The Notorious LVB: 1801

So our boy is filling out! Looking good and not "scowly" yet. But he is a bit Lennon-y in that this next work was barely done and he starts bitching about it, saying things like "do-over!" So it's all kind of muddy when exactly this was written but I'm going with 1801.

Piano Concerto 1:

Boy, for a piano concerto, there’s a whole lot of everything else going on in it, too. I’m listening for a kazoo right now…

 

So it takes a few minutes before AN ACTUAL PIANO shows up. (Maybe he was late? Okay, piano guy, you're getting an alarm clock for Christmas. Are you happy? Oh, and after the show, you're buying the first round.)

But once there, it goes right to his head and, from then on it's all about him. It's Jerry Lee Lewis before the actual Jerry Lee. He practically gets into a fistfight with the rest of the orchestra. (Doesn't anyone have the guts to fire the guy?? Well, no, because, well, the guy is old Ludvig van.)

So it turns out if all you want to hear is a piano, then you should check out the sonatas, which I have yet to do, so you're on your own.

Anyway, we've lucked out here, because there isn't too much of that fancy pinkie-twinkling they all like to when playing piano and drinking tea. It drives me nuts. If I were the conductor I'd spend the whole time walking around the orchestra like Al Capone, looking for anyone who was doing that, and rapping their knuckles with my baton.

Did you want to hear about the actual music? Well. All. Right.

It’s full to the brim with melody and tempo changes, okay? Ludvig van was most renowned as a piano player when he wrote this, and you can tell he’s already bursting out of that role.

And overall it’s all short and fast - about thirty minutes - so you're not looking at your watch or wishing to burn down the theater. So the rock and roll comparisons, I'd say the first Ramones album, but with a slower start.

And speaking of a cure for getting restless, please check out this performance. If this doesn't make our red-blooded American males fans of classical music nothing will. It will work for lesbians, too I assume. Possibly dead people.

But seriously, the real revelation here is that the pianist is having fun, which up to then was against the law in the Classical music world. There are a couple of parts where she actually shimmies. Watching it made the music more enjoyable and pushed my grade up from a B+.

I guess Neil Young was right. "Live Music is Better" bumper stickers really should be issued. Works for classical music, too!

Maybe especially.

A-

I Think I Killed Lou Reed:

When I’m not out there trying to bring the entire musical canon into my house, I can be found wandering off into the nether corners of the musical landscape. For some odd reason, I decided it was time to check out what the hell John Cale had been doing since the Velvets, aside from producing some great bands and playing on other people’s records.

Now why would I do this except to piss off (a not dead yet) Lou Reed? Cale and Reed never really got along. Reed kicked Cale out of the Velvet Underground, and made sure no one had any fun during the reunion tour in the 90s.

I was having a lousy summer and was in one of my very frequent judgemental moods. And who better to go after than heroes who disappoint? Like Gore Vidal, who wrote eloquently about politics and history, but whose will left nothing to his longtime housekeeper, and John Lennon, who sang about peace and love, but treated his women like garbage. I’m not sure if this information was in the ether at the time, or I was just stumbling upon it. In any case, I was loaded for bear.

So if you’re thinking of people who create beauty but who do ugly things, who’s a bigger bear than Lou Reed? I might have been looking for a good Velvet Underground video to post to Facebook, when I came across a video or Reed acting out on some poor interviewer. Well, he wasn’t really that awful on it.  But the the bad behavior stories are legion. So, what could little old me do to stick it to mean old Reed? Why, buy a John Cale record, of course.

So I began wandering around the internets for a “popular” John Cale record. Well, there’s no such thing. So I got this one:  

John Cale - The Island Years

Cale brought the non-guitar noise to VU - playing bass and violin, and doing his best to make them sound like ballistic missiles.

His post VU career is probably more varied than Lou Reed’s.  This 2 CD set combines Cale’s three albums for Island records (Fear, Slow Dazzle and Helen of Troy) a few years after VU broke up. During this period, he keeps things pretty conventional, saving the lunacy for some occasional screaming, but otherwise letting others like Eno to do the dirty work for him

Of the three albums gathered here, Fear is the strongest. The moods are varied and the band is tight. The songwriting is pretty good, and the vocals are...well.

Slow Dazzle and Helen of Troy don’t seem to have as strong an identity but of course that can be due to being stuck behind Fear in the playing order. And the more I play this thing, the more I like them. But it turns out that my favorite cuts are the previously unreleased ones and the B Sides. And the ballads!

As good as this set is, it’s hard to love Cale, and just as hard to hate him. Not so with Reed of course, who provoked extreme reactions with practically every album he made.  And he made a lot. Probably more than Cale sold. But given how they felt about each other, every Cale record sold was probably a nail in Reed’s coffin.

Well, I got this record, and it must have been the one to put him over the limit. Within a month, Reed was dead. So I confess, I probably did it. But as Mrs. Jaybee says, I suffer from delusions of grandeur.

B+

When to Play It: When you’re in the mood to explore.

When NOT to Play It: When you want to have fun.

“Sylvia Said”

EZ Listening

My wife informs me that the playlist I’ve titled “Easy Listening” might better be named “Kill Yourself” music. KY having a more positive connotation, I’ll have to resist my habit of acronymizing everything. “Kill Yourself”, or as I like to call it “Dark Night of the Soul” music is a favorite genre of mine, but giving it it’s own playlist hadn’t crossed my mind.

So why is my idea of Easy Listening music another person’s “Kill Yourself” music? Maybe because most other people’s idea of Easy Listening makes me want to kill myself.

During a particularly low period - which coincided with my discovery of Limewire - I tracked down several very old songs that meant a lot to me, but that I had never gotten around to buying (see the “One Great Song on a Lousy CD” post I haven’t written yet). Well, one thing led to another - I hadn’t heard these emotionally laden songs in a very long while, but now I was downloading and listening to one after the other – and I was sprinting down Desolation Row. And you never know when these mood altering songs might come in handy, so I burned a CD with the best/worst of them.

Listen to them at your peril:

Who Knows Where the Time Goes? – Judy Collins

Fairport Convention’s got the rockier version, with Richard Thompson on guitar, and Sandy Denny’s vocal, but it’s Judy Collins’s version that gets to me every time. I’m not sure why – she sounds peaceful enough. Maybe it’s because it seems like she’s out there…all alone.

Send in the Clowns – Judy Collins

Judy again (hey, I thought I was cooler than this). I’m not familiar with the other versions of this song, so I’m sure there are better ones. But there she goes again, putting me somewhere that’s just not safe to be for very long.

Philadelphia – Neil Young

From the movie, and miles better than Bruce’s “Streets of Philadelphia”, which is not bad at all. Living alone is bad enough, but dying alone?

Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright

If you prefer the Jeff Buckley version, I understand. Either way, love’s a bitch – in a great way.

Birds – Neil Young

I can’t believe this song isn’t more famous. Okay, it’s tucked away on side two of “After the Goldrush”, but it’s an incredible kiss-off song. Whoever she was, I’m sure she was flattered.

Dying to Live – Edgar Winter’s White Trash

Just when you think there’s no reason to go on - about two thirds of the way in - he gives you one.

Jealous Guy – John Lennon

A beautiful song about being a jerk, and the harm it does. To be alive is to hurt other people.

Harvest – Neil Young

The slow pace and laid back playing could fool you into thinking it’s just an ordinary country tune. But there’s the screaming in the rain, and the uncertainty that it’s all going to be all right.

Urge for Going – Tom Rush

Alone again, naturally, because nothing lasts. Pull that coat closer when he sings “winter’s closing in”.

Streets of London – Ralph McTell

You think you got problems? Hopefully, you’ll feel some consolation, but probably not.

That’s the Way – Led Zeppelin

Young love torn apart. Their most poignant moment.

John Barleycorn - Traffic/Can’t Find My Way Home - Blind Faith

OK, thematically, they don't fit, but musically they do.

Handbags and Gladrags – Rod Stewart

Talk about guilt. This pampered rock star (well, pre-pampering) gets to play an overworked geezer lecturing a spoiled brat. And somehow you feel guilty about it.

Percy’s Song - Arlo Guthrie

This is where I just lose it. I think it’s Arlo’s delivery as much as it ‘s Dylan’s tale of injustice. It just builds and builds until you’re devastated.

Still with me? Did we lose anyone?

Do you remember when Judas Priest got sued because their music supposedly caused two young people to attempt suicide? And if you try hard, you can probably think of a few songs that refer to suicide. Some of them have even caused legal problems for the artists. But we both know that that’s a crock. There isn’t one song above that mentions it, but several that make it cross your mind.

And I do birthday parties.

When Listening is Work

One factor that may have encouraged me to run screaming from respectable music was the time I spent working in a large office in my early twenties. We had the misfortune of having an office manager who insisted that, instead of the glorious cacophony of fifty radios all tuned to different stations playing at the same time, only one radio station should be allowed. She chose the one with the format which at the time was known as Easy-listening.

Back then, the purveyors of Easy Listening music were people like Percy Faith and Mantovani, whose job it was to do lame versions of the recent hits of the day. They could always be counted on to re-make a good record in the worst possible way. Anything that had a beat was rendered beatless (that extra “s” makes all the difference, doesn’t it?), anything with a brain was lobotomized. Forget about anything with genitals.

It was painful to listen to, but it was only when I heard their version of John Lennon’s “Love” (from “Plastic Ono Band”) that I knew that I was my own customized circle of hell. You’d think that such a song would be right up their alley, but alas it’s so fragile and beautiful that it must be handled with care. They, of all people should have known this, but what did they do? They sped it up and made it…snappy. In other words, they tarted it up. It was like finding out that the lovely, shy girl you had a crush on snapped her gum and loved “Three’s Company”.

When enough of us got fed up with this (I’ll admit it’s not a major chapter in labor history), management took the bold step of changing the station to the one with the then-new “Lite” format. Although the decision was universally applauded, it proved to be of only momentary relief to me. The main difference between Easy Listening and Lite was that the former was comprised of lousy versions of decent songs, while the latter was made up of the original versions of awful songs.

It’s hard to remember now, but besides the power ballads and dance music of the day, there existed another genre of which most dare not speak. Remember “Mellow”? Oh, sure you do. It was the early eighties version of Easy Listening. Melissa Manchester, Peabo Bryson, Heinrich Himmler. Okay, maybe not him, but you get the idea. In a way, it was even worse than Easy Listening, which you could at least share a good laugh over. When I ridiculed Lite FM, everyone looked at me like I was nuts. For once, unjustly.

Now, there were an awful lot of middle aged ladies who would sing along wistfully to “Sailing” by Christopher Cross, that is, when they weren’t cursing you out for misfiling something. So there was obviously an audience for this stuff. Middle aged ladies in offices, I guess (which begs the question what the hell was I doing there? That’s a whole other blog.) But to this day there are songs for which I have nothing but revulsion – most of the Lionel Ritchie catalog, Air Supply and others who shall not be named.

And to be fair, this kind of experience isn’t confined to the business setting. Around this time, I was in a wedding party and on the way to the reception when Dan Fogelberg came on the radio. Now I will admit to going through brief non gay (I guess) Dan Fogelberg phase, but his song “Longer” was like a bucket of ice water thrown in my face, and I shipped him off to James Taylor Island where sensitive male singer songwriters have no females to feel sorry for them, and eventually cannibalize each other. (Did I hear someone say reality show?) So on comes “Leader of the Band”, one of his more shameless tear-jerkers, and the female members of the wedding party sang along in unison. Thinking I’d just stumbled onto some kind of cult, I looked to my fey fellow ushers for assistance. They could only shrug and shake their heads.

And then there was the time back before we had a car and had to get a ride home from a weekend at the beach. The driver was the friend of a friend, and although my girlfriend and I appreciated the ride, the two hours it took seemed much longer because of the radio station he had on. He seemed to prefer ‘70s top-40 to 60s. There was an awful, late-period Grass Roots song he sang along with to his girlfriend. For her part, she liked, and felt she needed to explain the moral of the ditty about the woman who had a wild life and then settled down. This seemed like the normal order of events to me, so I didn't know what the big deal was. I think the singer was trying to persuade the listener to skip the wild part. Not bloody likely. (Some basic survival instinct has blocked out the memory of the song titles. Please don’t feel obligated to remind me.) My girlfriend and I spent most of the drive with our eyes thoroughly rolled, which made me almost lose a contact lens. If I wasn’t such a cheapskate, on top of the gas money, I would have given him a few extra bucks to change the station.

And now I find there’s a new format called “Fresh”, which is essentially Easy Listening for the new millennium. I guess it’s what I’m hearing when I go into the local Walgreen’s. And you know, it could be a lot worse. They sometimes even find songs that I like. However, I rarely get to fully enjoy them. They always seem to get interrupted at the best part. (“Hey, Jude…DON’T MISS TODAY’S SPECIAL ON THE EXTRA LARGE TUBE OF PREPARATION H FOR $6.99. …And make it better”, and in a totally different key to boot.) If I were more conspiracy minded, I’d say that they were consciously replacing the hooks with the promos, just so that we get conditioned to enjoy them.

All of these formats are based on the mistaken notion that there is music we all like. Not! And while I can always hang up when I'm on hold, drive my own damned car and listen to what I want in private, workplace music has a captive audience, and is thus a form of musical Fascism. Now you may feel that the use of such a term trivializes the deaths of millions of people, especially when compared to one person’s urge to change a channel. But please bear in mind that I’m that one person.

But seriously, those poor people who work in a place where they are forced to listen to the same music all day long must surely go mad. Whenever there’s a workplace massacre, we re-run our debates about gun control and a culture of violence. But my first question is always What was playing on the radio?

The Evil That Men Do, Part 3 - Drive Bys

During the coldest days of January, the prospect of summer will elicit a momentary nostalgia for open windows and soft breezes, but I am rudely disabused from any such reverie - usually in late March - by a much grimmer reality: drive bys. You know what I mean - the practice of blasting one’s car stereo, for the supposed benefit of home owners and passer-bys. It’s the equivalent of me living in my car, and driving through your neighborhood all the time.

Now my neighborhood is more likely to build a statue venerating, say, Franki Valli rather than John Lennon. Over time this preference has evolved to the current dance music, and the drive-bys here tend to reflect that.

The problem was recently exacerbated with the installation of a traffic light at the corner nearest to my house. I should be thankful that the neighborhood children are safer, but then again, aren’t they the ones who will just grow up to do the driving by in a few years? The true impact of this (meaning how it affects me personally) is that now the cars are no longer just driving by. They are stopping to wait for the light to change. I suppose that the increased amount of exhaust fumes ought to be of concern to me, but I’ll leave that to someone whose priorities are straight. I now get to hear entire verses of the hits of the day, right through my front window. I’m missing the upside to this.

And yet, there’s an even worse variation on this theme. Some of my fellow fifty year olds – with their tastes frozen in time – are now participating in this practice. I recently had the misfortune of sharing the road with the driver of a 1985 Cadillac with Jersey plates. He was tailgating and blasting his radio even more than I usually do. Rather than retaliate in some way, I felt the need to learn more about this man, so I tried to keep up. About an hour later, I finally got a glimpse and a listen. He was about my age, with his graying hair combed into a pompadour, and the song was Billy Joel’s “Movin’ Out”. I concluded that he was still living with his mom. (Shouldn’t you only play “Movin’ Out” if you’ve actually moved out?)

Of course, there are those who still play Barry Manilow or Celine Dion in this manner, but let’s face it - they’re beyond our help right now.

In my neighborhood’s first bid for cultural diversity, the guy across the street has started to blast his radio when working on his motorbike. It’s usually “Take it Easy” or “China Grove”. I tell myself that it could be worse. It could be “Free Bird”. (Oh wait, there it is…)

Of course, when I’m out there driving myself, I feel I must do my part to offset the bad affects of what I’ve had to hear, by adding my own preferred music to the mix. I realize that this might appear hypocritical of me, bur really, the only other alternative would be for me to build an automatic egg-thrower that targets sources of noise near the house - itself a toned down version of another revenge fantasy deemed even more anti-social by family members who’d like me to stay out of jail.

So when you see me driving by, blasting some ungodly noise that I feel you need to hear, just think about all the eggs I’m saving.