Small Town Talk, or Even Later Thoughts on Woodstock

A while ago, prompted by an Amazon.com $5 mp3 sale (admittedly, a core motivation for most of my life decisions) for the Woodstock soundtrack,  I wrote about Woodstock, The Event. Now I'll write about Woodstock, The Place. Sort of.

I've never been there, although I may pass through in a few weeks.

Why is this coming up now? Because I just finished Barney Hoskyns' Small Town Talk, which is a history of the town during the reign of Albert I, who is otherwise known as Albert Grossman - aptly named by the way, depending upon who you ask. In A Complete Unknown, he's a cuddly teddy bear companion to Bob Dylan. Here he is somewhat less so. The ultimate Citizen Kane of rock and roll, he had as many admirers as detractors.

So why do I give a shit about him, you ask? He was a catalyst in the great migration of folk and pop musicians to Woodstock in the sixties, and the ruler of his little kingdom until, oh, the eighties or nineties.

Now, that area has been described by some of our more spiritual folk as a mystical place - a North Eastern Twin Peaks. (Come to think of it, each place had a rather monstrous person named Bob, but whatever.) As such, the town was always a haven for artists and oddballs going back to the beginning of the century, and each new wave of said artists would be derided by the now old guard for ruining the town. 

And who are we talking about when it comes to the sixties? Well, there's Dylan himself, Bob Neuwirth, members of the Band, Paul Butterfield, Jesse Winchester, Charles Mingus, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Van Morrison, and Todd Rundgren, just to name a few.

Like episodes of Behind the Music, or any musical biopic, this is another long, sad story, only exponentially greater due to sheer numbers involved. It is one sad book. 

Spoiler alert: The biggest asshole is a tie between Grossman, Dylan and Rundgren, with Van Morrison running close behind. The biggest substance abuser is god only knows who.

So, out of the wreckage, I decided to dip into two artists I've not previously had the chance to get into - Paul Butterfield, who is a character throughout, and Jesse Winchester, one of the singer-songwriter types from the 70s I used to listen to all the time. Somehow, I never got around to him.

Jesse Winchester: Jesse Winchester (1970)

Jesse's got a nice deep voice, and veers between rockin' little numbers like "Pay Day" and more serious numbers like "Yankee Lady". All in all, a good balance.

The production is so-so. Typical early seventies better-than-the-sixties-but-not-quite-there-yet sound. The drums, in particular, are quite muffled. (What's up there, Smartypants Todd??)

Speaking of the drums, they are nice when syncopation is called for, less so for forward momentum. I expect better from Levon Helm, and thus believe it's one of the other guys listed in the credits.

However, Winchester has a distinctive voice, both as vocalist and lyricist. It carries the record where it might otherwise slack off. I'm a big fan of great songs like "Black Dog" tucked away at the back of records.

Thus, this 55-year-old record, despite some sonic shortcomings, can often speak to us today. 

It's not a Great Record, but a very good one. 

A-

This next record also falls short of greatness. Alas, when it comes to the blues, that makes all the difference.

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band: The Paul Butterfield Blues Band (1965)

Paul plays a mean harp, and with Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop on guitar, along with Muddy Waters' rhythm section. What could go wrong? Not much. And it must have been quite exciting when it came out. It has less of an impact now. It packs a sonic punch, and the sheer momentum can overcome one's caveats.

It's just not Great. 

Don't get me wrong. I rate it right up there with the other white blues bands of the day. Listening to the Yardbirds, Fleetwood Mac, and the Bluesbreakers, this fits right in. What those bands have in common is a guitar at the forefront. Forget vocals. Save that for the real thing. However, Mike Bloomberg hasn't quite emerged as the genius with an individual style just yet. Elvin Bishop is great, but I think I've heard it all before. And as a guitar lover, it falls ever so short due to that. 

A fine album to put on, but one you may not go back to all that often.

B+

As I said, I'll be in the area next month. Given the time, I hope to go to Woodstock and possibly Saugerties as well. I expect more tourist-trap than either Peyton Place or Utopia. Humans, especially our beloved but flawed musical heroes, have a tendency to, in the short run, create magic, but in the long run, create broken families and succumb to addiction. 

No judgment intended here, except for major jerks like Dylan (who seems to have mellowed a bit), Rundgren, and oh, Van Morrison (who has not mellowed a bit). They're great at what they do, but can we please just not idolize these guys?

It's a deal.

Blood on the 8-Tracks, Track Seven: You Can’t Go Home Again:

So, what to do with all of these old 8-tracks? Do I try to enjoy them again by re-buying them? Do I let sleeping dogs lie? (And, as you’ll see below, there were some real dogs.)

And if I do buy them again, do I get them in CD format? mp3? VINYL?!

As I said in the first of at least seven too many posts link about this, when deciding whether to re-buy an album, it pays to remember that I may have already played it out. In other words, no matter how good the record is, is it worthwhile replacing it if I’m just going to listen to it once and just file it away? Like plutonium, but in a good way, every record has its own half life.

And my tastes have changed, too. I don’t always know if a record that seemed great to Jaybee-the- pimply-fifteen-year-old will still seem so to Jaybe-the-grumpy-old-man-who-scares-the-four-year-olds-who-pass-by-his-house?

I have to keep this all in mind when considering which 8-tracks to replace. (You’d think I’d give World Peace this much thought.)

So how’m I doin?

Replaced So Far:

Dave Mason: Alone Together

When the odd song played on the radio, it epitomised the obscure-yet-classic-sounding solo albums of the early seventies. Actually sitting down to listen to such albums can prove disappointing. Not here, though. While the songs don’t convey a strong personal identity (a common flaw of many such “classic” solo albums) they are tuneful and well produced. This version of “Only You Know and I Know” beats the hell out of the Delaney and Bonnie version. A vinyl copy basically fell into my lap, and my life is better for it. A-

And this is what the original vinyl looks like. Pretty cool, huh? (Things that look like vomit are cool, right?)

Stephen Still and Manassas:

This double album showcasing Stephen Stills temporarily salvaging his career avoids sequencing hell, dividing it’s four sides neatly over the four tracks. And it fits on a single CD! It would be all downhill from here for poor Stephen, though. A-

Graham Nash: Songs for Beginners

There are more good songs here than Nash ever wrote for CSNY, so you wouldn’t blame me for thinking he didn’t have it in him. So it was a very pleasant surprise, that I finally got a chance to replace last year. Good then, excellent with the sequencing fixed. A-

Van Morrison: St. Dominick’s Preview

Not as brilliant as Astral Weeks or Moondance, but a little sharper than either Tupelo Honey or His Band and Street Choir, this one suffers only from a bit of schizophrenia by mixing radio friendly short ones, with long slow ones, but Van brings it all together nicely in the title cut. But I do miss how “Independence Day” would bleed into the other tracks on the 8 track, making everything sound like it was recorded on a boat on a foggy ocean in the middle of the night.  A-

The Rolling Stone: Let it Bleed

A true Roommate Mike garage-sale special. For the Stones, it’s actually a bit uneven. “Gimme Shelter” and “You Can’t Always Get WHat You Want” are amongst the greatest rock n roll songs ever, but that causes some of the rest to lag behind. Hidden Gem: “You Got the Silver”  A

The Redundant:

Live Cream

I loved this record and considered it to represent some of Clapton’s greatest work. It’s reviled by those critics who preferred rock n roll to be shorter and tighter. I understand, but my gut is still in agreement with fifteen year old Jaybee. So I just swallowed the Cream oeuvre whole with the box-set of Those Were the Days. But I just couldn’t win - my favorite track - “NSU” was in a different version.  Whatever. This is still a guilty pleasure.  A-

David Bowie Stage

Superior to the really crappy “David Live”, it’s a good representation of Bowie’s best 70s work. But I've got all these songs already in their original studio versions, so why bother? But if you don’t already have Low, Heroes or Station to Station, it’s highly recommended. A-

Contenders:

Rolling Stones: Their Satanic Majesties Request

This one’s not bad at all. Just not quite on the level of many other early Stones records. I’ve had less reason to get it since getting the Singles Collection. But someday. Another Mike Special! B+

10cc

Remember these guys? This is their first and it’s really good. It’s got the Beach Boy vocals, the Graham Gouldman melodies and that British sarcasm. C’mon Amazon! I’m waiting! A-.

On the Fence:

These are the ones that may may suffer from either half-life or taste change considerations, in order of my increasing hesitation:

Poco - A Good Feelin’ To Know

Although I loved this record when it came out, and have had a couple of chances to replace it, I haven’t. I’m afraid to. Something tells me that Ritchie Furay doesn’t translate well to other decades. Maybe it’s me.

Graham Nash/David Crosby

Talk about not transcending a decade! This has got to be the quintessential half-assed supergroup albums of that time, and yet I’ve got fond memories of it.  If you thrust it into my hands I wouldn’t throw it back at you.

Marrying Maiden: It’s a Beautiful Day

I do recall it being real pretty, but with song titles like “Essence of Now” and “The Dolphins” you know it’s going to be like talking to a hippie. Pleasant enough but when it’s done, it’s DONE. By the way, the guy actually sings too well. Are you seeing a theme here? I’d replace it but I’m afraid that it’s REALLY going to suck.

Bonnie Raitt’s first album. I don't even remember. The sound quality was pretty poor.  And I think it got lost before I got to hear it more than once. Where the hell did it go, anyway?

Van Morrison: His Band and Street Choir

This one was always a bit lightweight for me. I’m more of an Astral Weeks fan. It certainly wasn’t bad, and “Domino” is great, but that’s the only one.

The Real Dogs:

Then there’s the question of quality, ahem, quality:

Loathe as I am to admit it, not every record I’ve ever gotten is deserving of additional plays. Sometimes there’s a reason why something is in the bargain bin. Sometimes you get what you pay for.

Renaissance: Scheherazade

One of Mike’s. (I never said he batted 1.000.) And if I gave it the time, it might prove to be okay. But prog-rock has not worn well for me and these guys come across way too serious.

The Mothers: Overnite Sensation -

This one’s all mine. I got thru it once but have no interest in trying again.

Quicksilver Messenger Service: Anthology

I think Mike got this one, but I can understand it. After all, it’s a Best Of. It’s got to have some good songs, right? Well, I gave it a single listen, hated the guy’s voice, and decided that life was too short. I was 22 at the time.

I realize that I’m being terribly unfair here, and could come to enjoy, or at least appreciate these albums if I gave them the time. But sometimes a record just gives off the aroma of “too much work to enjoy”, and these three really stank.

So What Does It All Mean?:

When it comes to music, I pride myself on not looking back. Given a choice between the known and unknown, I’ll almost always choose the latter.  

But it’s only human to want to occasionally relive old memories, even when you know they’re as likely to disappoint as they are to satisfy. Aside from the occasional loser (Thank’s a lot, ELP!)

I did okay.

I guess it’s all a matter of focus and commitment, and what you can achieve when you’re willing to devote your life to something important.

Some people (Ghandi) free a nation from the yoke of colonial rule. Some people (Jonas Salk) find a cure for the scourge of polio. 

And some people (me) move their old 8-tracks to CDs.

Secret History: 1968

Ahh, the Summer of Love ('67, in case you missed it) has by now ushered in the Age of Aquarius, and at the beginning of 1968, it's clear that everything is going to be just great. (No wonder I prefer music to real life.)

Let's start off with a couple of records that were really released in late 1967, but didn't make their mark until 1968:

First, there's Bob Dylan's "John Wesley Harding". I was going to ignore Dylan, but I really like this record. Now if he would only take harmonica lessons and I could forget Hendrix's version of "All Along the Watchtower", I'd say it was love.

And then there's The Who Sell Out, which is just my all time favorite album. Now when you buy it, you're going to listen to it once and say, what the hell? Will you please put it on again? And again? At some point, you're going to realize that the Tommy references are pre-Tommy references, the commercials are hilarious, and the ballads are as beautiful as any Pete Townsend ever wrote. And who doesn't like Heinz baked beans?

The Byrds kept pretty busy. When they weren't busy killing each other, they were making their two best albums. First, there's "The Notorious Byrd Brothers", which is an artful suite of tunes, the most famous of which – but not the best, mind you - may be Carole King's "Going Back". Then there's "Sweetheart of the Rodeo" which takes on country music, with great enthusiasm and respect, thanks to Gram Parsons. This is truly one of the highlights of the decade. Greatest American Band of the Sixties, you say? Hard to argue with you, sir.

And although I'll admit that "Moondance" has more soul, Van Morrison's
"Astral Weeks" is (warning: bs phrase approaching) full of jazzy poetic mystery.
It is also where
I first wondered
if Van was out of his mind. At first I was taken aback by all the growling, scatting and general weirdness. But it's clearly Van at his most hypnotic.

The Zombies scored early in the decade with a couple of great singles ("She's Not There" and "Tell Her No"), but then struggled for years for a follow up hit. "Odyssey and Oracle" was their last shot, but it came a little too late. "Time of the Season", didn't become a hit until 1970, two years after they called it quits. They deserved better, because this is a wonderful record. "Care of Cell #44" is brilliant, and a couple of others ("Hung Up on a Dream", "Brief Candles") are as good as anything else the sixties served up.

The Kinks could always be counted upon to create a brilliant side of music every year or so. And side one of "Village Green Preservation Society" is
one of their best ever. Side two was always their Achilles heel, and here they do wander off a bit to the village green. But that's the Kinks for you. But definitely worthwhile nonetheless.

And if you're as sick of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" as I am, you might want to try "Bookends" by Simon and Garfunkel. Besides "Mrs. Robinson", it's got "Fakin' It" and "America". Not too shabby, although I still maintain that Art Garfunkel is the luckiest man alive. At least Ringo can drum.

Spirit boasted
great
musicianship and excellent songwriting, if not the most electrifying singing. Maybe that's why their first record went by the wayside. They would later become more famous for "I Got a Line On You" and "Nature's Way", but this record is very fine. Check out the acoustic guitar of "Taurus", which Led Zeppelin "borrowed" for "Stairway to Heaven".


 
The Weirdness:

While the Beatles were telling us that All You Need Is Love, some people were having none of it. Frank Zappa being one of them, he felt the need to make his own heartwarming philosophical statement – "We're Only In it for the Money". Now I always found Frank to be a bit overrated. I always felt like I was supposed to like his stuff. Well, any record that calls out both the cops and the hippies appeals to the misanthrope (curmudgeon?) in me, and this is one record for which I'm happy to make the effort.

Back when Peter Rowan and David Grisman were hippies, they formed Earth Opera, whose first record sounded dated before they finished recording it. Slow, weird, and with weak singing. But there are tunes here. I think.


 
In sum, people were so inspired by all this great music that 1968 will always be remembered for its racial brotherhood, a curious dearth of assassinations, and peace in Vietnam.