David and Neil's Excellent Adventures

                                                                                                                

"Live Music is Better" Bumper Stickers Should Be Issued!

    Neil Young, "Union Man"                                                                                                                

They might be better off I think the way it seems to me, making up their own shows, which might be better than TV.                                                                

    David Byrne, "Found a Job"                                                                                                    

It takes a lot for me to buy a live album. They're usually a waste. If they do familiar songs faithfully, who needs it? If they do them poorly who needs it? New songs are a plus but it's only rare instances when an entire album is made up of new songs (Running on Empty, Time Fades Away).

If you're lucky you'll run across a well-made live album by a band you're not into yet, so even though there exist studio versions of many of the songs, you haven't heard them, so it's like getting a brand new album that happens to be live. A defacto Time Fades Empty, which is what happened to me when I got the Fleetwood Mac record last year. (and Europe 72, Live Dead, Allmans at Fillmore, etc.)

But there are also those sloppy-as-shit live albums like The Song Remains the Same. And, no, I don't own it but the parts I heard sucked and I'm not gonna sit thru a twenty-six-minute "Dazed and Confused" unless Jake Holmes gets a royalty, and even then.... (Fully expecting Stupid-LZ-Fan-Hate-Mail now.)

And even worse are the ones with perfect renditions of studio cuts like The Eagles Live. They even do a perfect rendition of someone else's cover version of a song! Pathetic. It may be the point of a live show for some people (and to some extent I am one of those people), but a live album?? Never.

The Jaybee Gold Standard For Live Albums (or TJGSFLA, for short(er)) is one with exciting/improved versions of familiar songs - so that it all stands on its own as an album and the document of a live event. It's achieved more often on live jazz albums than rock/pop ones. On one hand, this makes perfect sense, since the jazz ethos is to create something new every time and they have the chops to do it. On the other, you'd think rock n' roll would give one more leeway to be sloppy, but it's surprising what a drag it is to hear your hero sing off-key. The original version of Live at Leeds, with its short tough rockers, and long power-chord-powered classics, works brilliantly. The expanded edition is even better overall, but Roger's better at shouting in this setting than singing the more melodic pop songs that are included.

So it took a long time for me to get these two live albums, which - oddly enough - were recorded around the same time, with Neil at his peak and Talking Heads approaching theirs.

But First, a Major Digression about a Major Digression (That is Still In Progress):

In 1978, I was getting tired of tracking down every last Little Feat album to ever-diminishing returns. I was ripe for something new when Talking Heads caught my attention. They had a cool name, their new  - their second - album had a very cool cover, and their single "Take Me to the River" got played on WNEW FM, the station that defined my horizons (and limitations, it would seem: I had no idea it was a cover of an Al Green song) for the 1970s. Punk seemed like a bridge too far but New Wave was definitely doable. 

I read various music magazines throughout the seventies: classic-rockish Hit Parader, usually, but sometimes the glitter-leaning Circus, which had naughty words (My dad found it and banned it from the house), and occasionally Creem, or even Crawdaddy, but never the Village Voice, which was just asking for trouble, a tabloid being hard to hide between the mattresses. (I can just see my dad picking it up thinking for maybe three seconds it was the Daily News, and then my then-short life flashing before my eyes...)

But I kept hearing about this guy Robert Christgau, who wrote for them who had the gall to NOT like Jackson Browne (actually it was worse than that. He found him boring). This made me very uncomfortable since I was a JB true-believer who nonetheless harbored secret nagging doubts about The Pretender, which is where all my friends jumped on the bandwagon, a little late alas. 

Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I bought a copy of The Voice and found a rave review for Talking Heads More Songs About Buildings and Food, by Christgau. His capsule review was - as I would learn - typically dense with ideas, but the phrase that stuck with me was "...so much beautiful (and funky) music...". How about that? I thought. Enthusiasm! (I'd come back for the ideas later.)

It was the push I needed, and hearing MSABAF was life-changing (if you consider music a big part of your life). The first listen was daunting. The first and last songs were fantastic, and each subsequent listen would shake loose another gem until I was a complete convert. (Yet, to this day I warn folks about David Byrne's vocals before giving my blessing.)

Like Little Feat, it wasn't their first album that was my first exposure. And that was a good thing, although I do think Talking Heads:77 is damn near as good as MSABAF, like how Little Feat was almost as good as Feets Don't Fail Me Now.

Fear of Music was a bit too much, though. Too much weird, not enough sweet. "Electric Guitar" and "Animals" were particularly annoying.

Remain in Light was a rebirth that I may only now be fully appreciating. 

This year is the 40th Anniversary of Stop Making Sense. Unless I can see it in a theater without a screaming baby, I'm not interested. When it came out, there was a screaming baby in the theater. Or at least I think it was in the theater. Maybe it was in the movie. (Interesting touch.)

Live and Let Live:

And as good as the movie was I had no desire to buy the accompanying live album. Especially since they had already put one out a couple of years before.

This one:

Talking Heads: The Name of this Band is Talking Heads Expanded (2004)

The earliest TH music, when they were a threesome, captured on video circa 1975 or so, is spare, tuneful, and a bit eerie. Imagine seeing David Byrne for the first time. Certainly interesting but maybe not built to last.

This set picks things up in 1977, after multi-instrumentalist Jerry Harrison (formerly with The Modern Lovers), has joined. His contributions both on guitar and keyboards add a crucial breadth to their sound. This is also the year their first album was released.

The original version of this record was 2 LPs and had 17 tracks. This expanded 2-CD edition has 33! It still covers the same 1977-81 time frame and includes about 75% of their catalog at that point. And the ommissions make sense.

With my vinyl versions of those albums gathering dust in the basement, and their old songs popping up in cover versions all over the place, I was, yes, nostalgic for what originally mesmerized me. So I caved and got this record. It is wonderful.

First, the band - especially the original foursome is tight, and Tina's bass is tuneful as hell. The later 10-piece incarnation is a little sloppier, and I'll admit SMS may have superior versions of the Remain in Light songs.

In those old videos, David Byrne/his character was tentative. But here, he leans into the weirdness and is a monster. (In a good way.)

The songs from Fear of Music (The Pretender of their albums) are an improvement. The music is, well, funkier and David Byrne sings his balls off. And quite a trick for someone who sounded like he had already done that.

So this is a far more comprehensive set than the single CD Stop Making Sense soundtrack. The only thing SMS has that TNOTBITH doesn't is a few songs from Speaking in Tongues. 

A-

"Love ---> Building On Fire"

Neil Young: Live Rust (1979)

This one is less successful than TNOTBITH because of the issues I cited above. Neil's singing is not always on the mark, which matters less as you get to the rock and roll part, but it's still an annoyance. 

Plus what I'd call "unnecessary" songs, like "Comes a Time" and "Lotta Love" which were just fine on the great Comes a Time, and the live versions of songs that were live to begin with just a few months prior on Rust Never Sleeps: "My My Hey Hey" (and vice versa), "Sedan Delivery", "Powderfinger".

I'm glad I have a live version of "Tonight's the Night", "I Am A Child" and "Sugar Mountain", but to be honest, none are superior to their prior versions.

Another issue is that a lot of these songs are staples of Classic Rock Radio so many are overplayed as it is. So it's not surprising that on my first play, I was meh. 

But the 2nd listen, when I was in the mood for Neil, (and Mrs Jaybee was in the mood for a murder show) I put on my headphones and settled in. Pretty soon Mrs. Jaybee is telling me to stop stomping my foot. It was getting in the way of the murders I think. Go Figure.

Which all goes to show how f*ckin' great these songs are. 

But I'm playing Talking Heads more.

B+

"Tonight's the Night"

Live and Let Die:

Christgau was right about something else, too: Running On Empty is better than The Pretender.

Thank God

The Jesus People showed up in our neighborhood in late 1974. I was seventeen. How do I remember you ask? 

Well, one of them mocked me for having the latest issue of Rolling Stone with me instead of the Bible. It would have been futile to explain that I just had to read the review of Jackson Browne's new album, Late for the Sky. (A rave, of course.)

She was the bad cop among many good cops who tried instead to inspire me to accept Jesus. How could I explain, after having gone to 8am mass every weekday from fourth through eighth grade I had probably spent more time with JC than all of them combined? 

They were talking about quality time, I guess. (One's mind does wander a bit during the eucharist.)  But I think we all know what an overrated concept that is, even now that it's dressed up as "mindfulness". 

I promised I would think about it that night. In doing so I concluded that JC and I had already worked out a perfectly good arrangement, which was to acknowledge each other's existence with a nod and a wave when we passed each other on Fifth Avenue and pick up a round at the bar. My creed amounted to something along the lines of "Let's Just Give Each Other Some Space, Okay?". 

So how was I going to explain this to the Jesus People? But that's when the Miracle happened.

I never saw them again.

The six of them had been ensconced in a loft above the A&P right across from Johnny's Pizzeria where I hung out. So I figured they'd be around for a while. But no. They dropped off the face of the earth. Did the rapture occur and I didn't know it? 

Can you imagine my embarrassment if I had accepted Jesus only to find myself the lone Jesus Person in Sunset Park? I guess I assumed I would live with the cult little group in the loft. That itself would have been an issue as at the time I was spending way too much time in the bathroom trying to get my hair just right. (High school-era photos indicate I failed.)

Anyway, after listening to the record below, I realized how the Jesus People might have succeeded in converting me if they had only written some good songs.

Judee Sill: The Asylum Years 

Now that's quite the title, isn't it? Rest assured, they're talking about the record label, not the place. 

As a matter of fact, Sill's first album was the first one ever put out by Asylum. It would soon be followed by ones by (well whaddya know,) Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell, and the Eagles.  This two-CD set consists of her two Asylum albums plus a bunch of demos and live versions. The consistency in quality throughout is remarkable, and I have no problem playing it all the way through. 

I should point out that Mrs. Jaybee - the more religious of one of us - is not on board. (Heathen!)

Now, I'm so agnostic I'm agnostic about agnosticism. As such, I'm not very into gospel music (although I'll admit I'm missing something) and not at all into "Christian Music". There's a very practical reason: listening to someone get praised is boring (except - oddly enough - "Praise You" by Fatboy Slim).

One of the few books I put down without finishing was The City of God, by St. Augustine, because it just goes on about how great god is. And since the author is speaking directly to God my BS detector went off and it smelled like one huge suck-up.

But someone who is plain-spoken in her faith and writes great melodies that span folk, country, and gospel, will always have my ear. Add to that, a good voice and clean, simple production and consistency and it's hard to resist, no matter how much I doubt. 

One caveat is that her beliefs could be categorized as "old-time religion" - referencing lambs, soldiers of love, Jesus as bridegroom, and even the rapture. She'd give the Jesus People a run for their money.

A complicated person, to say the least, there are even some drug references in these songs. This would later come back to haunt her. A serious car accident got her addicted to painkillers and she died in 1979 of an overdose.

I wish I had known at that time. I would have prayed for her.

A

"Crayon Angels"

Secret History: The Seventies – Feat Fetish, or Half-Life of a Genius

Perversity:

I was doing the laundry the other day and decided to look up the word fetish. (It was on the extra rinse cycle.) Actually I was trying to think of a clever title for this post. (What do you think?)

Anyway, amongst the less fun definitions of fetish is the following:

       any object eliciting unquestioning reverence or devotion.

This sounded a lot like when I’d “get into a band”, which was when I’d choose a band and methodically buy their records, one by one, until I got at least one too many. Groupies did much the same thing, except they’d have intercourse with each band member until they had one too many STDs.

Now, this isn’t quite the same as “complete-ism” which is the methodical collection of every single recording by the artist, bootlegs and all. Those people know that not everything they get is going to be great. But the occasional finds make it worthwhile. The fetishists grimly buy each official release, record after record, hoping the next one will be better than the last.


Feat First:

This happened to me with Little Feat in the ‘70s. Never heard of ‘em? Don’t worry about it. A lot of people haven’t. And if their music didn’t eventually become bland enough for Americana radio stations to pick up on, they wouldn’t have heard of them, either.

Little Feat was formed by Lowell George, a one time guitarist with Frank Zappa, in 1970. Their most famous song during the early part of their career was “Willin”, but not even their own versions - they did it twice. Instead, it was Linda Rondstadt who made it kind of a hit. (I don’t know why I have such a problem with Linda. She made a lot otherwise obscure singer-songwriters famous. Oh, THAT’s why. Just kidding, they weren’t all bad.)

The first time I heard of Lowell George was on Jackson Browne’s “Your Bright Baby Blues” (from “The Pretender”, the beginning of his Lame period). Lowell played slide guitar on it, which I immediately resented since I missed David Lindley. He also co-wrote it and sang. Looking back now, I think it’s one of JB’s best songs.

And if I looked a little closer, I would have found Lowell George’s name on the back of about half of the records coming out of LA at the time.

This finally sank in in 1977, when Little Feat officially hit my radar. Friend Billy walked into the bar (no joke) and told me he was still feeling a high from the record he just listened to - “Cold Cold Cold/Tripe Face Boogie”, from “Feats Don’t Fail Me Now”. That was back when I could still take bar opinions about music seriously.

Another, very cool, friend Petey, who was big into Frank Zappa, also began to murmur good things about Little Feat. In the same bar, of course.

Then, while thumbing through an old Rolling Stone, I saw an ad for, you guessed it, “Feats Don’t Fail Me Now”, with a blurb that said that they were “the best band in America”. I didn’t take personal offense to this like I used to, when I was certain that the Allman Brothers and the Grateful Dead were the two obvious best ones. Instead I was intrigued enough to look into them.

There was a time in my life when I would have gone about this in an insanely orderly way, starting with their first record, and proceeding from there. For once, however, I took a strictly hedonistic approach to it, just looking for good records.


My First - Their Fourth - and the Best:

As was usually the case in my beta max life, while punk rock was exploding around me in the early summer of 1977, I picked up “Feats Don’t Fail Me Know”, which was their fourth record, and to me, their peak, released in 1974. At the time, they had just released their sixth, “Time Loves a Hero”, which was a minor hit.

In typical first listen fashion, it all went by in a blur. It was murky and funky (the band was interracial, something rock bands weren’t too good at in the seventies) where I was expecting loud, and then manic just as I was getting a grip on of it.

Lowell George was the coolest dude on earth, whose wacked-out, stream of consciousness liner notes rivaled Bob Dylan’s. His slide could be as intense as Duane Allman’s, even if he didn’t have Duane’s chops. Plus, with songs like “Oh Atlanta”, I assumed I was listening to a Southern rock band. And the lineup resembled the Allmans in a superficial way - two guitars (one slide), two percussionists, keyboards, etc. But the rhythm was very stop and go, and the songs were less bluesy and more funky. More New Orleans than Macon.

It was easy to understand friend Billy’s excitement about “Cold/Tripe” (yummy!) Over ten minutes long, it starts as a dirge but keeps getting faster and more intense as it goes, until the rip roaring and funny slide guitar flourish that climaxes the record.

But it was side one that eventually won me over. Pretty soon, this record was on heavy rotation - to the point of obsession - on my stereo, if not on the radio, but that’s an old story. These guys were definitely worth checking out further.


My Second - Their Third - and Very Good:

In the fall of that year, I picked up “Dixie Chicken”, their third, which again reinforced the southern rock impression. Although a little slicker than “Feats”, it still had the intense rhythmic interplay. It's just a notch below “Feats”. It’s got a very mellow “Roll ‘em Easy” (I really like Linda’s rockin’ version.) and the brilliant “Fat Man in the Bathtub”.


My Third - Their Second - and Very Good:

Right around Thankgiving of that year, I picked up their second album, “Sailin’ Shoes”, and was immediately entranced by the chiming guitars of “Easy to Slip”, and the melody of “Trouble”, but now I’m hearing a very different band. I see on the cover that there are only four of them, and one of them is new (old). The slide is less obvious, and the songwriting is more central, and odder, and with drug references galore. There are earlier, stranger versions of both “Cold, Cold, Cold” and “Tripe Face Boogie”. I’d learn later that Little Feat didn’t have a problem rerecording stuff when the mood hit them. This is supposedly the great Little Feat album – the perfect balance of strange, funny and strong songwriting - “Texas Rose Café” is the epitome of this - but I still preferred “Feats”.


My Fourth - Their Seventh - and Not Bad:

Come 1978, and they came out with a live album - "Waiting for Columbus" - which wasn’t bad, but it had that loud concert-y sound that loses some essential details or blows them way out of proportion. Around this time, I finally caught them live a couple of times. I was shocked to see that Lowell George was, well, a big guy, and I began to understand their lack of success. In his white overalls, he was referred to as the “Pillsbury Doughboy of Rock and Roll”. But big guys couldn’t be cool. The first show was more or less a retread of their live album. The second time around was more of a real show, with a lot of great music.


My Fifth - Their Fifth, too - and …Good:

So I kept on, getting “The Last Record Album” (#5), which, while not brilliant, is very representative of their overall sound. Certainly worthwhile, but not essential.  Friend Petey's favorite, though.


My Sixth - Their First - and Excellent!:

So I no longer trusted where they were now, and decided to go earlier, to their first album. I’d understand if you wondered why I didn’t stop, but that’s a fetish for you. And it turns out that everything is cranked up a notch here. The lyrics are more surreal and Lowell George’s slide is positively fearsome. There’s a good imitation of Howlin’ Wolf, some country, like “Truck Stop Girl” (also done by the Byrds), “Takin’ My Time” (ditto Bonnie Raitt) and “I’ve Been the One”. Then there’s the beautiful “Brides of Jesus”. Overall, my second favorite.


My Seventh - Their Sixth - and Kinda Boring:

I almost forgot “Time Loves a Hero”, which is the most sensible reaction to it. Not bad exactly, but you can feel the half-life ticking. It’s got a sheen, but almost no spark.


Suspended Animation, and Death:

After that, I’d occasionally see them in the oddest of places – Hollywood Squares (I swear). Their manic drummer, Richie Hayward would play with Robert Plant for a while. If an album were recorded in LA at the time you could virtually guarantee that at least one of them would be on it. Around the same time, Lowell George released a solo album that only occasionally showed his talent. I caught his show at the time, which wasn’t bad, but he was very into New Orleans music at the time, and I wasn’t. A week later he was dead.


My Eighth - Their Eighth - and It’s Nearly Over:

By the time “Down on the Farm” comes out (late 1979), the original spark is nearly gone, and my head has now been turned by punk rock and new wave. Little Feat’s time had passed, but truthfully, it had passed before I’d even gotten into them. I think I got this one for Lowell’s sake.


Number Nine - Number Nine - Number Nine….

In 1981, my girlfriend got me a collection of their stuff – “Hoy, Hoy” which is a perfectly respectable record, with moments of genius, but that would be the last time I’d enjoy their music.


Cold Feat:

I occasionally catch them on the local Americana station, pushing some new product. They’d usually have a Lowell George clone on hand to play slide. That just gave me the creeps.

The pieces had now all fallen into place for me. They had started as a very weird little band, carrying influences equally from Howlin Wolf, Captain Beefheart and the Band. They progressed through other configurations and styles, occasionally hitting sheer brilliance. But along the way, while polishing their rough edges, they fell for the canard that said in order to be a great band you had to play “sophisticated” music. Steely Dan did much the same thing. They loved Weather Report – a jazz fusion band – and aside from Lowell George, wanted to be like them. This resulted in some very dull music, like “Day at the Dog Races” – a record Lowell actually refused to play on. He had a better – though hardly perfect - idea of where they should be.

For moments, they were a great band. Their stuff has been covered by everyone under the sun. But their own day in the sun never came. And they kept on, way past the point of true inspiration or relevance.

And I guess I can’t get too upset at guys who’ve been going at this for forty plus years. For two of those years - I loved them.


But it’s over.

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?

Homonym-phobia

With everything else you’ve got on your mind, you needn’t be losing sleep trying to keep your various pop singers straight. Not literally anyway. Throw in some other similar sounding words (Nico, Neko, Neitche, Nike, etc.), and it can get even more complicated. I’m here to help, but must warn you that there will be a test on this later.

Nietzche was a 19^th century German philosopher.

Nike is the shoe company that exploits children in Asia

Nico is a long-gone, once-member of the ultra cool Velvet Underground.

Neko Case is a young Canadian singer-songwriter, and sometimes member of the New Pornographers.

Their musical achievements being less memorable, I’ve already lost interest in the first two.

 

Nico’s first solo album, Chelsea Girls, recorded right around when the Velvet Underground were getting their bearings, starts with two songs by a very young Jackson Browne. The first one – “The Fairest of the Seasons” – is relatively unknown, but beautiful in that early Jackson Browne/mid-sixties kind of way. The next – “These Days” – has been covered a lot. I don’t know if this is the best version, but it was striking enough to bring tears to my eyes when I first heard it. Although Jackson’s version sports a fabulous guitar solo and heartfelt harmony, it’s also got his trademark self pity.

Contrast their handling of the couplet whose first line is: Well, I had a lover
There’s JB’s whiny - But it’s so hard to risk another, these days.
And Nico’s cool and devastating - I don’t think I’ll risk another these days.

I took a cheap shot at Nico’s singing last year, but I was just pandering to those of you who might find it, in combination with her heavy Austrian accent, awkward or cold. But on “These Days’, she manages to convey all the emotion of the song with none of JB’s narcissism. Oddly enough both songs popped up in “The Royal Tannenbaums”, which I happened to catch while obsessing on this CD, making them even more affecting.

The rest of the record is excellent. She handles the great, early Lou Reed songs quite well, and does a fine job with Bob Dylan’s rare “I’ll Keep it with Mine”. The only lousy track is a whimsical – something Nico is definitely not - third song by Jackson Browne.

All in all, it’s an interesting mix of mid 60s musical cross-currents like folk, experimental and orchestral. And most importantly, the wife liked it.

Nico went on the make more music that I’m told veers into very stark, experimental territory. I’ll explore this more after I’ve refilled my meds.

 

Everything is so easy for Pauline begins Neko Case’s first song, “Margaret vs. Pauline”, from Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. It draws you right in because the rhythm of the melody perfectly matches that of the words. The song hints at sibling rivalry but turns out to be about class differences.

Her sound is a cross between country and David Lynch. (You know, with that echoey guitar, like that Chris Isaak song). I was a bit suspicious of this at first. Sometimes a distinctive sound is there to distract you from a distinct lack of something else.

Well it’s certainly not her voice. Neko’s voice is pretty but strong, occupying a middle range that wears well on you. She writes songs that suit her voice, too. This is less common than one would suppose. And every last one of those songs has a well thought out melody that gets you through the oblique lyrics and abrupt endings. It all holds up so well that we found ourselves listening to it repeatedly for months.

I should have realized how good it was when I copied it into my Windows Media Player library and, mixed in with everything else there, every song still stood out. And since I expect that a more or less steady clarification of the words will ensue, I’m in for the long haul.

So now here’s the quiz:

1. What was the name of that Chris Isaak song?
1. Don’t care.
2. True or False, Neitche was a lousy tipper.
1. True, but only if the waitress laughed when he ordered an “uber-burger”.
3. In what movie does Nico the character appear?
1. “The Doors”
4. In what movie does Nico the actor appear?
1. “La Dolce Vita”
5. In what documentary is Nico the subject?
1. “Nico Icon”
6. I know I’ll love the Neko Case record, so what New Pornographers CD should I get?
1. I’m currently listening to “Mass Romantic” (rhymes with frantic). I’ll let you know.
7. Is Nike still exploiting kids in Asia?
1. I still don’t buy their sneakers, so let me know.

And yes, Johnny, you are correct. None of this was covered in class.