Secret History: 1977

This may ultimately be the most important year of all, because things were happening and a lot of us were doing our best to deny it.  

Sadly, it’s the year when listeners were presented with a choice, but had long before already made the wrong one. Conditioned by increasingly diluted AOR-type rock music, but then suddenly confronted with punk - on the news instead of the radio - what was the average listener to do, but double down on some very lame music? Hence the complaints in letters to Rolling Stone about songs where “you couldn’t hear the words”, etc.

I was no better. I loved “rock music” and wished that it would get the respect it deserved.  So I wanted it to be serious, and found the, well, glamorous surface of glam rock and spectacle of arena rock excess a bit depressing.

On the one hand commercial success indicated a wider acceptance of rock music.  But sometimes it felt….icky.  Like when I saw Al Stewart on “In Concert” with a full orchestra.  And country rock bands accepting Grammys and American Music Awards wearing tuxes.

The whole point of the music is to not be respectable, and it was finally driven home to me at the time while in a village record store. As leather clad cashier was wearing a button that said “Help Keep Rock and Roll Sleazy”. (He was doing his part.) That was when I knew I was sitting on a fence that would have to collapse at some point.

I have an almost visceral reaction to the records I bought that year – not because they somehow changed my life - but because they didn’t, and as such represent a breaking off point.  The Before of the Before and After.  

I didn’t pick up on the records released this year until at least 1980. But in retrospect. It turns out to have been a hell of a year, with more to come after.

Well, of course, there's the Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks.  You either take this road or you don't.  Well, I took it and I'm glad. This is some of the most powerful rock and roll ever made. And no, I have no love for Sid. I’m a Glen Matlock guy, no matter what John Lydon thinks.  Those tunes didn’t come from outer space. But it was Johnny’s snarl that put them over.

Television’s Marquee Moon has lots of guitar on it.  And lots of solos.  So in that way it’s not punk music at all.  As a matter of fact, it's the perfect record for bridging punk and jam music.  It's got all the speed, passion and harshness of punk, but with all the virtuosity of the Dead or the Allman Brothers. At least me and Roommate Mike thought so... 

By 1977 the Ramones had already made a lot of waves and had become the target of  ridicule from disc jockeys.  So just how did their seemingly simplistic formula result in a brilliant third album Rocket to Russia? I don’t know either. One of the greatest punk albums ever with classics such as  “Rockaway Beach”, “Sheena Is a Punk Rocker”, and, my favorite “We're a Happy Family” ("Daddy likes men…")

I'm putting The Clash here because this is when the UK version came out, which I'm not totally familiar with.  In 1979 the American version would be released, which would contain much of the UK version, along with a number of singles they released since then.  I'm happy with the US version because there's so much on it.  Being a punk record, its sound isn't that great, but it contains some of the greatest rock songs ever, including what might be my favorite – “Complete Control”.

How can a record be punk and still be pretty? Because punk is an ethos not a genre. Anyway, aside from the occasionally weird hiccups in David Byrne's singing, and odd subject matter, Talking Heads 77  is very sweet. Especially "Psychokiller". jk

I was never one for cults, though, so don’t get the idea that once I fell for punk music, I’d never like anything else.

Back when I was even whiter teenager , I bought records by singer songwriter or the above-mentioned Allmans and Dead.  But while in the record store I couldn't help but notice the flamboyant record covers of bands like Funkadelic and Parliament.  Of course, I was a snob, and assumed such covers were needed to hide crappy music.

Little did I realize that Funkadelic was quite an ambitious outfit, with a damned good guitar player (the recently deceased Gary Shider). My first plunge was One Nation Under a Groove that has the greatest opening five seconds of any record ever recorded, but which then makes its way into the classic funk music of the era.  It's a bit more confident and sure of itself than I'm comfortable with, so I went back to Best of the Early Years, an early greatest hits record, which has more in common with the hard rock and Sly Stone records I was happy with.  An alien (to me) universe every bit as valid as the one I was inhabiting at the time.

Rough Mix is a misleading title.  It may be fun, but it's also pretty tight.  Pete Townsend joins up with Ronnie Lane (from the Small Faces).  They also have some friends join them, like Eric Clapton.  And against all expectations – they were all in decline by then - the result is wonderful.   “Heart to Hang Onto” is my favorite, but not by much.

If you find “Heroes” a bit harsh, so you might prefer David Bowie’s Low, which is  experimental and catchy at the same time. Great on vinyl, since the two sides are so different.  Side one for parties, and side two for late at night.

Just around the demise of Elvis I, the new one - Costello, that is - arises. You can fault My Aim is True for an dull production and sameness of some songs, but that’s about it.  This is the beginning of an explosion of songwriting (the best since 1970?) that would last for years.

“Being German” and “being into electronic music” aren’t the first two things I’d look for in a band, and Kraftwerk looked like a bunch of robots with all the soullessness that it implies.  But that's clearly untrue within the first minute Trans Europe Express. Sounds great in the summertime, of all things.

I’ll finish up with a record that is almost forgotten now. Karla Bonoff is a guilty pleasure. It’s  the epitome of LA studio hotshot smoothery.  Her voice resembles Linda Rondstadt, who actually did a few of these songs, too.  It's very middle of the road, and perhaps because it brings back some great memories I'm going easy on it.  Karla can really write a tune.  The one 1977 record I actually bought that year that’s worth remembering.

It’s embarrassing to admit how clueless I was about the things that would end up having such lasting value. But the next few years would be thrilling as I slowly caught up. In 1977, my musical world was cracked in half and I didn't even know it.

Pazz and Jop: Officially Sanctioned Music

I guess a legitimate question would be why Pazz and Jop?  Why not Rolling Stone?  Metacritic?

There was something about that combination of iconoclasism and thoroughness that appealed to the rebel and nerd in me simultaneously. Rolling Stone had already begun to seem very politically correct by then. And I was usually disappointed with the records they recommended.  It was as though they wanted you to like what you should like instead of what was really good or bad.

Sometimes I have an issue with Pazz and Jop (although last year’s winner - tUnE-yarDs - was right on) but I’m not sold on Metacritic as a replacement yet.

Of course, the deeper and yet more obvious question is Jaybee why do you care what other people think? Can’t you just make your selections based on what you hear?

Well, no.  And here’s why:

1. I really don’t hear much that I like on the radio, unless it’s genre stuff, like old jazz or blues.
2. I’ve been burned too often by loving a single song only to find the album wanting.
3. I’ve also been turned around - as I’ve said before - too often by records that sounded strange or outright bad the first time I heard them, but then came to love. Notice the contradiction here with number one.  Maybe I don’t hear good stuff because I need more time, so it’s not you, radio, it’s me.
4. There are just too many records out there, and I have a limited amount of time and money. I need a buffer, a filter. Okay, a Fuffer.

To this day I have to remind myself that there is no officially sanctioned good music. (George Bernard Shaw had no use for Shakespeare. I have no use for Rush. Yeah, I said it.) The closest things we have to it is popular opinion - critical consensus runs a very distant second, and I’m sorry to tell you that it’s much more reliable. But I’m not sorry to say that I prefer a thinking person who gets it wrong sometimes, to a dope who occasionally gets it right.

What if I didn’t have that critical recommendation to encourage me to give a questionable record a chance? I’d just be tossing aside records that would otherwise open new worlds for me.

So I work a little at it.  So what? It’s been worth it.

Pazz and Jop, Chartsengrafs

So how many records do I have on the old spreadsheet at this point?

Oh, about 5000, not counting jazz and classical.

But don’t worry.  I’m not about to go out and buy 5000 CDs. (But that would make one nifty Fathers Day present, wouldn’t it?)

And what’s there amongst the 5000?

Eighty percent of them have only mention, and tend to be very recent records. Most will never get another mention, but who knows which?  Over time, some may show up again on some best of the decade or All time Best List. It’s not likely, but who cares when the sky (65k rows, actually) is the limit?  I’ll be there, waiting. I’ve got (some) time (left).

So I look to those records that keep getting mentioned over and over again and wonder if I’d like them.

About fifteen percent (750) of them have two mentions. If they’re brand new, I may take a chance on them. Sometimes I‘ll get burned by “flavors of the year” - they show up here, think they’re hot stuff, but never move on. If I hold off on them, many will just sit here and rot.

About 3 percent (150) have three mentions. Now we’re talking respectable! You’re making a name for yourself and not just in your own neighborhood. I’m watching.

Less than 1 percent (36) have four mentions. Hmmm. Very Serious. You’re officially “sanctioned”.  Not always a good thing. But I have to really start thinking about you. If I haven’t gotten you already, it’s probably because I hate you on principle.

Only 27 have five mentions. I almost have no choice at this point. You are liked by young and old, gay/staight and maybe more than one race. If I’ve not gotten you it’s because I’ve already gotten too much by you already, or you’re in a genre I’m under-appreciating, like hip hop.

There are twelve CDs with 6 mentions. Buying you feels less like a joy than an obligation. I may have heard too much of you already. When I do get these CDs they tend to be a letdown.

There are eight CDs with 7 mentions. You’re in the canon, I guess. And maybe a bit too established for me to bother going there.  And I may have already heard enough of you on the radio.

There are only three with 8 mentions. Maybe it’s time for me to try hip hop again.  Notorious BIG here I come.

And nine mentions? Just you, Ms. Lauryn Hill. You’ve probably got a brilliant album I just don’t think I’ll appreciate.

But what I’m not mentioning are all the ones that I’ve bought along the way. I’ve done it for those with as few as one mention (or even none, as in the case of favorites from my teen years) because it just “felt” right. And as you can see, I’ve held off on some that I’ve practically got people stopping me in the street urging me to buy.

So Jaybee, you might ask, what’s going on in that head of yours?

Next:  What’s going in that head of mine.

Pazz, Jop and the Even More Embarrassing Present

The Even More Embarrassing Present:

I see that Nutboy’s getting worn down. My strategy is working.

Whenever I’m asked a potentially embarrassing question, I find that a long-winded answer ( not your typical long-winded; Jaybee long-winded - I’m a professional) usually lulls the questioner into a state of passive acceptance.  Sort of summed up as “Whatever, just shut the f*ck up.” I even used it on myself once.

By the mid nineties I was married with two young children. And despite my best efforts, I was feeling more than a little out of touch with music. As the years went by, the Pazz and Jop winners were becoming less and less familiar to me. There was some information out there but the web hadn’t really kicked in yet. At least, not for me with my land line and 56k modem.

By 1997, that list I was carrying around - virtually unreadable and ripping at the folds - now contained just those hard-core-impossible-to-find-anyway records. And new records were coming out, and the yearly Pazz and Jop results were piling up.

So during a week when I was in between jobs (note to self: quit jobs more often) I had a day or two to mess around, and I decided to transfer my written list to a spreadsheet. Then, when I should have stopped to rent some porn, I instead pulled out all of the old dusty Pazz and Jop articles I kept, and compile them into the spreadsheet, too.

At first, I didn’t enter everything – I couldn’t type that fast. But I did take the high vote-getters. I also added Christgau’s list, using his skepticism to counterbalance the other critics.

Then, whenever a special poll came out (Rolling Stone’s Best of the Decade, Elvis Costello’s 500 Albums You Should Hear etc.) I’d add them, too, but even more importantly, I’d track the number of mentions each record got.

And suddenly, names stated to jump out at me: Belle and Sebastian, Moby, Stereolab, Air.
Their records would appear over and over again, and now I could see it.

Other polls came out:
Local Americana station’s Best of the Century
Paste Best of the Decade
Metacritic’s Best of the Year

And I kept adding them.

Now I had a list all right! A list on steroids! And the rest, as they (don’t) say, is history.

And now that this stuff is published on line, it’s a lot easier to cut and paste, so the level of effort has dropped to below CNO (Complete Nerd Obsessive) levels.

I also broke out two other lists for jazz and classical.

And it goes on.  

Now this all may seem a bit silly. It does smack of a phrase I heard in Richard Linklater’s Slacker - "premeditated fun".

But damn! I still want magic. And magic, as we know, is inherently unpredictable. But that isn’t going to stop me from squeezing as much of it as possible out of what is left of my life.  

What I’m saying is that it works for me.

So when I’m in the mood for new music, I can look over my spreadsheet and see which records did great in year-end polls, which ones keep popping up in the All Time of Best of Decade polls and consider getting them.

And ordering on Amazon, Barnes and Noble or iTunes is frighteningly easy. Those hard to find records just aren’t anymore. They can be delivered to my doorstop in a week or two.

Mind you, browsing in a record store is a completely different thing. Not being able to carry around a laptop in the store, my reflexive reactions kick in, and I sometimes get things whose poll placement means nothing to me.

I guess the next step is to bring an ipad with me, but then I’ll look like I work there. And I get enough of that at Costco.

Pazz, Jop: An Embarrassing Interlude

Probably a redundant title as most of my interludes tend to be of the embarrassing variety.

Anyway, in the summer of 1989 I was changing jobs and was asked what I'd like as a going away present.  I didn't have a CD player yet, so I thought I could use this gift as a jump start on a CD collection. (Ever hear of DAT?  No one else has either.  It stands for digital audio tape and it was considered a better technology than CDs, so I was waiting for CDs to die out and DATs to take over before committing to a new technology. I always was a betamax kind of guy.)

So, I thought, why not just give them the list I’ve been carrying around for the last few years? They could get me whatever I hadn’t already gotten! Genius!

Ah, but that list was folded, frayed and stained with hot sauce. Pretty nerdy, if not downright weird. I’d have to re-write it, as if it belonged to a normal person

But it occurred to me that if I hadn't succeeded in finding these obscure records after years of trying, what made me think these well-meaning amateurs would? To my horror, I realized that they'd quickly give up and get me a tie instead. So I’d have to guide these very good intentions in a way that ensured that they weren't wasted.

So I created a prioritized list, which went something (exactly) like this:

1. New CDs I’d like, taken directly from my first list. (ie. Joy Division's Closer)
2. CDs to replace some albums I had that were really old and scratched. (Beggar's Banquet)
3. CDs of records that I had shared with my brother but didn’t have the nerve to steal when I moved out. (Europe 72 by the Dead)

But this just describes what I wanted, not why one type was better than the other. So let me now give you the Jaybee translation, which I actually had the nerve to tell of of the befuddled gift givers:

1. I’d like you to really try to get these records. I know that they’re harder to find because amazon.com hasn’t been invented yet. But I don’t want you settling on the easier ones in section 2 and 3 unless you give these the old college try.
2. Okay, you did your best with the 1s. Now you can try for these, which will be really nice to have in a pristine version. But give it a good shot before moving on, okay?
3. All right, I believe you when you said you did your best, and although there are other records I’d prefer, I’m perfectly happy with these. Are you sure you went to the record store I recommended? And remember, no tie!

By the time they gave me the gift they were happy to see me go. But I got the CDs I wanted.

And this was just the beginnings of what I came to call my Gift Management Strategy, which had a rough start but ultimately found its home in my Amazon.com wish list.

If it hadn’t, I would have been bludgeoned to death in my sleep (I would hope) by now.  

There’s still time.

Pazz and Jop, Part Cinqo: My First Time

“So what about Pazz and Jop?!?”



That’s Nutboy, getting impatient. He’s right. For the last few weeks I’ve been writing around Pazz and Jop rather than about it. But that’s me. I’ll tell you about the history of watches when all you asked for was the right time.



My first Pazz and Jop was for 1978. Entitled “Triumph of the New Wave”, it confirmed what I was beginning to suspect - that this punk stuff was not about to go away.



It was the year of The Clash’s US breakthrough Give ‘Em Enough Rope, Blondie’s pop breakthrough Parallel Lines, Elvis Costello’s spite breakthrough This Year’s Model, Talking Heads Jaybee-life-changing More Songs About Buildings and Food, and the Ramones best-commericial- breakthrough-they-could-hope-for Road to Ruin. Plus Nick Lowe and Brian Eno, with their hands in everything.



It was not half bad for those thirty-ish oldfolks either. The Stones resurgent Some Girls, Neil Young’s beautiful Comes a Time and Springsteen’s not-great-but-after-a-three-year-wait- we’ll-take-it Darkness On the Edge of Town.



And many, many more.



After my wandering the desert for a long time, here was an oasis of music, and a treasure trove of information all summed up in one handy place. I was immediately addicted to it, and would look forward to it every year after.



And then, at the end of 1979, Robert Christgau gave a great summation of the decade, that only whetted my appetite for more.





The List:



So I had a lot to work with to catch up on what I missed in the 70s. But going forward I’d be keeping an eye out for other handy sources of music info.



In 1981 I got the “Rolling Stone Album Guide” and “Christgau’s Records of the Seventies” - the former a compendium of miscellaneous critical voices, and the latter one person’s voice, prejudices and blind spots and all. “Rolling Stone” had their star system – five for a masterpiece, four for excellent etc. Christgau had his grade system - A+ masterpiece, A for great, etc.



I pored through the two books looking for treasure, and there was plenty. If anything the problem was where to start.



And there were the disagreements, too. I’d long ago come to terms with critical disagreements. But even so, I couldn’t help but notice that there was some consensus.



So one night, while my friends were doing fun things like watching porn on the VCR, I was comparing these two books, looking for records that rated both five stars in Rolling Stone and an A or better in Christgau. I ended up with a list of about fifty records, and still think I had a better time. But that’s what a nerd would say, isn’t it?



I had officially become “that weird guy in the record store”. But it sure beat trying to carry that stuff around in my head.



And I’d spent the better part of the 80s using that list - and subsequent Pazz and Jop results - to find new music.

Pazz, Jop etc, Part Quarto: Hearing Voices

By the late seventies I started to notice that the Village Voice, and Robert Christgau in particular, had no patience for mellow singer songwriters like James Taylor, or overly serious progressive rock bands like Genesis.  They were about rock and roll in all its ebullience and pock-marked beauty.  To my horror, I would see seemingly simplistic rock and roll records like the New York Dolls being rated over my oh so serious heroes like Jackson Browne.

Wow, was that like a bucket of cold water! They really seemed to enjoy bashing anything “tasteful” – in other words anything that I’d be tempted to put on to impress my parents that rock music was serious.

To be fair, Creem magazine had always shared this aesthetic, but when I was reading it back in 1973, I thought it was in thrall to the glam rock fad going on at the time. But it turned out to be part of a grander tradition that had also looked askance at the psychedelic era (which, let’s face it, didn’t age very well) with it’s long guitar solos and hazy pronouncements that said little more than “there’s a weird smell in the bathroom.”.

All of this upended my thinking. So there were difference schools of thought! Which led to the question: if the critics themselves didn’t agree, why listen to any of them?

Was one school of thought any more valid than another?  Well, yes, I thought. The one you found yourself agreeing with, right?  But not so fast. Didn’t that just make it another dead-end tribe? Yes, unless it challenged you and taught you things. Then it was something better. It helped you avoid the trap of listening to the same thing over and over again.

But it also meant meant that you shouldn’t expect to absolutely love everything the first time you heard it. I have a long history of not getting things the first time around. But sticking around has almost always paid off.

The Voice helped me look back at the 70s in a new light, and encouraged my hesitant forays into punk rock.

My first was Talking Heads More Songs About Buildings and Food, based on a rave from Robert Christgau. The first time I put it on, I heard maybe four good songs surrounded by a lot of weirdness. But those four were enough to keep me hanging in until I got the rest (“Found a Job” being the most audacious, and maybe now my favorite.) Within a week I loved it all, and it remains one of my all time favorites.

And there would be others that seemed even more forbidding, like the Sex Pistols. I listened anyway. Some things I never got (Pere Ubu), but so what? Half the fun was the exploration. The trick was to not get discouraged. Just learn something about the music, the reviewer and maybe myself.


And move on to the next record.