From Ear to Ear!

Still wandering around the internets, I stumbled upon Nils Lofgren’s old band, Grin.  I’d mostly heard Nils  on Neil Young albums, as part of Crazy Horse, with Bruce Springsteen and as a solo artist.

But never his earliest - and some would say best - period. It turns out that some are right.

The Very Best of Grin, featuring Nils Lofgren:

This is pre-solo, pre-Bruce, sort of pre-Neil, back when he could backflip without the trampoline.

And as much as I enjoyed his first solo record, and his contributions to other artists, this record manages to be a revelation. Nils has a sweet voice, plays a razorsharp guitar and - writes some great, melodic songs.  And rockers, too!

You might find the first listen questionable. The first song, especially, where Nils’ brother Tom, sounding a hundred years old, accompanied by a country western piano, kicks off  “Everybody’s Missing the Sun” . But don’t worry, just when you think you’ve bought the wrong album, Nils jumps in, singing the melody he’s been holding back just for that moment, and a wave of warmth washes over you!  

I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t know how good a songwriter Nils was.  Even the Jaybee-Brother-annoying 1975 solo record wasn’t as good as this softer and sweeter side.  The guitar’s as good as ever, too. A

When to Play It: Any old time.

When NOT to Play It: Around young people.

“Hi, Hello Home”

Secret History: 1975

What was the world at large listening to during 1975? Dylan, of course. Springsteen, or course. Me, too. I had a mixtape made up mostly of just the two of them. I played it during one of my senior class trips, which tried the patience of a classmate, who wanted to put on “Disco Tex and His Sex-o-lettes”. He’d have his revenge in a year or two.



But what was the year like? It’s hard to objectively say since so much seemed to happen to me. There was heartbreak, high school graduation, getting a driver’s license. I guess the normal stuff associated with turning 18.




Some memories: It’s January, and I’m trying to study for the regents, but the radio plays “Blood on the Tracks” all the way through. It’s the first time I’m hearing it. Then June, at the beach during another class trip, I hear “Born to Run” for the first time. Then hearing Springsteen live from the Bottom Line. Buying “The Basement Tapes”. Yeah, they pretty much owned the year.




But there were other records, too, and many that would become my all time favorites:



Well, there’s Neil Young’s “Tonight’s the Night”, but I already go on about that record far too much.



Then there’s “Siren”, by Roxy Music, where Bryan Ferry seemed to get the last laugh on Brian Eno, by making this not very weird pop record. It’s a great expression of his romanticism, and doesn't skimp on guitar either. “Love is the Drug“ is the "hit" but there are plenty of others that are just as good.




But, of course, Brian Eno is doing just fine, and “Another Green World” is another all time favorite. It's just too difficult to explain.




"Katy Lied" is probably my favorite Steely Dan album. It's got “Doctor Wu”, “Any World I'm Welcome To” and several other very emotional songs from a band that would normally be snickering.




“The Basement Tapes” by Bob Dylan and the Band, is probably the most consistent double album ever made. I can still listen to it all the way through without stopping. A lot of people just don't get it, but it's the perfect distillation of Dylan and Band at one time. So what if the sound is lousy? Just pretend you're listening to it on your old Victrola.






And here are a few records that I missed at the time, but I’ve been trying to make it up to ever since:




Newly minted respected author and photographer Patti Smith could actually get her first album “Horses” played on the radio back then, even though her band were proto-punks, and she wasn’t the greatest singer. In a normal year, she would have been called on all the hype she got, but remember this was the year of the Boss on the cover of Time and Newsweek. She risked looking ridiculous waxing poetic about “boney maroni”. But if you ask me, she holds up better than Genesis.




I couldn’t say if “Natty Dread” is Bob Marley’s best album or not, but it seems to be as good a place to start as any. The production is warm and intimate. It’s rousing and soothing at the same time. “Lively Up Yourself” is just wonderful.




Nils Lofgren had a few lives before becoming an E streeter, one as the leader of the band Grin, who I'll have to sample before I die. Then there was a short stint with Crazy Horse, and doing sessions with people like Neil Young. But he was also a solo artist. He's put out several records, but I've been told that his first is the keeper, and I believe it.




Nils runs through some high strung pop and rock. He's a really sharp guitarist with his own distinctive style. His songwriting is very tight, too. Highlights include “Back It Up”, Carole King's “Going Back”, and “Keith (yes that Keith) Don't Go”. To Toronto, that is, where our favorite rock and roller was in a bit of a spot with the police. My brother hates this record.




The Ramones first album might seem like a gaunlet being thrown down, but it's more of a beer can being squirted in your face. The suds get in your ears so the great production values ($6,000 worth!) are somewhat muffled. No sensitive singer, no guitar solos, can you blame me for hating them on principal? Plus, there was so much other great music going on that I didn’t realize that it was all dying. So I didn't get around to even trying them out until 1979.




Dolly Parton managed to put together another “Best of”, and it’d only been five years since the last one. This one’s just as good, too. Beautiful voice, great songwriting.




If you knew nothing of New Orleans – and I didn’t at the time – you could look at the cover of the “Wild Tchoupitoulas” and feel like you were getting Native American music. As it turns out, you’re merely seeing the band decked out in ceremonial garb for Mardi Gras. And the music inside is as simple and fun as any you’re likely to hear. This is a great place to start to learn about New Orleans music. Not for snobs, though.




Which narrative do you believe about Keith Jarrett? The one that says he's hardly a jazz musician at all? Or that he completely clears his mind of any musical thoughts before a concert, and does pure improvisation? “The Koln Concert” is a great way to make up your mind. Sixty five minute of just Keith playing his piano. The sound is amazing.






Whatever else it was, 1975 was also the beginning of the end for what would later be known as classic rock. Anything else that was good was being forced further out onto the fringes, only to come back and haunt good old rock and roll for years to come.


And like I said, although it isn’t thought of as a great year for music, I still considered it one of the best. But I’m open to the possibility that for once life made music better rather than the other way around.

Big Brother Is Listening For You

The Song Remains the Same:

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

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

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

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

Oh, yeah.   That one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Mom's Listening, Too:

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

1977 and So On:

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

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


And So Forth:

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

What was that song, anyway?