We Can Be Weirdos: VU Alumnae

Nico

John Cale

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

Having recently retired, I veer between two contradictory ideas:

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

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

WYHIWYG vs. WTFITS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico: The Marble Index (1968)

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

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

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

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

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

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

B-

John Cale: Paris 1919 (1973)

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, it's only pretty freaking good.

A-

Next: It gets weird(er)

Children of the Danned

They looked like insects, with no vibe coming from them. Like librarians on acid.****** 

Kenny Vance

The Book of the Music:

Did you see the "movie of the book"? (I don't really care. Just work with me on this, okay?)

I didn't name either a movie or book but you are nonetheless aware of the phrase and its meaning, which is when they (yeah, those bastards again) make a (usually shitty) movie out of a (pretty good) book.

I want to talk about the "book of the music". 

What's that, you say?

Quantum Criminals, by Alex Pappademas and Joan LeMay (2023)

The music in question is by Steely Dan. The text* [Note to self: remember to trademark any/all other coin-able phrases identified here for future monetezation.] is by Alex Pappademas, and the drawings* * are by Joan LeMay.

Pappademas seems to know everything Steely Dan-related, musical or personal. He is painfully aware of this level of his obsession. Yet, it pays off. He is insightful, imaginative, and (very) funny. LeMay draws pictures, not only of the members of Steely Dan (itself a slippery concept) but also - crucially - of the characters in the songs***.

In fact, the book is structured around those characters, whose names emblazon the chapter**** headings. Some are based on real people. Some are real people. The rest are products of Becker and Fagen's twisted imaginations, all intersecting with the lives of Becker, Fagen, et al in some unlikely fashion. LeMay's drawings capture them in all their seedy glory and absurdity, thus adding even more humor and pathos to the occasion. (Actual photos would have ruined the bad vibes.)

Thus, making this one of the best "books of the music" I've ever read. If you're an SD fan be prepared to pull out your old albums to listen along as Pappademas gives his take on Hoops McCann and the El Supremo, the latter of whom I first thought was a person, I then read it on a can***** of the coffee we drink and thought it was that, and now I'm back to it being a person. So, it's an educational experience, too. 

A pretty great book of undeniably great music.

A

The Blog of the Music:

Speaking of which, since you didn't ask, here's my incomplete list of Steely Dan albums in order of preference: 

1. Katy Lied (1975) 

I don't know anyone who puts Katy Lied first, but there you are. It's got everything: great rock guitar, transcendent sax by Phil Woods on "Dr. Wu", sweet and sour singing by Donald Fagen, with occasional help from troublemaker Michael McDonald, dark/heartfelt/both lyrics. And a lot of beautiful music.  

Even a lightweight song like "Everyone's Gone to the Movies" serves to balance out the more soul-wrenching stuff, like "Any World I'm Welcome To". SD with their heart on their rolled-up sleeves, which is a ridiculous thing to say. What can I tell you? My very favorite albums get me to say ridiculous things.  

Great production, too. The book talks about this album as a great attempt at a sonic experience not  quite achieved. I can't imagine what that could have sounded like. 

A+

2-4. A tie between Can't Buy a Thrill (1972), Countdown to Ecstacy,(1973) and Pretzel Logic (1974). All different. All wonderful. 

Thrill is a great early seventies commercial rock album with excellent production. The songs still hold up. A

 

Ecstacy leans more into jazz (and guitar!) and as far as I'm concerned it beats all their later forays into that genre. A

Logic somehow balances all of these elements while keeping each song short and to the point. A 

5-6. A tie between The Royal Scam (1976) and Aja (1977).

Scam, while quite good in terms of execution, is slightly lacking in all the other categories, making it less than compelling. Long on SD attitude, but a little short on SD magic. The only great moment is the guitar solo on "Kid Charlemagne". A-

Aja is their Pretender. a commercial breakthrough that's good but overrated, at least when compared to what they'd accomplished before. A-

7. Gaucho (1980)

Ah, Gaucho amigo! Lately, you've been touted on various internet sites as their real masterpiece. I'd like to attribute this phenomenon to how "art speaks differently to us over time". but it's really more about the internet's voracious appetite for content, which forces it to run the same music through a seemingly random-best-of-list-generater, and then leaving it to some poor schmuck to somehow justify the results. (How about Neil Young's masterpiece Everybody's Rockin'???)

I'll admit to loving "Time Out of Mind", "Third World Man", and to some extent "Gaucho", but    the rest sounds like a band SD might once have mocked. (The Little Feat phenomenon?) One       song can act as a meta-comment or parody. Three or four is a puzzling end-point in their                 misguided quest to sound "sophisticated" (whatever that word means anymore). 

They were fans of 1950s jazz but by the time they were of age only had 1970's jazz to work with. Bad fusion would have been a disaster, but Quiet Storm is just Easy Listening to me. SD               embalmed. And for all that, pretty good.

At least Aja had uniformly excellent solos and highlights like "Deacon Blues". It's a shame it        starts with the infernal electric piano that Donald insists on playing. Give me that good old            unplugged piano he played on albums 1-5.

          B+

As you can see, I'm into early Steely Dan, which they dismiss as "juvenilia". I'd politely tell them to f*ck off but they'd just smirk. Plus, Walter already did.

This all led me to their reunion album. (Everything Must Go is not on my to-do list, nor are their solo albums, except for Donald's wonderful Nightfly, which ranks alongside SD 1,2 and 3.

Two Against Nature (2000)

My first thought was that I wished Donald and Walter still loved rock 'n roll electric guitar as much as they seemed to love jazz electric piano. The jazzy-in-the-worst-way riff three minutes into "Gaslighting Annie" is not appreciated.

The good news is that the singing and playing here are quite good. I do, however, miss the days when you didn't have to wait for the lyrics kick in before liking it. The music would hook you for life and you'd have the rest of your life to get to the words, which here are pretty straightforward, anyway.

Fagen's singing is technically his most skillful. More emotionally remote but also more humorous, and Becker plays a nifty guitar throughout-ish.

It's not as immediately catchy as their best stuff. But at least they're trying here. And it's snappy, unlike Gaucho, which - even now - is still just getting up off its ass.

At the moment in Jaybeeland it has bested Gaucho - not its high points, but way better than its low ones - and is now fighting it out with Scam. I don't see it beating Aja let alone any of the first four albums.

Overall, I could have lived a full, happy life without it, but now that it's here in my house, I'm glad.

A-

"Cousin Dupree"

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

         * text of the book (TM)

       ** drawings of the book (TM)

     *** characters of the songs (TM) obviously

   **** drawings of the characters of the chapters of the book of the music (TM!!!)

 ***** can of the coffee (you can have this one for free)

******  Oh, yeah, that quote at the top is from the man who would become Jay 2.0 of Jay and the Americans, giving his first impression of our heroes when he first met them. Long story. But let's break it down into three parts and assess:

1. Okay, fair.
2. Unforgivable!
3. All is forgiven.

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.

The Notorious LVB 1806-07

So what's the old charmer been up to these days, you ask? In 1806, his brother, of street fighting fame, gets married, so LVB would have to find someone else to wrestle with. Instead, he writes his Fourth Symphony and a Violin Concerto because that's what one does. In 1807 he had the hots for a young widow who turned him down. So he finishes writing his Fifth Symphony. (But that'll have to wait until next time.) Wow. All that redirected sexual energy!

Violin Concerto  1806

When I got all nine of Beethoven’s Symphonies from MHS, they threw in a bonus record. And damn if it didn't work its way into my brain and end up being my favorite bit of classical music!

 

I guess when I was feeling daunted by the sheer amount of music in the Symphonies, I’d put this one, feeling I'd at least be accomplishing something, and, by golly, it snuck up on me.

This is a really lovely album.

And now that I've (accidentally) gotten a CD version of it, I've become the Classical Music Asshole I always hated. You know who I mean. I can now say something like I prefer the 1991 Itszhak Perlman-Carlo Maria Guilini version with the Philharmonic Orchestra to the 1981 Christian Ferras-Herbert von Karajan version with the Berliner Philharmoniker due to some esoteric reason when we both know my fave was the video version because the (Irish?) violinist sweat his ass off.

So let me tell you about it.

Well, in typical classical music "let's piss off the plebes" fashion it goes on for three and a half minutes before any violins show up. Or, at least becomes prominent. Lesson: soloists are always late, so always invite them earlier than everyone else.

The first movement is by far the longest - twenty-four minutes! - single movement of anything I have by LVB. By the time it's done you're like, hey that was great! and then you realize there are two more movements!

The second movement is a bit calmer and there's a nice mellow chord progression at around 3:45 that would be at home in any mellow-bluesy rock n' roll song. Speaking of which the whole thing clocks in at about 44 minutes, a very respectable mid-70s album length and the longest piece so far.

The third movement picks things up a bit and ties it all together in a very graceful energetic way.

So why do I like it? Well, it comes down to this. The violin sounds like an electric guitar. Not exactly in actual sound, and not exactly in what is being played. But in the verve and passion of it all.

There's even a degree of improvisation here but I'll be damned if I can figure out where it is. Suffice to say there are what appear to be "fills" along with the written down parts, and in its own classical way, it rocks. And that's Beethoven for you right there.

When I look for a video with Itzhak Perlman I'm irritated to see him sitting. I get it, he's wearing classy duds and - like the Winchester family, doesn't sweat/perspire. The video below is more rocking, with Ms. Hahn swaying like a guitar god. The audience reaction is pure rock n' roll, too, and completely appropriate.

My point is there's energy and passion here I can fully relate to. 

Funny thing, at its first public performance the public turned up its nose, and it took another dozen years for someone to dust it off and try it again - by a twelve-year-old violinist! It took someone at a rock n roll age to bring all that energy out. At which point everyone said you see I told you it was great (see the Hitler/Ramones Syndrome).  

Even better than my other fave, Vivaldi's Mandolin Concerto.

A

BEETHOVEN Concerto for Violin and Orchestra - Hilary Hahn, violin; Leonard Slatkin, conductor

Fourth Symphony:

As I mentioned before, the general rule for the Symphonies is to go for the odd-numbered ones, and this is a good illustration of that.

Number Three changed the ((classical (music)) world so the next one was bound to be a bit of a letdown. But then you're run into the people who go on to say that well, this is one of the most underrated blah blah blah. You get the idea.

And, alas, here, the paradigm holds up. Harvest Moon after  Ragged Glory? Not quality-wise, but definitely mood-wise.

He’s back to his opening Dah-Dah!-themed approach. But you can tell his heart's not fully in it. After having blown everything up, he’s taking a bit of a break. Wouldn't you?

After the bounce and hop of the last one, this one is almost comical that it takes over two minutes before it really kicks off. But then watch out! He's still Beethoven, after all.

The third movement may sound very familiar, and it's where things pick up.

And just when you think, man this guy just loves his fast endings, he pauses. And then blasts past you and it's over! 4th And okay he catches you in the 4th movement with the trick ending but let's face it, it's more cute than climactic. End of Sailin Shoes? No, the end of Abbey Road.

Verdict: Quite good, but not revolutionary. Perfectly fine for anyone else, but slightly subpar for the mad (not really) genius (yes really) that he is.

B+

But if anyone can perk things up, it's Lenny:

Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 in B flat major, Op. 60 (Leonard Bernstein)

Two and a Half Men Watching Television

“You and Mike were close.”

Friend Geri in 2007. She hadn’t seen either of us for nearly thirty years, but she still remembered that.

“Have you ever heard of a band called Television?”

My son, last week.

Mike I:

Mike and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and attended the same Catholic school. He was a year older than me, and friend of my big brother. They went to the same high school for a while.

When I was of drinking age, the corner bar became the local cultural center, and I'd run into Mike there. The patrons were by turns brilliant and more than a little crazy. They made Cheers seem tame. Mike and I were more reserved, and so gravitated to each other to talk about books and films.

After one of many periodic blowouts with my parents, I found myself in sudden need of an apartment, and a roommate to help swing the rent. Mike was the first one I thought of and, after some hesitation, he agreed to share a place with me.

All of this more or less coincided with the sharp left turn I was making in the type of music I listened to. So, in addition to my own annoying personal quirks, Mike would be dealing with whatever weird records I'd bring home. But by then Mike had already made several left turns of his own, and ended up turning me on to things like Rhapsody in Blue and Threepenny Opera, which now rank amongst my favorite music.

But while still on the musical fence, I'd bring home Hot Tuna and Ramones albums. Mike was always game, though, and we liked this first Ramones record more than that fifth Hot Tuna record.

Then in late 1979, I brought home Little Feat's Down on the Farm, probably more out of loyalty to Lowell George (who'd died earlier that year) than for any lingering interest in Little Feat . I played it a few times and lost interest.

The other record I got that day was Television's Marquee Moon. The first time we played it was, well, shattering.  Talk about out with the old and in with the new.

Marquee Moon was one of those records that hit us in several places at once. There were the guitars, of course. We both loved the Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead, so we could immediately appreciate the searing lead guitar playing of Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd. The music was passionate but not bombastic. The vocals strange, but urgent, and the words dark and cinematic. And it was all held in balance without compromising any of the intensity.

And it was all so freaking CLEAR, too.  None of the overproduction of commercial music, and none of the under production of punk. It was both alien (Verlaine kind of looked like one on the cover) and accessible at the same time.

The highlights for us were "See No Evil", where Richard Lloyd plays one of the greatest guitar solos ever, and, of course, the title song.  Everything else had something to offer and then some.

Mike tried playing it for some party guests but they were Lynyrd Skynyrd fans who preferred that more polished production. For some reason, we didn't care about that, and, unlike most people in the neighborhood, Mike and I took another left.

About a year later, I picked up their second album Adventure, which was relatively mild, but in a good way.  It was clearly not the classic Marquee Moon was, but so what?  It was peaceful, and in some spots, beautiful. 

And it has what may be my favorite song by them - "Days".  Mostly because of the memories it evokes.

We'd play music like Marquee Moon to launch us out for a night of drinking. When we came home we'd stay up talking or playing chess. And of course, we'd put on music. We tried to be considerate of our neighbors and put on "late night" music like Tonight's the Night or Another Green World by Eno.

And Adventure. I remember that one the best.

But Mike was more restless than me, and after a couple of years, he decided to move to Europe. I remember the Sunday when he left. It was an evening flight, so he had most of the day to get ready. I didn't have much to do other than wait around and play records to soothe the combination of excitement and dread I was feeling.

The last record I put on before we left for the airport was side one of Marquee Moon.  It was a pretty safe choice, but I'd underestimated how much it would intensify what I was already feeling.

There's an extended guitar solo in the middle of the title song, that just builds and builds and builds until you think you're going to burst. When it's over, you're left stunned.  And that day I was sure that I'd never heard anything quite so intense in my life.  But it made perfect sense.  The climax of the solo echoed what was the climax to a special period of my life.

Mike flew out to Brussels that night. He traveled Europe for a few weeks before settling down in Germany and getting a job. He stayed for over ten years, visiting Africa and Asia, and living a life I truly envied. What can I say except that Mike had guts.

I could never have lived on my own back then.  Mike was the one who got me through it until I could.  And I wonder how much musical exploration I would have done had Mike been a less enthusiastic roommate.

He'd visit occasionally, but never move back. He eventually met someone, got married and moved to Boston.

I got married, too - to the woman I was seeing right before Mike left for Europe.  I was glad that they made a connection before he left. 

We would visit each other, and he got to meet our kids - Daughter Theresa and son (surprise!) Michael.  Mike II to you.

We both went through our own versions of Life Sucking, and more or less came out the other side a little older and possibly wiser.

We call each other every few months, and spoke just a few weeks ago. I suggested that he come visit, but he said that travel was getting old.  Either travel or us, I thought.

Mrs. Jaybee reminded me that we're the ones with the van, so it wouldn't kill us to drive up to Boston. Seems like a good idea.

Mike II:

My son Mike plays a mean guitar, and I try to expose him to my guitar heroes whenever he shows an interest. When he mentioned Television I was all over it.

We found that iTunes not only had Marquee Moon and Adventure, but also Live at the Old Waldorf. And for a somewhat hefty (to me) $24.99, all three together - along with unreleased tracks and alternate versions - in one package called The Complete Elektra Recordings.

I had to mull it over. It was a lot of money for  music I mostly had already, which went against one of my core music-buying principles. But this was a special situation. I guess I could have just told Son Mike to put on the vinyl in the basement to hear Television, but he's still not finding vinyl very sexy yet. So I got it.

It's unlikely that he'll hear it in quite the same way me and "uncle" Mike did. After all, he's got his own music, friends and, eventually, children to experience.

I hope he's as lucky as me.

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: 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.