Secret History: 1967

 
Well, this is the year when all that is good supposedly happened. Sgt. Pepper, Monterey Pop, Summer of Love, etc. I'll admit it: Sgt. Pepper is a very good album, but hardly my favorite. The Stones "Between the Buttons" is lighter and poppier than "Aftermath", and thus a bit less brilliant. Buffalo Springfield's second album, "Again" has several classics on it. You can even it pick it up in the cutout bin, if you don't feel like springing for the "Box Set". (That Neil Young's got quite the racket going for him, doesn't he?)

But you already know all that.

Cream's "Disreali Gears"? Eh. I'm just as likely to listen to "More of the Monkees", but more on that later.

The Moody Blues – "Days of Future Past"? Well, I guess this one's our fault. We all liked it a lot, and well, they just kept at it for years afterwards. It's not a bad record at all, just too many strings. (This was back when some people's idea of art was a classical music orchestra.) Do we really need to hear "Nights in White Satin" (Which at first I thought was Knights. Picture that why don't you?) again? Ah, but "Tuesday Afternoon"! That one'll always work on me.

As unfair as this sounds, I can't quite suppress a yawn. Not over the quality, mind you. It's just that we've all been over this already. So let's go deeper.


 
If ever there was a record that defines a cultural divide, it's "The Velvet Underground and Nico".  Yeah, I know Nico sounds a bit odd, and I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't love the more experimental at the end, but if you don't like what precedes it, please stop reading now. One of the greats. If you've ever wondered why people thought Lou Reed was a genius, start here.

If you were lucky, you could catch "You Set the Scene" on Saturday afternoons on FM radio. If you're luckier still you bought "Forever Changes". Love was
one of the first interracial rock groups, and is sometimes thought of as the West Coast Velvet Underground. That's because beneath the beautiful melodies and soaring strings, you get lyrics about the dark underside of the Summer of Love. But beautiful nonetheless.

Roger McGuinn is holding back a bit on The Byrds "Younger Than Yesterday", which is why I like "Fifth Dimension" a little better. And David Crosby contributes the hilariously bad "Mind Gardens", but he redeems himself with "Everybody's Been Burned", one of his best songs. Chris Hillman fills in the gap with several catchy tunes. It's not quite their best, but still damned good.

My copy of Jefferson Airplane's "Surrealistic Pillow" is on heavily scratched vinyl. But it's lighter on its feet than either "Volunteers" or "Bathing at Baxters". This might seem tame for a record that came out at the beginning of the psychedelic era, but it's tuneful and a delight.

With Moby Grape, it's more scratched vinyl. (I wish people would take better care of their records before giving them to me.) And yet the energy of this record is still shines through. I love the guitar riff that starts it all off, setting the mood immediately. The singing is great and songwriting isn't far behind. A tinge of country, but definitely rock. The classics are "Hey Grandma", "Indifference" and "Omaha", one of the most joyous rock and roll songs ever. "Listen my friends!..."

The Kinks "Something Else" is the kinkiest Kinks record ever, and almost as good as "Face to Face". Side one is a hard look at everyday English working class life. ("David Watts" is one of the best songs about class ever.) Side two is the Kinks at their strangest, with "Waterloo Sunset" as the finale.

Procol Harum's first album, "A Whiter Shade of Pale",
with
the title hit, the original "Conquistador" and a bunch of other excellent songs, may be their best. My vinyl copy is kind of woozy. The guy who punched the whole in the center must have been drunk that day. And because the sound quality on vinyl is poor, Robin Trower's guitar sometimes sounds like a kazoo. Hey, not your fault, man.

The obvious Jimi Hendrix album to own is "Are You Experienced?". Even if you're tired of the hits, the non-hits and the CD bonus tracks keep you coming back. But how about "Axis Bold As Love"? It doesn't burn as brilliantly, but it gives off a nice quiet glow. A great evening album.

Poor Richie Havens. Even in the sixties, they made you dress up for album photos.
Clearly taken prior to Woodstock, the cover shot of "Mixed Bag" shows him sporting
thick
glasses, a blazer and dress pants. He looks like he's attending private school. This is the record that provides the title for a very annoying radio program, but the record itself is very pretty and worthwhile.

And speaking of 60's folk, don't forget Nico's "Chelsea Girls", where you get a little bit of sixteen-year-old-Jackson-Browne-sensitivity, a Bob Dylan song where the singer actually hits the notes, Tim Hardin and the Velvet Underground all in one place. Quite the bargain I'd say.  But don't ask me.  Ask my wife, who, after a couple of plays, said "I can't believe how good this is."  (Hey, what that's supposed to mean, anyway?  Okay, I admit that I may have, on occasion, put her through some...questionable music.)



You won't hear these songs when your local radio station does a Top 1000 Songs of All Time holiday weekend special. But I'll bet you're so tired of the songs they do play that you won't be feeling nostalgic anyway. The records I mention above will remind you that there was more in the 1967 universe than our short term cultural memory can now imagine.

Brenda, or, For a Rocker

I first met Brenda back in 1981.  She was my girlfriend’s roommate and best friend. 

She usually wore denim, but I like to remember her wearing a leather jacket, because she always reminded me of Chrissie Hynde, even though they didn’t really look all that much alike.

But, like Chrissie, Brenda was a rocker.  Not a loud obnoxious poser, mind you.  Just someone who loved rock and roll, a cigarette and a beer.  She was actually quiet and unassuming.  But a rocker, nonetheless.

My friends could never figure her out.  But there was nothing to figure out.  Brenda was there for all to see and know.  She didn’t try to shove it in your face.  I thought she was just great.

Brenda was on the “other side” of the big musical debates of the day – punk vs. metal, Grateful Dead vs. Led Zeppelin, etc.  (Let’s not even touch politics.)  But, man, she could surprise you.  She bought “Purple Rain” before any of us – because she liked what she heard on the radio, and was honest enough to go with that.  I always admired that.

A few years ago, I got "Hank Williams Greatest Hits" as a Christmas present.  When I first put it on,  I braced myself for my wife's reaction.  But she just sang along.  It seems that Brenda would put it on when they were cleaning the apartment together.

Brenda took my poke at Led Zeppelin with good humor, even though I know it kind of pissed her off a little.  She was good like that.  Or she was just used to putting up with my  bullsh*t.

We hung out a lot, drinking, talking.  Then everybody started to get married.  Me and my girlfriend.  Brenda and her boyfriend.  When the kids came along, there would be the baptism or communion parties, but we saw less and less of each other.  And when she and her family moved upstate, and then to Pennsylvania, we’d go years without seeing each other.

One of my favorite memories of her was from September of 2005.  She came into town with her sister Mary (another rocker, and pretty f*cking fearless, I might add) and daughters Kelly - Brenda’s spitting image - and Shannon, one of the sweetest kids I ever met.  Kelly wanted to see the White Stripes, who were playing at a local outdoor venue.  The Shins, who we loved, were the opening act.  So what the hell, let’s all go.  We had a nice barbecue at the house, and then headed out to the stadium with - what else? - a cooler full of beer.

Brenda had just gotten over a bout of cancer, so although her outfit was the usual denim, her hair was a post-chemo crew cut.  She was by far the coolest looking person there, even though she was twenty years older than most of them.  Kelly got into the show while the rest of us hung out in the parking lot, or wandered around the boardwalk.  It was a beautiful fall evening at the beach with music, beer and old friends.  We even ran into my cousin the police captain doing crowd control.  I’ll never forget his What the hell are you doing here? expression.  Anyway, it was great night with too much beer drank by all concerned, so everybody slept over.

My wife had her own battle with cancer the year before, with more to come later, so we had the added dimension of post-war camaraderie.  Being all city kids, we were sharp enough to understand that we may have only been between world wars.  So I’d be lying if I said “little did we know”.  We knew very well indeed.  They would both have to fight their wars again. 

We last saw Brenda a month ago.  Nobody was kidding themselves about the situation – she was clearly near the end- and hospice arrangements were being made.  I’d like to say it was like a Hallmark movie but that would be a crock.  Real life is always there, staring you in the face.  But Brenda always just stared right back at it.

I tried to impress her kids with stories of her drummer ex-boyfriend, seeing Rocky Horror how many times, and going to local clubs to see some unknown punk band.  But it really wasn’t necessary.  They already knew she was cool.

Both of us being Irish, we aren’t very demonstrative with our emotions.  But when we left that day, we gave each other the strongest hug I can remember.  Even though she was wearing a heavy robe, I could still feel her bones.

Brenda died last Thursday. 

Now her kids, who also lost their father a few years ago, will carry on.  Sean, Kelly, Shannon – you are wonderful, intelligent, beautiful young people.  Go make your mom proud.  I know you will because you have a part of her in you.

Brenda wasn’t a celebrity.  She wasn’t rich or famous.  But she had class, which means she wouldn’t rate a mention on Access Hollywood.  I consider that a badge of honor.  She was just a friend (and a sister and a mother and…) who you could hang out with.  Brenda just was.

So, if you read this, goddamn it, you’re going to f*cking know she existed.

Love you, Brenda.  Rest in Peace.

Secret History: The Velvet Underground

I was just going to just jump into 1967 when I decided that the Velvet Underground deserved their own post.  If ever there was a band that represented the secret history, it’s them.

No band better defines the division between what many people call classic rock, and what has always been looked upon as “alternative” music.  Call it punk, glitter, whatever. 

It was the music most of us hated.  It was just too damned weird.

The sixties made things easy for us.  For a time (1964-69) AM radio was a place where good music and popular music were synonymous.  We had FM for what we considered the more adventurous music, and when Sgt. Pepper came along, everyone was an artiste.  All of these factors conspired to make us think we’d explored all there was to explore.  It made us lazy. 

But even then, there was an “alternative” universe being created, thankfully before the window of opportunity collapsed.  It avoided the trap of taking itself too seriously, and it stayed rock and roll based, not trying to use classical music motifs.  Perhaps as a result, it didn’t get played on the radio.

Why not?  Because whatever people say about missing the sixties, I think most were secretly relieved when they was over.  They couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal.  Check out what songs became hits on AM radio in 1970, and compare that to just the year before.  (No, you do it.  I’m busy.) 

And FM?  Well, if anything, the increasing crap on AM only made it more attractive.  But as people get older, they want to be taken seriously.  So the music they listened to had to seem more mature.  How to do that?  Well, add orchestras, stress musicianship, and trade in the electric guitar for an acoustic.  Above all, be serious.  That’ll let people have their pop music and feel grown up, too.  You know it’s art if everybody’s frowning.

So music that hoped to be sold got pretty safe.  But, as a friend once said, “safe” is one long slow slide into mediocrity.  In order for something to thrive it’s got to change.  And change can challenge people.  Some aren’t up for it. 

A friend once complained that there hasn’t been any great music since 1975.  Given where he was looking – AOR radio – I had to agree.  Had he been looking elsewhere, he might have felt differently.

And that’s a shame because I happen to think that what we call “alternative” music has been responsible for far more great rock and roll music than supposedly “classic” rock.   

My Faithful Readers: Ahem, hey Jaybee, what about the Velvet Underground?

Me:  Oh, yeah.  I forgot

I’m ashamed to say that I didn't hear my first Velvet Underground album until 1982 – at least fifteen years after it came out.  I was only three tracks into “Velvet Underground and Nico”(1967) on my first listen when it was clear to me that I was listening to a great album.    (This from a guy who doesn’t usually know he likes an album until he’s heard it a dozen times.)  I couldn’t believe how enjoyable it was.  From the beautiful ballads - written back when Lou Reed would put actual melodies in his songs, and sing them, too! - to aggressively experimental rock and roll, it amazed me that, with the exception of “Heroin”, I had heard none of it on the radio.  It was as though a , well, secret history had been revealed.

And yet, it’s quintessential “classic” rock.  I’ll admit that some of the subject matter must have been considered iffy (drugs, sado-masochism, hey, what’s not to like?) at the time, but it was the 60s for god sakes.  But then again, these topics stand in start contrast to our image of the Summer of Love.  Classics include: “Sunday Morning”, “Waiting for My Man”, “There She Goes”, “Femme Fatale”, “I’ll Be Your Mirror”.  It’s one of the all time greats.

I then figured that if the radio wouldn’t play this when it first came out, thus preventing it from entering the collective consciousness, what else were they passing on?  And if that’s what I missed then, what was I missing now?  This was when I officially gave up on commercial radio as a source of music that I could love.

The second album, “White Light/White Heat” (1968) is one of the most uncompromising albums ever made, and is admittedly a bit much.  The amps are turned way up beyond the point of distortion, let alone clarity.  If anything the subject matter is even more out there.  It could be heard as Lou Reed’s first of many extended middle fingers to his audience.    But it does have great moments – the astounding momentum of “Sister Ray”, “Lady Godiva’s Operation”, the beautiful “Here She Comes Now”.  Not for the faint hearted, it’s definitely that last one to get.

The third album - simply called “Velvet Underground” (1969) - is a total shock, because its quietly beautiful - and yet not pretty - sound occupies a completely different universe from its predecessors.  Maybe it’s the morning after the orgy of the prior album.  Minor caveats include the woozy lead guitar in the middle of “What Goes On”, which is more than made up for by the great rhythm(!) guitar solo at the end, and the experimental “Murder Mystery” which is a bit long.   Highlights include “Candy Says”, “Beginning to See the Light” and “Jesus”, which, if it were ever played at Mass, I might start going again.  It’s a morning album, but have your coffee first.  Definitely worthwhile.

“Loaded” (1970) is the last official studio album, and is much more relaxed and seemingly lightweight than the prior ones, so much so that it may take a few listens to take hold, but by then, you’re hooked.  It’s got “Who Loves the Sun”, which could have been done by the Cowsills, “Sweet Jane”, which was done admittedly better by Mott the Hoople, and “Rock n Roll”.  Lou Reed sounds like he’s having the time of his life, which is weird, because he quit the band before the record was completed.  This one’s the funnest.

Of the live albums, I recommend the double “1969: The Velvet Underground Live”.  Of the two collections of lost recordings released in the 80s, I can vouch for the first “VU”, which has “You’re My Best Friend” and “Ocean” which are amongst my all time VU favorites.

So I suggest that you start with “Velvet Underground and Nico” for the classic songs, or “Loaded” for fun.  Then choose between the strong songs on “Velvet Underground” or the good tunes on “VU”.  And if you make it to “White Light/White Heat”, I’ll be very proud.

You don’t put the Velvets on during a party, unless you’ve invited a bunch of heroin addicts.  And at times you will find them to be downright unpleasant. 

But the Velvet Underground would be the well spring from which hundreds of other bands would arise.  Some of them could be unsavory (Iggy and the Stooges), or downright alarming (The New York Dolls).  In other words, they were often totally at odds with what many of us thought of as serious music.  And they smelled of gimmick, when it should be about the music. 

But what about the music?  There was always something twisted about it.  (Call it Bizzarro music if you like.)  It was loud, messy.  Definitely not mellow.  It was, after all, rock and roll music.  And we thought we were getting too old for it. 

But that’s only because too many of us see a contradiction between a seeming lack of seriousness and art.  And thanks to the ever tightening grip of money on radio, and the blindness of even so called free form stations, this music would always be relegated to the musical ghetto.

But over time, it’s become clear that this has been the real source of inspiration for the great rock and roll music being made even now.  And we have the Velvet Underground to thank for it.

Secret History 1966: "Aftermath" – The Great Unknown Stones Album

Even though I didn’t for a while, I eventually got around to liking the Stones. It was the whole Stones vs. Beatles thing. I mean, where did anyone get off versing the Beatles, anyway?

It wasn’t like you had to choose one or the other, but you usually had a clear favorite. And which one it was said a lot about you and what other things you liked. If you liked the Beatles, you liked songs, melody, harmony and production. If you liked the Stones you liked rock and roll, and flirted with the dark side.

I was vaguely aware of this dynamic at the time. I was the typical “good kid” who liked nice things. The Beatles were nice, and, as Col. Frank Burns would say, it's nice to be nice to the nice, so I liked them. The Stones were not nice, so my Catholic upbringing allowed me to like them only so much. And yet my friends –fellow Catholics - did not appear to have this problem.

So you tell me, Stones fans. What was the attraction? It was clear that the cooler kids liked the Stones. Was it the bad boy thing? Or was it simply how great the music was? Even I noticed that. Well, it was all of the above.

Although the histories of the Beatles and Stones were all jumbled up for me at the time, it appears that the Stones got the later start. And as good as they already were, their artistic and commercial breakthrough – “Satisfaction” – didn’t occur until 1965, and their albums weren’t generally recognized as great until 1968 or so.

But ours would remain a not-quite-love/don’t-know-at-all relationship for a while. After the Beatles broke up, I was able to like the Stones more. Me and my friends immersed ourselves in “Sticky Fingers”, “Exile on Main Street” and “Hot Rocks”. Then I got annoyed with them all over again when they started calling themselves "the greatest rock and roll band in the world". It was bad enough that they were doing this now that the Beatles were gone, but then I caught the emcee saying it during the intro of “Get Yer Ya Yas Out” …in 1969. Sacrilege!

And then they gave me/us some valid reasons to not like them, putting out crappy albums like “Goat's Head Soap” and “It's Only Rock and Roll” (Whaddaya mean only! More Sacrilege!!), so I could safely ignore them until 1978 and “Some Girls” when I'm forced to like them all over again, over the objections of Jesse Jackson, no less. But by then, I'd loosened up a bit. (At this rate, I’ll be almost cool at 90.)

Since then, there was a long slow decline I could safely ignore.

And yet, I'd keep hearing that I had somehow still missed some of their greatest music.
So I made my way back to, oh I don’t know, 1966 or so. (Subliminal message: When I get “The Singles Collection: The London Years” for Father’s Day, I’ll be able to fill in a lot of blanks.)

But I have taken a shot here and there.

The only “pre-album appreciation” period records I have are “Now!”, “Aftermath” and “Between the Buttons”. The first is a good record consisting mostly of covers of rhythm and blues standards I might not have heard otherwise. I know I should like this record more than I actually do, but Mick sounds like the young British appreciater of this music rather than the master of it. The band does better, but I like them better still when they’ve fully come into their own.

The latter is a damned good album with hits like “Ruby Tuesday” and “Let’s Spend the Night Together”, and relatively obscure gems like “Connection” and “She Smiled Sweetly”. The rest is not brilliant, but more than adequate.

Which is where “Aftermath” comes in. What at first glace may appear as a typical hits plus filler record, turns out to be one of the great albums of the sixties.

Yes, I know we’ve been through this already with the Who (“Sell Out”) and the Kinks with (“Face to Face”). I’m not going that far with the Stones. After all, it’s hard to make better albums than “Beggar’s Banquet”, “Let it Bleed”, etc. But “Aftermath” is right up there. And anyway, they seem to be doing just fine without my help, thank you very much.

The singles “Paint Black”, “Under My Thumb” and “Lady Jane” kick things off. Not bad, right?

And you know how they get all authentic on you when you think they’re about to go soft? Out they come with the slide guitar and harmonica, and they start playing the blues. This is annoying to us superficial pop music fans, and I admit that this was my first reaction. But then I noticed that the bluesy songs (“Doncha Bother Me”, “505” and the 11 minute(!) “Going Home”) were being done with much greater authority, and they just kept growing on me.

And, of course, it wouldn’t be a Stones record without some great obscurities, like “Think”, “High and Dry”, “It's Not Easy” and the brilliant “I am Waiting”.

So if you’re thinking about giving these multi-millionaires even more of your money, you could do a lot worse than to shell out a few bucks for this wonderful record.

Which leaves just one last question: Aftermath to what? They were just getting started.

Secret History: 1966

1966 is one of my favorite years in music, not just because I got my first album "Revolver" then, but because it's a year where the quality is still higher than the musicians themselves.

The music has a light touch. Psychedelia hasn't yet kicked in, the guitars aren't too distorted, the musicianship and songwriting is improving, the songs are still short and to the point. In other words, it's right before things started getting pretentious.

You already know about what the Beatles and Dylan were doing that year. And I'll save the Stones for a separate post. But until Allmusic.com comes up with a "We Love 1966" post, you'll have to settle for my take on that year. So, in order of my preference, here's a few records worthy of your time and attention:

• First, there's the Kink's greatest record "Face to Face". Here's my post on that criminally neglected era. Nuff said.
• Then, there's the Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds", which I finally picked up in 1990. I have to admit being underwhelmed at first, especially with it popping up on all these all time greatest albums lists. I still think it's a bit overrated, but it's certainly a very worthy record. Brian Wilson with his heart on his sleeve.
  
• And don't' forget the Byrds. Their third album, "Fifth Dimension" starts off with the title track – one of my all time favorite songs – and stays great until more than halfway through, up to “Eight Miles High”, after which  they do a lame version of "Hey Joe", a song that seems to trip up everyone except Jimi Hendrix. It's also followed by some filler, but the rest of it is brilliant, and well worth your while.
  
• Then there's the Who, who are already getting a bit arty on "A Quick One". I also went on about them, too. Although the songwriting it divided pretty evenly, everybody comes up with good tunes. And the title tune - our first mini rock opera (awwww!) - is just wonderful. Sweet and funny all at once.
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  And don't forget "John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, With (a Pre Cream/post Yardbirds) Eric Clapton". Here, Slowhand has not yet turned into Slowhead. In fact, he's as sharp as a tack. Too bad about the singing, though. Not perfect, but pretty fine.
  
  And… well, I don't know

I'm sure I'm forgetting someone. (What do you want, I was nine years old.) So please remind me, or berate me for any obvious omissions.

The Secret History Project

The Secret History Project is my attempt to make sense of the divide between music that was popular and music that, in my opinion, should have been popular.


The Reasons:

Why? Well, to answer the eternal question - where or where did I go wrong? (Or, since it's my blog, where did you go wrong?) In other words, where did we part ways? How did I get from there to here? Where is "there", anyway? Graduation from college? High school?? Grammar school??? (the birth canal?)

I also want to figure out if this divide had to happen. Was it predetermined by taste? Or would we all have loved the same music given the opportunity? In my heart, I'd like to think so, even though my brain says otherwise.

My official, altruistic reason, as always, is to expose you to music you might have missed along the way.

My less than noble reason is that I'm trying to be cool.

But seriously, I always loved music. You did too, but you had a life. So now I'm giving you the opportunity to have your cake and eat it too. You'll have a life and know about cool music too. And then we can go back to where we were when we were kids – you being cool and me being pathetic. You know, the way it was meant to be.

But it's worth doing, because my mission is to bring you joy through music. And since I can't do this by actually playing it, I'll do the next best thing – spreading the word about it. Kind of like John the Baptist (another JB, mmmm…) except with music. And so far, no one's asked for my head on a platter. Empty calories, no doubt.



The Rules:

First, pop music only. You may not be a fan of Classical music or jazz (or country or world, etc.). I 'm trying to find things that you don't have to appreciate before you love.

Second, it's got to be music that came out in my lifetime.

Third, it's got to be less than obvious, since the point is to find things you don't know about already. Feel free to return the favor. Tell me what you've found along the byways of pop music.


The Method:

I'll be looking at records by the year they were released. In other words, not by when I may have actually experienced them, which in some cases was decades later. This will give you an opportunity to say, hey what took you so long, anyway?

This may not be exactly how we experienced it, but it's just plain more orderly. It's also a way to think about what we were doing at the time.

So - flawed thrice-over – this approach puts us up against the limits of my record collection, my taste, and my revisionist history.


1957 - 1965:

So I started with 1957, and, after excluding Broadway and Movie soundtracks, I found some oldies. Not a huge fan. You should really start your own blog to convince to me it's great. I supposed I could point you to Elvis's "Sun Sessions", but I think I'll save that for another post.

And it stays that way, more or less, until 1964 when we hit the British Invasion. For that, I recommend watching PBS during pledge week. Just saying…

And 1965 at first seems like more of the same. (I'm saving middle-period Beatles for another post.)

One exception is "The Who Sing My Generation", but I dealt with that before.

I guess, the Byrds should count here, but despite some great songs, I find "Mr. Tambourine Man" a bit overrated, going a bit soft here and there. (Will someone please do a hard rock version of "Spanish Harlem Incident"?) Good, but not peak Byrds.

So it isn't until 1966 where I start to find the real hidden treasures, which I'll start to deal with next time.

Favorite Son Does Cover of Favorite Song by Favorite Band

Or as The Onion might put it "Area Man Proud of Son".

Check it out here.

It brings tears to my eyes.