou Reed upped and left, and it’s ALL YOUR FAULT! I hope you’re happy.

Meanwhile on the West coast, the The Grateful Dead have decided to completely reinvent themselves with “Workingman's Dead”. Anyone who had just gotten over the electric mayhem of “Live/Dead” must have been shocked to hear the acoustic guitars and harmony of “Uncle John’s Band”. And over the course of the album, the Dead prove that this is no fluke, and with the help of lyricist Robert Hunter, practically invent Americana. Okay, the Band got there first, but the Dead were their worthy counterparts. I hated “Casey Jones” when I first heard it on the radio, where it just sounded slow and repetitive. But now, hearing it the end of this record, it sounds like a summing up of past and present. I don’t know how “Black Peter” managed to not become a classic. (Love those death songs!) This record has some of the best songwriting of the era.

Having just finished throwing jazz into an uproar with “Bitches Brew”, Miles Davis settles down into simply making a great record. With John McLaughlin on guitar, playing rock and roll, “A Tribute to Jack Johnson” is the record I think Miles was trying to make in the first place. It’s shorter and more to the point. And I’ll take it over “Bitches Brew” any day.

On “Five Leaves Left” - Nick Drake’s first album - a gentle soul distinguishes himself from the other singer-songwriters by his use of (non-syrupy) strings and the occasional jazz chord. And not emoting too much. What a relief after hearing Jackson Browne always telling us how miserable he was. (A hundred times better than Kenny Rankin, too.) Brits have more class than that. But then they die.

While they’re not white hot like on some prior records Creedence Clearwater Revival still make their next to last album “Pendulum" pretty great. Hidden away on it are the heartrending "Hideaway" and "Just a Thought", two of my favorite John Fogerty songs. And believe it or not, it’s nearly all over.

For a very short time after leaving Traffic, Dave Mason managed to avoid sounding like a lounge act. Luckily a tape recorder was on, and “Alone Together” is one of those AOR solo albums that is well worth the time. (My vinyl looks like vomit, by the way. How about yours?) Dave never quite got it this together again, alone or otherwise, even if he did make more money. The guitar playing is effortless, and I love the intermix of acoustic and electric. But it was all downhill from here.

It might seem that David Bowie could never resist a gimmick, but if you catch him early enough – pre- Ziggy Stardust let’s say - he’s satisfied just writing great songs. “Hunky Dory” is proof. (link) Jump in.
The critical consensus on Paul Kantner’s “Blows Against the Empire” is that it sucks, but I disagree. The lyrics are pretty weak, but Jerry Garcia brings the guitar, and David Crosby manages to not be a complete jackass. Ok, so Paul’s politics sound a bit dated. I still like the toons.

Before fame, but with several classics, Joni Mitchell’s “Ladies of the Canyon” isn’t quite on par with her very best, but it’s definitely worthwhile. For several songs, Joni manages to avoid her feared vocal swoops and leaps, as well as the background chorus’s reverent “oooohhhs” and “ahhhs”. She starts off with “Monday Morgantown” “For Free”, “Conversation” and the title song, and all I can say is Wow! And I’m not being ironic. She’s combining great melody, words and voice, and appears unstoppable. Then things bog down a bit with a few songs that involve DJs, priests and Graham Nash, in descending order. But Joni has a big ending planned for us, with “Woodstock”, “Big Yellow Taxi”, and “Circle Game”.

I should hate the slick “Time Passages”, but I love it. I should hate the slicker “Year of the Cat”, but I just don’t care. And I wouldn’t blame you for hating Al Stewart’s “Love Chronicles”, which came way before either of them, but I don’t think you will. The highlight is the nearly side long title song about a young man's sexual coming of age. By the way, that’s Jimmy Page on guitar, I guess in case that Zeppelin thing doesn’t work out for him. This album can also be found as part of the double disc “The Early Years”, which has many other great early moments.

Randy Newman pioneered the “so hateful you’ve got to like him” style of songwriting, and “12 Songs” is as unsentimental as it gets, featuring stalkers, racists and perverts. The best line comes early: “I’ll talk to strangers if I want to, I’m a stranger, too.” This is the most rock and roll – as opposed to rock - of Randy’s records, and very strong stuff. It’s also one of his best. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

And what the hell was going on with the Dead, anyway? Not content to put out one great album this year, they follow up with “American Beauty”, and suddenly, they’re songwriters. And singers, too! (Okay, not really.) Even Phil Lesh, whose “Box of Rain” is one of the most beautiful songs of the decade. If “American Beauty” is not quite as great as "Workingman's Dead", that's just fine with me. How many records are? My mom - not a Dead head, in case you were wondering - freely offered her approval of "Ripple", but "Broke Down Palace" is even better.

With Dolly Parton being such a “character” now, it’s hard to remember how way back when, she was one of the great singer-songwriters in country music. “The Best of Dolly Parton” (1970) is the proof, in the form of ten nearly perfect songs from the late sixties. Another master of melody with a soaring voice, her stories hold you to the end. What a beautiful soul.


So you see the world didn’t come to an end, musically or otherwise, when the sixties ended. But, as you can see from the abovementioned records, it became a little harder to find great music.

When I see a documentary from the seventies, the hair styles and fashion tend to make me, and I’ll bet you, want to run screaming from the room. And yet, while I would never suggest that Sixties music didn’t burn very brightly, I still admire the steady glow of the music of the Seventies.

More to come.

Jaybeephrenia: A Rock Opera

Subtitled "or, How to Not Buy CDs", sub-subtitled "the tragedy resulting from the conflict between one man's inner music lover and his even further-inner, inner cheapskate".

Or something like that.



Prelude/Intro/Medley/Overture:

Let me set the scene for you. It’s eighty degrees out. It’s sunny and there’s a slight breeze. In other words, it’s a beautiful late summer’s day - the kind of day that makes you feel happy to be alive.

So where was I? Playing basketball in the park? Fishing? Family picnic? Not quite.


Exposition:

I was out for a leisurely walk, fantasizing about punching slow-walking tourists in the back of the head, when I happened upon my favorite record store. A complete coincidence, I swear. But there I was, and well, it just wouldn’t have been right for me to not go in. They owners might think I was mad at them.

Even I knew that it would be crazy to spend my usual average two hours in there on such a nice day, so I negotiated a settlement with myself, limiting him to the bargain rack. And in this store it’s a pretty good one – it’s got CDs for $5.99, so although young downloaders may scoff, old geezer habits die hard, and I find it’s always worth a “quick” look. And of course, I wasn’t expecting to find anything…


Complication:

Alas, there’s the Grateful Dead’s first album. I was very pleased with "Anthem of the Sun" – their second album – which I finally got around to earlier this year. By now, I’d gotten pretty much all the worthwhile studio albums, except this one, so I thought that maybe this was the time. First I had to check if the Dead filled up the CD version of the original forty minute album with there usual additional 30 minutes of extras, like they had done with the other reissues? Why, yes! Put that one in the basket!

Then I see Los Lobos’s “Colossal Head”, one of their lesser known but still highly regarded records. I loved their first, admired their third, and liked their offshoot Latin Playboys. That settles it. Two.

Then there was “Safe as Milk” the first album by Captain Beefheart (and his Magic Band, of course). It’s been about thirty years since I got anything from the Captain, and over forty since this record came out. And it takes about that long to recover, so it was about time for another plunge. I'm sure it's what I’d call a summer record - light, melodic and cheerful, something that's enjoyable to offset the oppressive heat, or to complement today’s gorgeous weather. And so what if all the other records I've gotten by him are heavy, jarring and really, really strange? I'm sure this one's fine. After all, no one was doing anything weird in the sixties, right? That makes three!

And what’s this? Jeff Buckley’s “Grace” – one of those records that I keep hearing great things about, but I just don’t believe them yet. But at $5.99, maybe it's time. Four!


Crisis:

But four is a bit much for what was supposed to be a quick drop in. I should really put something back.

But then I look up and see the sign that says “2 for $10” and think, oh my. Or a variation thereof. Now, getting four is practically my duty. Otherwise I will have wasted the time of the security guard who checked my bag. It would all have been for nothing.

But my conscience says do the drill  anyway. So I begin my world famous winnowing process.


Climax:

Now all four CDs pass manage to get through the official rules without too much damage. But there turn out to be a number of rules I didn’t even know I had (a good thing – otherwise I’d have even more CDs and probably at least one less kid) and they kick in about now.

And the first thing I notice is that Jeff Buckley does a version of Leonard Cohen's “Hallelujah" - a song that I love. But it’s just so damned intense that I'm now doubtful. I’d been feeling kind of down at the time, probably because of my 53rd birthday, that I realize that I’m just not up for it. Later, Jeff, when I’ve rested. Three.

Then I think, do I really need another Los Lobos album? I know it will be good, but how good? Enough to take up that precious and dwindling space on my CD shelf? Space that should be reserved for a world masterpiece like Handel's Messiah, or the Ramones third album? For now, I have to say no. Two.

Then there’s the Dead. It breaks my rule number three and there’s an unofficial semi-rule that says if you bought something by a band this year already, if you buy another, you’ll be sorry. It’s not really borne out by the facts – the music is usually just as good, but if you’re me, you’ll feel bad anyway. (But if you’re like me, you feel bad about the whole Garden of Eden thing.) So back you go, Dead. See you in 2011. One

And then there’s Captain Beefheart. Well, if I'm not quite up for Jeff Buckley, I'm nowhere near ready for the Captain. So it goes back in the rack, and then there were none.

That's right. I put 'em all back. AND WALKED OUT OF THE STORE! Aren’t you proud of me?


Denoument/Epilogue/Coda, or Other Fancy Term for Later:

In a completely unrelated incident, I got two CDs for my birthday.

And, well, there were those two I ordered from the record club the week before.

Hey, I practically had to!  My son Mikey wanted one, and, well, they were on sale and that would have been a missed opportunity, and …


To be Continued….For the Rest of My Freaking Life

Big Brother Is Listening For You

The Song Remains the Same:

There’s this song that I like.  Do you know it?  It kind of goes like…well, I can’t sing.  But the words are about…well, I forget.  But you know which one I’m talking about, right? 

Why, of course!  What, am I a mind reader?

And mind reading alone wouldn’t cut it, since when you did read that mind, it might be blank.  You would need something stronger.

But isn’t it great when our friends attribute such magical powers to us?  It’s like when they ask you if you saw that movie they loved.  You know the one, right?  Of course, they’ve forgotten the title.  (I spend my life trying to forget the movies I hated.  How is it that they forget the ones they loved?)  It’s the one with that guy in it. 

Oh, yeah.   That one. 

As dumb as this all sounds, it appears that I’ve lowered the bar even further, because there really is this song I like - I know the title and how it goes.  It’s not that I don’t remember what song it is.  I just don’t remember which song it is (although “Pictures of Matchstick Men”, “The Mighty Quinn” and “Hurdy Gurdy Man” are among the usual suspects)  And it’s important because this song has an usual history for me. 

Most people I know have a system for judging music.  They:

1. Listen to a song
2. Decide that they either:
1. Like it
2. Don’t like it.

That’s pretty much it.  It’s a simple system, really.  And I occasionally use it, but not for this song. 

Around the time I turned forty, this song went from the Hate It column to the Like It column.  This isn’t unusual – our tastes do change.  Songs that first sat in one column move to the other, and vice versa.  It’s just a matter of running the song through the system again, only this time you get a different result.

But the weird thing about this song is that, when I turned forty, I admitted to myself that I liked it, and probably always did.
So why would I lie to myself and tell myself I didn’t?  Well, it was because my big brother didn’t like it.

No, not the well-respected, fifty-ish family man who's a year older than me now, but rather, the nine-year-old (but still a year older than me) then.  Now, as smart as he is, and was, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so beholden to his opinion.  So, after thirty years, I came to the inescapable conclusion that I had no reason to dislike the song other than the fact that a nine year old boy disliked it.  In 1966.

But by 1997, I was ready to come out from behind my brother’s nine year old shadow, and begin to think for myself.  A somewhat less than inspiring coming of old age story, I’ll admit.

And who knows?  Maybe even he likes the song now.  If I could remember which one it was, I’d ask.


Mom's Listening, Too:

I’m not saying that it took me forty years to figure out my own musical tastes, and suddenly throw out all the records my brother liked.  It’s just that my experience with this song is a good example of how you can think you’re having your own thoughts when you’re really having someone else’s.

In the early seventies, my brother and I stood united on all the crucial musical issues of the day (Grateful Dead vs. Led Zeppelin, Allman Brothers vs. Led Zeppelin, Beatles vs. Led Zeppelin, etc.).   But there were isolated episodes when I wandered off the righteous path.  So I guess my own thoughts were starting to form…


1971
Elton John: Tumbleweed Connection
I seem to remember getting a less than enthusiastic reaction to this one.  Being an Irish household, it may have been that all non-Beatle Brits were suspect.  I know that my mom wasn’t happy that I spent my allowance on it, as the following primal scene attests:
Mom:  What happened to all your money?
Me:     I spent it.
Enter, two younger sisters, as Greek chorus, to provide moral support, to my mom as it turned out.
Mom:  On What?
Me:     An album.
Greek Chorus Younger Sisters: A sharp intake of breath, in unison.
Mom:  What album?
Me:     Tumbleweed Connection
Mom:  I prefer his first record.  How much was it?
Me:     Three dollars.
GCYS:Very, very sharp intake of breath.  In unison.
(Everyone blacks out, as all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.)

1972
Emerson, Lake and Palmer
I went through an ELP phase (72-74), which didn’t sit well with my brother’s Allman Brothers phase (72-present).  Those Brits again.

1973
Kinks: Everybody’s In Showbiz
I could see the look of disappointment in his eyes.  (It wasn’t hard.  He was calling me an idiot at the time.)  After all, there were so many Hot Tuna records to get, and so little money.  My first Kinks album, and one of the weaker ones, as it turns out.  Brits, too, but big drinkers, and so, honorary Irish.

1974
Advice to younger siblings sharing a room with older siblings:  Don’t play side two of pre “Born to Run” no-name Bruce Springsteen’s “The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle”, while getting ready for work/school.  Your older sibling was out late last night, and is still trying to sleep.

1975:
Pre-E-Street-Band-no-name Nils Lofgren’s self titled solo album, and to-this-day-still-no-name Elliot Murphy’s “Aquashow”.  For some reason, these two records really got on his nerves.  Maybe Nils was a little too bouncy/hooky for what was his more boogie/jammy taste.  Elliot’s voice was a little nasally, but his attack is right out of “Blonde on Blonde”.  I’m still a bit mystified.

1976
Warren Zevon’s (or to my brother, Warren Zero) first record.  I admit that I got it because it was produced by Jackson Browne, who my brother thought I had a crush on.  Warren’s voice is a bit husky and awkward, but the songs are great.  His version of “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” demolishes Linda Rondstadt’s.
Crazy Horse’s first album, with soon-to-be-topic-of-Neil Young’s “Tonight’s the Night”, Danny Whitten, and repeat offender Nils Lofgren.  One song in particular annoyed the hell out of him, with a vocal by who knows who (it sounds half Danny/half Nils, but with a head cold), run through a phaser of some kind.  He thought they were saying “Finkelstein” (I does kind of sound like that) but the actual title is “Beggar’s Day”.

1977 and So On:

I think by now he’d given up on me.  Besides, we were both working and could buy whatever records we wanted.  I guess, in retrospect, his focus on the tried and true allowed me to go off the deep end.  I’d spend hours in the cutoff bin bringing home stuff like Earth Opera (because Peter Rowan was on it), and Nektar (because I liked album-long suites), while he filled in the West Coast catalogue.  In all, it was a good balance.

But I can’t leave well enough alone.  As adults, we’d exchange Christmas presents, and I couldn’t resist getting him CDs – Eno and Roxy Music being the most egregious examples.  (Jesus, more Brits.)  Then I went the burned CD route.  Best of Crazy Horse, anyone? 


And So Forth:

But since the whole point of this blog is to turn you on to something you haven’t heard yet, I will be going back to retrace some of my steps.  I expect to find a few times where I went wrong, but hope to find a number of instances where I went right, because there are a lot of great records out there that I think you’d like to know about. 

What was that song, anyway?

Decade: 2005 - Bottoming Out, But With a Brief Happy Ending

Winter Blues Redux Ad Nauseum:

In what was becoming a recurring pattern in my life, I was down in the dumps in January. But even by my standards, this was a bad time. So I headed out to the record store for sustenance.

When I put on Arcade Fire’s “Funeral” now, I can’t believe how inspiring it is, and how far down I must have been that it didn’t work on me right away. Instead, I took it in, acknowledged that it was a good album, and filed it away. It came roaring back a couple of months later, and gave me some hope.
---------------- Now playing: Arcade Fire - In the Back Seat via FoxyTunes

I was expecting more from Rilo Kiley’s “More Adventurous”, but that happens sometimes. Jenny Lewis has a very pleasing voice, and writes good tunes, but the very dark lyrics provide too jarring a contrast. And the band is too intent on making a hit. Which is ironic given that the high point is “It’s a Hit” – a smackdown for our last president, and some others I don’t happen to know.

---------------- Now playing: Rilo Kiley - It's a Hit via FoxyTunes

At my job, the closest thing we had to a compulsive liar was the guy who kept using phrases like “keeping it real” and “G-unit” and such. I thought he’d be impressed when I told him that I got a record by “Kane West”. Never heard of him, he said. Then I put on my reading glasses I saw that it said Kanye. Not my coolest moment.

Well, even us lame fifty-year-olds can pronounce his name now, and not necessarily because of his music. Kanye West has a habit of saying asinine things. Isn’t that the sign of genius? Kanye thinks so. But I quibble. Here’s a great couplet from “We Don’t Care” which is on The College Dropout:

“We weren’t supposed to make it past twenty five

The jokes on you, we’re still alive.”

And good for him. This is a good record - funny, if a little too reliant on sampled and sped up vocals. But if you want to hear an entertaining rap record, this is not a bad place to start.
---------------- Now playing: Kanye West - We Don't Care via FoxyTunes

May:

By now I was at an all-time low. I put the new records away, and took out Wilco’s depressing, insular “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot”. ---------------- Now playing: Wilco - Radio Cure via FoxyTunes When I got it the previous year, I listened and shrugged. Now it was all I could deal with, except at night when I’d put on Aphex Twin’s “Select Ambient Works, Vol. II”, which is about as low impact and alienated as you can get.

Father’s Day:

The Shins’ “Chutes Too Narrow” coincided with me getting over myself, and my job. Things were looking up, and James Mercer helped by writing at least two songs that are amongst the best of the decade. The rest of the record is energetic and tuneful and as tight as a drum.
---------------- Now playing: The Shins - Mine's Not a High Horse via FoxyTunes

After my daily replays of Aphex Twin, I wanted to revisit an old joy - Eno’s “Another Green World”, now on CD, would save me the trouble of getting my lazy ass off the couch to flip it over. Considered one of the first “ambient” records, it marks a halfway point between pretty but empty Pure Moods/Enya/New Age and austere to the point of comatose Aphex Twin. One of my all timers. I was feeling better now.
---------------- Now playing: Brian Eno - Everything Merges With the Night via FoxyTunes

Herbie Hancock’s “Maiden Voyage” is a perfectly pleasant, if not very challenging, jazz record. No complaint here – it’s good for company – but it’s not going to make you a fanatic.

Summer:

We used the excuse of my sons growing interest in the Beatles to pick up “For Sale”, “Magical Mystery Tour” and “Abbey Road” on CD.

“Magical Mystery Tour” is a so so Beatles record. In other word, it’s not amongst their very best, but is still better than 98% of what’s out there. Okay, so “Blue Jay Way” and “Flying” aren’t great, but just about everything else on it is.

“For Sale” is the British equivalent to “Beatles VI” or “’65” or something. It represents the beginning of middle period Beatles, with acoustic guitars, downbeat themes and a touch of country. Okay, “Mr. Moonlight” kinda sucks, but in that good, Beatles kind of way. And then there’s “I’m a Loser”, “No Reply”, “Baby’s In Black”, “I’ll Follow the Sun”, “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party”, “Eight Day’s a Week”, “What You’re Doing”. Need I say more?

“Abbey Road” (link) Side Two as greatest album side of all time? Discuss! I’m distrustful of nostalgia, but it’s hard to listen to side two without feeling lucky to be alive. This summer, we enjoyed it all over again.

Fall:

The Musical Heritage Society struck again with A Night at the Opera. Not a Marx Brothers soundtrack, but rather overtures from famous operas, done on acoustic guitars. No singing, thank god. Good for early mornings.

And what’s a music collection without a record by Igor Stravinsky? How could I turn down the two CD “The Essential…”? Damn you, MHS! This is a great example something that was once not considered music at all, but that is now thought of as quite tame.

Overcoming my reluctance to buy records I’ve already heard big chunks of, I finally broke down at the bargain bin, and got The Grateful Dead’s “Workingman’s Dead”. When your musical tastes go through a change, it’s tempting to be dismissive of your earlier enthusiasms. But if anything, I’m even more impressed with this record now. I’d call this the seminal Americana album if I wasn’t so averse to using those two already overused terms, in the same sentence no less. Even the overplayed “Casey Jones” sounds just good closing it. Robert Hunter deserves a medal for these lyrics. My only gripe is that the generous bonus tracks are kind of shaky. Hey, those harmonies are tough.
---------------- Now playing: Grateful Dead - Black Peter via FoxyTunes

Mule Variations is my first Tom Waits record. What do you get by the man who’s done everything? If you’re lucky, a record that balances his weirdness and his songwriting. But really, what do I know? They may all be like this. The sound on this record is crystal clear, so there are no excuses for the cacophony. No apologies, either. More music to get rid of company with. Seriously, it’s quite good. “Come on Up to the House” is the great one here.
---------------- Now playing: Tom Waits - Come on Up to the House via FoxyTunes

For the longest time, I hated Bjork’s “Post”, but now I think she’s been a victim of low volume, which happens to the music I play at home from time to time. I finally played this electronica extravaganza in my car, and began to notice the overall sound, which makes the band sound like an artillery division advancing on you. Which helps a lot when she starts to woop and holler in that Bjork way of hers. The bass could knock you over, by the way.
---------------- Now playing: Björk - Isobel via FoxyTunes

Buddy Guy is cited by just about every good white guitar player, so who am I to say no? And from the Musical Heritage Society no less! This one’s “The Very Best of Buddy Guy”. The guitar playing is so raw that you can feel his fingers on the strings. He sings good too.
---------------- Now playing: Buddy Guy - Man of Many Words via FoxyTunes

The Essential Bessie Smith - I suppose when you’ve heard one of these double entendres you’ve heard them all – sugar in my bowl, trombone cholly, do your duty - but why do I keep going back? Because Ms. Smith just won’t be denied.
---------------- Now playing: Bessie Smith - Aggravatin' Papa via FoxyTunes

Thanksgiving:

The Shins made such an impression over the summer that I jumped at “Oh, Inverted World”, their first record. It’s not as impressive as “Chutes”, but that’s partly because it’s a bit slower and fuzzier. Once you give it a chance, though, the pretty tunes really catch up to you.
---------------- Now playing: The Shins - New Slang via FoxyTunes

The Streets

Time for another dip into what is arguably not hip hop. Like I'd know one way or the other. I find this Brit very funny and quite tuneful.
---------------- Now playing: The Streets - Dry Your Eyes via FoxyTunes

Husker Du

Minneapolis trio strikes again. During the 80s these guys cranked out more tunes than just about anyone else around. I was disappointed by 1986’s “Candy Apply Grey”, and find “New Day Rising” much better, if not perfect. Not mellow. I don’t know what’s more powerful, Bob Mould’s yowl or his gargantuan guitar.
---------------- Now playing: Hüsker Dü - Powerline via FoxyTunes

Christmas:

Hank Williams Gold:

Like Neil Young and John Prine after him, Hank’s songs are simple, but you can’t get enough of them. One would think that two CDs is a lot to take in at one time, but in fact it goes by quite easily.
---------------- Now playing: Hank Williams - Cool Water via FoxyTunes

Great:

The Beatles simply don’t count.

The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow

Arcade Fire - Funeral

Good:

The Streets - A Grand Don't Come for Free

Tom Waits - Mule Variations

Was the music really any better than any other year? No, but I was feeling better, so it just seems that way. So, there’s a happy ending.

For now.

All Time Favorites, or The Courtship of Michael's Father:

Getting to Know You:

Somewhere to your right is a list of my all time favorite albums, whose contents may seem a bit puzzling. Let me explain.

One of the problems with “all time” lists is that when you decide to check out something from somebody’s list, you often end up buying the record, listening to it once, not getting it, and putting it away.

Now nothing would please me more than to have someone write back and say that they tried one of my all-timers and totally agreed with me, but that’s not likely to happen. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, the more skeptical I’d be of such a reaction.

Our tastes are just too subjective, and we often attach a private emotion or memory to the music, which gives it a greater significance than what someone else might give it. And in turn, they do the same thing. My wife and I will probably love music from 1981 to an unreasonable degree because that’s when we first met. Talk about music improving life. Sometimes life improves music.

But more importantly, greatness doesn’t always reveal itself right away. It would be nice to think that the “great albums” just jump off the turntable/CD Player at you. This does happen, but more so, I suspect, to people who are easily impressed. We’ve all had enough experience to be suspicious of love at first listen. There may be an immediate infatuation, but that often leads to an early flame out.

After many listens, great albums hang in there, sometimes getting better and better, which in turn might mean that they didn’t seem all that great at first. Your first sip of a wine isn’t always memorable, but if you find yourself going back to the bottle again and again, it could be growing on you (or you could have a drinking problem).

There’s a period of about a week after you’ve bought a CD when you’ve gotten to know it and have formed a working opinion on it. If you loved it from the first listen, you may think you’ve got a masterpiece on your hands. But more often than not, you find that what made such a strong impression on you is now getting on your nerves. So much so that months later you may ask yourself what did I ever see in that album? 

Remind you of anything?

There’s a familiarization process that takes place that, not surprisingly, is a lot like dating. (Notes to self: 1-research probable inverse relationship between number of albums owned and number of times gotten laid, 2-Kill self) Often, there’s something immediately attractive about the record and it’s just a question of finding out if there’s any content behind the form. Other times, it’s instant irritation, and you just have to know what anyone would see in it/him/her, and you decide to find out.

In my case, the first listen might make little or no impression. Or even a negative one, which usually means that I’m in new territory, and that a week just won’t be enough.

I’ve even had cases where I just didn’t care for a record at first, and put it away for a while. Then, months later, when I feel like I’m ready for it, I put it on again and it sounds great. It took until the following St. Patrick’s Day (no joke) for the Pogues’ “Rum, Sodomy and the Lash” to take hold. Once it did, it never let go. I had to get out of summertime altogether before Public Image, Ltd’s “Second Edition” could get to me. (Listen to it and you’ll know what I mean.)

Connubial Bliss:

The great ones are like spouses. They’re there for you, they don’t disappoint and they’re in it for long haul. 

And their beauty is only deepened by time.

So I’ve put my current top five below in no particular order, and tried to convey my different impressions of them over time.

 

Abbey Road – The Beatles
Released and bought in 1969.
What I expected:
Back then we were spoiled. There was quality all around, and I had no reason to expect less.
First Time:
A radio station was playing all of side two, and it was one of those rare experiences of sustained ecstasy. Ladies, is this what multiple orgasms are like?
Middle:
Endless replays over the next weeks, with its greatness undiminished.
Long Term:
After having put it way for quite a while, my son got into the Beatles, which gave us an excuse to get it on CD. And it still held up quite well. If I wanted to get analytical about it, I suppose I could carp about how I never really loved “Come Together” or “Something”, or that “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “Octopus’s Garden” are a little lightweight. And yet when I put it on, side one sounds just fine anyway. Side two still grabs me from start to finish, and gets my vote for greatest twenty five minutes of music ever. It’s Paul McCartney’s finest moment, and, sadly, he would never even come close again.

 

Another Green World – Brian Eno
Released in 1975, bought in 1979.
What I expected:
Something “spacey”, whatever the hell that means.
First time:
Quiet, a little out of reach, hardly there, really.
Middle:
Not quite Easy Listening, just beautiful and strange. In fact, it taught me the difference between pretty and beautiful, which up until then I thought was just a matter of degree. Now I know it’s a different thing altogether.
Long Term:
After all these years it’s familiarity does not quite diminish how strange it must have seemed when it first came out. This keeps it from ever seeming dated. When an acquaintance tells you they love “all kinds of music” put this on, if only to shut them up, and then enjoy.

 

Tonight’s the Night – Neil Young
Released in 1975, bought in 1979.
What I expected:
I had heard that it was harsh, drunken, and out of tune, but I’ve got relatives like this so I wasn’t fazed. Such things are usually, ahem, an acquired taste,
First listen:
I was actually relieved at how generous and accessible it was. Sometimes “masterpieces” can be on the cheap side, as though we should be thankful for what little we get. This one’s got six songs to a side, and they all get to the point right away. The “imperfections” never seemed gratuitous, and are justified by the intensity of feeling.
Middle Period:
I spent many a late evening during my twenties listening to this record. It’s good for basically unhappy people, and it may be a “male” record. I noticed that I didn’t listen to it as much after I met my wife. Maybe I didn’t need to.
Long Term:
An enduring album, but not for a sunny Saturday afternoon.

 

The Who Sell Out:
Released in 1967, bought in 1982.
What I expected:
I found this on someone’s list of essential ‘60s albums, and, thinking it strange that it was included while “Tommy” was not, I figured I’d give it a try. It would probably turn out to be a good but not great album.
First impression:
It all seemed so lightweight! Some of the songs sounded too much like other Who songs, which was irritating (until I realized that these came first). And if you’re in a foul mood, you’re not going to appreciate the commercials in between songs.
Middle:
But it grows and grows on you, until you realize how great the songs are. And the commercials are hilarious. It pulled me out of many a dark mood.
Long Term:
The CD version has ten additional songs that I first thought took away from the whole thing, but now seem to exist quite nicely with the original songs. And it recently helped me through an all night drive from Florida, with me enjoying every moment. It’s currently my all time favorite for its combination of power, melody and sense of humor.

 

Out of Time – R.E.M.
Released and bought in 1991.
What I expected:
By this point, I thought I might have had enough of REM. I’d been a fan since 1984, and that’s a long time for me. So I didn’t rush out to buy it when it came out. But my sister raved about it, so what the hell, right?
First Listen:
Not bad at all, but I was still afraid that it might not wear well and end up being that “one album too many” we all have of our favorite artists.
Middle:
We spent most of 1991 listening to this. There was a lot going on at the time, which sometimes causes the music to take more significance than it might otherwise have. In this case, it was an island of beauty in a troubled sea.
Long Term:
For the longest time, “Murmur” was my favorite by them, and indeed one of my all-timers. But this one just won’t let go. I’ve read the lukewarm reviews and the complaints about its slickness, but they just don’t wash with me. If anything, it’s the too well known “Losing My Religion” that I savor the least now. It’s quite an achievement when a long, slow one like “Low” can carry you along. And a greater one when all the pretty ones that follow turn out to have a brain.

Old Girlfriends:

If I were to expand the above list to ten or twenty five, I quickly get into a lot of trouble. There are just too many records that fit into that next level that I call “great and Great, but not GREAT”, and they move around like crazy.

Plus, around 1978 my tastes began to go through a major change, so it’s interesting to see how I now view the albums I considered my favorites prior to that time. Back then I had fewer records and more time to listen to them. Kid’s brains can handle a lot of repetition, but that may make something hard to go back to, like an old episode of “Superman” you’ve seen a thousand times..

So here are my old faves:

 

Jackson Browne: For Everyman
This has a few of my very favorite songs, but Jackson must be held accountable for pioneering the whole sensitivity angle, which I’m just too old for now. And his first and third albums are really just as good.

 

Allman Brothers at Fillmore East
This is still probably the best live album I can think of, with some of the best guitar playing – some of the solos are ingrained in my head - but I like great songs too much to put it in the pantheon anymore.

 

Grateful Dead: Europe 72
I’m not even sure it’s my favorite Dead album anymore, but it did make me completely change my opinion of them. Its several great songs balance out the instrumental excursions. At this point, it’s just a little too played out. But it left quite a mark.

 

Bruce Springsteen: The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle
“Poor production” and all, side two, imho, is the best music Bruce ever made. Wild, urban, ethnic, audacious. Side one suffers in comparison.

Derek and the Dominoes: Layla
Passion and guitars to spare. To this day, the urgency of “Anyday” still gets to me. But it’s another case of something that may simply have been overplayed. Then again, come talk to me in ten years.

I feel a bit disloyal, not liking some of them as much as I used to. But not to worry - to this day I still can’t dispassionately judge the Beatles. Abbey Road, by the way, is the only one that made it to the top of the list and stayed there.

It’s hard to tell which records I’ve played more – the pre 1978 ones when there was a lot of time and not many other records to play, over roughly a 12 year period, or the post 1978s, when there was less time, more competition and different taste, not to mention thirty years.

I do hope that heaven (or the other place) has one of those big computers that will tell me exactly how many times I played each of my albums. I wonder which one I played the most? The answers might be surprising. Meet the Monkees, anyone?

The All-Nighter

Whenever I get a few days in a row off from work, I tell myself that somewhere in the middle of it, I’ll pull an all-nighter. This is a hell of a thing to pull off at fifty. So why do it, you ask? I don’t know. To pretend that my body and mind still work independent of normal waking hours when I feel like it? I already know it’s not true, and it makes me pretty useless for the next several days. Whatever my motivation, I know I’ll need a soundtrack for it.

Going out drinking with buddies doesn’t count. It involves too much fun and comradery, giving the night it’s own momentum. And that’s what the jukebox is for, anyway.

I’m referring to the nights that are sugar or caffeine inspired, “dark night of the soul” or at least “I need to be alone” time. So what can you put on at those times that won’t be too up and cheerful, but also have enough musical interest to make your all-nighter unique? And which records risk a consistency of tone that might not be immediately inviting, but that will sustain you through literally dark times?

The answer has been different, depending on the medium. Back when we had vinyl and used record changers, you could stack up six sides on top of each other and just let them rip for a couple of hours. Of course, when we all became more responsible about our records (as opposed to our bodies) we used turntables, which only allowed you to play one record - and one side for that matter - at a time. Whatever it was you were doing, you had to stop every twenty minutes or so, and change the side.

But one advantage LPs had over CDs was that when you were dealing with a schizophrenic record – one whose first and second sides are drastically different - you could put on just the side that fit the mood. Some examples are:

• “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” by Bob Dylan, which comprises side 4 of “Blonde on Blonde”.
• “Dark Star” by the Grateful Dead, which is Side 1 of “Live/Dead.” There are probably a dozen other Dead sides that would do the trick, but this one’s my favorite.
• “On the Beach” (Side 2) by Neil Young
• “Before and After Science” (Side 2), Brian Eno
• “Low” (Side 2), David Bowie
• “Heroes” (Side 2), David Bowie

On the other hand, CDs with a consistency of tone throughout can get you ten times the depression for your effort if you’ve got a multi-disc player. Try records like:

• “There’s a Riot Going On” by Sly and the Family Stone
• “Third” by Big Star
• “Tonight’s the Night” by Neil Young
• “Second Edition” by Public Image, Ltd.
• “Communique” by Dire Straits
• “Closer” Joy Division

And if you haven’t slit your wrists by now, these next records can be quite nice for traveling through interstellar space:

• “Another Green World” by Brian Eno
• “Ambient Works, Vol. II” by Aphex Twin (also good for depressions)
• “The Koln Concert” by Keith Jarrett
• “In a Silent Way” by Miles Davis
• “Adventure” by Television

And if the caffeine hasn’t worn off yet, go to your Morning Music list. Otherwise, get some sleep, ya crazy nut!