What's Goin' On, Danny Partridge?

Dear reader(s),

Over the past couple of days I've been in kind of a strange mental and emotional space. Loud noises make me jump ten feet in the air, my right eye is twitching, and I break into tears every other hour. There is a simple reason for this: an episode of The Partridge Family that I watched the other night. Friend, co-worker, and documentarian, Sparky, loaned me a cassette of three Partridge Family episodes the other night, mainly for the purpose of me watching the first episode, the episode that has made my life such a wreck over the past few days.

Maybe every other '70's pop culture maven knows this, but until a couple of weeks ago I was never aware that The Partridge Family spent an episode in the "Detroit" inner city, saving a Black-owned club (the owners are played by Richard Pryor and Louis Gossett, Jr.) from the Black Mafia by hosting a block party and playing a "Soul" song. As Jeeves would say, "The mind boggles, Sir"

What's a more bizarre image, Richard Pryor "arranging" a song with Keith (David Cassidy) Partridge ("An 'Afro' number I've been working on," as Keith puts it) or Danny (Bonaduce) Partridge marching over to the local "Afro American Cultural Society" in his striped pants--this little red-haired honky, mind you--in search of violin and horn players for Keith's big Afro number? This Afro American Cultural Society--Black Panthers in everything but the name--are inspired by the ofay bassist's brass balls and march over to the club in formation, behind Danny!

Anyway, the song is played for what appears to be the most sparsely attended block party of all time, the money is raised (perhaps by people desperate to get the Partridges out of town as fast as possible?), and Danny is made an honorary member of the faux Panthers. He gets a proclamation and his own beret! Mind boggling, indeed! In addition to cringe inducing (I tried to crawl inside my couch), and an embarrassment to the entire human race. Hollywood should pay reparations to somebody just for that mortifying 22 minutes alone.

What else can you say but, What's Goin' On? I played Marvin Gaye's masterpiece on vinyl yesterday. For some unknown reason, I never heard this record until I was twenty five. I've seldom gone very long without listening to it since. I think it's the greatest Soul record of all time--the record Sam Cooke might have made had he lived longer. Marvin isn't my favorite soul singer, but based on this album and some other work ("Heard It Through the Grapevine," for one) I think he's the genre's greatest male artist. I keep intending to read biographies of him but I can't bear reading about the fuckedupness of his most tragic life. One of these days...
More vinyl Marvin to come.

Also on "G" vinyl, I had a rather pleasant surprise the other night when I spun this Erroll Garner record (its title? Erroll Garner) that I haven't played since I bought it twenty something years ago. I've always been under the impression that although Garner was a fine jazz pianist, he tended to lean toward the cocktailly. These days I'm not even sure I have a problem with that, but as it turns out, the cocktailish factor was not so prevalent anyway. On this recording I found him to be more stride meets mood music. Not boppish enough for some people though, I guess. Witty and sentimental without being soppy. If you want modern jazz piano neurosis, and suffering by the bucketful, there's always Bud Powell. And we'll get there, believe me.

On the CD machine it's been electric Miles: In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew. I'm humbled beyond all measure by the fact that I avoided this phase of Miles's career for so long because it wasn't "pure" enough or part of the officially accepted jazz plot (yet I could listen to Cecil Taylor and Anthony Braxton by the hour. Go figure!). I'm glad that my ears have opened up some more.The rewards have been many. Let that be a lesson to you, snobs-in-training!

Most Vouty, Sir!

Lately I've been reading a lot of P.G. Wodehouse and watching the British TV adaptions of his Wooster& Jeeves stories (starring the excellent Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie). Anyhow, it gives one a rather strange view of the whole bally world, if you catch my drift. Perhaps the perfect music for these readings and viewings has showed up on my turntable over the past few days in the form of Slim Gaillard records. What Ho! I say! Thanks letter "G"!

Slim Gaillard, if you didn't know, was the sort of surrealistic clown prince of the swing to be bop era. He was quite handy on the guitar and piano, he could hang in there with the bebop guys, but his true gift was that of musical comedy. Not since Fats Waller had a jazz musician turned the pop song inside out to such comical effect. Maybe it's going too far to say this, but just as the boppers took the chord changes from pop songs and made something new, Gaillard made pop songs into made comic bebop by parodying cliched lyrics and inventing a hipster language of his own called "Vout" (attaching "oroonie" to the end of words, for example), not to mention a very strange form of "Spanglish." You could call it Signifyin(g) on Standard American English, or you could call it funny as hell-oroonie.

By way of example, check out Slim's version of "How High the Moon" on the MCA Collectibles' release, Slim Gaillard Trio. Slim upends the song from the get-go, focusing on the moon, orbiting the moon, saying hi from the moon, growing potatoes and tomatoes on the moon, imagining the size of potatoes on the moon, wondering how one might peel a gigantic potato ("with a bulldozer," is the correct answer), and then wishing for a nice big bowl of potato salad. On this song and others--especially those found on Cement Mixer Put-ti, Put-ti (on the Arhoolie label)--Slim reminds us that a kind of signifying humor was always at the heart of jazz. You can even find it confirmed in a surprising way: Charlie Parker jammed with him. I have some of those tracks on Slim's Jam on the Almac/Jazz Kings label (Not the best sound. Perhaps it's improved on CD). Not the most dazzling stuff, but it's a different take on the suffering genius image we usually have of Bird--the guys seem to be having fun.

I should also add that Slim had a series of great comic partners in the form of bassists Slam Stewart and Bam Brown. Bam Brown is a particular favorite of mine. With his nasal vibrato, he sounds a bit like Fats Waller, and provides a perfect comic response to Slim's absurd call.

I dare say I wouldn't mind owning more Slim Gaillard--especially the collections that contain "Laughing in Rhythm" and "Dunkin' Bagels." Heard 'em years ago, but don't own 'em presently.

Over on the CD front, it's more Miles. ESP and Miles in the Sky over the past couple of days. Absolutely stimulating stuff, sir! Why did I wait so long (my thirties) to check it out?

Some recent vinyl buys: Judee Sill and Heartfood by Judee Sill and Thin Lizzy: Live and Dangerous by you-know-who.

Time to go and mangle a spot of dinner...

Maggot Brain, Strange Weather, Miles Smiles

Back to the alphabet...

We're finishing up the vinyl "F's" today with two Funkadelics--Maggot Brain and One Nation Under a Groove--and one I overlooked by Marianne Faithfull.

I've listened to two versions of the Eddie Hazel guitar opus, "Maggot Brain," today. One is the famous title track from the album, where George Clinton directed Hazel, "Play like your mother died." Or Hendrix died, you might say. As anguished an expression of Post-Hendrix, deep-in-the-shit- of-Vietnam "black rock" as the Isley Brothers' live version of "Ohio." There's also a live version of the song that's included as a bonus EP on the brilliantly scatalogical One Nation Under a Groove. I know that the beats and grooves of the Funkadelic records have been used by hip hoppers, but have we as a nation truly appreciated the spirit their mad genius? Maybe that's my homework, not yours...

I forgot to note the Marianne Faithfull record--Strange Weather-- earlier in the "F's" because it was in my newly acquired vinyl to be absorbed stack. Punkinhead played it for me at work a few months back. I loved it, and when I found a nice, clean copy on vinyl I snapped it up. Released in 1987, produced by Hal Willner, it's a moving voyage through the musical soul of the then fortysomething Faithfull. You can't ask for better foggy day music. Redolent of the melancholy torchiness of Marlene Dietrich and Lotte Lenya (as no less than Terry Southern points out in his liner notes), the cigarette and whiskey-voiced Marianne sings lived in blues and caberet. Some highlights: the gospel blues "Sign of Judgement"; moving versions of Dylan's "I'll Keep It With Mine" and a revisitation of "As Tears Go By." Music for grownups who've been around the block.

And speaking of around the block(the CD block), I played what has become my favorite Miles Davis record, Miles Smiles. Here's the classic mid-sixties quintet of Miles, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter and Tony Williams at their peak. What exciting interplay between the guys! Miles may have mocked Ornette Coleman, but on this record it sounds like he's absorbed the spacial feel of Ornette's own classic quartet (if not the funky bluesiness). Since finally getting around to buying Miles Smiles six years ago, I find myself playing it almost once a week. I think it's surpassed the hallowed Kind of Blue for me. I don't have to make a choice between the two, do I?

Uncorrected Proof Soundtrack, Side B

All of the songs on Side A were ones that I listened to when the events I describe in the book were happening. The songs on Side B are a combination of that and songs I've encountered since which appropriately apply to whatever circumstance or state of mind I attempt to portray in the book.

Also, thanks to everyone who showed up at the Zeitgeist on Sunday!

1. Bruce Springsteen "Thunder Road": In the mid-winter of my fifteen year-old despair I bought the Born to Run album. I suppose it's a bit of a cliche, but this album of attempted escapes and desperate chances provided a little tunnel of light in the winter gloom. I didn't have an actual girl to escape with--and we're not sure the narrator of the song convinces "Mary" to leave with
him--but I could dream. "It's a town full of losers/ and I'm pulling out of here to win"--that sounded good to me.

2. Bruce Springsteen "Darkness at the Edge of Town": I gave Bruce the "honor" of two songs on this tape because I like the way they sort of balance each other. Maybe the narrator of "Thunder Road" convinced "Mary" to run away with him and get married only to settle in the "Darkness at the Edge of Town." There was always that possibility. I knew it. I could see it every day. The duality of Bruce. From the album of the same name.

3. Rodney Crowell "Rock of My Soul": Rodney's 2001, semi-autobiographical recording, The Houston Kid--from which this song is taken--has been an inspiration for my four 'zines. This somewhat fictionalized account of Rodney's own abusive father gets to the heart of living with terror in the home, watching a parent's drunk eyes grow violent. A more extreme version of what I experienced, to be sure, but true all the same. A hell of a beautifully constructed song.

4. Drive-By Truckers "Let There Be Rock": In the midst of the domestic horrors there was always Rock!!! I think this 2001 tune (from the Truckers' epic two-disc album, Southern Rock Opera) has joined the pantheon of songs about the transcendent power of Rock music. My own teen rocking life was a good deal less wild than the narrator of this song's--I only dreamed of seeing Bon Scott singing "Let There Be Rock!" Without a doubt the greatest song ever to namecheck Molly Hatchet.

5. The Clash "London Calling": At some point after John Lennon was killed (a mini-trauma in my teen life that I still haven't written about) I grew disenchanted with conventional Rock and Roll. My friend Pete turned me on to Reggae, and from that I checked out Reggae-friendly rock bands that didn't live by the guitar solo (forgive me, Big Game James). That was my back door introduction to Punk and New Wave. Not only was there political and social anger expressed in these songs, but this was a kind of loud rock music that my mother didn't care for. Sign me up! The Clash became my favorite band, and this apocalyptic rant became my personal anthem. From the album of the same name.

6. Gang of Four "Anthrax": A kind of manifesto against soppy love songs that only could have been written by theory-reading college students. It opens with a howl of Hendrix-like feedback on guitar, then is joined by a brutal drum and bass groove that any emotional fascist can dance to. The vocal consists ofJohn King's desperate pleas against love, accompanied by guitarist Andy Gill's recited band statement-of-purpose-resolution opposing love songs. The "chorus" goes, "Love'll get you like a case of anthrax/and that's something I don't want to catch." Sheer poetry to alienated, eighteen year-old me. Unfortunately, I took these sentiments to heart for too many years. From their album Entertainment! Recently saw the re-formed original members of the band in performance. One of the best shows I've ever seen.

7. The Mountain Goats "Oceanographer's Choice": This brutal song about a uber dysfunctional couple captures quite well the self-destructive dynamic between my mother and her boyfriend. For twenty years they pushed each other's buttons until they both exploded. The chorus tag-line, "What'll I do when I don't have you to hold onto in the dark?" sums up the demented universe of a "toxic" couple that create the darkness for each other. I watched it happen
every day for years, and I guess I got caught up in it, too. From the album, Tallahassee.

8. Robbie Fulks "Barely Human": The particulars of this song of alcoholic woe are so grim that they almost seem humorous (with Robbie it's sometimes hard to tell), but I think it does get into the despairing mind of the person who is baffled by the monster he becomes when he drinks. I watched this Jekyll and Hyde routine happen with frequency in my house. From the album Country Love Songs. Do yourself a favor and check out the work of Robbie Fulks!

9. Hank Williams, Jr. "Living Proof": Not that I know what it's like to be the son of Hank Williams, but the line, "I'm gonna quit singing all these sad songs/'cause I couldn't stand the pain," is something I can relate to. Not to sound like the tortured artist--no one, absolutely no one is asking me to write my little 'zines--but it can be painful to compose some of these stories. Sometimes when writing them, I have nightmares where I'm right back in the middle of it all And then when I finish them how absurd is it that I worry people won't find them to be good reads? Anyway, I believe in bearing witness to ones past, being the Living Proof. Hank, Jr. has a whole body of work devoted to how hard it is to be a Living Legend's son. This is one of the first and one of the best of these songs. You can find it on his excellent Hank Williams, Jr. and Friends record.

10. Gene Clark "Something's Wrong": Nobody wrote a better melancholy song than ol' Gene. This one was composed when Gene went back to the ol' hometown after he was a big music star (with the Byrds) and discovered that the land of his childhood innocence was gone and that he was going to die someday. Sort of the feelings I had during my last summer in Groveland when I acknowledged that any happiness I'd had in that small town was long gone. From The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard and Clark.

11. Bob Marley "Revolution": Like I said in the Clash entry, Reggae music turned my head around when I was a desperate seventeen year-old living in Babylon. As Jah Bob was dying from Cancer in Switzerland, he was becoming my savior and hero. Seriously, his music gave me the spiritual lift to get through the second half of eleventh grade and the rest of high school into college. I listened to him so much in those days that I can barely stand to hear his records twenty something years down the line. From his great album, Natty Dread.

12. Brian Wilson "Surf's Up": I conclude Uncorrected Proof 2 with me leaving Groveland and headed toward the coast. Brian Wilson and lyricist Van Dyke Parks ultimately saw this somewhat mysterious number as hopeful. Surf's up! I'm certain that the City by the Bay saved my life, even if I spent many years here fucking up. These days I live just up the hill from the beach. This is Brian Wilson's 1967 version, just him, his soaring voice, and the piano. You can find this version on the Beach Boys' fantastic box set, Good Vibrations. After all the grim songs on Side B, nice to leave the soundtrack on an up note.

Up next: Back to the alphabet!

Uncorrected Proof Soundtrack, Side A

Hey,

Uncorrected Proof 2 is printed and ready to hit the streets. If you can make the release party at Zeitgeist on Sunday the 22nd at 5:00 p.m., 3 bucks and it's yours.

I've also made a cassette soundtrack to the 'zine, recorded in lovely mono (due to a semi-working receiver). I'm making copies for the first ten or so people who show up (if that many people show), but you can also make your own at home--provided you have the recordings, of course. Ah heck, if you buy one of the 'zines from me or wherever stores I get it into, I'll make sure you get a copy.

Anyhow, over the next couple of days I'm going to discuss the songs on the tape. Today: Side A.

1. Roger Miller "It Happened Just That Way": I used the title of this song as the subtitle for the 'zine. In this song Roger matter-of-factly details his country boy life style in a snappy, gospelly fashion. So cheerily does he sing "It happened just that way," that you have to laugh at the thought that any life can be summed up in less than three minutes. Is Roger being tongue-in-cheek or serious? Did it happen just that way? I like the ambiguity in that question. That's why I used it. You can find this and many other terrific Roger Miller songs on his box set, King of the Road.

2. Steely Dan "Bodhisattva": The 1970's really started for me when I heard Steely Dan in early '73. They didn't sound like any of the mellow hippie musicians that we usually listened to around the house. One of our many drifting house guests at the "Hippie House" in Groveland dropped this album--Countdown to Ecstacy--on our turntable, and my heart and mind were forever in the hands of the Dan. I picked this song because it points a rather sharp stick at the phony baloney decadent spiritual hippieoise of LA. But it works just as well to nail the hippieocrisy (I got a million of 'em) of my own family. What can I say? At age nine I got Steely Dan.

3. Elton John "Madman Across the Water": I'm nine or ten years old. I've got a bad case of the flu. I'm lying on the couch in the living room, this song--the title track from the album--is playing on the record player, and I'm hallucinating. The shadows that seem to be moving in the house swirl about in sync with the song's spooky strings. What, I wonder, is a "boat on a reef with a broken back?" And furthermore, "Is the madness black or are the windows painted?" This song pretty well sums up the confusion I was feeling as my mother and stepfather were breaking up while we lived in a town that hated us.

4. The Who "Substitute": After my mother and stepfather broke up and she took up with a guy called Bob, I became obsessed by The Who. The Tommy movie had come out that year (1975) followed by Who by Numbers. I suppose their best work was already behind them, but I was besotted. Pete Townshend's angst perfectly summed up my confusion about my changing homefront--no more so than in this song. I used to have this fantasy that The Who, driving up to Yosemite in their van, would stop by my house to ask for directions. I took this song from their excellent vinyl collection of singles, Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy.

5. Rod Stewart "Every Picture Tells a Story": The title song from Rod the Mod's greatest sustained piece of work. I don't think I really got the lyrics when I was initially smitten by this song. I used to mime it while huddled up to the woodstove in the dead of winter. Rod's words, "Combed my hair in a thousand ways/but it came out looking just the same" sum up the imminent adolescent troubles I'd be facing (and perhaps point out why Rod keeps trading in wives for younger models). One of the top ten rock and roll recordings of all time, in my opinion. Rod, what happened?

6. War "The World Is a Ghetto": Going by the contents of this soundtrack you'd hardly know how important Soul and R&B music was to my young self. But I didn't own too many of the records, just loved hearing the songs on the radio (especially Philly Soul in the seventies). I did own a couple of War albums--The Word Is a Ghetto and Why Can't We Be Friends?(I had the poster from the latter album on my front porch bedroom wall for several years) I was fascinated by the group's mingling of Soul, Latin, Jazz and Pop music--even though I knew hardly anything about those genres. Where could I find music like that where I lived? The War song I chose--"The World Is a Ghetto"--well sums up the melancholy and sometimes even hope that I felt during a couple of years of relative peace up on "Poverty Hill" in the Groveland divorced mothers ghetto.

7. George Gerdes "Sack of Woe": George Who? In the early seventies sometime actor, friend of Loudon Wainwright III, made two countryish singer-songwriter records. This song comes from the second, Son of Obituary (the first was called Obituary). My mom's boyfriend bought it from the 99 cent bin at the Value Giant in Sonora. I recently found it at Grooves in San Francisco. It sure holds up well. I selected this song because it was quite often on our turntable when my mother and her boyfriend were recovering from their motorcycle injuries and it sums up the general mood of our household.

8. Lynyrd Skynyrd "Saturday Night Special": Imagine! A moralistic anti-handgun song by Lynyrd Skynyrd? I've always thought this song well captures the kind of climate that prevailed in my home life at that time (I was about fifteen or sixteen). There were guns, a lot of liquor, and a heart full of violence in my house. Luckily, my mom's boyfriend's drunken fingers never sought out a trigger. Skynyrd was my refuge in the scary winter of my fifteenth year. At that point Skynyrd main man Ronnie Van Zant was two years gone. As far as my rock and roll loving friend John and I were concerned, Ronnie Van Zant, was our Kurt Cobain. You can find this song on their album Nuthin' Fancy.

9. Thin Lizzy "Black Rose": This scared, worried fifteen year-old boy needed rock anthems like "Freebird," "Stairway to Heaven," "Dream On," and this song to get him through his days. To me, this, not "The Boys Are Back in Town," "Jailbreak," or "Whiskey in the Jar," is the ultimate Thin Lizzy song. This song encompasses Irish history, folklore and legend. It namechecks
Irish literary and musical figures. It features the passionate vocals and lyrics of the late, great Phil Lynott and the duel guitars of Scott Gorham and Gary Moore. Even though I'm wasn't Irish, I could imagine my way into more heroic circumstances when blasting this song. From the album of the same name.

Coming Next: Side B!

Kinky, Lefty and Cookin'

Let's begin with a Miles Davis CD: Cookin'. It's the last of the marathon sessions that yielded those four classics--Relaxin', Steamin', Workin', and, you know...

Wonderful contractual obligation fillers so Miles could move from Prestige to Columbia. It's hot stuff with Miles, John Coltrane, Red Garland on piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and "Philly" Joe Jones on drums. It's the bridge from hard bop and cool to Miles Davis Music. There are so many high points in Miles's career after these recordings that one might overlook them. Okay, maybe that's just been me. Miles is so probing and sensitive, Trane is on his search for the lost chords, the rhythm section is Miles's best until Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams appear on the scene a decade hence. A more intelligent discussion of the Prestige sessions in a few days time....

On vinyl: Lefty Frizzell. Get his music into your life if it isn't already there. I'd highly recommend Rounder Records' Treasures Untold: The Early Recordings of Lefty Frizzell. It's just Lefty, a rinky dink piano, and other spare honky tonk backing. Lefty's voice is a kind of nasally cry that resonates downward to the chest and deep into the soul. My gosh, how can a guy sing a ballad like "Now That You Are Gone" and not have himself a serious drinking problem as poor Lefty did? That's opening up yer soul. And "The Waltz of the Angels": sublime.

I also spun one of those strange TV offer Greatest Hits records you can find (or used to be able to) in used record shops. It's called Lefty's 20 Golden Greats. Most of the material is pretty great, if more overdubbed and commercial than the Early Recordings. The best moment is probably Lefty's spine-shivering, desolate version of "The Long Black Veil." I need to get more Lefty...

Finally, from the sublime to the silly, it's Kinky Friedman's Sold American. A true early-seventies time capsule. Despite all the hoo-hah about Kinky being the first Texas Jewish Country Music Star, one has to wonder how serious the Kinkster really was about this form. Being a Jewish smart ass myself, I get a chuckle out of these definitely dated social commentaries, "We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to You"; "Sold American"; not to mention, the tasteless "The Ballad of Charles Whitman." I guess you could say it was the antic humor of Mad Magazine and the Yippies (the humor part) meets Texas-hippie irreverence. And maybe even a little Leonard Cohen on "Ride 'em Jewboy." I've often wondered if Kinky's mystery novels are any good.

Tomorrow and tomorrow: we take a break from the alphabet to discuss the Uncorrected Proof 2 Official Soundtrack

Aretha!

Uncorrected Proof #2, my autobiographical 'zine, is just about to go to press (I'll give you all the details about that over the next couple of days). Lately, I've been trying to budget my money so I can afford the printing cost. Thus, I've been restraining my music buying for the past couple of months. That's also helpful so I can make some headway in this listening project. Still, I have to allow myself some musical purchases per month. A couple of weeks ago I ordered Robbie Fulks's new CD Georgia Hard from his website. It arrived in the mail the other day. I'll give it more of a thorough discussion when I get to the "F" CDs, but you can check out a clueless, negative review of it on Pitchfork and a very insightful, positive one on Popmatters. I agree strongly with one of them.

On Sunday, the Psychedelic Eskimo and I swam against the muggy tide of drunken post-Bay to Breakers, caucasian twenty-somethings in Afro wigs, on our way to Amoeba. Sundays at Amoeba are often unpleasant, and this day was no different. I snapped up Doris Duke's outrageously great I'm a Loser on CD and 10cc's The Original Soundtrack on vinyl. When I got home I was annoyed to discover that The Orignial Soundtrack was slightly warped--you can't play the opening tracks on either side. A warp not visible to the naked eye unless it's on the turntable. Phooey! It's not worth trekking back to Amoeba to return a 3 dollar record. At least "I'm Not in Love" is playable.

On the turntable, it's been all Aretha over the past couple of days: I Never Loved A Man The Way I Loved You; Lady Soul; Young, Gifted and Black. These, of course, are the documents of the great phase of Aretha's career when she puts it all together: the gospel background, the personal blues pain, the Soul music zeitgeist, the creative input of Southern crackers (the Muscle Shoals crew) and the Soul New Breed (Donny Hathaway, Billy Preston). Read Peter Guralnick's Sweet Soul Music for a riveting account of the I Never Loved a Man sessions, and Craig Werner's Higher Ground for an intelligent, sensitive overview of Aretha's career. If you ask me, this was the most profound pop music coming out of America in the late sixties. The song that closes out I Never Loved a Man--"A Change Is Gonna Come" is my favorite version of Sam Cooke's legendary tune. Aretha knew the man well, and her interpretation of the song takes on the weight of both personal sadness and hope. Aretha's always great on the piano.

My personal favorite tune on Lady Soul is "Chain of Fools" for Aretha's lacerating reprobations and Joe South's (or is it Bobby Womack?) Pop Staples-like lead guitar. I still feel like I have to sit with Young, Gifted & Black. It's an interesting mingling of Soul and Pop. Less Southern Soul than Northern Jazz-inflected Soul. Not exactly Philly Soul, although Aretha covers "Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)?" The inclusion of the Nina Simone-penned title track and Elton John's "Border Song" shows the range of her early seventies ambition. A grown up record.

On the CD player, it's Miles Davis's Collector's Items. Two different sessions. One from 1953, with Charlie Parker (using the alias "Charlie Chan") sitting in on tenor. Also including a young Sonny Rollins on tenor sax. His standout is some mournful playing on a druggy "'Round Midnight." The second session from 1956 features a more mature Rollins playing witty rejoinders to the piercing statements of The Man With the Horn. More early and late-mid Miles to come over the next few days...

Rethinking Rumours

Back there in 1977-78 it seemed like you couldn't turn on the radio without being assaulted by Fleetwood Mac's Rumours. The platter spawned four hit singles, which you always heard on AM Top 40 stations, and when you switched over to FM, they were playing the album cuts. Plus, everybody and their sister owned the record--my sister included. Yeah, that's what it was, in my thirteen/fourteen year-old mind: Sister Rock!!! Nothing could be uncooler to an increasingly testosterone-infused boy. At that age (if you were white and heterosexual, I should qualify), you wanted nothing more than guitar solos (Led Zeppelin! AC/DC!), preferably dual solos (Lynyrd Skynyrd! Thin Lizzy!) if you could get 'em. And please, no vulnerability! That was for sisters. I mean, if I wanted women in a rock band there was Heart!

I hated Rumours with a passion in them days, even if I secretly hummed along to the songs. When I got a little older, and in my mind, hipper, I hated Rumours because it wasn't Punk Rock, and it was a symbol of everything played-out, mellowish, decadent hippieish, bloated music industryish that I was leaving behind for the supposedly truer sounds and visions of The Clash, etc.

When Bill Clinton used "Don't Stop Thinkin' About Tomorrow" for his 1992 campaign song, I groaned. If he really wanted to think about tomorrow, he shoulda kept it in his pants...but I digress...

About a year and a half ago, The Psychedelic Eskimo bought me a vinyl copy of Rumours as a joke after hearing me dismiss it in my obnoxious Rock Snob fashion. She spent a buck on it. Ha, ha.

Well, the joke's on me, Dear Reader. This is a Fucking Great Record!!! I've listened to it four times over the last couple of days. While Fleetwood Mac may have been cocaine-addled hippies, they were as Punk Rock as anybody in their willingness to lay bare their emotional pain in such a scalding, not maudlin fashion. Kurt Cobain wished he could have made such an honest, coherent pop statement, you can bet your boots he did (Elliot Smith, too). And it rocks, as well. Lindsay Buckingham turns out a couple of sizzling guitar solos. And, man oh man, was Stevie Nicks cute! Cuter than Heart, even!

"Go Your Own Way"; "The Chain"; "Gold Dust Woman": these are some devastating songs by lovers who were breaking up with each other. Not mellow in the least. I guess I needed to go through the relationship wars to really get the point of this great record.

Moving along through the vinyl alphabet, I spun the godly Gilded Palace of Sin, by The Flying Burrito Brothers. This really is Gram Parsons's best album. It's the most fully realized expression of his "Cosmic American Music" blend of country, soul, rock and pop. Gram and Chris Hillman are singing great, SneekyPete Kleinow is playing out of this world, psychedelic steel guitar. The originals--"Christine's Tune"; "Sin City"; the "Hot Burrito" songs are outtasite, and the covers "Do Right Woman" and "Dark End of the Street"--Country Rock guys covering Country Soul--brilliant! inspired! Gram would never reach these heights again, although he comes close at points on his solo albums. A really essential record.

What is not essential is the rest of the Gram Parsons-involved FBB output. Some of it is okay, but quite a comedown after the Gilded Palace...The follow-up record, Burrito Deluxe, sounds drugged-out, bored and uninspired. Like a La Salsa burrito (ha!). Only two really notable songs: the catchy, up-tempo "Down in the Churchyard" and the bizarre "Wild Horses." I can never decide whether or not I think the Burrito's version of "WH's" is raggedly great or just weird. Gram had to be drunk, hung over or smacked up while singing this Stones song (was it technically a cover? I think the Burritos released their version before the Stones did). Gram's vocal sounds like he's about to keel over at points. He uses that great soulful crack in his voice (utilized to devastating effect on "Hot Burrito No. 1" on the Gilded Palace record), and at least he came by his Southern drawl naturally (unlike Mick), but the tempo is so draggy and jerky that it's like The Velvet Underground Goes Country. Hey, now there's an idea!

About the Gram-era FBB odds n' sods compilation, Dim Lights, Thick Smoke and Loud, Loud Music, the less said the better. Just because it's there doesn't mean it should be released. One good song ("The Train Song") and the rest crap covers. If this were your first G.P. record, you'd say, "What's the big deal?" After hearing Merle Haggard do "Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down," Gram sounds like a little kid. It makes you realize that as great as Gram was, he was more of a Country Rocker than a Honky Tonker, even if his heart and liver were in the right place.

Deep Soul Treasures for the Heartbroken

For those of you who have been reading this blog since the previous site location (home.earthlink/~uncorrected), you know that I concur with Bob Dylan on this point: "I believe in Hank Williams singing 'I Saw the Light." I also believe in The Webs singing "It's So Hard to Break a Habit"; Clarence Carter singing "Slip Away"; Betty Lavette singing "Let Me Down Easy"; Irma Thomas singing "Time Is on My Side"; Eddie and Ernie singing "Thanks for Yesterday"; Baby Washington singing "Breakfast in Bed"; Reuben Bell singing "It's Not That Easy." Christ, why don't I name every song on all four volumes of Dave Godin's Deep Soul Treasures? I could, I should!

For those of you who don't know, Dave Godin was a British soul music devotee who was largely responsible for bringing Motown music to the UK. In this sense, he must have had at least an indirect effect upon the British beat bands. Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, he kept the soul flame burning long after the the original music had played out or mutated into other forms. In the mid-nineties he compiled the first of his Deep Soul compilations for Kent, the UK-based r&b reissue label. What is Deep Soul, you may ask? To quote Godin, you might call it, "(A) darker, more troubled side to Soul Music." The broken-hearted, grown up, gospel-drenched, bluesy side of the music. Less dance-oriented, more crying in your beer or whiskey-type music. Over four volumes Godin compiled devastating sides from both the obscure--Raw Spitt--to the famous--James Brown and created a new faith, at least for this listener.

It's said that the legendary Hasidic mystic, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, believed that part of ones prayer life should be made in the form of an intense, personal, emotional conversation with God. This form of prayer was called hitbodedut. To quote Nachman's biographer Arthur Green on the subject of hitbodedut, "The longing and intensity with which hitbodedut is performed should bring the person at times to the very edge of death; he who practices it regularly will live always in a state near to broken-heartedness, and will be ready to respond even to the slightest knock on the door of his heart."

I believe that such states can be attained by listening to these four great compilations repeatedly over a few day period, as I've just done. I don't know, maybe that doesn't float your boat, but you, my dear reader, are denying yourself some profound moments if you don't check out the music of Doris Duke, Eddie and Ernie, and the Knight Brothers. Dave Godin died last year from lung cancer. RIP Dave Godin.

Over in vinyl land, it's been a bit Flat and banjo-haunted. Which is to say, I spun the Flatlanders' debut disc, More a Legend Than a Band. I believe the Rounder version I own (1989) is the first vinyl edition of what was orignially an eight track release from the early '70's. The Flatlanders, if you didn't know, consist of those West Texas honky tonk hipsters and mystics, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock and Joe Ely--plus a saw player! At the time of the vinyl reissue, Jimmie Dale, Butch and Joe, had had varying successes with their singing and songwriting careers, even collaborating at times, but they hadn't rejoined forces under the Flatlanders moniker for any length of time. They finally did so a couple of years ago. About this record: A lonely, spare evocation of small town West Texas life as a 3 a.m. of the soul of the universal condition. It's all in Jimmie Dale's "Tonight I'm Gonna Go Downtown" and Butch's "You've Never Seen Me Cry." It's like Jimmie Rodgers with a degree in philosophy and art. Not to many other country releases from that time (or any other) with a title called "Bhagavan Decreed."

Next: from The Flatlanders to Flatt and Scruggs. Two records by them boys: Don't Get Above Your Raisin' and a collection entitled simply, Flatt and Scruggs. Earl Scruggs: the Louis Armstrong of the banjo. His innovations on the instrument made for more melodic and rhythmic excitement in bluegrass. In a sense, he's as much a father of the genre as Bill Monroe is. Lester Flatt had a fine bluesy voice that belied his permanently middle-aged "cracker" face. There's such excitement and pop to their music in the early days that they sound a lot like a rock and roll outfit to me. Their fifties output is essential, y'all.

Finally, on the subject of banjos, Heather the Cat and I enjoyed the 1980 debut recording of Bela Fleck, Crossing the Tracks. If Earl Scruggs is the Louis Armstrong of the banjo, Bela Fleck is the John Coltrane or Sonny Rollins. When it comes to Bluegrass, I'm a bit of a formalist. I appreciate innovative playing, but I like it to have soul, which I don't always find in the music of Mr. Fleck and his "Newgrass" ilk. But I dig this record, because it's solidly in the tradition--as when he covers Earl Scruggs's "Dear Old Dixie"--while flirting with newfangled stuff such as Chick Corea's "Spain." This recording has flash and soul.

The Poet of the Piano

Over the past couple of days I've spun three Tommy Flanagan records: The Tommy Flanagan Trio (1960); Live at Montreux '77; and Nights at the Vanguard (1986). The latter two records are live recordings, and just like that live T.F. album from '57 I played the other day, I think they highlight what's best in his playing--the craft and spontaneity. It all seems to come out better live than in the studio (based on what I own, anyway). I had the good fortune to see the man at the late, lamented Kimball's in San Francisco. Probably around 1990 or 91. I'd never seen such long, elegant fingers on a gentleman. He's a poet of the ballads, he swings the up tempo stuff, and can get way into the blues. Equally at home in Monk, Ellington and Evans. My favorite of these records is probably the Vanguard one because of his deep interactions with bassist George Mraz. It's also notable for the fact that the great jazz recordig engineer Rudy Van Gelder made it his first live recording in twelve years. Top notch stuff.

On the CD front: another one by Olu Dara. This one's called Neighborhoods (2001). A little bit more eccentric than his In the World recording, and good for him. From the opening, West African-flavored number "Massamba" to the spiritual "Out on the Rolling Sea" (I first heard the Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence do this number. I assume Dara has as well), O.D. continues his journey through the neighborhoods of Pan-African music. Has he recorded anything since? I gotta investigate that.

Also in CD's, I've begun listening to the series of Dave Godin's Deep Soul Treasures, but I'll save my gushing for the next entry...

Finally, a big thanks to my sister, The Baker, for the Duke Ellington-Ella Fitzgerald record. More on that after I listen to it.

Musical Voodoo

Right at this moment I'm listening to one of my all time favorite jazz piano performances: Tommy Flanagan playing Billy Strayhorn's "Chelsea Bridge." You can find it on Tommy Flanagan Trio in Stockholm 1957. Featuring Wilbur Little on bass and Elvin Jones on drums. A super swinging set that gives Flanagan a chance to stretch out in his bop/post-bop fashion. Am I hearing some Bud Powell in his playing here? Dig him on Charlie Parker's "Relaxin' at Camarillo" (and also dig Elvin using the brushes on a lot of songs--sounds like it, anyway) and check out his fiercly poetic side (a display of both sensitivity and heat) on "Willow Weep for Me." Is this recording available on CD? I dunno. But it's been a vinyl treasure of mine for some time. I bought it in the heat of a big crush on Tommy Flanagan's playing. It's one of those records I wish I could play for my dear old departed piano-playing dad. So, here's to ya, dad.

Another T. F. record for pops to enjoy in the piano bar in heaven or hell: The Cats--a 1957 date featuring sheets-of-sound era John Coltrane on tenor, Idrees Sulieman on trumpet, and surprisingly enjoyably for me because I don't always enjoy jazz guitar, Kenny Burrell. I think Kenny gets off the best solos on this one. T.F. kinda lays back, except on the quieter trio number, "How Long Has This Been Going On"--a nice tune to cook dinner to. Overall, not nearly as stimulating as the live Stockholm set, maybe 'cause the head tunes are sort of run of the mill hard bop blowing session themes. Something for all the horns to do, I guess.

On the less poetic front, I spent an enjoyable hour or so yesterday listening to two Flamin' Groovies records that have been sitting, under-appreciated, in my collection lo these past two decades. At least I had the good sense not to sell them off during my Stalinesque Bluegrass Purge (see earlier regret-filled entries from early April). The two records in question: Still Shakin'--a sort of hodgepodge of album cuts and lost sessions, and their Mach 1 masterpiece, Teenage Head. Still Shakin' is fun. Mostly covers. Funny to think of them playing "Louie Louie" for the flowerpower kids.

Teenage Head is a fantastic mingling of The Stooges, Sticky Fingers/Exile on Main Street Stones, and crazed Memphis rockabilly (due perhaps to the presence of Memphisian character Jim Dickinson on the piano). A proto punk classic. Vocalist Roy Loney sounds like a combo of Iggy, Captain Beefheart and any rockabilly madman you care to mention. Guitarist Cyril Jordan gets both punky and bluesy. The Cramps had to have studied this record, especially the brutal title track, the demented echo-laden "Evil Hearted Ada" ( dig the nicked guitar riff from "Mystery Train") and the Memphisly-maddened "Dr. Boogie." The S.F. hippies just didn't get it. This is what the early Creem magazine would defined as the essence of "Boy Howdy!"

Over on the CD front, I was making a sort of Pan-African-American connection with the music of D'Angelo and Olu Dara. D'Angelo, what happened? Two records in ten years, and nothing else in sight, as far as I know. If you're into the stuff, you know how Brown Sugar kicked off the Neo-Soul trend--a genre that doesn't excite me as much as I'd initially hoped. Maybe I'm saying this out of ignorance, but a lot of it sounds like rehashed Stevie Wonder to me. Not D'Angelo. He's more of a Prince man, if not quite the tunesmith that the Purple One is. Anyway, I love that title track to Brown Sugar, the revenge tale, "Shit, Damn, Motherfucker" and the brilliance of covering Smokey Robinson's "Cruisin'."

More exciting to me, and, yes, harder to get into is D's 2000 release, Voodoo. Some, like me, loved it, and others found it boring and self-indulgent--a record lacking hooks and discernable jams (or is that the same thing?). Maybe. I think it's jamming on a deeper level. Almost like an r&b record in dub. An ambitious work that attempts to connect Prince, Marvin Gaye, Lee "Scratch" Perry, Jimi Hendrix and Fela Kuti. Created in collaboration with Ahmir Thompson from The Roots, this is the r&b record for your subconscious and your lower chakras.

In spirit and ambition, I connect Voodoo to Olu Dara's 1998 record, In the World. A criminally under-appreciated record (CD), in my opinion. Many know Olu Dara as rapper Nas's father, but he was playing the cornet and guitar on the far out New York jazz scene long before Nas got behind the mike. You can't quite pin him down as a jazzman or a bluesman. And who cares, anyway? In the World is a kind of mythical-folkloric autobiographical journey from Natchez to New York (as the recording is subtitled). A pleasant singer, a competent guitarist, a stabbing horn player, a man with great imagination, Olu Dara is the sort of figure that Ralph Ellison and Bob Dylan would get instantly. You can't pigeon hole him in any particular genre, and thus he's out on the margins of recogition, but on the lower levels speaking for you (D'Angelo, too).

Noise, Noise, Noise

There have been times while going through this alphabetical project when I've gotten hung up on a particular record or CD. In the case of yesterday, it was two distinctly different recordings. First up, was First Take by Roberta Flack. I'm listening to it for the third time in two days as I write this entry. Roberta was already in her thirties (I think) and was a veteran of the night club circuit with a vast repertoire of tunes when she recorded this record (in 1969). I'm not certain if the variety of the songs on the album reflect her night club act or the record company's desire to have her appeal to the cocktail hour set (the draggy, string-laden "All the Sad Young Men" being the most glaring example). Anyway, I dig it, from the opening, swinging "Compared to What" to Donny Hathaway's "Tryin' Times" to the traditional gospel moan "I Told Jesus" to Leonard Cohen's "That's No Way to Say Goodbye" to the eventual hit "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face"--which became a hit three years after the fact due to Clint Eastwood using it in Play Misty for Me! I gotta check out more Flack.

Also on the vinyl "F" front: I finished up Ella Fitzgerald with a live 1977 date from Montreux accompanied by the "Poet of the Piano," Tommy Flanagan. By this time, Ella's voice has a little more wear on it, but it's interesting to hear her live inventions--the growls, squeaks, and percussion impersonations on "One Note Samba." It's just this side of obnoxious--the wanky guitar solo of vocalizing, if you will. Still, you gotta give her points for pushing the creative envelope at her age (around sixty at that point).

My other repeat listen from the past couple of days has been the CD reissue of Machine Gun Etiquette by The Damned. Imagine me, confronting the onset of middle age, becoming a late-blooming Damned fan. Is it immature and tasteless of me to admit that when we went through the recent pope turnover, I kept singing the group's "Anti-Pope" to myself? Yes, I'm a super late-blooming phoney-baloney punk rocker! A charge levelled at The Damned themselves! God forbid, they had fun and fooled around back when all the original punk bands were super serious. By God, they couldn't help themselves, they had a real pop streak to them--probably closer to The Ramones than the other British punk bands, in that sense. I love MGE. My favorite reissue of the year (if you wanna nitpick, it came out late last year), although I don't feel that the ten bonus tracks add much. Their take on The Sweet's "Ballroom Blitz" is good for a larf.

I also played the CD version of The Damned's debut, Damned, Damned, Damned. Sheer entertainment. A great rock and roll record, no matter what genre you care to put it in. In the reissue liner notes, Rat Scabies, Captain Sensible, and Brian James make the point that they went for broke because they never thought they'd never make another record. Nick Lowe produced it in a straight up manner with none of the gloss of the Sex Pistols' Never Mind the Bollocks.

Also recently played on CD, The Drag 'em Off the Interstate, Sock It to 'em Hits of Dick Curless. The cigarette and whiskeyed baritone of Dick Curless is arguably the greatest thing to come out of Maine. A master of the trucker song ("A Tombstone Every Mile" and many others), a gifted mimic (listen to him do Merle Haggard on "All of Me Belongs to Me"), tapped deeply into misery/tragedy ("Bury the Bottle with Me"), and a more than fair Dixieland/jazzish singer ("I Ain't Got Nobody"). Some entertaining novelty tunes ("Loser's Cocktail"; the gotta- be- heard-to-be-believed "Chick Inspector"). Get the comp on the Razor & Tie label, if you can find it.

Finally, cleansed our CD souls with Culture's Two Sevens Clash. Led by Joseph Hill, this trio of Rasta singers modelled after Burning Spear, and beloved of English punks, put their finger on the political, cultural, and spiritual crises the world over in the mid-seventies. Has anything changed all that much? A classic collection of vocal roots reggae. I love the stuff.

Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive

Ladies and Gents, The International Week of Rock has ended. And it only took half a week. We could tell you that the American Fiery Furnaces were okay at The Great American Music Hall. How the sound was muddy (do loud bands ever sound good there?), and your correspondent did not feel that they added anything to what we saw from them last year at The Bottom of the Hill. Yes, the endless medley. We get it. We've liked all their releases and eagerly await to see what they come up with next, but we're a little burned out on them. Their drummer is pretty entertaining to watch, though.

Your correspondent could also talk about last night's performance by Canadians Sloan at Slim's. Slim's always a problematic place. Your boy has seen some good shows there, despite the lousy neighborhood, so-so sound, and those dumb poles that obscure the view from certain parts of the floor. We love Sloan here at the Blue Ark, but felt pretty ignorant compared to the thirty or so superfans clustered at the front of the stage singing along to every obscure song (the band is touring to promote a "greatest hits"--in Canada, eh?-- release). Sloan wanted to rock, and that inevitably means "wall of noise" at Slims. It seemed to take half the show before the feedback (unintentional, we're not talking about Sonic Youth here) and vocal mike drop-outs were sorted out. A fun show, but the Psychedelic Eskimo and I were exhausted, sweaty and sore, and left before the encore. We were sore and exhausted because...

Monday night, following International Worker's Day, we saw the best show of the year (if not several years). Britain's Gang of Four at The Fillmore. I've only been waiting the better part of twenty five years to see these guys (the original quartet, that is). You never know what to expect with these things. I'd seen a good precedent a few years ago with the reformed Soft Boys, but still...Fingers crossed. You figure it's not a cynical reforming for the money (although I'm sure they weren't saying no to that) like The Sex Pistols. Why tarnish the intense memory of the band if you're not 100% committed? So, imagine the joy I felt when these decidedly middle-aged dudes walked out on stage and hammered away with great intensity for nearly an hour and a half. That includes the set and two encores. No messing about. Just a ferocious attack. Singer Jon King running around on stage, singing into all three vocal mikes, staring defiantly at the crowd. Guitarist Andy Gill stabbing at his guitar, occasionally charging at bassist Dave Allen (if you ask me, D.A.'s the secret weapon of the band). The steady tub thumping of delightfully tubby drummer Hugo Burnham. You wonder, what "Post Punk" band had a funkier rhythm section? Who had a more savage/creative guitarist or intense singer? Despite the intensity, the band seemed to be having a great time, even embracing at points, as if to say, "Can you believe how good this is?" Well worth the quarter century wait.

If you're still with me, you can see why I haven't gotten much alphabetical listening done over the past few days. Just two things, actually. First up, Rodney Crowell's The Houston Kid on CD.
A brave, moving, semi-autobiographical recording from 2001. After his parents passed away, Rodney decided to examine both the horror and joy of his Houston upbringing. The two most devastating songs are "Rock of My Soul" and "Topsy Turvy"--semi-fictionalized accounts of his father's physical abuse of his mother. When I saw him perform these songs at Foley's, here in S.F., Rodney said that his parents had found peace with each other before they died, but it sure sounds frightening on the record. It's not all that grim. There's a nice tribute to Johnny Cash called "I Walk the Line (Revisited)," featuring a guest vocal from Johnny himself. Also, a quite moving song about a Houston-bred, L.A.-residing gay street hustler with AIDS called "I Wish It Would Rain" (a kid that Rodney knew from back home). Not the usual song you see on a country music record, that's for sure. Other good stuff, too. A real influence on my autobiographical 'zines.

Finally, let's do Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive with Ella Fitzgerald sings The Harold Arlen Songbook. Arranged and Conducted by Billy May, this is (outside of the Ellington) the jazziest of the Songbook recordings. Although I said I love the Gershwin Songbook best, this may be my favorite. A perfect spring day listen. Ella is really at home with these breezy, sometimes sad, melodies. You gotta hear her do "Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead"before you die. Swinging arrangements, and some nice solos from Benny Carter, Plas Johnson And Ted Nash. "Let's Fall in Love" makes the process actually sound like a good idea! Also, in the version of the album (two-record set) that I have--it's a 1984 reissue--informative liner notes/appreciation of Harold Arlen by Gary Shivers. It's interesting to learn that Arlen was the son of a synagogue cantor, a man who was proud of his son's musical achievements, and actually recorded some vocals to his boy's melodies. Kind of the reverse of The Jazz Singer! Who wouldn't be proud that their kid wrote such great melodies such as "Stormy Weather"; "It's Only a Paper Moon"; "Out of This World"; "Ill Wind" and so on...