Post Election Blues

Given how one of our esteemed political parties was accused of being weird this election year, I could have called this post "Weirdos, Part 3", but since I'd rather focus on music, I decided not to. 

This one's about music for a special occasion, which the advent of fascism kinda is, doncha think?

Upon hearing the election results I didn't need an analysis. I didn't want some smarty pants nabob explaining things to me. Oh, I wanted to know the why and how all right, but the habit of our media ecosystem to provide an explanation while the fucking thing is still happening just rubs me the wrong way, even if that explanation were to be correct. (It wasn't, of course.) 

It's the same reason why I watch the Superbowl with the sound off. The event itself is quite enough thank you. I don't need the additional aural input. I could see what was going on, and now just f*cking needed quiet. 

Well, not complete silence, mind you - just something that takes that as a starting point, and adds the least possible amount of stuff to end up with something I can deal with. In other words, something that doesn't try to match the energy level of said media ecosystem.

Last time, I mentioned a few records that one might think would fit the bill. But no. They were good at dealing with negative possibilities. I needed something to get me through negative realities. Not overtly political music, either. Just music for (God forgive me for using this word) existential realities.

Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (1990)

When I bought King of the Delta Blues Singers about forty years ago I had trouble getting into it. I was young and still had a smidgen of hope. Not even Reagan could inspire me to gaze into the abyss from which it emerged. 

But this year, in the months leading up to November 5, I could listen to this two-CD set in its entirety and love every second. Was I - or it - tapping it a general vibe portending the collapse of what little was left of our social contract? 

This collection has alternate versions of some songs, which some folks might find annoying. If so, King of the Delta Blues Singers is for you. But for now, listening to the complete recordings is a willful act - the equivalent of refusing to leave my room until this new era is over. 

Perfect, but a lot.

A

Low: I Could Live in Hope (1994)

Funny story about this band. A few years ago, I was listening to their eighth album, 2001's Things We Lost in the Fire. It took until near the end of it for me to notice that - probably due to a syncing issue - iTunes had two copies of each song and was playing them in numeric order. In other words, like this: First song, First song again, Second song, Second song again, etc.

I remember thinking wow this album is longer than I realized. But since the songs were so glacial, mournful, and quiet I didn't notice they ended and started again. I thought, well, that's the way they are. They're slow so why wouldn't there be a pause in the middle of each one? 

This time around, I'm listening to their first record where, if anything, they're even more quiet and mournful. I had to listen hard (even with the hearing aids) to confirm there were drums. Oh, yeah, there they are. But there's no beat to speak of here, except that of nails being hammered into a coffin.

Low's music comprises one man and one woman singing in harmony. He plays a muted electric guitar. She plays the drums. They sound like they're in an abandoned church. Their sound fills that space better than any organ or sermon would.

One-word song titles, cryptic, minimal, vaguely menacing lyrics about various states of isolation, disrepair, and dislocation, that don't become explicit until you get to "Rope", followed by their straight version of "You Are My Sunshine".

It's cold, but oddly beautiful. In other words, everything The Marble Index was aiming for but missed. Ripe for parody, but I dare ya. 

Perfect for the day after a particularly tough election.

A-

Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else (1958)

I used this as a palette cleanser in between listening to Captain Beefheart and Nico, who I always (well, since just now) saw as an ideal couple.

I've done my best to get exposed to all the top-tier jazz geniuses and am only now getting around to the next-level players. And if you think that's a knock I recommend you listen to "Freddy Freeloader" from Kind of Blue. Yeah, it's the ever-searching Coltrane who takes you to Mars, but Adderley's relaxed, open solo tells you how great things can be here on Earth.

Adderley worked for Davis on KOB and Milestones. Here Davis returns the favor, and one could be forgiven for thinking it's a Davis record. If it is, it's one of his best.

If Kind of Blue is quiet jazz played and heard in the middle of the night, then Somethin' Else is the jazz played - and heard - the following morning, after everyone has had their coffee and is ready to take on the day.

A

The Feelies: The Good Earth (1986)

Gaffa, in his one-star Amazon review, writes:

"I cannot figure out how anyone in their right mind could give this record a good review. You would have to be insane. In this day and age, to have a producer mix the sound of this record/CD to the extent of ruining the vocals is beyond me. This may have been a really good record if the vocals were able to be heard. The music for the most part is really catchy and well done. But, having to listen to the vocals so low ruins the listening experience. I cannot imagine that the band was alright with this, and if they were, shame on you. Terrible all the way around and a huge waste of money."

Now, for Jaybee, that's a rave.  I should say upfront that I was already a fan of the Feelies' first record, the nervous, jittery Crazy Rhythms. But I needed a push to go back for seconds. Thanks Gaffa!

Poor Gaffa. The vocals don't remind him of Lou Reed and the ominous momentum doesn't remind him of the Velvet Underground.  Of course, mere imitation would never be enough, and the Feelies know that, so they're faster, cleaner, and more modest.

Peter Buck from REM (another band known at the time for murky vocals) produces here, and suddenly the two band's similarities are obvious. REM's own third record - made the year before - is good but a little too tangled in the kudzu. This one beats it. The next REM record - while still short of magic - was a little snappier, thanks, I believe, to the influence of this record.

Alas, some of the Feelies' lovable/scary awkwardness got left behind (I can only wonder what Gaffa would have thought of Crazy Rhythms), the chord progressions are well-worn, and the solos usually stick to the scales. And yet they still sound great. Besides their trademark furious strumming, the guitars now chime and echo, too. 

This, their second album, was made six years after their debut. During those years they broke up and then re-formed with a slightly different lineup. That experience may account for some of the lyrical themes. Topics include not flying, taking the road, being away too long, and even company. In other words, rock cliches with aging added for spice, and sung in a manner that fits the music like a glove and makes one hear them as if for the first time. What a relief from singers who sing them as if they're hearing them for the first time. 

The cover of "She Said She Said" is less than essential but it's the thought that counts.

There is no funk here, and no syncopation I can hear. Just drums and bass marching in lockstep with those guitars. The sound of a renewed commitment after some setbacks.

The sound I need now.

A-

2019: Who Doesn't Like Leftovers?

I don’t know about you but we (well, I) just stopped eating the Christmas leftovers a week or so ago. It may cause me to grow a third ear but that'll just help me keep up with all this music.

The following are all the records I accumulated during 2019 that I hadn’t yet mentioned - usually, because I had very little to say about them, or they took a while to sink in. 

Months or years from now I’ll put some of them on and have a blast, but for now, most of them fall into the pleasant/fun-but-not-quite-exhilarating category. In other words, life on a pretty good day.

Let’s go in ascending order of excellent-ness.

Tune-Yards: Nikki Nack (2014)

This is a pretty good record, but a huge letdown from 2010’s W H O K I L L. This one is similarly weird and almost as inventive, and if I'd gotten it first it would sound just fine.

B+

"Find a New Way"

Carly Rae Jepsen: E*MO*TION (2015)

Mr.s Jaybee looks at me weird when I get records like this. No dear, I’m not creeping on the young women. Besides, said young women are usually one third my age, and Ms. Jepsen is merely one half.

Re the actual music, I am in awe of its almost pathological catchiness. Between I really really really really really like you and give me love, give me love, give me love, give me love, give me love, give me love, give me love there’s really no doubting where she stands on um, interpersonal questions. I almost want the young lady to take a rest midway through the album (which she does at cut 5). But then again, like I said she’s much younger than me.

B+

“I Really Like You”

Van Dyke Parks: Song Cycle (1968)

Recognize that name? You should. He’s worked with Randy Newman, Little Feat, Brian Wilson, JoAnna Newsome, Harry Nilsson and a huge list of others. This is his very first album

It’s oddly Americana-ish for a psychedelic time and too weird for immediate enjoyment. I suspect it’s a grower but mostly for those odd occasions when you’re feeling completely alienated from the modern world. And who could blame you?

 B+

"The Attic"

Los Lobos: Colossal Head (1996)

These guys just impress the hell out of me. There’s a real fuck you attitude to this one. I mean, how many good records do they have to make to have you sit up and notice??

The guitar really stings on this one. They’re way past La Bamba, artiness and white acceptance.  Here the just rock.

B+

"Can’t Stop the Rain"

 

Idles: Joy As An Act of Resistance (2018)

Angry punk music, great dynamics, and a singer with a big deep voice. It’s closer to mid-tempo rather than the breakneck speed punk is more famous for. The main advantage of this is you can tell exactly what they’re mad about.

B+

"Colossus"

LCD Soundsystem: This Is Happening (2010)

Same old LCDSS but unlike The Sound of Silver, this one is very consistent. It doesn’t have anything undeniably great like "All My Friends" but I like the consistency of this one.

B+

"I Can Change"

Algiers: The Under Side of Power (2017)

This is less cerebral than TV on the Radio. More impassioned, too. The vocals are simply overpowering. This is a weird mix of gospel, hard rock/punk and a few other things I can't name. It’s not an easy listen. By the time it’s over you feel like you’ve worked out. But every time I put it on I rank it higher and higher.

B+

"Mme Rieux"

REM: Unplugged Completely (1995) Bootleg

I’d been looking for something like this for quite some time. They had their MTV set before I had cable and so I only heard bits of it here and there. 

This pulls all of that set together with some other acoustic performances right around their commercial peak.

As one who loves Out of Time, this one brings similar joys.

There are a few versions of this, that encompass their entire career. This one’s from 1991 or so and sticks to that early middle period that may consider the band’s peak.

A-

"Belong"

Rihanna: Anti (2016)

Who (in my demographic) would know what to expect from this critically hailed record by a fiery and sometimes problematic young lady. So what’s here?

A great voice. Excellent tunes. And no dumb crowd-pleaser songs. (Well, ok, I guess “Sex With Me” counts.) But I actively enjoy each of these songs. And they are songs, not just tracks with a voice over it.

This young lady may have some questionable choices in her life but she has made none of them here.

A-

"Close to You"

 

Alvvays: Anti-Socialites (2017)

This one falls right smack in the middle of my current comfort zone: catchy pop from female-led bands.

This one is more methodically catchy, which I guess has its shortcomings. But while she might also really really really etc like you, she has a little more to say about it than just that.

A-

And so now that I've gotten all that off my chest I look back on the last year and find that my focus on catching up on the decade has caused me to ignore records actually released in 2019 altogether.



Jesus H. Christ, I've got work to do.

Planning Your Own Funeral Soundtrack

There’s nothing that says “I’m Forcing You to Listen to the Music I Like One Last Time” more than planning your own Wake and Funeral Soundtrack.  I’ve had less than flattering things to say about wedding and gift CDs in the past, so you might think me a hypocrite to suggest something similar for my wake. But so what?  I’ll be dead.

And there are some who might consider such a project to be the ultimate in procrastination – after all, there’s got to be something else that requires more urgent attention than a playlist I'll never get to hear. Estate planning, showering, etc.

But I happen to think it’s a worthwhile exercise.

Do you want to make ‘em weep?  “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” might work. (Nothing says Do like Don’t)

Are you resentful of some people in your life?  Try Big Star’s sarcastic “Thank You Friends”.  They’ll end up glad you’re dead, which, when you think about it, is very considerate of you.

There’s also Warren Zevon’s “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead”.  Much more appropriate for those dying young, this might get a snicker since a more appropriate title for me now is “I’ll Sleep Right Here Where I’m Sitting”.

Of course, there are some songs that are best left out:

The Beatles “Getting Better All the Time” - Even I’m not that sarcastic.

Frank Sinatra “High Hopes” – A barn door closed too late, if ever there was one.

So here's my official list:

"Fox in the Snow" by Belle and Sebastian:

It's just so freaking sad, I had to include it.  I want to make sure somebody’s crying.

"My Friends" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers:

Since it's not all about me, I guess I should say thanks, as I have to make up for Big Star.  

 “The Story of My Life” by the Velvet Underground:

The music is so unassuming and sweet that you could miss the despairing lyrics.  

“My Life” by Iris DeMent:

Of course, if you think your life’s been a waste, it might help to put this on  It'd make you feel better, if you were still alive, that is. 

"At Last" by Neko Case:

This one's a little more defiant.

"When it’s Cold, I’d Like to Die" by Moby:

Wish granted!

"My Weakness" by Moby:

Moby's just so good at this kind of thing. This one's good for either death of alien abduction.

"Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens:

This one ought to get them crying again.

"When I Get to the Borderline" by Richard and Linda Thompson:

But let's not despair.  Richard's good for a rueful grin, if not exactly a laugh.

"Wall of Death" by Richard and Linda Thompson:

Another F*ck You Death! song.

"That Day is Done" by Elvis Costello:

Co-written by Paul McCartney, it's an uncharacteristically direct look at death.  You can play it instead of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken".

"Don’t Forget About Me" by Dusty Springfield:

If you want to haunt your relatives and friends.

“Boundary Rider” by the Go Betweens:

It has nothing to do with me, other than that I love it, but it sounds nice.  You can chisel those lyrics on my headstone if you like.

But for the mourners themselves I’d suggest playing most of Funeral by Arcade Fire, but I think I’d be presumptuous to assume that anyone would get that excited about my passing, except in maybe a good way. Your choice.

"Sweetness Follows" by REM:

It's going to be all right.

"Underneath the Weeping Willow" by Grandaddy:

Maybe the saddest song I’ve ever heard. But at the end you get permission to be happy again.

“It’s Summertime” by the Flaming Lips:

The Lips repeat that idea. You can play this on June 22 following my wake.  If anybody still gives a damn, that is.

And that's that.

Mrs. Jaybee thinks this line of thinking is nuts, but I think not planning this is like not getting ice for a party.  The iceman cometh.  Twice!  Lucky him.

Moving on.

Getting Lyrical

Unlike poetry, great song lyrics don't necessarily impress on paper. As a matter of fact, the more "poetic" (poetical?) they sound when read, the less chance that I'll like them when they're sung. My favorites just look like matter of fact statements:

I made a lot of mistakes

Sufjan Stevens, from "Chicago"

I loved you, well… nevermind

Alex Chilton, from "September Gurls"

It ain't dark yet, but it's getting there.

Bob Dylan, from "Ain't Dark Yet"

Just single lines, really, whose original context gives them their power. And, by themselves, not very poetic. So let me play fair and try more than one line at a time. This is the first verse of "The Whistling Song" by the Meat Puppets (from "Meat Puppets II"):

It's the shadow in the dark,

The silhouette in the park,

It's the broken, faded bird

You've learned to call your heart.

Is that better? I don't know. They're just words. You might have to hear them sung by Chris Kirkwood to feel the pain and desperation. But because I heard the song before I heard the words, I'll never be able to just read them without hearing the music, too.

This is from the Shin's "Young Pilgrim" (from "Chutes Too Narrow").

Well I learned fast how to keep my head up

'Cause I know there is this side of me

That wants to grab the yoke from the pilot

And fly the whole mess into the sea.

James Mercer's delivery is almost matter of fact. (I'm big on this under-singing thing. When a song is good enough, it doesn't need the hard sell.) He's working with a pretty striking melody, so he just lets the rhythm of the words carry him along. And it's brilliant - so much so that the post 9/11 plane hijacking metaphor is forgivable.

Now, as much as I like the words above, I have no reason to think that you do. I've heard the songs and you may not have. So I suspect the words by themselves are not enough. (In case you don't agree, just listen to William Shatner's version of "Mr. Tambourine Man" and other such celebrity atrocities.) Ideally, the music and words share a symbiotic relationship. You'd think it would be easy to spot when this isn't the case. But when I try to think of songs with great lyrics and lousy melodies (or vice versa) I can't. They're out there but they probably don't register in the first place, and we as listeners don't care to know why. Let someone who's paid to do it explain it all to us.

I am open to the possibility that when the words are striking enough, they provide the real music instead of the actual melody. These may just be poems disguised as songs, though. And if the song is good enough, I'm not sure that it's critical that we understand the words anyway.

As a matter of fact, I'd like to propose a moratorium on "getting" lyrics. I'm not talking about the songs whose words you hear the wrong way ("Excuse me while I kiss this guy", the entire early R.E.M. catalogue, etc.). If it's good rock n roll, you probably can't make out some lyrics anyway. I'm talking about the words you can hear. Anyone care to explain "any jobber got the sack, Monday morning, turn it back" to me? I'm still trying to figure out what the hell Billie Joe threw off the Tallahachie Bridge. (Where the hell is Tallahachie, anyway? Anywhere near Tallahassee?) And "lineman for the county"? Who's that? A football player? A truck driver? A phone operator? And she's singing over the wire? Jesus. Beautiful song, though.

So, if we can agree that it's okay to totally misunderstand the lyrics, I will promise to actually read the lyrics when they're provided, as long as my glasses are handy - CD jewel cases having somehow justified the printing of lyrics in a 3 point font. This should improve the odds, but not guarantee that I'll get the words right. And so what if I don't understand the words I'm saying? It'll be like when I speak.

And I further promise to only sing them while alone in the car. That way, if I miss some notes, no one will notice. But that's a whole other posting...

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?