Stuck in the Sixties

To use a favorite term from the Vietnam War, this listening project has become a quagmire. While I could tell you that I listened to a compilation of "primitive" gospel tunes called Get Right With God and enjoyed it very much indeed, that's hardly much alphabetical "progress" in the past month. I do intend to slog through the alphabet, but I might not always write about it. Why, you might ask (if there was actually someone reading this blog)? Because as I'm trying to motivate myself to go back to the sixties in search of memories to write about, I need to listen to the proper music. That's probablly what I'll be writing about for the time being, with brief mentions of alphabetical progress (if any).

Recently I've been reading Vincent Bugliosi's Helter Skelter, the story of the horrific Charles Manson-directed Tate-La Bianca murders and the subsequent trials. Bugliosi was the prosecuting attorney of the Manson murders, and he presents a riveting first-hand account of those mad events. A couple of years ago I read Edward Sanders' The Family, his hippie-beat account of those same episodes. In either late 1968 or early 1969, I spent a half an hour or so at The Spahn Ranch (home of the Manson family) in the company of my aunt, her boyfriend, and my sister. My aunt's boyfriend took us there to drop in on a friend of his who was living in a gypsy tent on the property. He didn't know what sort of scene he was bringing us into. While my aunt stayed outside and watched my sister and I play in a creek, her boyfriend went into the main house to look for his friend. My aunt observed that there were all sorts of zombified looking girls wandering around the place. Meanwhile, all my aunt's boyfriend received for his visit was very hostile vibes. Clearly not a groovy situation. He sussed out the situation, decided it wasn't worth a confrontation, and beat a hasty retreat. He hustled over to the creek and said, "Let's go." It was nearly a year before we found out how truly hostile those people were. Whether Charlie and his zombie murderers were there that day, I can't say.

I tell you all this as a lead in to the fact that I've been listening to The Beatles' The White Album a lot lately. No album captures my little LA hippie boy days as much as that two-record set. I must have heard it everyday for months. I created a world from the songs on that album, and can still to back there a little bit when I hear such songs as "Dear Prudence" or "Blackbird."

Very creepy to think that the Mansons used my "house of memories" as a pretext for senseless slaughter. Also creepy to read that Paul McCartney did intend for "Blackbird" to be a message of courage to struggling African Americans, so that in a way, Manson partially--but obviously not totally--understood the song.

More thoughts on bloody sixties LA to come.

A Slight Change in Direction, Man

If I'm going to maintain this blog with any regularity, I'm going to have to tweak its direction a bit. While I will continue (slowly) with the alphabet, I'm also going to write about my attempt to compose Uncorrected Proof: The Hippie Years.

Lately I've been listening to The Beatles White Album a lot--the #1 record of my household when I was a little Hollywood hippie (also, as is well known, very big in the Manson Family household). Kind of incredible to think of a time when an entire counterculture listened to the same records not just as commodities.

The same might not be said for CSN&Y's Deja Vu--also spun a lot lately on my turntable. Yeah, I know, it's exhibit A in the decadent rich hippie aristocracy patting-self-on-back offenses against humanity, but you could hardly say that about the household I lived in, and we listened to this record a lot.

I've also been spinning David Crosby's If Only I Could Remember My Name quite a bit. Even kind reviews would have you believe that it's entirely hippie trippy, but there's some aggressiveness here as well.

On the alphabetical front, I'm listening to a cheapie vinyl two record gospel collection on the "Hollywood" label called 22 Original Gospel Greats. I recall buying this the same day I bought a klezmer record. I'm ecumenical like that. Anyway, this is pretty good for a knock off comp. All the greats are here: from James Cleveland to Sister Rosetta Tharpe to Shirley Caesar to the Swan Silvertones to The Staple Singers. Also included is what I believe to be an early Sam Cooke recording in which he is fronting The Highway QC's. His vocal mannerisms are unmistakable--although I suppose it could be an imitator or someone he imitated. A very young Sam Cooke, I suspect.

Over on CD's it's a collection of Eric Dolphy tunes called Conversations. I suspect that some of it is from the same sessions as the Iron Man CD I wrote about the other day. My favorite tune on this one is their version of Fats Waller's "Jitterbug Waltz"--not the usual type of song the far out guys generally played.

Trying Not to Murder the Cat While Listening to Gospel Music

My cat Heather, the H Bomb, has had a bad week. First, she ate part of a lilly and got really sick for a few days. This, plus several extra nightshifts (and a night out of town) kept me from giving her usual amounts of insulin shots--thus her diabetes has been acting up. And you know what that means: peeing on the bed. So, early this morning at 1:30 I had to wash the bedding. Didn't get to sleep until 3 a.m. Then, when I got home feeling exhausted from work, I discovered that she'd done it again. But my neighbors in the building are using the washer and dryer. Super annoying! Ah, the joys of aging cat ownership.

Anyway, it's probably good that I'm listening to a collection of gospel quartets from New Orleans called sensibly enough, New Orleans Gospel Quartets 1947-1956. Good stuff, man. I love African-American gospel quartets from this time period. I'll be spinning quite a few of them on vinyl over the next few days.

Concidentally, on CD I recently listened to a Dixie Hummingbirds' compilation called Move On Up a Little Higher. Their rendition of "Get Away Jordan" is sublime. One of the best gospel groups ever.

Also on CD: Eric Dolphy's Iron Man. A moving version of "Come Sunday" and a stimulating originial composition called, "Burning Spear." A notable group of musicians are backing up Mr. D on this session, including Bobby Hutcherson on vibes, "Sonny" Simmons on alto, Clifford Jordan on soprano, Prince Lasha on flute. Post hard boppers on the verge of Out.

The Dictators' Go Girl Crazy! It's silly, great stuff: "Master Race Rock," "Teengenerate," and so on. The greatest of the Jewish garage rock, proto-punk groups.

I guess you could say that my cat is a bit of a "Teengenerate," since she's going on fourteen. And a real punk to boot!

Of CSN&Y & Chick Singers

Lately, as I've begun my attempt to write Uncorrected Proof: The Hippie Years manuscript, I've been listening to all those records we spun in those far out and not so far out years. In that spirit the Psychedelic Eskimo lent me Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's Deja Vu--a record that I probably heard five times a week for a year or two when I was a kid. I don't think I've listened to it in its entirety since. I've always known that it was a superduperstar record but that doesn't make it necessarily worth beans as a recording here in the latter day. But you know what? I dig it, man! Those Graham Nash songs, "Teach Your Children" and, especially, "Our House," are a bit treacly, but it would be hard to think of the record without them. Sentimentality, paranoia ("Almost Cut My Hair"), stoned nostalgia ("Helpless")--these elements make it the quintessential hippie record for me.

The PE also loaned me a couple of Joni Mitchell slabs o' wax: Ladies of the Canyon and Blue. I've been listening to Joni increasingly over the last few years but didn't own these two hippie classics.

More on Joni in the future, but as I tell you that I played Sandy Denny's Sandy on CD, let's address my long time resistance to chick singers. I don't consider myself any more sexist than the next male human, but a glance at my record collection would have you thinking otherwise. I'm sure it's a hangover of my rockist youth when only Heart might break through the barrier. I might have wanted to sleep with Stevie Nicks and Linda Rondstadt, but would I have wanted to listen to them? No! Terrible, I know.

In the intervening years, my investigations of jazz and country music and soul spurred me on to investigate the distaff side of the musical arts. But past Emmylou Harris, whom I collected avidly (and had a big crush on), I still maintained resistance to a woman and a guitar. Dummy!

In the further intervening years, that resistance has dropped (Joni, Laura, Bobbie, Gillian, Judee), despite the rise of Lillith Fair type artists. I've just learned to step lightly...

So, Sandy Denny's second solo record, Sandy (1972). Get this into your life, people! A wonderful mingling of rueful confession, pop melodies, and more traditional English folk. Most of the Fairport Convention guys are playing on it (get their records when she's the lead singer) as a nice bonus. There is so much English folk soul in Denny's voice, it boggles my mind why this wasn't a hit. Believe me, you'll be hooked after the first song, "It'll Take a Long Time." And for you cock rockists, remember, S.D. was the only chick to ever sing on a Led Zeppelin record--"The Ballad of Evermore," on LZ IV.

Over in vinyl Jazzland, it's been a varied lot: the Jimmy Giuffre 3's self-titled record (on Atlantic) and Dexter Gordon's Our Man in Paris (on Blue Note). The Giuffre record is that sort of subdued but precise white jazz that at first stimulates me but then leaves me wanting less. I mean, I like this record and would be curious to hear some more by this guy, but only during certain late Sunday afternoons...

The Dexter Gordon is a thrill. Why is this the only record of his that I own? Creative hard bop driven by the Coleman Hawkins/Ben Websterish tenor of D.G. Bop innovators Bud Powell and Kenny Clarke are also playing on this session. An example of some of the great music that was made by African-American expatriates in the City of Lights. The highlight for me is a lovely "Willow Weep for Me."

Let The Mystery Be

Being the Piscean fella that I am, I've always been an, um, "spiritual seeker" after my own fashion. I've dipped my toe into various religions and thoughts, but nothing specific's ever stuck to my soul (if I have one). I guess I've cobbled together a sort of belief that I won't bore you with, but suffice to say, to quote Van Morrison, it has "No guru, no method, no teacher."

I bring this up in the spirit of "Let the Mystery Be," the first song on Iris DeMent's wonderful debut recording from 1992 (on CD) called Infamous Angel. In the course of this song Iris states her religious stance in the midst of various, I would imagine fundamentalist Christian pressures, "To let the mystery be." And I say, "What ho!" to that. Other good, straight from the heart, acoustic, countryish numbers, sung in a uniquely appealing nasally voice. Iris has put out various records since this one, but I don't know that any of them are this uniformly excellent.

Another CD from the nineties('93--a most miserable year for yours truly): De La Soul's Buhloone Mind State. It's their third release. Lost in the shuffle of Gangsta Rap domination I think it's well worth a visit. Not as innocent and fun as their debut 3 Feet High and Rising (and, well, I've never heard their second, De La Soul Is Dead), but a very good mature effort. Nice groove-based jazz samples, as well as some guest blowing from Maceo Parker. I predict that records like this (the non Gangsta Rap Hip Hop of the early '90's) will get finally their due within the next few years.

Over on vinyl it's two Jimmie Dale Gilmore records from the late eighties. Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Fair & Square. Of the two, JDG is slightly better. Great version of Mel Tillis's "Honky Tonk Song." The steel guitar (and other guitars as well) playing of Lloyd Maines on this record really makes it essential for your next Honky Tonk get together.

The Fallacy of Genre Purity

If I really want to torment myself, I can think about what an obnoxious believe-it-all I was in my twenties. I say "believe-it-all" and not "know-it-all" because I believed that I knew it all--especially regarding music. Oh sure, I was passionate, but unfortunately my passion was skewed by dogmatism, and my dogmatism was one of purity. Some kind of music Nazi I was: Every genre that I so obsessively plowed through had its pure form, I was convinced. So, real soul music came from the South, country music did not have tons of strings and backing vocalists, real rock and roll was three minutes long and had short guitar solos, real jazz musicians were black. And so on. Had I been into classical music, who knows what I would have insisted upon--I might have been one of those "original instruments" people.

Anyway, over the years I've come to realize how limiting (and wrong) my genre purity passions were. Especially since I often contradicted myself by digging such forms as Soul Country and Country Soul. And the whole, white jazz musicians are suspect thing, yeesh! I mean, okay, tragic cutie pies like Chet Baker were probably overpraised, but that's more a reflection of the society than Chet's worth as a player. The guy made some good records...

But we're not even here to talk about Chet today. Rather, it's two other white jazzters--Stan Getz (vinyl) and Buddy De Franco (CD).

I've spun two Getz's over the past few days: Stan Getz (on Fantasy) and Pure Getz (on Concord). The self-titled record (on red vinyl) is an especially exciting listen. Our tragic, junkie, Jewish, white tenor player Stan is joined by Cal Tjader on vibes, Billy Higgins on drums, a very young Scott LaFaro on bass, Vince Guaraldi on piano, and Eddie Duran on guitar. A hot set leavened with the lovely ballads that Stan specialized in. As my jazz mentor Grover Sales writes in the liner notes, the recording is "an unalloyed delight."

The Pure Getz record (from 1982) is most notable for a version of Billy Strayhorn's "Blood Count"--a cry of grief from Getz that rivals the original performance by Johnny Hodges (discussed earlier in the blog's history). Also, a lovely version of "Come Rain Or Come Shine."

The Buddy De Franco CD, Blues Bag, is a pleasant surprise that keeps on growing. I bought it as a four dollar afterthought a few years ago, and have been rewarded twenty times over. De Franco, usually known as a bop clarinetist, here takes on the bass clarinet and more modern guys such as John Colrane ("Cousin Mary") and Ornette Coleman ("Blues Connotation"). The support crew is outtasite: Art Blakey on drums, Lee Morgan on trumpet, Curtis Fuller on trombone, and Victor Feldman on piano and vibes (Feldman's career as a sideman and session musician is beyond fascinating: Steely Dan, Tom Waits, scores of jazz greats). Snap this one up if you find it.

Finally, we finish off with a CD two-fer that collects the first two albums of the dB's, the power pop New Wavers from New Jersey--Stands for deciBels and Repercussion. When listening to these discs today, you have to laugh at how what goes around comes around: You hear their influence in early REM, The Shins, etc. And you think to yourself, "Hey, is this a Big Star/Alex Chilton song?" Genre purity? Feh!

Hear, My Dears

In the future the posts may be coming less frequently because I'm working on some other stuff. Nonetheless, I'll try to give some highlights of the listening project over the past few days.

First of all, The Psychedelic Eskimo--paramour, bicyclist, and book designer of great accomplishment--and I went to Grooves yesterday. Kee-rist, the vinyl virus is back just when I was being such a good, disciplined, frugal fella. Yeah, yeah, tell us another one, pally...Anyway, my strange haul as follows: Let's get it out of the way first...ahem...Yes, I bought a David Crosby record! His very strange solo debut, If Could I Only Remember My Name. As A.C., the sage Streetlight Records guy put it so sagely in his "shelftalker" for this record, it's Crosby's Tonight's the Night. His grief record, his end of the Sixties freakout record. It's too bad that the SF crowd didn't make more records like this in the Seventies (most of them are playing on If Only...). It actually fits quite nicely next to the Judee Sill records I recently greedily bought.

Another record I got is P.F. Sloan's Songs of Our Times. I was hipped to P.F. Sloan by friend, co-worker, chocolate cake artist, Punkinhead. Sloan was a successful L.A. pop songwriter who occasionally made records of his own--somewhat Dylanesque but more hook-filled. His version of "Eve of Destruction" (he wrote it) is much more tolerable than Barry McGuire's heavy-handed hit treatment, in my opinion.

Yet another record is Harry Nilsson's Aerial Pandemonium Ballet, his remixed versions of some songs from his albums Pandemonium Shadow Show and Aerial Ballet. It's been one of my aims to delve more deeply into the work of Nilsson this year, so there it is.

Finally, I picked up The Dukes of Stratosphere's--aka XTC--psychedelic homage, Psonic Psunspot. It sounds like they're forcing it too much in spots, but perhaps that opinion will change upon further listenings. In any case, it inspired me to get rid of more junk that was sitting in my closet...

Back to the alphabet though, okay?

As a fan of concept albums it's been a good time in the ol' alphabet: Let's Get It On; Marvin Gaye--A Musical Testament; Hear, My Dear--all concept albums of one kind or another by Marvin Gaye. I've never dug the entire Let's Get It On album. I find Side One to be superior to Side Two. Side Two has "Distant Lover," but the definitive version of that song is the live one, which among other places you can find on the peculiar Musical Testament album.

Peculiar, how?, you might ask. Well, Gaye's longtime colleague, Ed Townsend, compiled a two record collection of Marvin's work and arranged them thematically--Crossroads; A Parting of the Ways; A Witness to Love; Introspection. I'm always a sucker for thematic compilations, and mostly I find that this collection works (I doubt it ever made it to CD). You get that fantastic version of "Distant Lover"; Marvin's transcendent "Star Spangled Banner" from the 1984 NBA All-Star Game--perhaps the true treasure of this comp, and very poignant when you consider that he'd be shot dead in a few months; the superhits like "Heard It Through the Grapevine"; lesser known gems like "Dark Side of the World." But you have to wonder about the arbitrariness of it as well. It's annoying to hear the What's Goin' On songs severed from their proper sequences--the downside of thematic compiling. And why wasn't "Hitchhike" included on the Crossroads side? Seems like a natural to me.

And what about Marvin's two-record divorce settlement album, Hear, My Dear? Best heard on vinyl, I think, because you can absorb it slowly. I've always liked certain songs from it, but now the entire mad project is working its way into my soul.

My other vinyl "G" has been George Gerdes' Son of Obituary. I wrote about it a few entries ago when I was describing the Uncorrected Proof 2 soundtrack. Look at the Side A entry. I've been looking in vain for his first record, Obituary (so, get it? Son of Obituary, kind of a double joke title). I think this record was responsible for making me a lifelong smartass.

We're really falling behind on the CD's. Alphabetically speaking, I've only managed to finish up Bitches Brew and On the Corner. I dare say, this is a period of Miles that I barely know but want to focus on. I've finally killed off my Miles-must-be-wearing-a-fine-Italian-suit-for-me-to- listen-to-him prejudice. And I'm digging the guitar of John McLaughlin--that one's for you, Big Game James!