Comics Relief, Part Four: Civil War!

Well, we’re still sitting outside Jaybee’s “doctor’s” office and, well I don’t care anymore. I’m just too tired to get up. Oh, no! Voices!

Jaybee: So I fell off the wagon again, doctor, and I blame the lists. You know, top ten albums, top ten movies, etc. Show me a top ten list of farts, and I’ll start sniffing around.

That's how my wife gets me to go to the grocery store. She says that she found an article on top ten grocery items. Before you know it, I've done the week’s food shopping, and find myself raving at her “You've interfered with my plans for the last time!”

The list I’m referring to now, though, is the book “1000 Comics You Must Read” by Tony Isabella . Is he one of your patients? He should be.

Going through it, I found a disturbing number of comics I'd already read, and worse, a whole bunch more I wanted to read. It was like “1000 Beers You Must Drink”  for alcoholics.

And of course, being a true Marvel addict a simple story taking place within the confines of a single issue is not good enough. I go for the sagas, the epics, the same, age old device to get suckers to buy more comics. And of all the comics listed in “1000 …” the one that caught my interest was Marvel’s “Civil War”, a story involving every superhero Marvel has, which takes up several issues of each franchise, thus spanning, depending on who's doing the spanning, anywhere from 80 to 150 issues.

This seemed long, complicated and frustrating, so naturally I was intrigued.

Now even I'm smart enough at least to try the library before spending money unnecessarily. My wife believes I would check out hell first if heaven had a cover charge.

And you don’t have to even check the stacks anymore, either. You can go on line and place a hold on any book you want, so why not comics? I’ve more or less used up the branch that’s closest to my house, and now go to another one, where I would have the comics sent. It has the added advantage that I’m not as well known there. So the whole sorry enterprise would go unnoticed.

So, sure enough, within a few days, I start getting notices that X Men this or Iron Man that had arrived.

When I get there it turns out that comics are not placed in the usual area for pick up. Like condoms, they're behind the counter and you have to ask for them.

So I get on line, feeling nice and anonymous, when I look up to see the old Italian lady from my local branch sitting behind the counter. She knows me pretty well, and even thinks I’m respectable. This will ruin all that, I’m sure. Unless I can count on that total freeze out I’ve come to occasionally expect from the old (and young, come to think of it) ladies in my neighborhood.

But no such luck. She looks up and smiles at me.

"Oh, Hi, what are you doing here?" I say, acting pleasantly surprised and happy to see her.

"Our regular branch is now closed on Saturday, so they moved me here."

"Oh, that's great…” I try some distracting chit chat, but I can hear muttering and pages being violently turned, which means that the book nerds behind me are getting restless.

“Okay, bye! Oh! I almost forgot! I've got something waiting for me on the shelf behind you." I couldn't bring myself to say the word "comic".

She turned around to look.

"Oh. A GRAPHIC NOVEL" she said..

What? Not “COMIC”? Graphic Novel actually sounds pretty classy. But who's kidding whom? I was afraid she wouldn’t find it, and resort to one of those drug store overhead microphones:

"Manager, please. I've got a fifty three year old man who wants a COMIC BOOK. That's right, a COMIC BOOK!" And a room full of homeless people laugh in unison.

Luckily she found them, and no such announcement was required. I scooted out of there quick, covering the “graphic novels” with a large print edition of “Everything’s Illuminated”.



The library doesn’t carry individual issues, but rather bound collections of more of less self contained stories, running about eight issues long. Well, I had a foot high stack of them on my dresser. And with the help of a couple of internet sites manned by some people with too much time on their hands (links?) – I began reading the saga, taking care to not read Spider Man 531 before Fantastic four 565, etc…

All in all, I read about seventy five of the comics that make up the “core” of the story, and I know of at least another fifty that were at least peripherally related. But since not everything was available at the library, and my obsession didn’t extend to actually paying for anything, I settled.

Doctor: So how was it?

Jaybee: It was…pretty good. Not great. Pretty good.

Doctor: I’m not surprised. The reality is usually worse than the anticipation. I suppose you think because of this, you’ve somehow grown up and are cured.

Jaybee: No, as you said (see the legendary previous posts!) one is never curred.

Doctor: True, true.

Jaybee: And besides, I’ve decided that I’m sick in the first place!

Doctor: Oh, rest assured, you’re quite mad.  But go on!

Hang on for the thrilling (eh) conclusion!!!

Comics Relief, Part Three: On and Off the Wagon

Well, we’re still crouched by the door, listening in. Jaybee does go on, doesn’t he? So someone’s gone for folding chairs and snacks. Honestly, most people could admit to murder, or worse, impotence, sooner than Jaybee can explain his fixation with comic books.
Well it sounds like he’s stopped crying like a little girl, so let's tune back in. Nachos, anyone?


Jaybee: So true, doctor, so true. One is never quite cured. I was doing fine for a long while. I passed for an adult for years, only rarely being detected.

But in my thirties, I noticed that Marvel had begun reissuing its classic comics in hardcover, and in color like the original issues. They ran at least twenty bucks a shot with just a handful of issues in them, so the cheapskate in me was always able to resist.

But then Marvel began releasing cheaper soft-cover volumes. Sure, they were in black and white, but they were packed with at least twenty issues in each. They were entitled “The Essential (fill in the name of your favorite super hero)”, but by “essential” they seemed to mean all of the very oldest issues. Kind of like those “Greatest Hits” albums of very mediocre artists. But what sucks for music is perfect for comics, because these volumes solved the old Continuity problem.  They were almost irresistible.

And then, finally, I found them – “The Essential Spider Man”, Volumes 1 and 2. In other words, a huge, previously missing chunk of my childhood, bound into two handy volumes. And well, doctor, it was getting near my birthday, and my wife was asking what I’d like… and wouldn’t these two volumes make a neat gift for a normal forty year old man? Well, of course not. But they were perfect for me.

And like the first drag of a cigarette after not smoking for a while, and unlike the “Man from UNCLE”, “Time Tunnel” or “Lost in Space” DVDs, they were freaking awesome! They were everything I hoped they would be.  And what a delight it was reading them from issue number one all the way to forty, right up to where my brother started it all forty five years ago. 
So, for a time, I achieved Continuity. But since I can’t leave well enough alone, I decided that I wanted Closure, too, and thus stepped out onto a slippery slope.

After all, when you’ve just finished reading those first forty issues, isn’t the next logical thing to continue and reread the issues my brother and I read as kids? We’re talking issues 41 all the way up to #100, with the stupid shock ending and lousy art that eventually put me off Spidey. This would mean getting the “Essential Spider Man” Volumes 3, 4 and 5. But that would be the end of it, because I can stop whenever I want, right?

But with the subsequent new golden age of comics and the advent of the Marvel movies, I got curious again.

The Spiderman franchise was by then hovering somewhere in the mid 600s. Wasn’t it time for me to find out what I was missing? So I decided to fill in the gap that comprised those forty or so years. So, what was that? About 500 issues or so? No problem. In for a penny, in for a pound, I said. I was convinced that each issue would be a unique and satisfying experience.

But doctor, I’m proud to say that I got up to about #200 when I gave up.

By the way, they’re up to at least volume 9 - Marvel still finding every single issue “essential”, apparently. The quality had sagged, and there were too many other interesting things to do, like rent the entire DVD set of “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea”...

Doctor’s Voice: Oh, are you still talking? What year are you up to, anyway?

Jaybee: In Marvel time? 1979. Real life? 2007 or so.

Doctor: So that would make you how old?

Jaybee: I was born later in the year, so I was still technically 49.

Doctor: So you were a fifty year old man still reading comic books!

Jaybee: You make it sound so sordid. In fact I had a very good reason to continue reading them. It was a matter of War and Peace.

Doctor: Tolstoy?

Jaybee: No, Stan Lee. I meant “Marvel Civil War”...

Doctor: Jesus F-ing Christ!

Jaybee: What was that doctor?

Doctor: Oh, nothing.

To be, you guessed it, continued…

Comics Relief: Part Two - The Early Childhood Trauma Defense

When we last left off, we were all having a good laugh at Jaybee’s expense, trying to eavesdrop on his visit to the “doctor” who we can’t quite hear, but we somehow know has an Austrian accent.

Doctor, I was only trying to give you some insight into my motivation for reading comic books. There were some traumas I experienced…

Some muffled words and laughter.

Well, I guess I do sound funny using those big words. Yes, I’ll leave them for adults like you and I’ll just keep to the comics. Thank you.

As I was saying, I was trying to explain why I still read comics. But it’s a little like explaining why I still can’t dance. What’s that? Yes, I’m sure there’s no connection.

Anyway, back when I was a kid in the sixties, aside from the vast netherworld of gory horror, Classics Illustrated and Archie, there stood the two comic titans, DC and Marvel. You were either into one or the other, not both. There were actual factions (along with the Yankee/Met and Keds/PF Flyer factions. The neighborhood was pretty united on Coke against Pepsi , though.)

My brother and I started out with DC. That’s where Superman was, so where else would we go? One of the great things about DC was that they didn’t go in for that “To be continued…” crap. You bought a comic and you got a story. It was rare indeed for Superman to not kick Lex Luthor’s ass within twenty pages. We thought Marvel was just a rip off, with their multi-part stories, which were clearly just a gimmick to get you to buy more comics. The kids who bought them were suckers. But for some reason, they made fun of us.

What’s that, doctor? You’re not surprised?

Anyway, this was during the Marvel “golden age”, with Fantastic Four, Thor and, of course, Spiderman. So how long could we resist? I think it was my brother who eventually broke down and got Spiderman #40. From that point on, we were completely hooked.

But now we would have to face the Continuity Issue. In the Marvel Universe (there were several, actually) it was impossible to know the whole story, unless you bought every single issue, starting with #1. It was where last month’s issue – the one I didn’t get, of course - is already being referred to as “legendary” this month. I’d be haunted by this, which was, of course, what Marvel was counting on. And I responded by loyally buying the next twenty issues of Fantastic Four, etc. I’d become one of the suckers, except without the making fun of other people part.

So the comics would pile up. My brother and I had a system, but it was somewhat ethereal to the uninitiated, with some comics laying on the back of the couch, others on the kitchen table, still others in the bathroom. Mom and dad would complain, not so much about the mess, but about how we were being distracted from our studies.

With a vague feeling of unease, my brother and I eventually threw all of the comics into a box, and kept them in our room. Again, not so much for the mess, but for protection. We must have thought that the box/room combination would act as a force field a la Sue Storm, protecting our precious collection from harm. But we were wrong. We didn’t realize that we were up against a greater foe than any we had ever encountered in the Marvel universe.

Mom. (Yeah, her again.)

Our super heroes could usually count on a speech ahead of time from the super villain which would give them a heads up that they were in danger. And mom would probably say that she had given us such a speech on several occasions, but we didn’t remember.

Anyway, one day, we came home from school and the comics were all gone. When we asked her where they were, she announced with relish that she had thrown the out (“Every single one!”). It would go down in family lore as the Great Purge.

So you see, doctor, the root of the problem, as I prefer to see it, is when my mom threw away the box. Although my brother and I felt we had it under control, mom and dad could see the steady progression from Superman to Spiderman, Daredevil, etc. Clearly, heroin was next. So she tossed them. I’d like to think that they are now worth the GDP of a small country. And I take pains to remind her of this whenever I can.

A muffled remark.
What do you mean, is that all? Of course not.

There was also that time during our trip to Ireland in 1971. My brother and I were rebuilding the collection, indeed peaking, at the time, and brought several of our favorites for the trip. Comics were in short supply in Ireland. So short, in fact, that while stopped at a light, the driver in the car behind us noticed all of ours stacked up blocking the rear window (it was the new system). The guy walked up to us and asked for some for his own kids. We were still in our pre-rebellious stage, and for some reason, gave them all to him! The best of the best. We’re still smarting over that one.

Then there was the extended family squabble regarding the comparative merits of Spiderman vs. Daredevil, who, according to my cousin, could leap “one eighth of a block!” Said cousin is now a major contributor to Wikipedia.

So that’s it, doctor – traumatic and unresolved issues from childhood. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Doctor: That’s your trauma? From the way you express yourself, I was sure the trauma had been from a blunt instrument.

You’ve clearly not met my mother.

So I guess I’m cured, right?

Doctor’s Voice: Mr. Jaybee, one is never actually cured. One is merely in recovery. But go on. I’m anxious to hear about the blunt trauma.

What?

Doctor: Never mind. Go on.

To be continued…

Comics Relief, Part One: A Case of ADD-DVD

Sorry to interrupt what is usually an unending flow of brilliant musical insight, but Jaybee’s feeling a bit under the weather lately. Today he’s at his “doctor’s” office.
So what’s in it for you, you ask? Well, perhaps we can pass the time by eavesdropping on him as he describes his symptoms, thus adding to what would merely be private humiliation.
So let’s put our ears up against the door and listen. It’s hard to make out the doctor, but Jaybee can be heard loud and clear from the couch – I mean, the examining table:


Well, doctor, it’s like this. I still read comics.

Yes, I’m 53 years. No, not dog years.

How do I explain?

Well, I thought it was all behind me - a faint childhood memory at best. But it all came back to haunt me…

No, you’re right. I lied. I did it all myself.

I wanted to do it, and I did it. And I (mostly) liked doing it.  And I’d do it again, except not around other adults. Sounds a lot like mortal sin, but a closer analogy may be masturbation.

Let me explain:

When I’m not following my “new at any cost” aesthetic, I get nostalgic for things I experienced as a kid. Movies, TV Shows, and yes, comics. I also do this out of curiosity. I want to see if these things are really as great as they seemed at the time. So far, with one glaring exception, it’s not been working out. My experience renting DVDs of old favorite TV shows, like “The Man from UNCLE” and “Time Tunnel” has been pretty dismal. In each case I barely got through disc one. It seems that the memories are way better than the reality.

Another reason I do this is to fill in the gaps in the stories – the stuff I missed. Growing up in the sixties and seventies - before the internet, or even the VCR - the experience of pop culture could be very hit or miss. Be it a movie in a theater or a favorite show on TV, something was either available right now or it was gone, and you only had yourself – or siblings who wanted to watch something else - to blame for missing it. This made following anything with a degree of continuity very challenging. And continuity would be my Achilles Heel. At least it would be if I manage to read “The Odyssey” all the way through.

I had a habit of missing the beginnings and the endings of everything. I was kind of weak on the pivotal middle episodes, too. I caught all the other ones. But without fail, I’d either miss the legendary origin, the pivotal middle or the climactic ending. I never saw anything in its entirety.

I recall a third grade classmate swearing that I missed the greatest ever episode of “Lost in Space”. There he was, sitting three rows back, trying to act out the plot for me, in the middle of math class. And for years - decades, really - I’d imagine what that episode must have been like. Surely, it would have made more of a cultural impact on my life than anything up to that point. So even after the "Time Tunnel" and "UNCLE" debacles, when the “Lost In Space” DVDs became available, I rented them.

Deep down, I already knew that they were going to suck, but I’d finally get to see how they got lost in the first episode, my classmate’s legendary episode, and even how/if they ever got back to Earth, where I assumed they’d run into Charlton Heston having a relaxing day at the beach by the Statue of Liberty.

Alas, it didn’t suck exactly. Rather, it was totally unmagical in any way, shape or form. Just a typical TV show – so much so that now I hope they never get back.

Doctor’s Voice: But I thought your problem was confined to comic books. You’re clearly far more disturbed than you had let on!

To be continued...

The Geezer’s Guide to Dan Brown

I don't know why, but I always seem to read Dan Brown in the large print editions. It just works out that way. And when you factor in all the funny looking pictures he gives you, it’s almost like reading a children's book. An unfair characterization, especially coming from me, since I never figure out the clues hidden in the symbols. (Figuring out how a marching band can morph from the “OHIO STATE” formation into “OH SHIT!” is more my speed.)

Take Angels and Demons (please), which was as big as two bricks but not nearly as heavy. Even though I’m a notoriously slow reader (I barely get through a line before a new Burger King commercial catches my eye.) I read it in a weekend. Yet, I still feel somewhat shortchanged.

Still, one thing you have to give Dan Brown is that he’s fun. Good clean silly fun, disguised as serious fun. He even seems a little edgy when he goes up against Religions With No Sense of Humor that I’m a member of but that shall go unnamed (begins with a C).

And for me, possessor of at least a dozen pairs of cheap reading glasses (you can get good cheap ones at my old nemesis, Costco) the large type adds immensely to the fun. It’s not that the large type allows me to read without them. I’m a little too far gone for that. But when I put the glasses on and read the large type, it’s not just the fonts that appear huge. The silliness factor itself seems to multiply. The exclamation points become humungous. And, believe me, there are a lot of them.

Now before you go thinking I'm some kind of snob, let me explain that I'm an equal opportunity disdainer - I don't care if it's Shakespeare, if I hate it, I hate it. And if all I’m looking for is a good time, who am I to blame Dan when he provides it? Sometimes even unintentionally, like this line from The Lost Symbol:

"He stood beneath the frigid water for a full minute to close his pores and trap the heat and energy within his core."

Okay, I know the character's supposed to be a nut, and Dan's just writing it from his point of view, but, Jesus, where the hell is his core? He spends a lot of time walking around naked, so you have many opportunities to ponder the possibilities. By they way, do you have a core? Do I? If I do, please don't tell me.

But by all means read one of these books. If you have to, go for two. But for heaven’s sake, don’t read three. I did, and I really want that weekend back. But I kid. A&D wasn’t bad. It’s just when you read three or more Dan Brown’s you risk a case of terminal silliness. I’m not going anywhere near Deception Point.

My advice is to go with The DaVinci Code for the cool concept and smooth execution. You can skip Angels and Demons, which is practically the same book, plot-wise. The Lost Symbol isn’t bad, and it’s got the wildest bad guy (who’s really no more over the top than Hannibal Lecter in Hannibal, core and all). Plus, the mixture of American and Masonic history is a blast. (I was feeling inferior to those smart-ass Europeans after reading DaVinci. Seems like our guys were just as crafty as those bastards. In your face, Rennaissance! USA! USA! USA!)



Sorry about that. The silliness is contagious…

Jaybee Has Risen from the Grave, or Nutboy Saves the Day

So there I was at my son’s Pre-Prom Parent’s We-Hope-They-Don’t-Have-Sex get together, when Nutboy snuck up on me.  I had spotted him earlier, and was on my guard.  But I let my guard down (i.e., stuffed my face) and before I knew it, there he was standing right next to me.

I had met Nutboy previously but didn’t realize it at the time, because he was disguised as his alter ego – Responsible Adult.  But then I found out that he liked music that an actual Responsible Adult would never listen to, like Modest Mouse and My Morning Jacket.

But on this night he would reveal his true identity – Nutboy, middle aged music fanatic– in other words, a guy just like me, only better looking.  Now I don’t want you thinking that this is just my fanciful way of describing myself.  You know those movies where the narrator describes a character who turns out to be him?  I must state clearly that this is not me.  This is another human being, very similar to me.  And that thought just brings chills.

So we begin chatting and it turns out he also likes bands like the Go Betweens and the Flaming Lips.  He even likes obscure Bob Dylan songs (you know the ones that cause your spouse to roll their eyes?)!

Then we started going on about how very few of our friends share our enthusiasm.  I said that someone really ought to try to bring these people up to speed.  You know, do a blog or something.  Then I remembered that I was already doing that, but I hadn’t been doing anything with it for a while…  Why?  It’s a long story, and really, who cares?

But essentially, Nutboy reminded me of why I began blogging (aside from the narcissism) in the first place.  And in one of life’s great ironies, Nutboy OF COURSE finds the link to the blog in my email signature, and starts reading my blog without me even telling him about it.  Him being the one person who is in the least need of it.  So that shows me that maybe another reason to do it is to make people like me (and Nutboy) feel like they’re not….well, nuts.

We met again at the Post-Prom Oh-My-God-We-Think-They-Had-Sex Dinner, where I met his fiance, who had the same patient, enduring expression that I sometimes see on my wife’s face (usually when I talk about what Built to Spill CD I should get…)  But that may have been my fault because I think I was asking Nutboy what Built to Spill CD I should get. 

We found the women drinking at the bar several hours later.  We hadn’t decided on the best BTS album yet, but they told me what I could do with it once I got it. 

In any event, jaybee is back, or will be back, or will try to be back, or something very committed sounding like that.  I have to be, what with Nutboy now breathing down my neck, and maybe thinking of starting his own blog.  

So rest easy.  I’m back.  Or not - I don’t know.

See you soon.  

Maybe.

Secret History: 1972

I’ve heard it said that the music you’re listening to when you’re fifteen is the music you’ll be listening to for life. I didn’t think this was true in my case, but then why do I have more records released in 1972 than in any other year?

We're truly in the album era now. While it's hard for everyone to agree on what the real masterpieces are, there are countless very worthwhile albums. And they're all over the place.


Brilliance:

Here are my picks for the masterpieces:

Paul Simon's first solo album is a great record. No, I mean it. It’s one of the greatest records of the seventies. It's not just one of those Grammy winning records that nobody really listens to. It’s warm and wise, like sitting by the fire in the middle of winter.

I know I just finished telling you about how great "Blue" was, but now I'm telling you that I like "For the Roses" even more. It was my first Joni Mitchell album, and it took a few listens to follow the melodies, what with Joni swooping up and down all the time. This is an ambitious, arty record, and I'm sure there are people out there who hate it. I think it's brilliant. Songwriting doesn't get any better than "Woman of Heart and Mind" and "Blonde in the Bleachers".

Do I really need to tell you about Steely Dan? God, I hope not, but let me at least steer you away from the later lounge jazz records, to their earlier jazzy-but-still-rock period. Their first few albums are so good that the very first one - "Can’t Buy a Thrill" - kind of gets lost in the shuffle. It's so good, in fact, that it's worth hearing "Do It Again" and "Reelin' in the Years" - two of the more overplayed songs ever - all over again


Brilliance Recalled:

Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits, Volume Two is one of the greatest, well, greatest-hits records ever made. It's got the second wave of great Dylan songs along with a few unreleased songs. "Down in the Flood" is my favorite.

Another one of the greatest greatest-hits records is the "Kink Kronikles" (link) Like the Dylan record, this one scoops us some obscure album tracks along with the better known songs from that particular era.

The triple album “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band is not for the casual record buyer. It is perfect for someone determined to learn more about bluegrass and early country music. “Dark As a Dungeon” is my favorite, but maybe you prefer “Tennessee Stud”. Or the title song. The singing and playing are stellar.


Near Perfect:

Young Bonnie Raitt sings as well as Linda Rondstadt and plays a mean slide guitar. Her music is more bluesy, and her taste in covers is better, too. "Give it Up" is probably the best record from the early part of her career. At first, I didn’t love this record, thinking I’d be getting pretty, when what I got was tough bluesy and soulful. Good then, and even better today, it’s aged quite gracefully, thank you very much.

I guess Pete Townsend was getting bored being in one of the greatest rock and roll bands ever, so he put out a sort of solo record “Who Came First”, which picks up right where side one of “Who’s Next” leaves off. “There once was a note pure and easy…” He’s got several friends, like Ronnie Laine, helping out, including on vocals. This is one of the sweeter records to come out in the seventies.

Not to be outdone, John Prine goes in the opposite direction with his second album, “Diamonds in the Rough”. Previously he used a small country combo. Now it’s just him and a couple of guitars. It’s not exactly pretty, but I find it riveting. "The Great Compromise" is one of the best Vietnam songs ever, but for me “Rocky Mountain Time” is the highlight.

It took for the movie soundtrack of "Super Fly" for me to become aware of Curtis Mayfield. (I thought the Chambers Brothers wrote "People Get Ready".) The title tune has some of the most insightful and saddest lyrics I've ever heard. One of the best soundtracks ever.

David Bowie ch-ch-ch-changes so much that it’s easy to forget that one of his best albums was "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars". “Five Years” still sounds great.

Nick Drake’s last record before his death – “Pink Moon” - may be quieter than his others, but it’s no less powerful. Short, lovely, and in retrospect, so very sad.


Well Worth It:

Do you remember the song that goes like this?:

It's sooooo Hard,
It's sooooo hard,
It's so hard,
Livin' without you

No? Well I guess that's what I'm here for. I finally found the song - written by Randy Newman, by the way - on "Manfred Mann’s Earth Band". You remember them, don't you? Let me help. In the sixties, they had the hit "Do Wa Diddy Diddy". In the later seventies, they went completely over the top with a cover of Springsteen's "Blinded by the Light". This is about half way in between, and seems to balance it all very nicely.

Stevie Wonder goes out on his own again with "Talking Book", and the results keep getting better. “I Believe When We Fall in Love” is my fave.

Eric Anderson was one of those poor folkies left in Dylan’s wake. He’d put out some good songs but never quite got any real notice, until “Blue River”. He achieves just the right balance of folk and rock. It’s got that old favorite “Is it Really Love at All?”.

I'm more a fan of the crazy/mystical Van Morrison more than the seemingly oxymoronic "soulful Irishman". "St Dominick’s Preview" kinda combines the two. And for that reason, it's a bit schizophrenic, what with a few pop/soul numbers surrounded by the long, strange "Listen to the Lion" and "Almost Independence Day". Guess which ones I like best? How about you?

After all these years, I didn’t think Bob Weir’s “Ace” would hold up. But Weir was savvy enough to open with something that’s got bass and drums going for it. The Dead couldn’t always be counted on for fast. He makes the most of his limited vocal range. “Playing in the Band” shows that they could still make compelling music in the studio, and “Cassidy” not so much a song as it is a miracle.

Side one of Jerry Garcia’s first solo album gets all the notice, but has anyone else noticed the absolutely transcendent “To Lay Me Down” tucked away amongst the weird stuff on side two? Not a perfect record, but a really good balance of good old songwriting and experimentalism.

Todd Rundgren’s “Something Anything” is one of the first one man does it all albums. Mostly, anyway, but it’s quite an achievement. A double album of pop songs and “fun in the studio”. It has a number of hits, like “Hello, It’s Me”, “I Saw the Light” and “Couldn’t I Just Tell You”. But it’s also got hidden gems like “The Night the Carousel Burned Down” and “The Viking”. My only Todd record, but I think I got the best one. Now if he only got it down to a single record, we’d have a certified classic.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the Steve Miller Band started out with “Fly Like an Eagle” or “The Joker”. In fact, he goes back as far as 1967 along with band mate Boz Scaggs. Steve could always be counted on to put at least one radio ready song on each of his albums. Luckily, he pulled a bunch of them together for “Anthology”, which covers 1968 to 1972. My only qualm about it is that it completely skips their first record. But I like it more than anything he made since.

Steve Goodman could always write tuneful and funny songs, but not always at the same time. I didn’t care for his first record, and his third record is good enough, but his second, “Somebody Elses Troubles” is just right. Clever funny tuneful emotional. And it’s got “The Dutchman”.

On “Manassas”, Stephen Stills redeems himself, albeit with lots of help from Chris Hillman and Al Perkins. They'd go on to totally tank with their second album, but here they put it all together.

Side One of Gordon Lightfoot’s “Don Quixote” is just great. Side two slides a bit, and it’s where you spot his big weakness. His music is just too nice. The anti-war “Patriot’s Dream” is a good example. Whereas Dylan’s “Masters of War” comes out and says he hopes they die, Gord goes into a long explanation as to why war sucks. But overall, very pretty, and side one’s got some real feeling to it.


Just Out of Reach:

Then there are those records that are lodged somewhere in memory but no longer within ear’s reach.

First, there’s Yes’s "Fragile", one of many casualties of the broken 8 track player syndrome. I recall this being pretty good, albeit in it’s shuffled, truncated 8 track kind of way. They would go completely over the top later that year with “Close to the Edge”, but because they could write tunes it’s a hard record to not like.

Unlike Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s “Pictures at an Exhibition”, which is EASY to hate, even though I like it. But man, they had no taste at all.

When I moved out of my parents house, I took a lot of records with me, some of which my brother could have argued belonged to him. (Perhaps because they, well, belonged to him.) One I couldn’t slip past him was the Flying Burrito Brothers “Last of the Red Hot Burritos”. I’m still trying to track down a reasonably priced copy of to see if it’s really as great as I remember. Al Perkins pedal steel replaces Sneaky Pete’s country licks with rock and roll. Different, maybe not better, but to my mind, just as good.

But this is all too long ago. Take out your copies and tell me what you think.


It Was a Very Good Year (Sort of):

I don’t see a lot of crowd pleasers here. That’s just because it’s the seventies, not the sixties, when such things happened to be brilliant, too.

It was more like the year when you began to play records in your room alone. And who could blame you? If you went outside, you were liable to notice that Nixon was getting re-elected. So these records provided me with some solace from that, not to mention the emotional turmoil that haunts a fifteen year old.

So tell me now, what got you through that year?