uncorrected proof

Making Our Way Out of the Darkness?

2007-01-18T13:02:00.000-08:00

Last night I was on my way to my writer's group meeting. It was being hosted at one of the member's homes in the Presidio. Although I discovered the 29 goes pretty much right by my friend's house, I decided to walk there from my house in the outer, outer Richmond. In the dark. Why not? Jack Bauer style, baby!

Armed with a map and a small but powerful flashlight, I walked along Lincoln Highway. At points I walked in the rain gutter in order to avoid being hit by a car (actually, there's a pretty wide pullover lane as you walk over the hill from Sea Cliff to the Presidio). That's my idea of fun, what can I tell you?

Anyway, I got lost right near my friend's house and I had to call for directions near the Golden Gate Bridge toll plaza (fyi: if you don't have a cell phone and are lost near that area, there's a working pay phone in the rear parking lot of the toll plaza).

I tell you this story because right as I was wandering around in the dark, the Warriors were announcing their big eight player trade with the Indiana Pacers! Goodbye, young Jesus lookalikes, Dunleavy and Murphy. Hello, Al Harrington and salary cap space! Hoorah! Maybe the Warriors can truly become the Faces of the NBA (I know, it's a lot of Uncorrected Proof injokes. Read my recent posts)!

So, in the new Faces=Warriors formulation: Baron Davis=Rod Stewart; Jason Richardson or Monta Ellis=Ronnie Lane; Al Harrington=Ron Wood; Steven Jackson or Mikael Pietrus=Ian McLagan; Andris Biedrins=Kenny Jones. Not the perfect formulation. I'll have to see how this team shakes out. Still, looking forward to the rest of the season of "Bad 'n Ruin" (in a good way).

24 Dreambook Pt. III & Other Odds & Ends

2007-01-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

Dream: Once again I am running from something. Just as I'm about to be caught, Jack Bauer, in the form of an angel, swoops in and saves me. I feel spiritually redeemed.

I have some variation on the "being pursued" nightmare almost every night. Has Jack Bauer become my dream saviour? Have my recently posted memories about "Jesus Christ Superstar" dredged up my childhood fascination with Jesus? What is Jack Bauer if not the Jesus of the USA. Think about it, he (He?) looked just like Jesus when he was returned from the Chinese prison in the first episode of this season's "24." Also, he's come back from the dead--resurrected!--a couple of times.

Other "24" observations. The late Curtis had to have been the longest-lived minority CTU field agent. He was walking around with a target on his back for several years. It took Jack to kill him.

Also, I don't dig Wayne Palmer as the president. Too callow; too tormented and well-meaning. But maybe that's the point! He's clearly the Teddy Kennedy (circa 1969) of the Palmer family. Tim Goodman from the SF Chronicle has compared him to Barack Obama, but President Palmer II doesn't have the voice. Maybe it's because he doesn't smoke like Obama does. Today, Slate magazine has an interesting essay about Obama's supposedly "occasional" smoking habit and how it ironically makes him sound more presidential (while slowly killing him). I should learn how to put links on this blog, shouldn't I?

You know who has a good smoker's voice? Jack Bauer!!! The series should end with Jack as President of the USA!

Currently listening to Iggy Pop's "The Idiot" and David Bowie's "Low."

The Lord's Day to Rock!

2007-01-14T17:45:00.000-08:00

A significant Sunday event: I was at work this morning in an unusually good mood. I guess the sugar from my hazlenut blackberry muffin and the caffeine from my Peet's coffee and my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and my sesame bagel and my poppyseed bagel and my peppermint tea (consumed over a several hour period) were sustaining me pretty well.

My young friend Ethan (six years of age) stopped by to visit. He brought me a picture he had drawn portraying "Jesus Christ Superstar," which he had recently seen at the Magic Theatre. Jesus looked a bit like a bowling pin with long hair and a beard. To the right of him was the cross where he would meet his fate, and to its right were three wretched, burned-black looking creatures—Judas and two other guys, Ethan wasn't sure who they were. He asked me if we had any books about this Jesus character.

I was thrilled beyond measure to receive this gift. I, like Ethan, was a Jewish boy who was smitten by "Jesus Christ Superstar." For me, it wasn't the stage show, but the Original Cast Recording with Ian Gillan from Deep Purple. I've never cared for the movie all that much. I enjoyed casting the songs in my mind more than seeing Ted Neely as Jesus...What can I tell you? I'm a pre MTV child.

Anyway, my point is that "Jesus Christ Superstar," with its excellent songs and excellent rock and roll torment of the Passion did more to evoke religious curiousity in me than any Christian or Jewish Bible study ever did. I guess my religion is Rock and Roll, dudes!

I'm taking a quick side trip from Chekhov and Pynchon: "Sound Bites" by Alex "Franz Ferdinand" Kapranos. Kapranos, a veteran of professional kitchens, wrote a series of brief essays for The Guardian about the food he's eaten while on tour with his band. They are now collected in convenient book form. Well-written, witty, and makes you want to run out, hop on a plane and get some Kluski Pasta in Minneapolis.

24 Dreambook Pt. II & Other Odds & Ends

2007-01-13T18:50:00.000-08:00

Last night, after watching the final episodes of "24" Season Five, I had the following dream: I'm sitting in a parking lot with another person (Allen Iverson? Keifer Sutherland/Jack Bauer?). A man and a woman drive up. They are writers for "24." They are talking about the upcoming Season Six and also dropping sexual innuendo about each other. My companion and I find this conversation unsettling because we know that this couple is married to other people. We're worried about the quality of their writing if they are entangled in an affair. We decide to replace them with the author of a graphic novel. Dream ends.

Since I'll be watching "24" in "real time" rather than "DVD time" this year, I'll be ruminating about the show and logging any of my "24" dreams.

Remember what I said about the GSW's being the Faces of the NBA? Well, they're kind of turning into the Faces cover band of the NBA...

Barry Bonds, you're dead to me!

Favorite spins of this month: The Faces box set, "Five guys walk into a bar...", and the Isley Brothers "3+3."

I'm on my third Chekhov collection: "The Fiancee and Other Stories." The Penguin edition translated by Ronald Wilks. I like his Chekhov translations. They're lively, poetic and humorous. But don't worry, Constance Garnett lovers, I'll get to her soon.

I'm also slowly making my way through "Gravity's Rainbow." We'll see what happens.

A I 24

2007-01-09T21:31:00.000-08:00

The other night I had a nightmare, as I often do after watching several episodes of "24". I was in a dark, abandoned house. I was being pursued. All of a sudden I was joined by someone who was not my pursuer. It was Allen Iverson. When my pursuer got closer, Iverson jumped into the hallway and tackled the pursuer.

Saved again by basketball.

five guys walk into a bar...

2007-01-04T13:07:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to write a piece centered on Rod Stewart's "Every Picture Tells a Story," which motivated me to put the Faces box set, "five guys walk into a bar..." on the CD player. A lovely gift from the Psychedelic Eskimo a few years ago. Although it's kind of annoying that the set is not arranged in chronological order, it also demonstrates that their tight, sloppy singles, loose rehearsal sessions, fiery airchecks, and joking around in the studio banter was all of a piece. Rod was at his peak, Ronnie Lane was writing great songs (one of my resolutions this year: get those Ronnie Lane solo recordings) and singing them sweetly.

Of all games not to be televised--the Warriors losing 144-135 to the Memphis Grizzlies last night. Not that I like to see the W's lose, but I like to see nearly three hundred point games. The Warriors are the Faces of the NBA. Flashes of brilliance, and lots of inconsistency... five warriors walk into a bar...

Coffin for Head of State

2007-01-02T19:57:00.000-08:00

In recent weeks "we" have lost leaders both bad--Hussein, Pinochet, mediocre--Ford, and exalted--Brown. Me, I'll just mourn J.B. and think bad thoughts about Hussein and Pinochet while listening to Fela Kuti (a J.B. disciple) sing "Coffin for Head of State." Also, I'll remain mystified why Gerald Ford is now remembered as a calming influence after Nixon left office, when I recall him as a mediocre dolt back in the '70's. Both views are probably simplistic. Anyway, let's mourn the death of J.B. as well as Fela's Kalakuta Republic. But mainly, let's celebrate the lives of James and Fela in this '07 (Fela died a decade ago).

In this year I'll try to finish the Alphabetical Listening Project, listen to more Brahms, and temper my sarcasm. I'll probably accomplish two of these three goals. Also, I'll read the complete works of Chekhov, submit more pieces of writing to magazines, websites, etc.(I submitted one thing last year). Finally, I'll watch a lot of Laurel and Hardy movies.

Baron 1, Lorelei 0

2006-12-26T11:55:00.000-08:00

Two seasons I have followed pretty closely this autumn: Season Seven of The Gilmore Girls and the 2006 part of the '06-'07 NBA campaign of the Golden State Warriors. The Warriors have gone twelve (or is it thirteen?) seasons out of the playoffs and The Gilmore Girls is in its third season out of my heart--and yet I follow both entities.

The Warriors have always been my local team and I've rooted for them since I was a kid. That's a lotta heartbreak and boredom, people. But I love pro basketball, and that's what I've had to work with. Up until last season I lived without cable so it was difficult to follow the rest of the league except for when they were killing the W's or until the playoffs began. Nowadays thanks to cable (thanks, Psychedelic Eskimo!) I can partially watch the W's do battle and also impartially watch other teams play. I almost enjoy the impartial watching the most because I can appreciate a Gilbert Arenas vs. Steve Nash matchup without getting personally involved (still, I rooted for the Arenas and the Wizards).

Anyway, I'm enjoying the Warriors this season, even some of the losses, because of the play of Baron Davis. Sure, he sometimes takes three pointers when he shouldn't, or tries to drive the lane against five defenders, but mostly he's been a true warrior, taking over games, playing with that self-possessed but unconscious flow that maybe I've experienced a couple of times in my basketball playing life. It's like sex, zen, jazz, dessert...

My main point here is that good things have happened for the Warriors this season when the ball is in Baron's hands, and the same could be said for the Gilmore Girls when the dialogue is coming out of Lauren Graham/Lorelei Gilmore's mouth. Say what? Just stay with me here...For devoted Gilmore watchers, it was always about the dialogue, especially the snappy, self-conscious, self-doubting, self-absorbed, dialogue of Lorelei Gilmore. Few things on TV have been more entertaining for me over the years than watching Lorelei try to talk her way out of a discovered lie or a bad personal decision. What makes these scenes interesting isn't that Lorelei is trying to get one over on people it's that she's wrestling with her moral conscience (in that sense, she's a lot like Tony Soprano). We know Lorelei wants to do the right thing, but she's flawed, just like the rest of us. But considerably wittier.

What sort of dialogue has been written for Lorelei Gilmore this season? Angry, self-deluded, mushy, confused, humorless. And why is this? Because the Sherman-Palladinos, the creators of the show, left her character (and the show) in a cul-de-sac at the end of last season? David Rosenthal, the new head writer, has had a hell of a time working out of this mess, and I don't think he's succeeded. The Luke-Christopher silent fight, as I've written before, is the perfect metaphor for this season. In some ways, the current season of the Gilmores is a lot like last year's Warriors--Baron Davis, frustrated with his coach and his cloddish teammates (not counting JRich) chucking up desperation threes with plenty of time left on the 24 second clock.

Well, this season the W's new coach, Don Nelson, is having a better season than the Gilmores' new coach. Like the W's, the Gilmores are having a .500ish season (creativity wise), maybe their Nielsen ratings are higher than that? Okay, the shaky analogy is breaking down. I guess my ultimate point is that it's a lot more of a pleasure watching Baron do his thing this season than it is to watch Lorelei G/Lauren G. Ultimately, Baron is getting the chance to write a better script. A pity.

Take It to the Bridge!

2006-12-25T17:42:00.000-08:00

Listen to James Brown's "Lost Someone" today or "Live at the Apollo" or the "Live in Paris, 1971." As the poet Al Young has written, the first time he heard "Cold Sweat" on the radio he had to pull over to the side of the road. Listen to "Cold Sweat." Listen to the "Star Time" box set. Pray that J.B. isn't remembered with just the "Livin' in America" video on MTV. Who owes J.B.? Everyone--from Elvis to Michael Jackson to Muhammed Ali. And Hip Hop. He was the greatest American bandleader/composer since Duke Ellington. Damn my luck for never having seen him perform.

About ten years ago, I saw a program of films of J.B. from the sixties and seventies (when he was at his peak). Some incredible stuff. J.B. doing "Please, Please"/ cape routine in the TAMI show--upstaging the headlining Rolling Stones, making Mick Jagger look as tame and adolescent by comparison; lip synching "Say it Loud" on Playboy After Dark of all things; arguing with a white journalist about the Black Power movement on the Mike Douglas show--J.B. getting pissed and pacing in front of the panel, lecturing the journo that he had no idea what he was talking about; J.B. performing live on TV the night MLK was assassinated, telling the cops to let the kids dance on the stage if they wanted to. It would be great to see these films again. You can't even get the TAMI show on DVD (last time I checked anyway)...

J.B. changed music as seriously as Stravinsky. He was engaged in his times. Hopefully his demon side--bad husband, the PCP-fueled car chase that led to his imprisonment--won't be flogged on TV too much. But you know it probably will.

Here was a man!

OUCH!!!

2006-12-22T11:20:00.000-08:00

Every year during the Christmas retail season I come up with some sort of stress-related malady. Sometimes it's a big cold sore on my lip, sometimes it's insomnia, sometimes its a persecution complex. Right now I have an incredibly sore, stiff neck that's making the typing of this blog entry excruciating. Also, I've been obsessively reading pro basketball blogs and I punched out our two dollar calculator at work (RIP Two-Dollar Calculator).

Right now, my brain is mush and I haven't done any meaningful writing in a couple of months. All for you, the customers. See? There's the persecution complex!

Thanks to the Isley Brothers for getting me through work this week--notably "3+3" and "Live." I'll discuss "Live" in a future entry, but right now I've gotta get back to the basketball blogs...

Chekhov Breaks Down the Warriors

2006-12-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

"Life is like that...As they search for truth people take two paces forward and one back. Suffering, mistakes and life's tedium throw them back, but thirst for the truth and stubborn willpower drive them on and on. And who knows? Perhaps they'll arrive at the real truth in the end."
Anton Chekhov, "The Duel"

Hey, if that passage doesn't describe the GSW's 0-3 Eastern road trip, I don't know what does.

Do You Want Scorn With That?

2006-12-13T21:43:00.000-08:00

Most people, I think, would consider me to be a pretty nice guy--polite, respectful, attentive. Just maybe not some of my customers in the bookselling world. Especially at the holiday madness time of year. A body, or at least this body, can only take so many obscure questions shouted out when I'm in the middle of gift wrapping a book for an impatient yuppie. Sometimes the professional facade cracks, the defensive smartass emerges, and innocent blood is spilled. I come off looking like an asshole and my store earns a reputation for rudeness. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's been happening for nearly two decades. I laugh about it and I feel guilty. Some people love me, some people want to throw coffee in my face (but put a lid on it in my store, please! You think these books are liquid proof?)

Thank heavens for Al Green, Albert Ayler and other artists whose first names begin with "A" (Al "Pistol Packin' Mama" Dexter, Aaron Neville) who've come up on the iPod over the past two days--especially ecstatic Albert Alyler. Holy man, listen to "Spirits Rejoice" or "Live in Greenwich Village" and imagine the rapture of your choosing. I think I'll make the song "Spirits Rejoice" my funeral march music. The funeral may be coming sooner than later if I can't keep my tart tongue quiet.

The "I" of the Storm

2006-12-08T12:54:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here at the computer waiting for a couple of huge storms to tear through the Yay Area. I've got my usual "a storm's a comin'" sinus headache and I'm battening down the hatches (and doing laundry). What better time to drop in on the Alphabetical Listening Project and discuss a couple of vinyl "I" records I've spun recently: The International Submarine Band's "Safe at Home" and Iron & Wine's "Our Endless Numbered Days."

The International Submarine Band was Gram Parsons's group before he joined The Byrds. "Safe at Home" precedes "Sweetheart of the Rodeo" and in some ways sounds like a more authentic country record--mainly because Gram sounds more comfortable doing straight country. His vocal phrasing sounds heavily influenced by Merle, George and Buck. Gram's voice--if at times charmingly off-key--sounds so young and "undamaged" (listen to his later records, you'll see what I mean) it's almost heartbreaking. G.P. debuts a couple of his best songs--"Luxury Liner" and "Do You Know How it Feels to Be Lonesome"-- and shows good taste with the covers (and good performances)--"A Satisfied Mind"; "Miller's Cave" and "I Still Miss Someone." Still and all, it's funny to think that although G.P. is considered a/the father of country rock, country legend Buck Owens rocked harder than Gram ever did!

Iron & Wine--Gram's fellow south easterner--has been called by some, the "Indie James Taylor." Or maybe I've said that in a fit of grumpiness. I'm not sure if that's totally applicable. J.T. is more (or used to be) of a confessional, heart on the sleeve, pop type of singer whereas I&W's songs seem more impressionistic or southern "fableistic." But maybe just as artily self-conscious? Whispery, beardy, hypnotic, and sometimes downright boring. I still dig "Our Endless Numbered Days" and its predecessor, "The Creek Drank the Cradle," which I have on CD, but just not right now. I did like the I&W M&M's commercial in the sense that it made me want to eat M&M's.

The Macaroni Dialogues

2006-12-07T15:00:00.000-08:00

Here's an example of how screwy bookselling can be: The other evening I was at work when a woman came up to the sales counter and asked if she could exchange a copy of the Joy of Cooking that she'd bought recently (our return policy: The book can be returned for store credit or exchange within thirty days (That's a very liberal return policy for a small retail store, so put a sock in it to all you people telling me that Borders gives cash back on returns!)

Where was I? Oh yeah..."Sure," I said, since it had been within the aforementioned very liberal thirty days return window.

"I want to make macaroni and cheese, and with this book you constantly have to flip back and forth between the sauce page and the pasta page."

"Ah," I said, "That's true. One thing you could do is get the Joy of Cooking with the comb binding which makes it easier to flip back and forth."

"But that's not what I'm saying!" She shouted in my face. "I want to know how to cook macaroni!"

"The macaroni?"

"The macaroni! How do I cook it?"

"Well, you don't really need the book for that. You can just read the instructions on the package. It takes ten minutes or less. Now the sauce, the book can be helpful for..."

"I'm talking about the macaroni," she cut in, "How do I know which kind to get?"

"I just wouldn't get the super cheap brands. They tend to fall apart. Just about any cut pasta works with a cheese sauce."

"I've never cooked macaroni before."

This went on for ten minutes, I kid you not. She finally left with a Mark Bittman cookbook that basically said, "Boil water, drop in macaroni, cook for 8-10 minutes. The customer left the store happy.

While we're on a pasta theme, I'm reading an amusing crime novel called "A Meal to Die For" by Joseph Cannascoli, better known as Vito, the outed gay gangster from the Sopranos. I was intrigued to learn that a few years ago Cannascoli, in an effort to give his character more visibility, suggested to the writers that they reveal his character to be gay. At some point they took up his idea and came up with the most riveting story line in Season Six (Part One). In one of the scenes Season Six, Vito is chopping onions in a very swift, professional fashion. Either he rehearsed for that (to show Vito's domestic side?) or he was once a cook. In fact, Cannascoli was once a chef/restraunteur, and now he and a co-writer have, uh, cooked up this novel about a Mafia cook who's making an elaborate ten-course meal for some Family bigwigs. It seems likely that one of the dinner attendees, or the protagonist himself, might get whacked after dessert, so it's truly a final supper for someone. It's not great literature, but it's one of the more entertaining products on the groaning Sopranos bookshelves. Also, the book includes recipes for the menu that the chef is serving for someone's last meal.

About the Gilmore Girls--I've put seven years into the show, so I'm gonna ride it until the end--even though I feel like hurling my shoe at the TV at least once an episode (as I literally did this week). The best scene of the season, maybe of several seasons: Luke and Christopher's no dialogue fist fight in the middle of Stars Hollow's Christmas display in the town square in the middle of the night. Luke landed more punches, but nothing got solved. Kind of a metaphor for the plot lines of the past two seasons, and possibly the Golden State Warriors over the past decade plus.

I Can't Believe I'm Standing Here With Air Supply!

2006-12-05T11:22:00.000-08:00

I love cable TV! So many good informercials: the colon health system; the magic bullet (the blender thing); the pornographic excercise equipment...so many good ones...but my favorite by far are the music collection ones: The '70's pop music one with Barry (Greg Brady) Williams and some blonde chick; The soul jams one with Peabo Bryson and a young black woman; The soft rock one with the frighteningly coiffed and tanned Air Supply and some blonde chick; The classic r&b one with Jerry (The Iceman) Butler and a handsome middle aged black woman (um, is she a singer too? I'll update later); The fifties and early sixties pop one with Bobby Rydell (wearing the most disturbing comb-over since Donald Trump) and a woman who could be the Air Supply girl's mother; and The Midnight Special Collection. Besides the seductive speaking voice of Peabo Bryson and Greg Brady's clenched teeth forced enthusiasm ("When can I take off this polyester print shirt and strangle my co-hostess with it?"), the best thing about these commercials are the musical clips: Marvin Gaye singing "Let's Get it On"; the bewigged Ronettes; the hilarious part in the Seventies pop one when the girl says, "The great thing about the Seventies is that there were so many cute guys!" and they proceed to show clips of Leo Sayer, Rupert Holmes and the troll-like guy who sang "Undercover Angel." Priceless! I want a cable channel exclusively devoted to music infomericals, and I want it now!

Sports Corner: Yeah, I know, smart guy! The Warriors got waxed by forty points last night. It's a character builder!

Literature Corner: I finished Richard Ford's "The Lay of the Land." I'm still letting it sink in, but I'll say this: Frank Bascombe (Ford's protagonist in three novels) is my favorite character in contemporary American literature--even if he gets on my nerves at points in the narratives. This year I re-read the first two books in what I guess we can now call the Frank Bascombe Trilogy--"The Sportswriter" and "Independence Day." "The Sportswriter" is still my favorite, but I liked the "Lay of the Land" a lot. I want to think about it some more, but I favor Ford's ruminations about America in the Bascombe novels more than I do Roth's in the Nathan Zuckerman novels (supposedly the final one is due next year). Not that I don't love me some Nathan Zuckerman! The odd thing is that I, KFS, dedicated pessimist, favor the ultimately optimistic Frank Bascombe over the mournful, disappointed optimist Nathan Zuckerman.

Interesting that both Bascombe and Zuckerman were struck with prostate cancer and Bascombe is a current resident of Jersey, Zuckerman's home state. Hey people, I think I got me a whole new imaginary literary thesis going here!

In other literary news: I'm reading Anton (The Man) Chekhov. I'm thinking of reading all of his short stories over the next year. If it's good enough for Francine Prose, Richard Ford and Janet Malcolm it's good enough for me.

Also, the ongoing crime novel project. I'm following the Psychedelic Eskimo's lead and reading Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallender series. More discussion on that in the future.

Music Corner: I've finally finished the "kPod's Top Jams of '06" Mixtape (available only on CD). Songs from or rereleased or new to me in '06.

I'm at song #2,081 (Waylon Jennings "Omaha") on the iPod.

Next up for discussion: The International Submarine Band, The state of The Gilmore Girls, and hopefully more positive Warriors news.

Warriors Worrier?

2006-12-03T09:37:00.000-08:00

Rooting for a long-troubled sports franchise like the Golden State Warriors is a lot like having suffered through a series of bad relationships. Will every relationship always be bad? Who will self-destruct first: you or your significant other? That's a screwed up way to deal with relationships, it goes without saying. One bad relationship does not have to color all your future ones and blah, blah, blah. Sorry to lapse into pop psychology speak, but I was just using the bad relationship metaphor to apply to the current Warriors' predicament after they've lost two close, sloppy games they should have won. Is it time to start panicking? Will the Warriors go into a December tailspin like last year? When will they start sniping at each other and Nellie?

I'm here to say this: Don't panic! This is a .500 team. This is how .500 teams play ball: up and down. We have Biedrins (sp?) and Ellis. They're young and learning. It's going to be like this for most of the season. Let's not worry about December. Let's see how they're doing in February. And let's see who gets traded...

Team Gilmore: Say what you will about a show that may be past its prime, you have to admire a TV show whose protagonist keeps making stupid, impulsive decisions (the latest: marrying Christopher) and then trying to convince herself she's made the right decision. A very human condition indeed. Maybe a metaphor for my Warrior Worrying?

Old School

2006-12-01T11:52:00.000-08:00

Another installment of the Alphabetical Listening Project. In this installment, we discuss some vinyl "I's"
Nothing makes you feel more like a forty two year old than when you're spinning Ice T's "Power" from 1988. My intense (and selective) Hip Hop listening years spanned from '88 to '91, which is kind of like saying you stopped listening to rock and roll after Buddy Holly's plane crash. So, laugh if you must, but Ice T still sounds good to me. A little dated, I guess, but not as dated if I really paid attention to rap lo these fifteen years (I still occasionally buy current hip hop, but I'm not very knowledgable).

Anyway, it's almost charming to listen to Ice T's cautionary tales about living the pimpin' life. Mostly he strikes a mild moral tone about the high rollin' street life, kind of like a mock-stern lecture you might get from your cool uncle. Ice T--the badass, avauncular rapper. T's badass tropes are more blaxploitation film than the gangsta narratives of the soon to be released revolutionary NWA and all that it spawned. T himself would get a lot more confrontational with one of his following releases, "Cop Killa."

If I'm not mistaken, Ice's rapping style something to Rakim and Malcolm X and old school Pimp Poets whose names I don't know. "Power"; "High Rollers"; "I'm Your Pusher"; "Soul on Ice" still sound good to me. For the carnally minded, you can ogle the scantily clad Mrs. Ice T holding a shot gun. Subtle!

Mr. Ice T can currently be seen 24-7 on the Law and Order/USA Network chasing sexual predators down dark alleys and bringing them to justice.

The other vinyl "I" for this time is the Impressions Greatest Hits. I also have an Impressions Greatest Hits on CD, but you can't have "Gypsy Woman" on too many formats, if you ask me. Curtis Mayfield has been my number one soul man of the past few years. The hooks, the groove, the orchestrations, the moral imperatives--Curtis is the man! My favorite underated Impressions song? "You Must Believe Me." Expect to hear it on my next mixtape!

Some thoughts on the fate of Vito, the gay gangster, in the Soprano's Season Six, Part One: David Chase made the right narrative decision to have Vito leave his small town escape to return to the Jersey action and his certain doom. Is Vito the cliched, doomed homosexual? Even though he's a brutal thug? I found it interesting that while Vito is being beaten to death (after being sold out by a Machiavellian Tony S), Ro Aprillio is lighting a candle for her son, Jackie, Jr., who I think was whacked by Vito back in Season Three or Four.

I'm back on the Sopranos bandwagon, for sure. When will this series end? I notice on Netflix that not only is a Season Six, Part Two listed (not available yet, obviously) but a Season Seven is listed as well. What gives? Maybe Tony will die from old age...

Empty Wallet Hodgepodge

2006-11-28T12:52:00.002-08:00

Thanks to the various illnesses of Heather Samuels and our multiple visits to the Vet's office, my record purchasing for the rest of the year will be non-existent. Plus, I have holiday purchases to make...

Which is to say that the entries for my favorite records of the year are all in. Am I prepared to discuss them? My iPod Shuffle Project has dominated my listening over the past seven weeks. Therefore, I haven't given my usual obsessive attention to new records in the past couple of months. I like to listen to music when I'm walking around, moodily gazing at the bare winter landscape, that sort of thing. So, I'll spend what's left of the year listening to the records at home and then say what I have to say about them. Plus, a couple of favorite new old discoveries as well...

At the Uncorrected Proof, Psychedelic Eskimo, Couch Terrorist household, we've been watching a lot of Sopranos lately. Sometimes I wonder if the show's been on too long, if motifs are repeated intentionally or out of creative stagnation, but then a subplot like Vito, the gay gangster on the lam, gives the show a fresh narrative shot (pun possibly intended?). Don't tell me what happens in the final episodes of Season 6, Part One, we'll be getting there this week...

It's only November but it's hard not to feel excited about the Warriors after watching them slug it out with the Spurs last night. Nellie has turned this team around, and there's no doubting the continuing development of Ellis and Biedrins. Opposing teams are paying attention to them--especially Ellis--and they're rising to the challenge. The W's will no doubt lose their share of games this season, but if they play this hard, it's going to be a hell of an entertaining season.

Finally, I'm back on the Russian literature. Recently finished Isaac Babel's Collected Stories. I know his reputation rests on The Red Cavalry Stories--the bespectacled Jew riding with the Cossacks, but the stories I dig the most are the Odessa Stories and some of the other autobiographical ones of Babel's boyhood. Babel's fellow Jews aren't saintly sufferers, they're just regular people--vain, proud, sweet, stupid, drunk, pious, funny, tragic. No doubt a model for Philip Roth's portrayals of New Jersey Jews. My Dad's people were from Odessa. So, a shout out to Isaac Babel, my homeboy.

Currently, I'm reading Chekhov stories ("The Kiss") and finishing up Richard Ford's "The Lay of the Land." More on that when I finish it.

Ending the Curse of '94

2006-11-27T17:31:00.000-08:00

When was the last time we Golden State Warriors fans had any hope? I submit that it was during the beginning of the '94-'95 season. It was Chris Webber's second season. The team had acquired Rony Seikaly in a trade. Latrell Sprewell and Tim Hardaway were in the back court. Chris Mullin was the other starting forward. What a lot of firepower! After all of those years of only getting into the second round of the playoffs (with Don Nelson as coach) it looked like maybe we had a contender. One of the basketball magazines even picked the W's as the favorite to win the NBA championship! Heady times!

The '94-'95 W's got off to a hot start, winning something like seven out of their first ten games. And they had done this without CWeb (NBA Rookie of the Year the previous season)who was sitting out the first part of the season because he wanted to renegotiate his contract, right? No? Actually, he wanted coach Don Nelson to be fired or himself traded. He put this ultimatum before the new owner (why? Nelson yelled at him a lot. Hey, maybe Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan could get their coaches fired, but not you, C Web). The owner ultimately sided with Nelson and traded Webber to Washington for the I-didn't-ask-to-be-in-the-middle-of-this Tom Gugliata (sp?). The W's are ripped apart. Some players rebel against Nelson, some say nothing and quietly seethe. An emotionally exhausted Nelson leaves the W's. The team goes on a so-far ten year tailspin. And how many championships has CWeb won since then? (a big, fat zero)

I recall all of this because the first game where it was evident that the W's were screwed was a Thanksgiving (1994) night matchup against the Indiana Pacers. The W's were shellacked, and went on to lose many, many more games that season. I also remember that game because Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be without doubt one of the most traumatic nights of my life, thanks to various insane members of my family behavin insanely. I'll write about that somewhere else...

My ultimate point is that ever since the traumatic Thanksgiving of '94, I've tied in the W's demise with my own fall and rise. The thing is, I've made the playoffs of life since '94, but the Warriors haven't. With an older and wiser Nellie back as coach will the W's rebound? Pun intended.

Culture Vulture

2006-11-16T14:24:00.000-08:00

The other night I was at work playing some of my own CD's over the stereo. A fella can only listen to so much KDFC (Death for Classical) per day. A "classical" music station owned by the Mormon Church whose programming is the Top 40 moldy oldies to pacify office working drones so that they won't kill their cubicle mate with a stapler. Anyway, how many fucking times can a person listen to the fucking "Four Seasons" and the "William Tell Overture"? We have to play it at the bookstore where I work because, you know, Classical Music is sophisticated, like you, the sensitive reader of literature...That's the theory anyway.

That's the sort of snobby thinking that makes me hate classical music and books and tasteful art films. If "art" doesn't have the sex and blood and laughs and misery in it, what's the frickin' point? You might as well just die in your easy chair, choked by your own good taste and PBS membership!

Anyway, I still happen to like so called classical music. Is Beethoven any less intense than Ozzy Osbourne? Is Stravinsky any less brain melting than the late work of John Coltrane? I have to remind myself that after another brain softening day or night "listening" to KDFC.

Anyway, anyway, I was playing some of Brahms's Piano Quartets in the store the other night. This guy comes up to me and says, "Thanks for the music. I work at the music conservatory." I've had plenty of people thank me for playing my own music before--everything from Sonny Rollins to the Zombies (don't tell the boss!)--but never "thanks for the classical music." That's because I went outside of the accepted playlist! I told the guy, "I thought I could improve on the usual KDFC claptrap." The guy stared at me uncomprehendingly, but that's not an unusual response to one of my obscure jokes.

Next week at work: The Late Beethoven Quartets! Yeahhhh Boyyyyyyyy!!!

I'll just say it now: Scritti Politti's White Bread Black Beer is my #1 album of 2006.

Finally, let's give the Gilmore Girls credit where credit is due. They didn't play horrible Hinder during the last episode--it was just the promo music. The episode featured French pop music and more music references than they'd had all season.

What with that and the Warriors' improved play, I'm beginning to wonder if this blog doesn't wield some sort of supernatural power to have people do my bidding...

The Emotional and Mystical Life of an iPod and Ice Cube

2006-11-14T14:35:00.000-08:00

I'm currently on song # 1,372 on my All the Way to Song #5,274 Project: "Hercules" by Aaron Neville.

Yesterday, I was walking down Clement Street to the bus stop on my way to work. Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" came on the iPod. With the drizzle falling and cars whizzing by, I felt the excitement of the open road that Bruce sings about in the song. It excited me when I was a fifteen year-old trapped at home and it excites me today when I'm only trapped by my own self-assembled shackles...

Ten hours later, walking up that same hill toward home with a heavy mist hanging in the darkness, John Coltrane's "Crescent" began to play on the iPod. Oh mystical, meditative Coltrane playing in the mystical mist! The balm for this unimaginative wage slave!

Meanwhile, I spun Ice Cube's 1990 solo debut, "Amerikkka's Most Wanted" the other day. It's the first "I" record in my neglected Alphabetical Listening Project. Produced by Public Enemy's Bomb Squad. I'm no Hip Hop expert, but I think the record holds up pretty well. Doesn't sound dated, for the most part. Some of the raps are better than others. An interesting piece of work that states what's goin' on right before the LA riots/rebellion. I've always loved Ice Cube's voice. I also like the fact that the female rapper Yo Yo shows up on a track or two to call Cube on his endless use of the word "Bitch." And now Ice Cube is directing Hollywood comedies...

Reincarnation and Radical Changes of Subject

2006-11-12T17:47:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've written about Heather, my 15 year-old plus cat. Heather, my faithful pet, my excuse for avoiding social invites ("Gotta take care of my sick cat"). She has diabetes, a chronic (but treatable) bladder infection, intermittent constipation problems, occasional asthma, a bad tooth, and possibly a hyperthyroid condition. We've probably made close to forty trips to the vet in the past two years. I kid you not!

Still, she keeps kicking, albeit more slowly each year. Sure, she sleeps for most of the day, but she's still the Big H, The H Bomb. She may only have a couple of lives left, but she's still basically the same sweet natured cat, if a bit leakier than she used to be. In some ways, she's a lot like my late great grandmother, Miriam, who was the matriarch of my mother's family. She was tough as nails, opinionated, bossy. Four feet ten of 'tude! "Get your hair out of your eyes, you look like hell!" she yelled at three generations of us. "You're so handsome," she'd say to me, "why do you want to cover your face up with all that hair?"

"Nana," as we called her, had a defective heart, and was always going to the hospital for surgery or blood transfusions (the transfusions may be what finally killed her). Nana bounced back time and again. She lived to be eighty, which was really something when you consider how much she went through. A tough, funny, mean, beautiful lady. She used to make me sit with her and watch soap operas. She'd explain every character and their back story to me, and I'd find myself getting interested. I miss her. Sometimes I think there's a piece of her in the indomitable Heather, although H is a good deal more loveable.

Changing subjects, they say that a good deal of being a successful coach in the NBA is to get your players to buy what you're selling. It looks like the Warriors are buying what Don Nelson is selling. Not counting the first and third games of the season, the Warriors do look like a better team under Nellie. Baron Davis is playing at an all-star level; Jason Richardson is getting back in shape; Troy Murphy, and to a lesser extent, Mike Dunleavy, are fitting into the system. But the most thrilling thing is to see Mikael Pietrus (sp?), Monta Ellis, and Andrei Biedrins (sp?) blossom as players. One thing you can say for Nellie: he knows how to utilize the best in his players. You could single out Tim Hardaway, Chris Mullin, Mitch Richmond, and even the ultimately ungrateful Latrell Sprewell, and say Nelson is the one who initially guided their talents in the NBA (and that's just former Warriors, we're not even mentioning Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitski). Whether or not the Warriors make the playoffs, they'll be exciting to watch this season. Let's see if these words hold up.

Changing subjects again: Are there any other long time Gilmore Girls watchers that are with me when I ask the question, what happened to the cool music references? Remember how episodes used to feature the occasional XTC and Elvis Costello songs? Remember when the Shins appeared in the Spring Break episode? Remember when an episode wittily featured a Claudine Longet song after Lorelei made a Claudine Longet reference? All of that seems to be gone with the arrival of the new writing regime. Overall, I think the new head writer has, um, righted, the show, but I get worried when the background music for next weeks' episode is by some generic rockstar band like Hinder (according to my Youth Correspondent, The Psychedelic Eskimo). They really need to end the show gracefully this season!

Changing subjects again: Finished Season Three of The Wire. Brilliant! The execution of Stringer Bell by Brother Mouzon and Omar was almost too stylized, but ultimately I dug it (RIP Stringer). After all, my man George Pelecanos wrote the episode! (something tells me George P had a specific Western movie showdown in mind when he wrote the demise of Stringer scene)Somebody buy me Seasons Two and Three for hanukah, please?

On the subject of HBO shows:Just beginning Season Six of the Sopranos. Nobody writes a dream sequence filled with psychological questing like David Chase. I think it's the most psychologically rich of the HBO shows.

Currently listening to a recent purchase: Archie Shepp's "Attica Blues." "What's Going On" meets Charles Mingus meets Leroi Jones/Amiri Baraka. A definite period piece with good music and vocals of varying quality.

Borat and Babel

2006-11-03T12:14:00.000-08:00

All week long I've been watching Sacha Baron Cohen making the rounds of the comedy chat shows in the guise of his Borat character. As everyone knows, the Borat movie is out this week, and Cohen has been promoting the film. What's been impressive is that he's stayed within the Borat character in every appearance. Also impressive is that he's managed to improvise some funny schtick with hosts David Letterman, Conan O'Brian, and John Stewart (I suppose you could say that Larry the Cable Guy also does the chat shows in character, but in this writer's opinion, he ain't too funny). Any number of cultural critics have been writing pieces on the meaning of Borat as a clever commentary on bigotry (the anti-Semitic Borat is portrayed by an observant Orthodox Jew), yadda, yadda, etc. Is Borat a comical caricature of the rabidly anti-Semitic Eastern Europeans of recent yore(the ghost of the stupid, bullying Jew Hater)? Is he, as some have worried/criticized, a manifestation of S.B. Cohen's own Jewish self-hatred? Is Borat a commentary on this historical hall of mirrors?

Anyway, all of this ruminatin' got me thinking about Isaac Babel, the Odessan Jewish intellectual who rode with the Cossacks during the Russian Revolution and lived to write about it--until he was executed by Stalin. In his "Red Army" stories, Babel writes with a combination of fascination and loathing as he rides with the men who killed his own people in numerous pogroms. The very short story, "Crossing into Poland," perfectly captures Babel's mixed feelings. The narrator and his fellow soldiers occupy a Jewish home in Novograd. The narrator describes the wrecked Jewish home with a combination of disgust--"...human filth, fragments of the occult crockery the Jews use only once a year, at Eastertime"(he means the Passover dishes, which were the pride of this impoverished family. Also, interesting that he says"at Eastertime") and shame ("Faint hearted poverty closed in over my couch"). The narrator's conscience is pricked. When he falls asleep he has bad dreams. He is awakened by a young Jewish girl who points out that he is sleeping next to the corpse of her father who was slaughtered by the Poles. She makes him up a new bed and then asks, "I wish to know where in the whole world you could find another father like my father?"

The narrator doesn't answer and the tormented Jewish girl has the final words of the story. She is its true conscience.

Um, so how did I get to that from Borat? I guess what I'm saying is that Borat is Sasha Baron Cohen's madcap comical version of the Jew riding with the Cossacks.

In the meantime, I'm currently listening to Andrew Hill's Grassroots record. An interesting mix of Andrew Hill music, soul and Latin jazz. The CD release features alternate takes with a different lineup, so it's sort of like getting two records for the price of one.

The Sublime and the Third Quarter

2006-11-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

Let's start with sublime: Andrew Hill at Herbst Theater! Sometimes you go to a live musical show and can feel your molecules rearranging and your spirit expanding. I've been listening to jazz composer/pianist Andrew Hill for a while now, but I realized on Sunday night that I still have a lot of work to do. As some critics have pointed out, he's not a dazzling pianist, and his compositions can sound "monochromatic," but all of a sudden he throws in harmonies and colors that are breathtaking and deeply moving. I found myself with a lump in my throat several times throughout the show. Hill often uses Afro Cuban rhythms that give his strange compositions a hypnotic drive. I thought of Ellington and Mingus, although Hill isn't as dramatic as those masters. Still, his music sneaks up on you and keeps you thinking about it long after you've heard it. Sign me up for the Andrew Hill army!

Now for the ridiculous: the third quarter of the Warriors' season opener last night. Um, am I the only person who thought they looked like the same exact team as last season? Maybe because they have the same players lapsing into the same bad habits?
Will Don Nelson's style of play really elevate the games of Pietrus and Dunleavy? Didn't look like it to me. Monta Ellis and Ike Diogou looked much better than those two, although I wonder about Diogou's defense—or maybe I should just say The Warriors defense. They made Lamar Odom (of the Lakers) look like the second coming of Michael Jordan. Phooey! Still, it was only one game, and Jason Richardson looked like he needs a few games to get into condition. At times Baron Davis looked fantastic (but then, we've seen that before). I just don't see how he's going to last the whole season. And Jesus Christ, make those free throws! Not good to have your home crowd booing you on the opening night. A real stinker of a game!

I'm currently reading Richard Ford's "The Lay of the Land"--the third book in the Frank Bascombe trilogy, and Richard Aleas's "Little Girl Lost"--part of the Hard Case crime fiction series. More on that in the future.

iPod of the Damned

2006-10-27T14:11:00.000-07:00

The other day my iPod was approaching song #666 on its ongoing shuffle to song #5,274. What song would it be? Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast?" Pretty close, actually. It was Robert Johnson's "Me and the Devil Blues." I shit you not! It's one of Bob's most tormented songs (the protagonist is so haunted by his devils and The Devil that he's going to "Beat my woman 'till I get satisfied").
Song #667 was by The Zombies, so maybe my iPod has a sense of humor, is a monster, or just wanted to celebrate Halloween early.

Seen some great shows this month: Sufjan Stevens at Zellerbach—very heavy on songs from "Seven Swans." Orchestrated the way Mr. Stevens must have always wanted to do, and now can since he's working with a bigger budget.

The Easy Star All-Stars were good. A great band, but marked down because they had an annoying white hippie lady who sang some of their songs. The other guys, especially the guitarist and the toaster/singer who sort of looked like Flavor Flav (without the big clock or the insanity) interpreted the Radiohead and Pink Floyd songs very well. It would be great to see these guys back a world class Reggae singer like Horace Andy or Sugar Minott or Toots Hibbert.

The other night The Psychedelic Eskimo and I went to see English folk legend Bert Jansch at the Great American Music Hall. Another terrific show! Bert's still got it on the guitar (soulful virtuosity, always respecting the song), and his voice is pretty much the same, if a little lower in timber. Apparently, Neil Young was there, watching from the upstairs seats.

Looking forward to seeing Andrew Hill on Sunday night.

Prisoner of iPod Shuffle

2006-10-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

Another quixotic task I've set for myself: listen to every one of the 5,274 tracks that I've loaded onto my iPod. In shuffle mode. Realize the enormity and absurdity of possessing that many songs. How long will it take me to listen to all of these songs I so obsessively loaded onto this fancy piece of white plastic? The one limit I set for myself is that I can only listen to the iPod within the course of my normal listening day. I started last week. I figure I'll finish some time around Christmas (I'm currently at song #361. "Partyline" by the Kinks).

I've been buying a lot of records and CD's lately. The other day, feeling nostalgic, I bought cheap vinyl (the price, not the vinyl) copies of The Who by Numbers and There Goes Rhymin' Simon. The Who by Numbers is a pretty good late Keith Moon era record. The opening track, "Slip Kid," is the best track, and By Numbers also features the catchy abomination "Squeeze Box." Beyond that, it's a mixed bag of tracks about Pete drinking too much and being exhausted by fame. The Baby Boomer Turns Thirty. Worth checking out.

I grew up with There Goes Rhymin' Simon but haven't listened to it for years. Listening to it again, and studying the liner notes, I wonder if it didn't initiate my fascination with gospel quartet music, New Orleans R&B and Southern Soul. Sounds silly, right? But check out There Goes Rhymin'...It's Paulie's black southern music record. Most of it was made at Mussel Shoals Alabama with the backing of The Dixie Flyers. The Dixie Hummingbirds and Rev. Claude Jeter from the Swan Silvertones make appearances. Even though the subject matter is about Paul, not the south, I think it's a nice companion to Randy Newman's Good Ol' Boys (predates it by one year, actually). It's Paul Simon's Randy Newman record. Sorta.

Elvis Is King!

2006-10-10T13:39:00.000-07:00

Along with about half a million other people I was at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park for parts of this previous weekend. Despite the obnoxious presence of the Blue Angels, I enjoyed seeing Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock, Elvis Costello, Steve Earle, Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, The Coward Brothers, and Richard Thompson.

I wish that I could have seen others such as Earl Scruggs, Del McCoury, and The Drive-By Truckers, but schedules did not permit.

For me, the highlight was Elvis Costello and The Hammer of the Honky Tonk Gods on Friday. Although a pretty decent sized crowd showed up, it was more like the crowds that were at the festival in its early years. It felt more intimate, people didn't talk through the songs, and there weren't as many drunks. Elvis seemed pleasantly surprised by the size of the crowd ("A lot of you must have skipped out on work on a Friday afternoon!") and by the fact that they were singing along from the first number ("The Angels Want to Wear My Red Shoes"). E.C. did five or six songs solo then brought out his band, including longtime drummer Pete Thomas and the fantastic honky tonk guitarist Bill Kirchen (sp?). After a few tunes, Miss Emmylou Harris came out and they duetted on several numbers. I'm sure Elvis was thrilled to play Gram to Emmylou's Emmylou. They did a fine version of the Everly's "Love Hurts." Then, as if that weren't special enough, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings came out for a few songs. Everybody up on the stage jam sessions don't always work, but this one did. It seemed as if they may have even rehearsed together once or twice. A loose but not sloppy set, good vibes, good humor. I've been waiting twenty nine years to see Elvis and this couldn't have been a better experience.

Back in the park on Sunday with the Psychedelic Eskimo, we saw The Coward Brothers (Elvis and T-Bone Burnett) mostly disguised as a pine tree branch, but they sounded good. It's always nice to hear George Jones and Merle Haggard songs.

Following that, Richard Thompson, also disguised as a pine tree branch, did a fiery solo set. I know that my guitar solo homie Big Game James was probably at The Drive-By Truckers performance, but he missed some serious guitar slinging in our little pine grove.

Random Scare

2006-10-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

The other night, I was walking around the store in the dark about to leave for the night. I had my iPod on shuffle. Up comes a song from Scott Walker's current terrifying album, The Drift. Just what you want to hear in a spooky old building with all the lights out. I fumbled to advance to the next track when I happened to glance down and see the glow in the dark ghost face cover of Chuck Pahliunuk's (sorry for the misspelling, Chuck) Haunted (The Haunting? The Haunted?). I nearly jumped out of my skin.

There's one of the problems with iPod shuffle. You've got difficult music on your iPod because of need? duty? compulsion? and then you're scared out of your wits at a vulnerable moment.

iPod Therefore I Am

2006-09-05T10:28:00.000-07:00

Hi,

It's been awhile. I've been busy writing another 'zine and programming my iPod. Thanks to the kind generosity of The Psychedelic Eskimo I've been able to join the other iPod zombies with their white earbuds that you see staggering around everywhere. I however don't use my white ear thingies, I use my black headphones that have much better sound, although they mash the earpieces of my glasses into my neck sometimes.

Anyway, I've spent a lot of time putting songs on my dear little kPod (as I call it). I've maxed it out at around 5,300 songs. Now, that's just silly, don't ya know. Say you listen to it most of the day as you go about your business. You might get in around 100 to 150 songs (based on my own researches). So, why the obsessive loading? Because you can, of course! What if someone stops me on the street and demands to know whether I have Motorhead, Radiohead and the song "Teenage Head" on my iPod? Actually, I don't have "Teenage Head" on there, but you get the point...

In other news, my favorite records of the summer are "White Bread, Black Beer" by Scritti Politti--blue-eyed British soul meets sunny sixties pop. Very smart lyrics.

Also, "Radiodread" by The Easy Star All-Stars. It's a reggaefication of Radiohead's "OK Computer." Not every track works, but most do, and some are even transcendent. Very intelligently thought out record. Also check out The Easy Star All-Star's brilliant "Dub Side of the Moon" from a couple of years ago--it's a reggae cover of you-know-what.

Also, Neko Case's "Fox the Confessor Brings the Flood" and Cat Power's "The Greatest." Stone classics, baby.

TV Report: Been catching up on 24. Just finished season three. I wish someone would kill Kim Bauer but it never happens.

If you love seventies crime shows, I highly recommend Season One of The Rockford Files. It's dated in some ways, but James Garner's laconic, almost zen-like smartass with a heart of gold James Rockford is the most entertaining TV private dick ever.

I'll probably post more often again. Maybe I'll even resurrect the Alphabetical Listening Project!

Any Major Dude

2006-05-29T17:08:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been driving the Psychedelic Eskimo crazy with my obsession over a bad review that Pitchfork gave Steely Dan's "Two Against Nature" five years ago. The chump who "reviewed" it made a bunch of lame Kenny G jokes and cracked wise about men with little pony tails driving SUVs. Ha, ha. Mixed imagery aside, the dude didn't even bother to review the record, he just vented his allegedly informed indie biases against the long dead schlickmeisters of 70's rock, may they rust in peace. I suspect a little Oedipal drama in that review...

Let's just put the guy's ignorance aside for a moment (for example, Kenny G doesn't have the chops to hang in with the Dan's Fagen and Becker--they're beboppers, not smooth jazzers), and consider this: Many of Steely Dan's fans probably do have little ponytails and drive SUVs. They probably did listen to Aja and Goucho while hanging out in fern bars while gold coke spoons that hung around their necks tickled their chest hair. These people probably shell out hundreds of dollars for the latest Eagles farewell tour and if you aren't careful will bore you with the wonders of colon cleansing.

Yeah, well let me tell you this: Steely Dan makes fun of these people, they always have. Steely Dan are everything that an in the know Pitchfork writer thinks they are: hip, worldly wise, sardonic, ironic. Their intricate funkish bop delivers a subversive message through those SUV speakers, and they're named after a dildo.

To put it in the argot of the hip pop critics of the day: Steely Dan are anti-rockist. They were as "Post Rock" as the Post Punks, as steeped in black music as any pop music diva of today (and Donald Fagen's voice is as thin and warbly as theirs). So, put that in your soy chai latte and drink it!

Comfortably Numb

2006-05-16T18:15:00.000-07:00

Hey You,

I was lying on the floor in the living room earlier today listening to "The Wall" and sinking into the ennui that has so recently been my state of being. I was inspired to spin this platter because I saw "The Squid & The Octopus" the other night. If you've seen it, you'll know why I was listening to the record. I think "The S & The O" is a better interpretation of "The Wall" than the film "The Wall."

I do love Pink Floyd, but I'd have to say that I admire "The Wall" rather than like it. Roger Waters's struggle with emotional fascism takes over the songs too much. A little of his screechy voice goes a long way (and I don't just mean when he's singing). However, I think "Comfortably Numb" (sung by David Gilmour, right?) is a fucking great song.

Another platter I spun today was a collection of tunes by Ivory Joe Hunter on the dodgy Everest label. That, finally, ends the vinyl "H's"! Ivory Joe Hunter, if you didn't know, was an r&b singer in the Charles Brown/Nat "King" Cole mode who excelled at doing country-style songs. Due to the fact that he was African-American, he never got a chance to do a full on country record until very late in his career. The record I have is a mixture of country and westernish r&b tunes, pedestrian Charles Brownish blues numbers, and a cool rock and roll tune. I'm gonna have to track down Ivory Joe's country records. If you didn't know I love the genres of country soul and soul country. The most comprehensive book on these sub genres is "Say It One Time for the Broken-Hearted," by Barney Hoskyns.

Lately I've been reading books I used to collect when I was thirteen or fourteen but was too young to understand--namely, Raymond Chandler and Michael Moorcock. Also, I've just started the freaky "Titus Groan," by Mervyn Peake. I remember having the Ballantine editions of his Gormenghast Trilogy when I was twelve or thirteen and not being able to make head or tails out of it.

Finally, I read Philip Roth's new one, "Everyman." Damn you, Roth! Why do you make me read all of your books, even though I have gripes with you? Why doesn't this man have the Nobel Prize?

Ken at Fifteen Redux

2006-04-18T18:29:00.000-07:00

Dudes,

Lately I've been listening to Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" a lot. We own it in two formats in my household--vinyl and CD. I listened to it four times the other day when I was walking around the City.

I guess I'm trying to make up for lost time. I suppose the optimum time for being introduced to "Paranoid" is when you're fifteen, but to be honest, when I was a fifteen year-old hard rocker, I was intimidated by it--too doom-laden and sludgy--despite my friend Hard Rocking John IV's best attempts to convert me. My tastes in the hard rock category (we didn't say "Heavy Metal" or "Metal," to the best of my recollection) tended toward the more heroic and swaggering: Led Zeppelin; Thin Lizzy; Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Ever since those days I always felt a vague sense of guilt that I was not more familiar with the Sabbath canon. Smart people that I respected liked them. Henry Rollins loved them (come to think of it, I was too intimidated to listen to Black Flag back in my "punk" days). Back in the early 80's I thought it was against the new wave rules to like "Dinosaur" rock. I was mighty confused.

Craven coward that I was, I had sold all my Zeppelin albums when I cut my hair short and started buying Clash albums. I was an either/or sort of guy. Later, I traded in the Clash records for bluegrass records, but you've heard that story before.

So anyway, I've spent the past few years buying back all those Thin Lizzy, Zeppelin, Skynyrd and Clash albums.

I also got around to listening to The Stooges about six years ago--yet another band I'd always been afraid of. So why not, finally, Black Sabbath (Ozzy era)?

A couple of years ago I bought "Paranoid" and just tried to inject some bravery into my fifteen year old self as I listened to "War Pigs" and so forth. More recently, I bought a copy of the first Sabbath record--"Black Sabbath"--for two dollars at Green Apple. The young surly lad behind the counter told me that this copy once belonged to Mike Bordin, the drummer from Faith No More. We tried to imagine the traces of body fluids and drugs (and probably teenage desperation)that might be encrusted in the grooves of that platter. Oh, if vinyl could talk, what a tale it would tell! Unfortunately, when I got it home it told no tales--it was absolutely scorched, unplayable, despite the fact that it looked okay (suspiciously okay, as it turned out). Still, it's a nice keepsake.

Not to be deterred,I bought a new vinyl copy of "Black Sabbath" the other day, pressed on very cool looking clear vinyl. I also bought--rebought, I should say--Gang of Four's Solid Gold, which is a kick ass album that I traded in during the bluegrass years. A nice symbolic buy, my hard rock past and my post punk past now happily residing in my ever more democratic record collection.

Don't Do the Crime If You Can't Do the Time

2006-04-16T09:06:00.000-07:00

The summer of my eleventh year my mother and stepfather were splitting up. It was ugly and confusing. For various reasons I decided to stay with my stepfather. Sometimes he seemed glad that I was staying with him, sometimes he barely spoke to me.

My mother had moved about a quarter mile down the road, so half the time I ate dinner at her house which was how I avoided getting scurvy. All my stepfather and I seemed to eat was hamburgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. On the nights he came home late I had to fend for myself. I "cooked" my specialty: spaghetti and hotdogs. An easy dish for an eleven year-old. You boil the noodles until they're almost done, then you throw in the hotdogs.

That may sound like a pathetic, woe-is-me, I was a lonely, abandoned child, type of story, but I actually had a pretty good time by myself. I was sick of both my parents and their bitter fighting. I was perfectly happy to spend my days reading the canon of Edgar Rice Burroughs and devote my nights to watching all the TV shows my mother didn't let me watch because they were on too late during school nights or because they were too violent. So, I got fat on The Rockford Files, SWAT, and most of all, Baretta.

If ERB's Tarzan and John Carter were my literary heroes that summer, Baretta was my true action hero. Little Robert Blake, 5'4", all muscles, mop of black hair, intense dark eyes, motor mouth, broke every rule to pursue his criminal quarry. He had a heart of gold, though. He gave poor suckers a break (they were usually innocent, as it turned out). He lived in a fleabag motel with his cockatoo, Fred. He palled around with an assortment of colorful street characters. In some ways, for its time, it was the most realistic inner city cop show ever aired. Not that it was all that realistic. When Hill Street Blues aired a few years later, it made shows like Baretta and Starsky and Hutch (way more violent and vengeful than Baretta) seem silly.

Anyway, Robert Blake was my hero. As a short person, I admired the tough, cocksure manner that he displayed on Baretta. I was thrilled to learn, from Dynamite magazine, that he had been one of the Little Rascals. "Little Mickey"--one of the most sensitive of the Rascals. I think he was supposed to be a toughie, but he always seemed more worried than anything.

With the popularity of Baretta, various TV stations aired some of Blake's better known films--"In Cold Blood" and "Electra Glide in Blue." Blake dies martyr's deaths in both of those flicks, which suited me just fine that confusing summer.

In addition, that summer, Blake began a several year series of appearances on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, in which he played the roles of rebellious actor, self-pitying soon-to-be ex-husband, and social philosopher. Blake was so entertaining (maybe in a trainwreck sort of way)that Johnny usually let him have two segments, usually bumping the final guest (anyone who was booked last when Blake was on must have been pissed). I wonder if anyone out there has collected Blake's appearances on one tape or DVD?

Well, these are all bittersweet memories. Robert Blake is now a sleazy old convicted killer who still pathetically maintains his innocence. It's the last Little Rascals tragedy, I guess.

I'll just come clean and say that when the Blake trials were going on, there was a part of me that rooted for his acquital. I hoped that somehow, it would be revealed that he truly had nothing to do with his wife's murder. But I never truly believed it. Still, I can't completely give up on my childhood worship of Tony Baretta--a better man than Robert Blake or any of us.

And I Need You More Than Want You

2006-04-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

A long time ago I worked in a bookstore that played a so-called "Beautiful Music" station as its in house music. Compared to the brain-dulling Classical-Lite I have to listen to in the place that I currently work, maybe it wasn't so bad, but it was pretty bad. The only treat was that every so often they'd play "Witchita Lineman," which stood out from all the muck like a flower in a pile of manure. I'd stop whatever I was doing and get lost in the 3 minute tale of yearning and think about what a perfect short story it was--as good as anything Raymond Carver ever wrote. And the way Glen Campbell sings it--wowee.

The fact that a beautiful music station had "Witchita Lineman" in its rotation was both a testament to its seductive melody, performance and production, as well as the miscategorization of the work of its composer, Mr. Jimmy Webb. Jimmy Webb, the author of "By the Time I Get to Phoenix"; "Up, Up and Away"; MacArthur Park," among other sixties pop hits, may be dismissed by some for writing non-groovy middle of the road squaresville music, but those people would be wrong. I mean, I'll 'fess up, I probably dismissed those songs at some point in my hard rocking youth or fundamentalist roots music young adulthood, even as I secretly loved them. After all, I'd been humming along to them my entire life.

My friend, Strictly Jon, was the first music, record collector person I met who took these songs and their composer seriously. I didn't realize they were by the same person and that he had a vast body of work. S.J. was a scholar of mature pop music, understood its art and craft. He hipped me to the accomplishments of Jimmy Webb and Brian Wilson long before I sat down and truly appreciated them. Let's say he planted some seeds that took a decade and a half to grow.

My BeachBoys/Brian Wilson obsession of a few years ago made me truly appreciate orchestrated pop music of the sixties (I already dug 50's era Sinatra). Finally, I could just admit to myself how much I loved Burt Bachrach and the classic Glen Campbell hits of the sixties. I love the clash of pop liteness as it confronts the paranoid edge of Arthur Lee in "Forever Changes." I love the sixties Countrypolitan of Roger Miller. I love the chamber art country of Mickey Newbury, not to mention the Acid-Chamber-Art-Country-Concept of the Everly Brothers "Roots" album--a recent purchase. How do I connect all of that music together? Tools of the parents--Strings, Arrangements, Glossy Production (sometimes) utilized by the kids of the rock and roll generation. It's a pretty big country of music I've just jammed into a pretend category, but for me it all shares a preoccupation with the language of adults, much as Philly Soul did in the seventies.

I dunno, this theory is still forming in my mind, but it's just my way of saying how much I've come to love the work of Jimmy Webb. Very high in my musical rotation these days is the Glen Campbell-Jimmy Webb 1974 record, "Reunion," which I picked up in the discount bin at Tower for a mere pittance. Some people think "Rhinestone Cowboy" is Glen Campbell's best record, but I think this one might be better. Campbell is Webb's ideal interpreter. The yearning cry in G.C.'s voice is the perfect vehicle for J.W.'s songs of melancholy, hurt and hope (but mostly melancholy and hurt). J.W.'s themes mainly curb G.C.'s cornball tendencies. One wonders if these two have one more collaboration left in them. They have played some shows together recently, which I'd love to see.

Last week I bought the Jimmy Webb compilation, "Archive," which collects a selection of songs from his seventies albums along with a live show he played in London in '72 (of all things, he does a cover of Frank Zappa's "My Guitar Wants to Kill Your Mama" in the concert set). I'm digging Webb's Oklahoma (other favorite Oklahomans: Roger Miller; Wayne Coyne; Ralph Ellison) drawl reinterpreting his sixties classics and his more personal, mediatative '70's songs. Joni Mitchell even shows up as a backing vocalist on a couple of songs. Webb's rueful '7o's work deserves a listen by those who dig the artistic singer-songwriters such as Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell.

Revisting Age Eleven

2006-04-04T18:47:00.000-07:00

When I was eleven years old my mother split up with her second husband. It was ugly. I'll spare you the details. In order to escape the daily stress of watching my parents literally and metaphorically battle with each other, I sought refuge in the usual place: popular culture.

I obsessively read the novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs, going so far as to visit his headquarters in Tarzana, California, and getting to meet his nephew, Danton. I especially dug Tarzan. There was something about the orphaned outsider apeman trying to find his place in two societies--the jungle, "civilized" society--and not quite fitting in that really got to me. I was also a big fan of the DC comic book adaptions drawn by Joe Kubert. I loved the dynamic sketch-looking style of his lean muscular Tarzan (I also liked the Neal Adams-illustrated covers of the Ballantine editions, but Kubert's Tarzan was the one for me).

I mention all this because I just purchased a very nice hardcover edition of Volume One of Tarzan: The Joe Kubert Years. All those issues of Kubert's Tarzan in lovingly restored beautiful color, published by Dark Horse. Cashing in on childhood nostalgia? You bet!

I've already recently collected the Dark Horse reprints of the Barry Windsor Smith years of the Marvel Conan the Barbarian comics--another favorite of my eleven year-old self.

So, add that to my rewatching of Baretta (yes, another favorite of eleven year-old me), my recent rereading of some Edgar Rice Burroughs novels, repurchasing of old The Who vinyl and, ahem, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, and this blankety-blank year-old man is ready to relive eleven years old without the accompanying trauma!

Report from the alphabetical listening project: Songs I Love to Sing! by Helen Humes. Here's a 1950's recording by the Basie "girl" singer, arranged by Marty Paich. A groovy, swinging affair. Featuring Ben Webster and Art Pepper. Humes, at times, sounds like a more bluesy Ella Fitzgerald. You gotta play it at your next retro cocktail party, although the music is as fresh as can be.

I'm just finishing up Richard Price's Freedomland. It got off to a slow start--there's a lot of narrative strands--but it really kicks ass once it gets going. More Richard Price to come, for sure.

The Mighty Wolf

2006-03-28T18:59:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time, readers, I know, but I've been intending to tell you that I recently spun two Howlin' Wolf platters--"Howlin' Wolf" and "More Folk Blues." The gigantically headed Mr. Chester Arthur Burnett is possibly my favorite blues singer. A force of nature, a blast of demonic frenzy, etc. It's hard to believe such giants walked the earth. Listen to him sing "Spoonful"; "Back Door Man"; "Down in the Bottom." Probably best heard on the Chess label with his musical soulmate, Hubert Sumlin, backing him on guitar. Still haven't heard his reportedly unhinged Sun sides. Memo to self.

I've bought so many records and CD's lately, it's hard to filter through all of them. I will tell you that some of my recent favorites have been Jenny Lewis's "Rabbit Fur Coat"; Van Morrison's "Pay the Devil" (a real pleasant surprise); Glen Campbell and Jimmy Webb's "Reunion" (Jimmy Webb is a major project for this year--more on him to come, I'm sure); Curtis Mayfield's "Ain't No Place Like America Today"--one I'd been searching for a couple of years. The latter one has got me listening to my seventies Curtis Mayfield recordings. As solid an output as Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye put out in that time (not as Poppily great as Stevie, but way more consistent than Marvin) in my opinion.

Recently read "In Cold Blood." The book reminded me how much I dig the movie, and that got me thinking about my childhood fascination with Robert Blake (he starred in the film version of "In Cold Blood", as you probably know). I think I'm going to write an essay about eleven year-old me, the Robert Blake fan. I'll either put it in the next 'zine or in this space.

Anyway, I'll try to post more often.

Hot Rize Memories

2006-02-21T12:45:00.000-08:00

I think I've written about this before, but back in the mid to late eighties, I was caught up in many entanglements that caused a lot of heartbreak for several people. All water under the bridge now, but I still wince a bit thinking about those days. The souveniers from those days are embodied in the form of my many bluegrass records. I bought these discs at a fanatical clip, searching for that high lonesome sound to fill the high lonesome feeling of my heart. One group I was passionate about was Hot Rize, a quartet based out of Colorado, a band that I saw several times as a headliner and on the bill at various bluegrass festivals.

A week or so ago, I respun, for the first time in many a year (more bad water under the bridge) four of their records--"Hot Rize"; "In Concert"; "Traditional Ties"; "Untold Stories"-- and two of their records as their comedy Western Swing/Honky Tonk/Country Boogie alter-ego, Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers--"Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers" and "Shades of the Past."

How do these records hold up? Mighty fine, as Red Knuckles might say. I wondered if they might sound too slick and bloodless--as bluegrass records made by super hotshots with the advantages of modern studios sometimes ended up--but not really. Hot Rize managed to straddle the line between so-called New Grass slickness and "traditional" mountain soul. They were led by the multi-instrumentalist lead singer Tim O'Brien, the slightly experimental (he used effects on his banjo) banjoist Pete Wernick, the late flatpick guitarist Charles Sawtelle, and the deep voiced and handsome Nick Forster on electric bass. They were extremely witty, had great chops, tons of soul, and seemed like guys you'd want to hang out with at a bar.

Their Red Knuckles incarnation was a highlight of their show when they'd leave the stage as Hot Rize and return in Western drag to play country obscurities and novelty tunes. Even though it was played for laughs (comedy alter egos is a time honored tradition in country and bluegrass), the Red Knuckles act allowed the Hot Rize guys to display their electric instrumental chops. For example, bassist Nick Forster as his Trailblazer alter ego, "Wendell Mercantile," showed that he could play smooth, swinging lead guitar lines.

Another interesting thing about the Trailblazers is that they played a couple of classic songs, "Honky Tonk Man"; "Always Late," that Dwight Yoakam had hits with. One of their best schticks was that they would play rock songs in the western swing style (They were always promoting a fictional album, "Red Swings the Sixties."), which Yoakam also did a couple of times. So, shouldn't this fictional band get some credit for helping to kick start the New Traditionalist country movement of the eighties?

Although they broke up in the late eighties, early nineties, Hot Rize occasionally reforms. They usually play the San Francisco Hardly, Strictly Bluegrass Festival, but I'm always at work when they're on stage.

Check 'em out. You can probably find their records for cheap in the used vinyl sections. Maybe there's a comprehensive CD comp, but I'm not sure about that.

Coming up next: Howlin' Wolf.

A couple of good books I've read recently: Jeanette Walls's memoir, "The Glass Castle," and my third reading of Richard Ford's "The Sportswriter."

Build Me a Heaven of My Own

2006-02-02T15:16:00.000-08:00

Can I still write?

I ask this question while spinning a Lightnin' Hopkins Fantasy Records two-fer called
Double Blues. I love this collection of recordings from 1964. The most memorable song is called "I'm Going to Build Me a Heaven of My Own," in which Mr. Hopkins creates a heaven in which only women and himself are allowed. At one point in the narrative, he even has to tell "Mr. J.C." that he isn't allowed in. Why do I love Lightnin' Hopkins? Because of his whiskey and cigarettes Texas drawl, the simple warm sound of his amplified guitar, his cool conk and his ever-present shades. He made a gazillion records for anyone who'd pay him. Sometimes it seems as if he's having a conversation with you as much as singing a song.

I guess that's the spirit of autobiographical storytelling that I'm trying to capture in my 'zines and proposed book. Lately, though, I wonder if I'll ever be able to get a manuscript done. For the past six months or so, I've been showing my work to a group of writers who have been less than impressed with my way of telling the tales. They are good writers whom I respect, but I'm so worried about following all of their varying advices (so to speak) that I've gotten completely lost. I don't have this problems with my 'zines because I only show my drafts to the Psychedelic Eskimo and she sees them fairly late in the going. I got enough praise from my 'zine readership that I figured the next step had to be a book, but now I don't seem to know how to write one.

Well, phooey to all that. I'm just showing first drafts to the group. It's my life, not theirs, and I'll just have to put up with their criticisms as I work out the form and content. I think ol' Lightnin' would agree.

In addition to Double Blues, I've also been spinning Lightnin' Strikes and Low Down Dirty Blues, two cheapo Hopkins collections I bought back in the eighties. Of varying sound quality, but perfect day off records.

Since I'm back to playing alphabetical vinyl, maybe I'll resume the CD's. The question is whether or not I can bear to listen to all my Steve Earles. Love him though I do, I'm pretty burned out on his stuff. I did recently play Guitar Town, Copperhead Road, and Train 'a Comin', so I guess I can bear to plow through those discs.

I'm currently reading "Raise Up off Me," by Hampton Hawes. It's a no-holds barred memoir of the bebop life. It includes a thought-provoking analysis of why so many of the bop pioneers were neurotic hop heads. I wonder if I have any records with Hawes playing the piano?

Finally, I'm pretty smitten with The Fall these days. Pray for me.

H is for "I Hate Yuppies!

2006-01-24T13:04:00.000-08:00

My boss might get mad at this entry, but I sure am sick to death of watching coiffed yuppies buying Freakonomics (Incidentally, it's a book that I encouraged my boss to stock in larger numbers when last spring yuppie after yuppie was asking me for it. You think I'll get a raise for such observational talents? No). Anyway, my non-point here is that I loathe this book even though it may be great and wise. I saw the authors on a talk show and they seemed intelligent. Anyway, anyway, I'm highly suspicious of books that purport to subvert conventional wisdom only to replace it with a new formula that everyone takes as the new gospel (yuppies love people to do their thinking for them so they can go on with the business of disappearing up their well-lotioned asses). Not that I've read the book, just the phenomenon.

Whew! That felt better! I think I'll start off every entry with a no-nothing rant.

Another more positive "H" besides hate is Hamilton, as in Patrick Hamilton. I've just read his 1941 novel called "Hangover Square." It takes place in London in 1939 on the eve of Britian's entry in WWII. The protagonist is a sad, shy alcoholic called George Harvey Bone who is besotted with a beautiful bitchy actress-wannabe called Netta (she also is sexually turned on by fascists and has a crush on Hitler) who merely strings him along for drinks. What Netta doesn't know is that George has a split personality and that this personality which is increasingly taking over his being is planning on killing her. I suppose the book will be read by some as misogynistic, but I'd go for misanthropic. "Hangover Square" is a study of the fine line between unrequited love and psychosis, not to mention a portrait of pre-WWII English pub life.

Our "H" vinyl listening has included a Billie Holiday twofer called "God Bless the Child." It features "Jim," a song co-written by my grandfather, Milton Samuels (more on this in my next 'zine).

Also, a Buddy Holly comp of odds and sods called "For the First Time Anywhere" which features unreleased (in the eighties) tracks. Wonderful stuff. I need a comprehensive Buddy Holly comp. What would he have become? An orchestral pop artist on the level of Brian Wilson?
A country rocker?

Also, two blues Hookers: Earl Hooker's Arhoolie release, "Two Bugs and a Roach." The songs are ragtag but the guitar playing is snappy. Also, a John Lee Hooker twofer called "Boogie Chillen." It's so-so stuff of John Lee playing solo for a folk crowd. The disc of unreleased performances, including a brooding version of "Night Time is the Right Time," is better than the released one.

Final Holiday

2006-01-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

Here I am, waiting for a new mattress to be delivered while I listen to a Billie Holiday two-fer (on vinyl) called "God Bless the Child." This set covers a five year period between 1936-1941, arguably the peak of Ms. Holiday's art. Dig the small combos backing her, including Lester Young and Teddy Wilson. There's something to be said for the three minute jazz song where the soloists only get a couple of choruses (if that) to have their say. You ask me, this is the height of American civilization.

On CD, I'm about to tackle the numerous Steve Earle disks I have. I listened to "Guitar Town" the other day. Mostly, it still holds up and doesn't sound too dated. Maybe it is Steve's greatest work, certainly his best commercial release. God bless him for going his own way, but one sometimes wonders what his alternative career would have been like had he played the game a little more. As big as Travis Tritt? But then he wouldn't be Steve Earle.

When I saw Steve at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival last fall he sounded better vocally than he had in a long time. Maybe the weight loss? Maybe he quit smoking?

Post-Holidays Holiday

2006-01-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

Since the Psychedelic Eskimo and I moved to a new apartment a month ago, my records have been out of order. Also, working the Christmas retail detail. Difficult to be alphabetical-like in such circumstances. Now that the holidays are over and the PE is allowing me to use her nice new record shelving, the alphabet has been restored. So, onward!

I believe we last left off with Billie Holiday. Over the past couple of days I've spun Volumes 3 and 4 of The Quintessential Billie Holiday series on Columbia. The Quintessential B H series covers Lady Day's "classic" thirties to forties period (my dictionary defines "quintessential"--the adjective form of quintessence--as "The Pure and concentrated essence of a substance"). Is this the pure and concentrated essence of Lady Day? Pretty much, I guess. Billie Holiday transforms some pretty innocuous songs into something personal with her lonely ache of a voice. Obviously one brings a lot of Billie Holiday knowledge-baggage to her records from sixty five years ago. Maybe she wasn't sad and strung out when she cut these sides. Maybe she was in a perfectly lovely mood. Why wouldn't she be when Lester Young and Johnny Hodges were both backing her on a couple of tunes.

Currently, I'm reading Phillip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy, which has gotten me to pick up "Paradise Lost" (the trilogy is based on Milton's epic poem). Hail Satan!

I'm a Cool Rockin' Daddy in the USA

2005-12-05T11:30:00.000-08:00

Well folks, I did it. After twenty one years, I finally bought Born in the USA yesterday. Even before Bruce's stadium success I was appalled, APPALLED by the commercial sound of the record and refused to buy it even though I secretly thought the songs were catchy. I was, ya know, one of those sixteen year-old boys who repeatedly listened to Born to Run in my bedroom, punching my arm in the air. Apparently I didn't think you were allowed to do this to Born in the USA which is actually an act of defiance if you listen to the desperate lyrics (I got around to doing that about three years later). At the root of my dismay was that I felt like I was part of the special Springsteen cult (albiet a very large one) and now here he was dancing like a robot in videos for the MTV masses and marrying a model. Oh well, that didn't last forever.

Anyway, I've been listening to a lot of Springsteen lately. It's a real mindblower to realize that I've been listening to him for twenty five years, longer than Dylan and Neil Young. I've never been a super fan, but a fan nontheless, eventually buying just about everything. As Dave Marsh and others have noted, Springsteen has a way of making an intimate connection with his fans. It feels like he's your friend and your idol. You sure can't say that about Dylan.

Another general thought: I find it fascinating that Springsteen's music over the past decade has either been subdued and Woody Guthrieish or passionately rocking. Bruce may have abandoned the r&b swing to his music in 1975 but he's always retained r&b passion.

Another happy purchase from yesterday is Joe Henry's new project with Ann Peebles, Mavis Staples, Irma Thomas, Billy Preston and Allan Toussaint. One listen so far tells me that the gals still have it. Henry's liner notes indicate that he has a special love for Ann Peebles. Strangely, she only gets two songs compared to the others' three or more. Maybe they're saving up material for an entire album. Man, that Joe Henry knows how to pick good material, and I dig his atmospheric but gutsy production style. Others might disagree. I imagine that some might call it Starbucks Soul. Well, I'm forty one, and I can darn well say what I like, you whippersnappers!

And speaking of all things New Jersey, I just finished Tom Perrotta's novel, Joe College. That completes my reading of his canon. For most of the book I thought it was his best, but then about three quarters into it he put his protaganist through some events that felt a little forced or maybe just rushed. The open-ended, potentially chaotic conclusion is gutsy. All of his books are worth reading.
My personal faves are The Wishbones and Bad Haircut.

The Sparkle of Your China

2005-11-08T13:36:00.000-08:00

Dear readers,

If you should happen to glance at some of the reader comments on this infrequently posted blog, you'll notice mostly adverts. Disregard these! Do not patronize these people!

I'm not going to block the comments (yet) because I like the occasional one that I get from a real reader.

That business aside, did anyone see Neil Young on Conan O'Brien all last week? The songs were okay, maybe I'll get the record when it's used. Obviously that record is about Neil confronting his mortality. I think I liked the last night best when the songs were more orchestrated and there was a gospel choir. Plus Emmylou Harris. What a pal, what a team player Emmylou is! Oh yeah, and on Thursday night, Neil did "The Needle and the Damage Done," but the VCR cut it off halfway. I guess every junkie's just a setting sun.

The best part was watching Neil give good panel with Conan. Conan told a funny story about how Neil went into his dressing room and retuned all his guitars to D Modal—the "Cinnamon Girl" tuning, apparently. Anyway, it sure is nice to get NBC again (after about two years of not being able to get it when the affiliate shifted to San Jose. Finally, they strengthened the signal) for the best late night entertainment talk show on TV.

Also, Saturday is Neil's sixtieth birthday. Unbelievable. Thanks Simpsons and Ameoba calendars!

Hoops fans, I'm back on the Warriors bandwagon. Actually, I never abandoned it, I was just walking alongside as it's travelled the rutted road of NBA ignominy lo these past ten or eleven years. Anyway, if Baron Davis can stay healthy...

Readingwise, lately I've been on a big Joan Didion kick. I read her latest, "A Year of Magical Thinking," also just re-read "The White Album." "Magical Thinking," besides being a heartbreaking document about a woman losing her husband while her daughter is gravely ill (she died after the manuscript was finished) is kind of a restatement and refraction of Didion's previous non fiction work. Fragments of the earlier essays recur throughout "Magical." I need to reread it, but I think it's partly about the way that a writer's mind mines the themes of its past work (or, I guess you could say, mines its mind)to examine unspeakable pain. Not a very original observation, I'm sure. More bluntly, it's an admission that Didion's husband, John Gregory Dunne, had told her that he was dying and she didn't listen.

As far as the alphabetical project goes, I'm in the middle of Billie Holiday (so to speak). I own most of the thirties stuff. I love those small combo recordings she made with Lester Young and Teddy Wilson. Perfect music. I've never investigated her fragile late fifties recordings. I really ought to.

My current bus reading is PG Wodehouse's "Leave it To Psmith." (The "P" is silent. "As in 'pshrimp," Psmith says to one character). One of the funniest and best written that I've read by PGW.

Taking the Jerry out of Jerrrrrrry

2005-10-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

No, I don't mean Jerry Lewis, although I certainly love the man. Especially serious Jerry, the Jerry of "The King of Comedy."

No, friends, I mean Mr. Garcia and co. I'm listening to "Workingman's Dead" right at this moment and trying to not visualize old rich Marin hippies in their tie-dye shirts or those little hippie rats panhandling for change on Haight St. It's not fair, ya know. Can't I just enjoy "W.M.'s D." as a fine American roots rock album (that's my musical genre!) and forget all about the Deadhead cult? I know, I'm being a snob. It was a lovely community for many. And, "Man, if you were at the Acid Tests or Winterland in '76 when they did 'Dire Wolf,' etc." Yeah, maybe so. I dig the Pigpen years and don't care about the rest, really.

Anyway, my prejudices are planted firmly in my hippie childhood (never listened to the Dead in those days, that I can recall) and my dislike of crowds of smelly, stoned people. Which is to say, you won't see me at Burning Man. And I'm definitely not doing Deadhead dancing while listening to this record.

I think I was going to move on to the point that the late sixties, early seventies era of pop music is my time and nothing's ever going to replace it in my heart. Post punk and early hip hop (first ten years, say) were my last gasps of being musically current. I didn't fall in love with music from downloading it, ya know? I guess I'm about fit to be sent to the bone yard, which somehow ties in nicely with the Grateful Dead skeleton. Pigpen lives!

No Shit, Sherlock!

2005-10-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

Am I an Anglophile? Of a sort. Of the sort who picks and chooses his vision of England as seen through books and films, and heard through music. About as real as my Reggaefied vision of Jamaica.

I suppose I've always had an affinity for certain cliches of "Englishness" as I've (mis?)interpreted through the abovementioned books, film and music. The cliches: reserve, repression, desire to while away the hours in the old study at home with a book, a hot drink and a pet at one's feet. Oh yeah, I know, that's the privileged white man's vision of peace and security. Likely as not, in reality, it could be an old Englishman in front of the TV lobbing homophobic comments at the screen (a sad scene depicted in Zadie Smith's "On Beauty"). But anyway, I cherish my fantasy vision of Sherlock Holmes's study or Bertie Wooster's bachelor pad.

I've been rereading the Sherlock Holmes novel, "The Hound of the Baskervilles" after watching a BBC adaption of it on Masterpiece Theatre (I've been watching that program, on and off, since I was eight. Sorry, Russell Baker, you're no Alistair Cooke (sp?)). Anyhoo, reading that book while also reading PG Wodehouse's "Very Good, Jeeves," makes me wonder if Bertie and Jeeves are a kind of inversion of Holmes and Watson? Both are bachelor teams. The Sherlock Holmes stories are narrated by Watson, who is always in awe of his friend's crime-solving genius but is also irritated and at times alarmed by his friend's eccentricities and bad habits (cocaine, morphine,etc.). Watson has his feet firmly planted on the ground; Holmes is focused on the matter at hand and is oblivious of all other practical manners. Until Watson gets married, the two are roommates.

As a bizarro parallel, consider the Wooster and Jeeves stories, which are narrated by the brainless Bertie (except for one early story narrated by Jeeves). Bertie has his feet firmly planted in the air, is shallow but good-hearted and depends on his brainy "gentleman's personal gentleman" Jeeves to bail him out of whatever trouble he's gotten into. They live together. Occasionally Bertie gets engaged to a woman, but it never lasts for long. You might say that whatever crazy scheme Bertie gets involved in is a sort of comic mystery for Jeeves to solve in his Sherlockian fashion. The plots of these stories are ingenious at times but always incredibly silly, just like A Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories and novels. And, it goes without saying, slightly homoerotic, or homo-not erotic.

I write all this nonsense while listening to that super English eccentric Robyn Hitchcock—"Black Snake Diamond Role" and "I Often Dream of Trains." Two early solo records that, I think, he's never bettered.

Wear Your Love Like Heaven

2005-10-10T11:47:00.000-07:00

After listening to an NPR interview with the man, I've been listening to a lot of Donavan lately. Two things occur to me when I listen to Mr. Leitch: Are all those Belle and Sebastian fans aware of the obvious similarities (I like the band, by the way)? Also, "Atlantis." Not D's best song, but just about his hippiedippiest, and it reminds me so much of my young hippie days. Other things occur to me also, as well, such as the Bert Jansch influence and wondering if D influenced Nick Drake. I guess they all listened to the same English and Celtic folk music...

For those that wonder about my "progress" in the alphabetical listening project. I'm currently on an Earl Hines two-fer that covers sessions from the mid-sixties. These days I find myself less attracted to the far out , energy jazz stuff and more intrigued by melodic versions of the music, such as Mr. Hines's output. I guess I'm just getting old...

Which brings up this thought from the novel I'm currently reading: Zadie Smith's "On Beauty." It's as if E.M. Forster wrote a multicultural campus novel of manners. Such wisdom and wry insight from a twenty nine year-old. I don't know why I resisted reading her first two books. Jealousy? Probably.

My bus reading has been alternating between P.G. Wodehouse's Wooster and Jeeves books and crime novels. I recently finished Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye in a cool 1964 paperback edition that fell apart as I read it. It's hard for me not to filter that novel through the lense of Robert Altman's 1973 adaption starring Elliot Gould. I love that movie (so much that I own it). It's definitely in my top ten.

Speaking of favorite movies I own, last night I watched the second half of "Prince of the City." I could watch that thing at any point. I love the way that Treat Williams uses his body in that film. As the investigation of police corruption gets deeper and deeper, he slumps down so far, he practically crawls.

After that I had to watch Jesus' Son. Check out the way that Billy Crudup uses his body in that film, his beaten, bent at the waist pigeon-toed walk, how he half-gazes at the camera (suggesting his half consciousness?).

Netflix has recently brought me the first seasons of "Barney Miller" and "NYPD Blue," a double-barrelled dose of televised New York cops.

Whipping Post

2005-09-20T13:03:00.000-07:00

Back in the old punk rock days (or I suppose it was the post-punk days, in my case) people in the crowd at shows used to jokingly yell "Whipping Post!" or "Freebird!" in between numbers. We all got the ironic joke. Of course, our integrity-filled heroes on stage would never stoop to such self-indulgent ten to twenty minute guitar jams. Ha, ha, ha. I always laughed a little uneasily, because I always secretly liked "Freebird" and "Whipping Post," even when I wasn't supposed to. I bet a lot of those bands did, too.

It took me years to realize it was "okay" to like Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Gun Club. And, yeah, I know, I know, I know, many punks were reacting against the decadent, homophobic, racist taint that poisoned some fans of classic guitar rock —high school jock bullies, fr'instance. It's a complex matter, obviously. I'm not entirely sure members of Skynyrd weren't racists, or at least bigots. I'd like to think not Ronnie Van Zant, but who knows? The Allmans were likely not racists. They were a blues band and had a black drummer, Jai Johanny Johanson who would have stomped someone's ass, I'd be willing to bet. All speculation, of course.

Anyway, I'm getting off the point here (there is a point?). One can still hear cries of "Freebird!" at indieish rock shows, although I'm not certain that the criers have ever heard the song. I can think of two recent examples: Iron and Wine and Jim White. People "ironically" yelled out "Freebird!" only to have their heroes respond, "Hey, I like that song." Both dudes are from Florida, the home of Skynyrd, by the way. I think it would be great to hear somebody like these guys do "Freebird" or "Whipping Post."

Why am I bringing this up, anyway? Because I bought a used vinyl copy of the Allman's "Live at the Fillmore East" only to find out that my two disc set was half "Live at the Fillmore East" and one disc of a twofer consisting of their first two studio albums called "Beginnings" (thanks for the info, Big Game James). Check your record labels closely, kids!

Switching gears, I just finished a novel by Alicia Erian called "Towelhead." It's about an in the throes of puberty thirteen year-old half-Lebanese, half-Irish girl who goes to live with her very strict Lebanese father in Texas at the beginning of the first Gulf War. A coming-of-age social comedy about a good girl who makes a lot of bad decisions. Laugh out loud funny (as they say), as well as very upsetting at points. Definitely not a PC novel. An impressive novelistic debut. One of the most impressive things to me about the narrative is that Erian manages to consistently maintain the thirteen year-old's p.o.v. of just wanting to be special, and then relating the disasterous results with deadpan factuality. Still, there's redemption at the conclusion that doesn't feel forced. Alan Ball (creator of "Six Feet Under") has optioned it to make a film. He'd be the man to do it.

My bus book for the moment is "The Inimitable Jeeves," by PG Wodehouse. I've been slowly working my way through the major Wodehouse novels and collections, savoring them, as one would a relaxing whiskey. What ho!

My bedside reading has been David Herbert Donald's "Lincoln." The book manages to humanize and historically contexualize Lincoln as an ambitious but politically savvy president. Sure, he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation, but it only "freed" slaves in the southern states, not the border states that were still part of the Union during the Civil War—he didn't want them to jump to the Convederacy. Lincoln hated slavery but didn't necessarily think that blacks were equal to whites. He favored repatriating them back to Africa, even though that was obviously a ridiculous, impractical solution. It took Lincoln a long time to admit that the Civil War was about slavery, if he ever fully admitted that...

Are You Experienced?

2005-09-13T19:21:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I know it's been a long time. Believe it or not, I'm still listening to records in alphabetical order. I made it through Haggard, then Emmylou Harris, Wynonie Harris, Hazel and Alice, and now Hendrix.

Listening to my Merle Haggard records, the nine or ten I have, made me realize that I should own at least nine or ten more. In some ways, I think he's country music's all-around greatest artist in the past fifty years. By that I mean, songwriting, vocal craft, musicianship, breadth of musical styles, quality of backing band, comeback from fallow periods, continuing relevance. The only (male) competition is Johnny Cash (I don't include George Jones because he didn't write much of his own material). Merle's a better singer. Six of one, I suppose...

Emmylou Harris. I've had a crush on her for twenty something years, sexist pig that I am. Dudes, she's just the classiest act of them all. I haven't even checked out her most recent records, that's how slow about these things I can be. But anyway, in the vinyl, I especially dig "The Ballad of Sally Rose"; "Blue Kentucky Girl"; "Roses in the Snow."

Wynonie Harris, if you don't know was a very handsome R&B shouter from the late forties (I think). Many funny novelty tunes and a great version of Roy Brown's "Good Rockin' Tonight."

Hazel and Alice. Dickens and Gerrard, that is. I bought their first Rounder recording from the dead country music collector's collection (see my Uncorrected Proof Part One posts from last summer). It's as plaintive as all get out.

As far as Jimi goes. I still feel like I don't appreciate him. It's mind boggling to think that he accomplished as much as he did by the age of twenty seven. We all wonder what would have happened had he lived...Would he have ended up sucking as much as Eric Clapton? Would he have written funky outer space symphonies with Miles Davis or Sun Ra or played metal or punk or switched to synthesizers or made "Foxy Lady Disco" in '77; or jammed with Bob Marley or The Clash or Run DMC? Would he have saved Kurt Cobain's life and gotten Sly Stone to clean up and get back in the studio? Would he have declared "more surf music in 2005?" Love or confusion?

The Many Voices of Bob

2005-08-25T14:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Occasional Reader,

I need to take some time in the future and talk to you about Merle Haggard's mid-life crisis record, Serving 190 Proof (I think I misquoted it as Serving 150 Proof in the previous entry), and how I think it's the perfect album. I also need to discuss what a pleasure it is to listen to the vinyl of Tom T Hall. I suppose a person could get away with one of the comprehensive CD collections of his best songs, but it's nice to have the complete albums such as In Search of a Song. In fact, I order you to track that one down--it's just been released on CD for the first time, so you have no excuse!

Today's entry, such as it is, is devoted to Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits Volume II, which is where we're alphabetically at on the CD's. It sure is a strange hodge podge of Bob stuff, from "A Hard Rain's a Gonna Fall" to unreleased stuff from the early seventies when he was "floundering." It's the first sustained Dylan listening I ever did in my life. My mother got a vinyl copy of this two record set from the Columbia House record club. These recordings, sung in various Dylan voices, from Woody Guthrie, Jr. to Electric Self-Mocking Bob to Nashville Smoothie to Head Cold Bob with no respect for chronological recording order become a sort of post modern pastiche of Bobbery. I know it's heresy to say, but I love this collection, even if it's not really what you'd call his best stuff (some of it, maybe). My favorite tune is the sloppy live version of "The Mighty Quinn" in which Bob's vocal phrasing throws off his backing vocalists Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Levon Helm, so that they lag behind him on the verses. A wonderfully ramshackle performance from Dylan and The Band (from the Isle of Wight Festival, I think?). It sounds like they'd been enjoying libations before the gig...

The Fightin' Side of Merle the White Negro

2005-08-14T18:02:00.000-07:00

Well, music fans, we've finally reached the "H's" in the vinyl listening project (we're on Bob Dylan in the CD's). We're currently trolling through some of Merle Haggard's impressive catalogue. My Merle collection largely consists of his sixties output, although I've got some of the seventies stuff, too. Obviously, that's the bedrock that his career rests upon.

Holy shit, Merle is great. Although I think George Jones is the greatest male singer in the history of country music, I think Merle is pretty close, and anyway, he's my favorite. His voice has roughened over the years, but it's still bluesy and expressive. His voice was obviously purer when he was younger, and man what an instrument it was. It just reaches into your guts and squeezes. And dang, can he write! You may know the sixties classics--"I Threw Away the Rose"; "Swinging Doors"; "Mama Tried" (we'll get to "Okie from Muskogee" in a sec), but check out his midlife crisis album, Serving 150 Proof for all the mournful trevails of turning forty one. Something I know something about.

If you can ever entice me into a karaoke bar, I promise I'll sing you "Okie from Muskogee." Who knows how serious Merle was when he wrote that song. The Psychedelic Eskimo and I watched him perform it on this late sixties music show called "The Music Seen." Merle was surrounded by dozens of American flags and a hound dog (or am I imagining that part?), singing the song as deadpan as could be for this rock and roll audience (the "irreverent" comedy skit before the song featured two truck drivers holding hands---Hilarious!). Anyway, how seriously was Merle taking his own song?

But weirder still is Merle's very un-PC composition, "I'm a White Boy," which you can find on A Working Man Can't Get Nowhere Today." In no way is it one of Merle's best songs, but it's a fascinating tune. As the great Peter Guralnick writes about this song, "he fights his racial confusion to a draw." Interestingly, sung as a blues, Merle (or his persona) claims that he's a hard working fella, his name isn't "Willie Woodrow" he wasn't "born in no ghetto," and furthermore he "ain't black" and he "ain't yella." But apparently it's okay for his protagonist to bum around from town to town. Free to be a white bum, I guess. Thou doth protest too much, Merle!

A more palatable side of Merle is the fact that he's always had a great swinging band that takes in the honky tonk, blues, western swing, and Dixieland elements of country and western music. I'll just make this probably offensive observation (but I've been reading Norman Mailer, ya see), but I'd say that Merle Haggard is a White Negro! There, I said it!

Al Green Is Love

2005-08-08T20:38:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a while since I've posted. I've been "busy" working on my hippie memoirs and taking my cat to the vet (600 bucks and counting so far this summer). I've been making slow but steady progress with the listening project--in the vinyl area, at least. Over the past week it's been Al Green vinyl, all that classic Hi stuff from the 70's. Embarrassingly, I don't own Al Green Explores Your Mind, the one with "Take Me to the River" on it. But that aside, I think I own all the "secular" records from Al Green Gets Next to You to Truth 'n Time. I say "secular" because if one takes in the Rev Al's entire recording career you have to note the dime-thin difference between his secular and spiritual records. In some ways, his secular records are better spiritual ones than his tame gospel ones.

Of course, the most fascinating vinyl document of Al's secular/spiritual struggle is The Belle Album. As you probably know, with this one A.G. separated from his longtime producer Willie Mitchell to make less pop-centered records. In the title track "Belle," Al bids goodbye to his female fans with the line, "It's you that I want but it's Him that I need." It's one strange record. Rather unproduced next to the the classic trilogy of albums he made with Mitchell (Love and Happiness; Call Me; Still in Love With You) but compelling and mostly listenable as all get out. Kind of Rev Al's combined What's Goin' On and Let's Get It On.

My 2 "sleeper" Al Green records are: 1 the aforementioned Al Green Gets Next to You. Funky and tough. He and Willie Mitchell haven't refined the classic sound just yet. Check out the horny "I'm a Ram"; the equally horny "Can't Get Next to You"; and a daffy but great "Light My Fire." "All you gotta do is stick a match in my fire!"
2: Al Green is Love. A love theology record featuring "The Love Sermon"; the bizarre "Love Ritual"; the nonsensical "Rhymes." The sound of a man at the end of his rope. And the back cover photo says it all: a stoned looking Al wearing a process, a satin orange shirt with big collars and a hideous cream colored suit coat with a brown plaid design.

When I listen to the classic A.G. trilogy, I always get annoyed by the fact that I bought the late 80's vinyl reissues that for some reason have the Motown imprint. Obviously Motown owned Hi at that point. Anyway, in a case of dubious advertising the imprint on the cover says, "Motown Classic Vinyl." Lies!

Good shows this past week: Jim White and the Pernice Brothers (why is Joe Pernice turning into a David Grisman lookalike?); Robbie Fulks (a national treasure); Teenage Fanclub (they're so professional that they sounded good even though they were obviously fatigued and just wanted to get through the show--played three encores!)

And The Doctor Said, "Give Him Jug Band Music..."

2005-07-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

My music listening has pretty much been stuck in the sixties lateley (lately?), and one of my great pleasures has been a two record collection of the best of The Lovin' Spoonful. The best two dollars I've spent on music in a long time. It's always wonderful to hear the hits, "Do You Believe in Magic?"; "Summer in the City," but it's a joy to discover lesser-known tracks such as "Rain on the Roof" (or was that a single, too?) and the soul-influenced "'Til I Run With You." John Sebastian really had a gift for packing words into a line, creating some witty phrasing challenges. It would have been interesting to hear Sinatra cover "Jug Band Music." At times they sound like an "indie" band to me.

And speaking of indie music: I was knocked out by the show that Sufjan Stevens put on at The Great American Music Hall. He was promoting the recently released, "Come on feel the Illinoise" record. The eight piece band was decked out in t-shirts emblazoned with the letter "I" and they even did some half-hearted but witty cheers for the great state of Illinois. Tight band, good arrangements, lousy Great American Music Hall sound (can't anyone fix that speaker hum?), mellow but enthusiastic crowd. It could have been a silly and pretentious show but it wasn't.

The Beatles Were A Pretty Good Little Band

2005-07-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been listening to The Beatles a lot while I've been working on the beginnings of my memoir. I'm just old enough to say that I was a Beatle fan (a very young one) when the band still existed. I've been going through the entire catalogue, but I've been especially focusing on The White Album. That was the record (and SGT Pepper, which my stereo-sound-challenged stereo cannot play in its full overrated glory) which played every day in the first hippie house I lived in. Sides One and Two of the album, especially, put me into slightly stoned five year-old reveries.

It's a real mouldy fig thing to say, I know, but a serious troll through The Beatles' catalogue makes most other subsequent white pop music seem diminished. But that's a bad attitude to take. Who wants to be stuck in one musical era? Time marches on, doesn't it?

One way of solving that dilemma is to listen to Danger Mouse's The Grey Album, his "mash up" of The White Album and Jay-Z. I find it moving and stimulating. Thanks for burning that one for me, Jay-Glass.

As always, when I listen to The Beatles, I keep Ian Mac Donald's rigorous and querulous guide to their recorded music, Revolution in the Head, by my side. It's out of print in the U.S., but recently reprinted in the U.K. Sadly, he committed suicide a couple of years ago.

My other current Beatle read is Devin McKinney's Magic Circles. I'm finding it to be a very original and exciting exploration of The Beatles' place in history through a close reading of their texts (ie listening to their records). To McKinney, The Beatles, were The Sixties Band--an aggregation that reflected and received the youth culture's love and hate in equal measure. Think about it, man. Look at the love Paul and Ringo still receive; think about the violent attacks upon John and George. Think about love, love, love is all you need and Mansonian helter skelter.

The alphabetical listening project continues. On vinyl: many African-American gospel vocal quartet comps; Tompall Glaser and His Outlaw Band. On CD: the wide ranging experiments of Dave Douglas.

Post 9/11 Pet Sounds and Forever Changes

2005-07-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

Back in 2001, six or seven weeks before the horrible events of 9/ll, a close family member nearly did herself in after repeatedly trying to do so for a couple of years. It was a particularly lurid, upsetting episode that I tried to stay away from but found myself getting emotionally sucked into anyway. It's hard to sever that umbilical cord.

I was already feeling pretty apocalyptic by the time of 9/11, although that catastrophe certainly put my suffering in some perspective. The national paranoia was the paranoia I've carried my whole life--that feeling of the other shoe about to drop.

While the media focused on the "Why do they hate us so much?" question, I thought, "Why do I hate her so much?" Solipsist that I am, I focused on the roots and setting of our troubles and the loss of our innocence: LA in the Sixties.

In the course of my emotional but zombified wanderings, I began to listen to The Beach Boys (with a little help from my friends Pumpkinhead and brianfromvegas). I finally got past the image of the Mike Love-led Kokomoists and bearded Republicans. I joined the Brian is a genius, Carl sings like an angel, Dennis is a minor and very tragic genius cults. I began to study Pet Sounds. Pet Sounds' themes of lost innocence and worried hope hit me right where I needed to be hit.

Reading about the fucked up Wilson family--born into love and violence in sunny LA; purveyors of an untattainable oceanside nirvana; sad, sensitive, stupid, drug-addled in turns; eaten up by the sixties; suburban naifs nearly devoured by Manson. It's a true California noir story! (check out Steven Gaines's Heroes and Villians for all the wild and weird details) I could easily see that determined to be doomed relative of mine going down slow with Dennis...Pet Sounds helped me; I wonder if it would have helped her...

Meanwhile, I also picked up another sixties album rock classic: Love's Forever Changes. Like Pet Sounds was for twenty four year-old Brian Wilson, Forever Changes was the summary statement for twenty two (!) year-old Arthur Lee. But while Brian slightly hinted at darkness on Pet Sounds, Arthur Lee went straight to the heart of it on Forever Changes. But like Pet Sounds, finds transcendent beauty (or at least survival) in the midst of the fear--as the final song "You Set the Scene" states. What a prescient vision, considering the thirty five years of trials and tribulations that Arthur Lee would face!

Anyway, Love's finger on the violent pulse of groovy LA (and the nation) makes Jim Morrison's bloody visions seem silly. One acquaintance of the band said they should have been named "Hate." They were thugs with an ear for melody. Mansonite mudering cutey-pie Bobby Beausoleil was briefly a member of an early version of the band (although Arthur Lee says he can't recall this).

(And let me tell you this: after seeing a pissed-off Arthur Lee nearly punch a drunken fan at a live recreation of the Forever Changes album, he is still not to be fucked with!)

But anyway, anyway, this was the true soundtrack of my apocalyptic bloody LA in a most bloody apocalyptic season. I doubt my relative has ever listened to this record.

I've spun these two albums hundreds of times over the past four years and have drawn much strength and inspiration from them. I think they're at the musical and spiritual heart of a certain sixties-era family I'm trying to recreate in writing. Just thought you might like to know.

Alphabetical update: a great vinyl gospel compilation of fifties era black vocal groups--Jesus Is the Answer. Featuring The Swan Silvertones; Dorothy Love Coates; The Staple Singers; The Five Blind Boys of Alabama; and so on.

Pop music and Chamber Country Purchases

2005-07-01T12:21:00.000-07:00

First of all, let me tell you this: I'm listening to Nancy Sinatra's latest release, which Sparky taped for me. It's pretty good, ya know! Produced by Morrissey with compositions by people such as Thurston Moore, Jarvis Cocker, and Pete Yorn. Nancy's in pretty good voice and the songs are uniformly solid. I know this sounds like a back-handed compliment, but I'm still shaking off my purist, rockist shackles.

This tape fits nicely with the odd batch of records I bought at Amoeba yesterday in the fine company of the Psychedelic Eskimo. I had good vinyl luck. I found two albums that I've been searching for some time: Willie Nelson's Shotgun Willie and Mickey Newbury's Heaven Help the Child. Willie's record is a kind of country soul fusion produced by the great Jerry Wexler. Soul legend Donny Hathaway does the string arrangements on "So Much to Do"! Heaven Help the Child is one of a trilogy of albums Mickey made for Elektra in the early '70's. They're sort of country art records, accompanied--but mostly not weighed down by-- layers of strings, voices and effects. But super soulful and melancholy thanks to Mickey's pleasantly weathered Texas drawl and well-crafted songs.

I also picked up Tompall and the Glaser Brothers' Through the Eyes of Love--late '60's, early '70's chamber country produced by the great Cowboy Jack Clement. Featuring terrifying cover art in which a blonde girl's face is superimposed over a tableau of her and her strapping love walking through a grove of trees. Good record, though, if you like the Countrypolitan genre.

What fascinates me about the above trio of country records, is that they're creative Nashville (although Shotgun Willie was actually recorded in New York City!!!) responses to The Beatles and mature pop songwriting.

And speaking of mature pop songwriting: I also forked over two bucks and bought a compilation of Jimmy Webb compositions--some performed by him, some by others. It features some obvious cuts: Richard Harris doing "MacArthur Park"; The Fifth Dimension's "Up, Up and Away"; Glen Campbell's mighty "Witchita Lineman" (in my all-time top ten). But it also features an impressive "Galveston" by Jimmy himself and "Crying in My Sleep" and "All I Know" by Art Garfunkel (!). I've usually dismissed Artie, maybe because of his hair and his earnestness, but I have to say I dig him doing these songs. He recorded an entire album of Jimmy Webb compositions. Dare I search it out? One of my goals this year is to track down some of Jimmy Webb's records. I know Rhino has just released a box set of his works, but I don't have the scratch for that. Looking for the vinyl will be more fun.

My final vinyl purchase was XTC's Oranges and Lemons. Slowly but surely, I've been collecting their stuff. Criminally underappreciated by today's kids, sez crabby old KFS.

Stuck in the Sixties

2005-06-28T13:11:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-18T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-09T12:45:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-03T18:37:00.000-07:00

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!

What's Goin' On, Danny Partridge?

2005-05-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-05-28T20:09:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-26T14:13:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-20T19:40:00.000-07:00

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'

2005-05-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-05-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-14T20:59:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-12T17:49:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-10T13:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-07T20:18:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

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...

Let's Call the Calling Off Off

2005-04-30T21:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you listen to music that slowly moves across your spirit. You feel it working on the deepest parts of you, perhaps changing you in subtle ways, but you don't have the foggiest clue of how to describe it to your fellow humans. All I have before me at the moment is the cat, and it's hard to tell whether or not she's paying attention.

To wit: Nothing Ever Was, Anyway: Music of Annette Peacock, by Marilyn Crispell (piano); Gary Peacock (double-bass); Paul Motian(drums); Annette Peacock (voice). I've been intrigued by Marilyn Crispell ever since reading about her in Graham Lock's portrait of Anthony Braxton, Forces in Motion. I was impressed by her story of being dashed by a broken love affair and seeking spiritual solace in the music of John Coltrane. J.C. turned her life around, inspired her toward a deep commitment to music (no one was more committed to the music than 'Trane). Crispell is an integral part of some of Braxton's most inspired music. And yes, it's quite significant that she's a woman playing uncompromising, serious music. So, with all that in mind, it's doubly fascinating to listen to Crispell interpret the music of a serious female composer.

The intimate, introspective music that Crispell's trio plays may remind some of the classic Bill Evans trios (as the Penguin Jazz Guide mentions) or a classical chamber group. The spirits of Cecil Taylor and McCoy Tyner hover around her clear, introspective, sharp piano. Lovely, spirited, thoughtful music.

The singular, uncompromising visions of Marilyn Crispell and Annette Peacock reminds me to mention one of my favorite releases of the year, so far (and another CD "C") Vic Chestnutt's latest, Ghetto Bells. Although wobbly-voiced, Georgia-accented Vic is always recognizably Vic, he usually tries something different on his recordings. In this instance, it includes the collaborative talents of Bill Frisell on guitar and Van Dyke Parks on keyboards and one string arrangement (It's funny, listening to Van Dyke's Song Cycle--recorded in 1967--the other day, I realized how much it reminded me of Vic). Delicate, simpato layers of sound are the result. And that's a good thing when it comes to the word drunk songs of Mr. Chestnutt. I'm still absorbing this recording, and loving it.

Hey man, speaking of simpatico: how about Ella and Louis on vinyl? Over the past couple of days I've spun their version of Porgy & Bess and a collection of standards, Ella & Louis--both two-record sets. I find the Porgy & Bess to be quite moving--it sneaks up on you in its fashion. The orchestrations aren't that exciting, and Louis doesn't play much trumpet, but his mature, gravelly voice lends an autumnal sadness to Gershwin's dated folk-opera. Ella is at her peak, although I have a version of her doing "I Love's You Porgy" on a CD collection (we'll get there) that beats anything on this record. Still and all, it's a wonderful recording.

About the Ella & Louis record...how can you not love the two of them paired off on "Let's Do It"; "Cheek to Cheek"; "Stars Fell on Alababma," and so on? Makes you proud to be a human American.

I Get Along Without You Very Well

2005-04-28T17:47:00.000-07:00

In the midst of my Ella Fitzgerald vinyl listening I realized that I'd forgotten to spin Eddie Fisher's Games That Lovers Play. Why, you might ask, do I own an Eddie Fisher album? Simple. Flip to the back cover. Beneath the legend: The Big Album The Big Eddie Fisher Version "Games That Lovers Play" are five "candid" snapshots, three of them featuring my dad, Eddy Samuels (although they misspell his name as "Eddie"), at the piano(the only photo I have of him behind his main axe) while Eddie F and Nelson Riddle (the album's arranger) peer over his shoulder.

For several years, my father was Eddie Fisher's musical director, pianist, and partying buddy. In Eddie F's first memoir, My Life, My Loves, he referred to my father as his "musical mentor."I'm pretty sure they were hanging out together when Eddie F left Debbie Reynolds for Elizabeth Taylor. Anyway, they were best buds for a while there, and when I was born, Eddie F became my godfather. If you know me, you know this story, I'm sure...

My father's been dead since 1986, so I can't ask him any questions about this record. Is that him I hear tinkling the ivories buried deep in the recording mix? Did he do any meaningful work with Nelson Riddle while the album was being prepared? Why is he featured on the back cover, if he wasn't on the recording? The copyright date on the back says 1966, which I believe is the year my parents divorced. I'm guessing this is the post-divorce version of my father on the back. He looks bloated from drinking and gorging himself on food. He appears to be about twenty pounds heavier than a couple of photographs I have of him from earlier that year. And what about the photo setting? Besides the piano, an adjoining table with stacks of records (including a copy of Revolver), drinks, a pack of Marlboros (my father's brand) and some some music sheet-stuffed shelving above the piano, the room seems barren. Whose crib was this? Eddie F's, Mr. Riddle's or my father's divorce pad?

I ponder the above question because I search for a personal subtext to this highly mediocre record. Dare I imagine that the songs that comprise side two--"Yesterday"; "How Insensitive"; "I Get Along Without You Very Well"; "Once I Loved"; "You're Devastating"--are in some way aimed at my mother? Eddie F had a couple of dramatic divorces under his belt at this point, so is it possible that he found inspiration in his musical mentor's misery.

Anyway, on to the music. Well, let's put it this way, you wanna know the difference between Sinatra and everyone else, spin his Nelson Riddle-arranged version of "I Get Along Without You Very Well" (it's on In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning) and compare it to Eddie F's version on Games. Eddie F gives it his best shot, but his Al Jolson-influenced pleasant baritone (?) doesn't come close to finding the subtleties in Hoagy Carmichael's lyrics. I mean, if you're not expecting Sinatra--despite the promise of the Riddle arrangements--and you like pleasant MOR pop that middle-aged white golfers or blue-haired Jewish grandmas were listening to in the mid-sixties, this is the record for you. I wonder what Paul McCartney would think of their version of "Yesterday," in which they take all the suspense out of the song by cutting out the familiar, "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." in favor of "Why she had to go I don't know..." (nice horn laden, cha cha arrangement, too). It's sort of like saying, "We'll show you how to construct a pop song, you little long-haired limey punks!"

Now, back to Ella's place...I think my favorite songbook recording of hers (that I own) is The George & Ira Gershwin Songbook, arranged and conducted by our friend, Nelson Riddle. The most intelligent and tuneful Gershwins are given the class A treatment by Ella and Nelson. She really inhabits those wonderful songs, "The Man I Love"; "A Foggy Day"; "Nice Work If You Can Get It"; "Lorelei"; "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", etc. This record bubbles around my all-time top twenty, for sure. I think there's even more of this Gershwin material available than is
included on the two-record set that I own. Yeah, yeah, there's always more to acquire...

Today, I enjoyed Ella's trip through The Duke Ellington Songbook. I know there's more of their collaborations available (note to self: get it). But what's here is pretty terrif. I'm especially keen on the opening numbers, "Drop Me Off in Harlem"; "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good"; "I'm Beginning to See the Light"; "Day Dream." Some classy playing from Johnny Hodges and the rest of the band. Side Three features a lot of nice wordless Ella vocalizing, and leads nicely into Side Four's instrumental tribute to Miss F from the Duke and Billy Strayhorn, Portrait of Ella Fitzgerald. Not Duke's greatest work, but a sweet gesture all the same.

Upcoming: Ella's vinyl collaborations with Louis Armstrong; the conclusion of the CD "C's"; the International Week of Rock!

"C" CD Roundup

2005-04-27T20:18:00.000-07:00

I began my "C" CD listening yesterday with John Coltrane's Stellar Regions, a hodgepodge collection of some of his final recordings. The Penguin Jazz Guide guys don't think too much of it, but I like it. Many of the songs have the spiritual feeel of Coltrane and Rashied Ali's Interstellar Space (mentioned in the previous entry). Was Coltrane intuitively preparing for death at this point or was he pondering his next earthly musical move? One thing about this collection and the other day's Live at The Village Vanguard Again session, I've sure grown to appreciate the freer feel of the late 'Trane group--especially the fluid piano of Alice Coltrane.

Continuing on the spiritual tip with the CD "C's" we moved to Heart of the Congos, by The Congos. Outside of his work with The Wailers, perhaps the finest production work of Lee "Scratch" Perry? On this recording he takes a pretty good vocal group (I believe it was originally a duo, but expanded to a trio by "Scratch") and turns them into biblical prophets. Straight outta his Black Ark studio, The Upsetter (he had a lot of nicknames) takes you on a deep sonic journey of riveting vocal harmonies, thunderous dubbed out echo, driving percussion, and what sounds like shofar blasts. If you're interested in delving into the reggae avant-garde, by all means investigate this recording. And get it on the Blood and Fire label for the great sound, extra disc of remixes, artistic packaging, and always informative notes.

Seguewaying from praise of Jah to Jelaluddin Rumi, I chilled out at work to A Meeting by the River, by Ry Cooder and V.M. Bhatt. A mingling of North Indian classical music and the Delta blues. With all due respect to the Buena Vista Social Club projects, I think A Meeting by the River and Talking Timbuktu, Ry's collaboration with Ali Farka Toure (we'll get to that when we hit the CD "T's") are very worthy Cooder recordings from the 1990's. Anyway, the songs on A Meeting are inspired by some Rumi verses. Ry on bottleneck guitar, V.M. Bhatt on a bottleneck guitar-like instrument--modified to play Indian scales--of his own invention called a mohan vindi. A little percussion, too. Seek it out.

It's all been soul music of one sort of another so far, so why stop now? Also at work last night I played Sam Cooke's transcendent compilation, The Rhythm and The Blues. Primarily drawing from three of Sam's studio albums, this is the adult and bluesy side of Mr. Cooke. Listening to this stuff makes me simultaneously exhilarated and depressed. Exhilarated because of "Get Yourself Another Fool"; "Driftin' Blues"; "Please Don't Drive Me Away"; "Little Red Rooster" and so on. Depressed because he died so young, could have accomplished so much more. I don't know if this collection is still in print, but Night Beat, the main source of this great material is.

Finally, we finish off with Elvis Costello's King of America. Probably his last solid record of the eighties (or would some of you say Blood and Chocolate?). A pretty successful attempt to mingle country and Elvis (C, that is--although he uses some of the King's collaborators on half of the songs). Why do critics always forget to mention this one when they mention seminal "alt.country" records? The CD version I have (dunno if this one's in print, either) features some extra tracks by The Coward Brothers, E.C.'s collaboration with T-Bone Burnett. Good stuff, man, but 20 tracks of clever wordplay and passionate E.C. vocals do wear a fella down...

Tomorrow: more Ella vinyl , and a special visit from Eddie Fisher.

Another Interview with K$

2005-04-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

Q: To get things started, tell us about your problem with the La Mediterranee Ella Fitzgerald
tape.
A: Okay. As you and my acquaintances probably know, I like to have a nice after work bevvy at their Fillmore Street location. They usually play various cassettes of worldish-type music as background/atmosphere sound wallpaper. For years all they seemed to play was a Django Rheinhardt tape.
Q: Good God, I remember that.
A: And I love Django, but kee-rist, it must have driven the employees crazy. Anyway, one of the tapes in their rotation is a compilation of Ella Fitzgerald's early recordings. It's young Ella, you can tell, because she sings in that cloying, little girl voice that's like fingernails on the blackboard of my soul. And that's not the worst part. The songs are atrocious. After she had a hit with "A- Tisket A-Tasket," her record company people kept feeding her horrible novelty songs in hopes of repeating the successful formula. Its most extremely obnoxious level is reached on the very creepy "My Heart Belongs to Daddy." Ugh.
Q: And you plead with the waitresses to take the tape off?
A: Yes, and they very nicely do so. It makes me feel a little bad because I happen to love Ella Fitzgerald--just not her infantile material.
Q: Which brings us to this morning's vinyl listen, The Best of Ella on Decca.
A: Yeah, except in no way is it the "Best" of Ella. Some of the best, perhaps...
Q: Duly noted. You had a point to make about this not-Best of Ella?
A: Yes. Side one, especially is a good example of my opinion about early Ella. That material, covering 1938 to 1945, shows E literally finding her voice. From the little girl-voiced Chick Webb days with "A-Tisket A-Tasket" and "Undecided" to the groovy 1945 version of "It's Only a Paper Moon," you can hear Ella becoming her own woman.
Q: And the other three sides?
A: They're okay, but again, not the "Best" of Ella. It's a strange mix of classic material (The Gershwins and Sammy Cahn) and novelty-writing nobodies. Just not the best choice of tunes.
Q: As opposed to what we're listening to right now: The Rodgers and Hart Songbook.
A: You got it, brother. Here's Ella in full command of her craft. Her warm throaty vibrato with its hint of womanly-girlishness on the edges, if that makes any sense.
Q: Kinda.
A: But it's the songs of course that give Ella something to sink her teeth into. Rodgers and Hart--"Everything I've Got"; "My Funny Valentine"; "Thou Swell." And so on.
Q: How about them arrangements?
A: Oh yeah. The Buddy Bregman Orchestra. I don't know anything about 'em, but they swing lightly on the uptempo numbers and provide a sensitive but not syrupy backing on the ballads.
Q: And this is the same orchestra that backed Ella on her Cole Porter Songbook--the first of these composer-themed albums?
A: Indeed. And now's a good as place as any to admit that, incredibly, this is the one Ella Songbook I don't own.
Q: Yeesh! How embarrassing!
A: I know. I see it at Amoeba all the time! I plan on getting it soon and will put it in the "F" listening annex.
Q: Okay. We'll hold you to that promise. Oh, and I see that you're consulting the Penguin Guide to Jazz?
A: Yes, it appears that the Buddy Bregman Orchestra was based in Hollywood and worked with Bing Crosby, among others...Oh, and I should mention, as the Psychedelic Eskimo reminded me, today is Ella Fitzgerald's birthday! Pretty cosmic, wouldn't you say?
Q: Pretty cosmic, alright. And speaking of cosmic, let's change the subject here and talk about your Coltrane CD listen of the day. Interstellar Space?
A: Nice segueway, pal. I don't need the record guides to tell me what an exciting listen this is. It's just Coltrane on tenor (and bells) accompanied by Rashied Ali on percussion. Recorded not quite five months before he died, it's one of his final spiritual statements, cutting right to the heart of things. It's ecstatic, driving music, recorded under the sign of Pisces (recording date: Feb 22, 1967).
Q: That's your sign, baby.
A: You know it. A pretty great day of listening. As Rock Photographer commented on the previous entry, listening to Ella and Coltrane is heaven.
Q: Before we close things, did you want to mention a mistake you made in the previous entry?
A: I did. In the previous entry I wrote that at one point in their rendition of "My Favorite Things"(on Live at the Village Vanguard Again), Coltrane plays a flute accompaniment to Pharoah Sanders' tenor sax. The CD info tells me that Sanders is playing flute. Coltrane might be playing tenor or even the bass clarinet(the CD booklet lists it as one of his instruments). It's hard to tell because he's blasting away so ferociously. It is interesting to note that Coltrane is playing flute and bass clarinet--two of Eric Dolphy's favorite axes. The spirit of Dolphy was definitely at the Vanguard that night!

Ethnically Excited!

2005-04-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

Sure, I really dig the far out jazz (and we'll be getting to that shortly), but sometimes it's nice to spin a straight ahead, trad platter of...British jazz. More than a dog's age ago (or at least my cat's) a friend visited her homeland of England and brought me back a present: October Song by Wally Fawkes and Friends. One of these friends being Al Casey, an American guitarist, who first cut his teeth playing with Fats Waller in the mid-Thirties. Fawkes is (was?) a clarinetist and soprano saxophonist (and a famous newspaper cartoonist!) who I suppose owes a debt to the Sidney Bechet school of playing. Not surprising, considering that Bechet spent a good number of years living in Europe influencing the players there. Anyway, I haven't listened to this record for ever and ever, and was pleasantly surprised at how entertaining and relaxing it is--especially after spending the morning with a crippling headache and the dry heaves at work (you didn't need to know that).

And speaking of clarinets...As I was telling the Psychedelic Eskimo, I initially had a difficult time taking a nap this afternoon because I was so "ethnically excited" listening to The Incredible Clarinet by Giora Fiedman (It is Passover, after all). Fiedman is (or was) a klezmer clarinetist from Argentina (It's sort of creepily interesting to me that Argentina--the most European of South American countries-- became a refuge for both Eastern European Jewish and Nazi exiles). There isn't much info about the actual recording on the back of the album--I'm not even certain when it was made--but it has a different feel than the American-based klezmer recordings that make up the bulk of my collection (such as it is). Less of a jazz influence, more hard driving, almost a mingling of classical and Israeli-folkish-somethingorother (?). And am I mistaken or is he experimenting with "multiphonics," playing split notes a la John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders?

And speaking of John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders...My to- and from-work commute today consisted of a close, spiritual listen to John Coltrane's Live at The Village Vanguard Again on CD. At this point in Trane's career, the "classic quartet" has broken up--only Jimmy Garrison remains on bass--with Alice Coltrane at the piano, Pharoah Sanders going wild on additional saxophone, and Rashied Ali on drums. Although the classic Coltrane quartet with Elvin Jones on drums, McCoy Tyner on piano and Garrison on bass is the justly lauded one, the late 'Trane group is pretty exciting as well. Rhythmically free, colorful, and tonally adventurous, they take "Naima," and especially "My Favorite Things" into a deeper spiritual realm. Speaking of "My Favorite Things," dig Pharoah's wild saxophone multiphonics and Coltrane's accompanying flute on this tune as they vaporize all lingering images of the Van Trapp children. When it comes to 'Trane, why make a strict choice (Miles era; Monk era; Blue Trane era; Giant Steps era; My Favorite Things era; Dolphy era; A Love Supreme era; Ascension era) when you can listen to all phases of JC's thrilling career?

Over the next few days: More late Coltrane on CD, and a serious woodshed session with some Ella Fitzgerald vinyl.

From Now 'Till Bloomsday

2005-04-22T17:09:00.000-07:00

I'll come out of the closet and admit it: I'm reading James Joyce's Ulysses. Since I'm three hundred pages into it I figure I'm not jinxing myself. I'm reading ten pages (more or less) every night, and if all goes well, I should be done with it by Bloomsday. Do I know what the hell's going on in the book? Of course not. And that's sort of my lead-in, if you will, to the Ulysses of avant-garde jazz recordings, John Coltrane's Ascension.

Holy man, how can you wrap your ears and mind around the forty minute sonic assault that is Ascension? Very carefully? In bits and pieces? Absorbing it through your headphones while walking around the City, as I did yesterday? As with Ulysses, you realize that you do best to dive into the material, forgetting about logic and sense and let it take you where it will. The CD version contains two versions of the performance, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, man. Listening to it yesterday, it occured to me how beautiful McCoy Tyner's piano was in the middle of all the holy noise. Dig it.

Also on the Coltrane front, this morning I listened to one of my faves: First Meditations. As I wrote back when I was listening to the tumultuous Meditations on vinyl, I prefer the earlier, more structured versions of the songs found on F.M. The melodies are so beautiful and played with such power that I love the F. M. recordings almost as much as A Love Supreme. Check it out.

This morning I began the vinyl "F's" with Donald Fagen's 1982 solo debut, The Nightfly, on vinyl. It's no secret to those who know me well that Steely Dan is my favorite "group" of all time. I'll bore you to death with my Steely Dan love when we get to their place in the vinyl, but suffice to say, I think The Nightfly is a pretty keen record. With Fagen's voice and the sharp production it sounds like a record by the Dan, but it lacks the mordant humor and cynicism that Walter Becker brings to the Dan's records. Well, The Nightfly is supposed to be a somewhat nostalgic revisiting of young Mr. Fagan's nights of listening to the all-night jazz radio shows, and on that level it succeeds quite well. You might say it's Steely Dan before the Kennedy assassination. It contains two gleaming, catchy singles, "I.G.Y" and "New Frontier." The heart of Steely Dan without the guts.

Right at this moment we're tearing it up at The Blue Ark (Heather, literally, is clawing up the couch) with Tav Falco's Panther Burns Behind the Magnolia Curtain. Why do I prefer this crude and feverish Memphis mash to the Cramps' monsterbilly? I dunno. Maybe because these guys are real southerners? Like I'm any sort of expert on southern musical madness. Anyway, I love this crazy record. I highly recommend Robert Gordon's It Came from Memphis for an entertaining and informative portrait of the creative swamp from which this recording arose. Half-art project, half-the second coming of the Rock and Roll Trio. Excellent versions of "She's the One That Got It" and "Bourgeois Blues"(featuring a quote from Allen Ginsberg's Howl!).

For Today I Am A Boy

2005-04-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

Possibly my favorite musical release of the year has been I Am a Bird Now by Antony and the Johnsons. A bit surprising, perhaps, considering that it doesn't feature guitars and southern twangs, and delves into the world of fluid gender identity and operatic-like drama. And other stuff, too, like a guest vocal from Rufus Wainwright (whose Want Two is another one of my this year's faves). Anyway, I find this record very moving and shot full of soul. So, I duly record it in my CD "A" annex.

I realized I had to mention this recording as I was listening to Crocodiles by Echo and the Bunnymen, which I forgot to spin when I was at the beginning of the "E" vinyl. I remember reading about these guys in Rolling Stone in '80 or '81 when I was living in the sticks (probably listening to Styx). I was intrigued but a little afraid. Wasn't "New Wave" a code word for "gay"? I was a pretty uptight teen, ever-vigilant to the accusation of "fag" and so forth. Even though I hardly felt like a super-masculine dude (and never will, for that matter), I was too afraid not to drop my hard-rocking front--despite the fact that I had grave doubts about the musical merits of April Wine and Triumph (an evolutionary rock and roll dead end, I innately realized). So, what if there had been an Alternaken, who put effort into checking out the new sounds from England and wore a long trench coat and one of those Ian McCulloch mushroom haircuts? I would have had the shit beaten out of me, that's what. Anyway, I eventually jumped on the New Wave bandwagon in my senior year of high school (when it hit the American Top 40) and thought I was being quite daring for listening to The Human League and Soft Cell. Then, when I went to college, there were Ian McCulloch clones everywhere. Ha, ha! Anyhow, a quarter century down the line, I dig listening to Echo and the Bunnymen and Thin Lizzy.

Back to the Everly Brothers on vinyl. Two records, made twenty years apart that display the EB's attempts to adapt to the prevailing pop music scenes: Wake Up Little Susie(re-recorded) and EB 84. On the cover of the Wake Up Little Susie record, Phil and Don look a little wary. Goddammit, their expressions seem to say, the Beatles are taking their thing and running with it! So, they try frantic Little Richard covers ("Lucille") and Hollywood pop ("Chloe"; "Jezebel") and so forth. Who was this record aimed toward? Young pop music buyers or late twenty-somethings nostalgic for their fifties youth? It's on Columbia's Harmony imprint, which reading between the lines of its promotional copy--"the Harmony label is your guarantee of superb artistry and quality at a price well within the means of every record collector"--sounds a lot like studio scraps to me.

EB 84 was a big label (Polygram), big budget comeback record for the brothers Everly. Produced by Dave Edmunds, with contributions from Paul McCartney and Jeff Lynne, it's a mostly successful attempt to "update" the Everly's sound. In 1984 terms that means, synthesizers! Not as obnoxiously obtrusive as I remembered, either. The McCartney tune, "On the Wings of a Nightingale," is dramatic and soaring. Did it chart? There's a pretty dull rearrangement of "Lay, Lady, Lay" (check out the Isley Brothers' ten minute version, if you want an interesting rearrangement of that song) and other glossy confections. Besides the McCartney song, my favorite is the album's closer, Don Everly's delicate, "Sleep." Not up to their classic levels, but worth picking up if you find it in the cheapo vinyl bins.

On CD's we've spun John Coltrane's Live at Birdland and Crescent. On these two discs we find Coltrane in a smoldering mode, nearing his volcanic last musical phase. Birdland is notable for "Afro Blue" and the intensely moving dirge, "Alabama"--'Trane's solemn prayer for the little girls who were killed in the church bombing in Birmingham.

Crescent is a lovely late night listen. There's something to be said for a powerful player like Coltrane reining in his power, hinting here and there at the force within him. Some lovely ballads. Recorded six months before A Love Supreme, it prepares the soul for the coming storm.

Tomorrow: we blast off with Ascension.

All I Have to Do Is Dream

2005-04-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

It took me several days to get through the John Coltrane The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings CD box set. The music is passionate, molten, complex. Sometimes I feel I have a handle on it, at other times I feel completely flummoxed. If I had any sort of musical training, I could break it down structurally, but as "only" an enthusiastic fan all I have to do is dream...

The box set probably contains more music than the average listener needs. But if you're a worshipper of Coltrane and Eric Dolphy, it's a treasure trove of sounds. As I wrote when I was listening to vinyl Trane, his performance of "India" was life-changing to me. Along with Hank Williams's "I Saw the Light," I consider it one of my personal hymns. Well, on this box set you get four versions of the song. Also, you can dig deep into "Spiritual"; "Chasin' the Trane"; "Impressions." Imagine going to a nightclub (the Vanguard) on a cold November evening in 1961 and hearing that two bass drone of Jimmy Garrison and Reggie Workman, the thunderous drums of Elvin Jones, the harmonic color of McCoy Tyner on piano, and the soul-stirring tenor of John Coltrane and bass clarinet of Eric Dolphy. A joyful noise.

And speaking of all you have to do is dream...Over in Nashville, at about the same time that Coltrane and Co. are vaulting into inner and outer space, Phil and Don Everly are cutting a clutch of classic singles such as "Cathy's Clown"; "Love Hurts"; "Crying in the Rain." These songs and many other greats can be heard on a vinyl two-fer entitled The Everly Brothers--24 Original Classics.

Phil and Don Everly: they brought the country harmony of the Delmore and Louvin Brothers to teen pop. They could get right to the center of lonely--check out "Love Hurts"; "When Will I Be Loved"; "So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad)"; "Cryin' in the Rain".

One of the big ironies of their career is that while they were a profound influence on the Beatles and the Beach Boys, they were steamrolled by the success of those groups. Side four of the 24 Original Classics record covers their response to the growing "sophistication" of pop/rock music, with rockers such as "The Price of Love" and "Gone, Gone, Gone" and more melancholy later sixties fare such as "Bowling Green"; "Stories We Could Tell." Sensitive boys with great hair.

Yesterday found me playing a less troubled set of Everly songs--Rip It Up. Hear Phil and Don attempt to cover Little Richard "Rip It Up"; Gene Vincent "Be-Bop-A-Lula"; Fats Domino "Keep a Knockin'"with varying degrees of success. It does contain some of their hits such as "Problems" and "Poor Jenny" (a funny tale of a first date gone terribly wrong).

On Sunday, appropriately, I played a one-off late-eighties bluegrass gospel supergroup, Ever Call Ready. The group featured Chris Hillman (The Byrds) and Bernie Leadon (The Eagles) and some other dudes like bassist Jerry Scheff, who played with the King (Elvis, not Jesus). A very listenable, perhaps a bit too smooth collection of bluegrass/country gospel obscurities. I'm a fan of this genre, even if I'm not this sort of believer. I like the conviction of the songs. But I do have to wonder, were they doing a song like "Don't Let Them Take the Bible Out of Our Schoolroom" (it's gotta be heard to be believed) with completely serious intentions? Come on, Chris and Bernie, you were rock and roll sinners, but you don't have to take it this far, do you? On the other hand, you wouldn't want them to be doing the songs mockingly, either.

Upcoming: more Everlys, more Coltrane.

Evans and Coltrane vs. Sex Music

2005-04-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

It's funny, over the years there have been times when I've swooned over the music of Bill Evans, and at other times felt a little lukewarm towards it. Over the past couple of days, as I've listened to four of his recordings on vinyl--Interplay; Everybody Digs Bill Evans; Portrait in Jazz; Explorations--I've been digging it quite a lot. It was a real pleasure to come home from facing the hordes today and listen to Explorations, Evans's lovely collaboration with Scott La Faro (bass) and Paul Motian (drums). This was the classic Evans trio (broken up after the tragic death of La Faro in a car accident, ten days after recording Live at the Village Vanguard. Hey, I used to own that! Who did I loan it to?). Dig them on Miles Davis's "Nardis."

Perhaps the most pleasant surprise from re-listening to these Evans records is Interplay, a quintet collaboration with Freddie Hubbard on trumpet; Jim Hall on guitar; Percy Heath on bass; Philly Joe Jones on drums; Evans on piano. The criticism from some (myself at times as well) is that Evans sometimes flounders in his own sound, isn't driving or swinging enough. The guys on this record really push him to move it, and so there is a nice mixture of the introspective Evans sound with a bit of forceful passion (although Evans was doubtless filled with too much bottled-up passion). Especially fine is Evans's title composition I'm going to spin this record some more.

Uh oh, my ceiling is shaking. My upstairs neighbor, Mr. Salsa, must be entertaining a lady visitor. Pretty early in the evening for him. I wonder if he enjoys my playing of Disc three from the Coltrane Village Vanguard box. Thanks to "Chasin' the Trane" and "Greensleeves" for masking the embarrassing noise (not to mention his sex music of choice, which usually seems to be Alicia Keys (sp?)). Titanic stuff (the Coltrane, I mean). Wowee, I wish I could have seen these shows with Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, Elvin Jones, McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and the other musicians. Spiritual music of the highest order, at least as far as I'm concerned. Too bad disc two skips on one of the tracks. Anyway, I'm going to close this entry as "Impressions" fights it out with the thumpedeethump of upstairs r&b and other "activities."

Microphone Fiend and All My Existentialists Live in Texas

2005-04-14T15:02:00.000-07:00

Return with me back to the days of 1988 when Eric B & Rakim were considered part of the "New School" hip-hoppers. In my book, Rakim is the greatest rapper of all time--rap's Coltrane, as Jeff Chang calls him (by the way, I highly recommend his history of the hip-hop generation, Can't Stop, Won't Stop). I often seem to have fragments of a rap floating through my brain, and spinning the 12" this afternoon I remember that it's Eric B & Rakim's "Microphone Fiend."

Better yet, is my favorite rap of all time, "Follow the Leader." This is Rakim's true Coltrane moment. Perhaps the intervening years have brought us faster, louder, more poetic rappers, but to me, Rakim's journey of inner-/outervision is one of the most brilliant things ever laid down on wax. "In this journey, you're the journal, I'm the journalist/Am I eternal or an eternalist?" Or is it "internal/internalist"? It works both ways. Rakim cuts you down and rebuilds you, slays you and liberates you with his Five Percenter-lyrical knowledge.

Back at the honky tonk, we're enjoying Joe Ely's Honky Tonk Masquerade and Down on the Drag. Wonderful, literate, hard-driving country. Honky tonk music that smokes a little pot with its beer. So out of place and time (which is to say, timeless) during the Urban Cowboy era of "country" music, these two records didn't sell worth a damn. Probably why I got 'em out of the cut outbin. Anyway, I can't say enough about how terrific these records are--especially the flawless side one of Honky Tonk Masquerade--Joe's melancholy "Because of the Wind," a hard-driving interpretation of Butch Hancock's masterpiece of Western Texas poetry, "Boxcars," and Jimmie Dale Gilmore's broken-hearted-philosophical-spiritual quandary, "Tonight I think I'm Gonna Go Downtown."

Over on the CD player, we're beginning our five-disc journey through John Coltrane's The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings box set. A full assessment of this over the next few days.

Tennessee's Not The State I'm In

2005-04-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

When I was a young lad of nineteen, earnestly buying blues and jazz records and reading books about said musical genres, I began my country music explorations with Joe Ely. I knew that he was somehow associated with my beloved, recently departed The Clash, and that Martha Hume, the author of You're So Cold, I'm Turnin' Blue, my first country music book, was a big promoter of him. She saw Joe as a literate savior of legitimate honky tonk music. So, I dutifully bought his records. Thus would begin a decade-long country music obsession, which, in recent years, has grown to lethal levels.

I'll tell you this: Joe's first three records are essential. We'll talk about his debut self-titled debut today. Joe Ely has all the elements of a terrific record: A hot band, featuring the great Lloyd Maines (father of Dixie Chick, Natalie) on steel guitar and Jesse Taylor on lead geetar. Also, there's the songs of his Flatlanders' bandmates--Butch Hancock ("She Never Spoke Spanish to Me"; "Tennessee Is Not the State I'm In"; "If You Were a Bluebird") and Jimmie Dale Gilmore ("Treat Me Like a Saturday Night"). And Joe's songs weren't too shabby either. Literate, soulful, swingin', rockin', and it's not even his best record. You can find it pretty easily in the dollar vinyl sections. It's also available on CD. I dug these songs in my twenties, but I didn't really get them until I had lived a country music life. More Joe tomorrow.

Let's shift gears quite a bit and discuss a couple of Coltrane CDs. Presently, I'm listening to a live recording of Coltrane with McCoy Tyner on piano, Reggie Workman on bass, Elvin Jones on drums and Eric Dolphy on alto sax, bass clarinet and flute (from a 1961 Stockholm gig). This collection finds the group expanding on such Trane greatest hits such as "My Favorite Things"; "Blue Train"; "Naima"; and "Impressions." It's exciting (for me, anyway) to hear Dolphy's flute on "My Favorite Things." I truly prefer his flute and bass clarinet playing to his frantic alto (although I like that, too). More soul, I think. Trane, of course, is expanding, expanding, following his destiny.

Also, on the Coltrane front, I listened to his Ole recording on CD. I think the standout track is the title number, a brooding Spanish-flavored song that features both Art Davis and Reggie Workman on bass. The dual basses create a hypnotic drone that will be further explored during the 1961 Village Vanguard recordings (we get started on those tomorrow). Trane plays the soprano sax, Dolphy is on flute, and Freddie Hubbard sits in on trumpet. Play it loud!

Ellingtones and Coltranes

2005-04-12T12:59:00.000-07:00

Events have conspired to keep me away from this blog the past couple of days. I've barely had the time to give the music the proper attention it deserved. Anyway, we're back.

The other day I concluded my Duke Ellington vinyl with mixed feelings: it was a happy week of listening indeed, but I also felt ashamed by my lack of some crucial Ellington recordings. Why don't I own a decent collection of his small group recordings? What about the middle period suites such as Such Sweet Thunder, The Far East Suite (my sources say get the "Special Mix" on CD--I'll look for that next month), and A Drum Is a Woman? I will! I will! You must understand, Record Buying Id, that a recent reduction in my work hours is going to result in some serious music budgeting...Yeah, sure.

Be all that as it may, the final two vinyl Ellingtons currently in my possession are The Latin American Suite and The Ellington Suites, which contains three works: The Queen's Suite; The Goutelas Suite; The Uwis Suite (this one notable for an Ellington band attempt to play in the polka style). The Latin American Suite is the stronger of the two records. Ellington being Ellington, he takes his impressions of a few Latin American countries that he had toured and gives his Ellington music a bit of south of the border flavor--in other words they don't transform into a bossa nova band. It's always Ellingtonia, no matter what spices are thrown in. My favorite tunes are the opener, Oclupaca, and the closer, Brasilliance, which features a slithery Paul Gonsalves solo.

The Queen's Suite is the most interesting of the three pieces on the Ellington Suites record. The Duke's tribute to young Queen Elizabeth (recorded in1959) is perhaps highlighted by his solo performance of The Single Petal of a Rose--a classic Ellington/Strayhorn collaboration). More Ellington to come when we get to his spot in the CDs.

And speaking of CDs: It's now time to make our second sweep through the discography of John Coltrane. We begin with a couple of his Prestige recordings--Lush Life and Black Pearls. I've devoted so much time to the glories of Trane's music during his Atlantic and Impulse! periods, that I forget how enjoyable his "sheets of sound" phase can be. It's 1957-58 and arguably only Sonny Rollins is a bigger hotshot on the tenor sax. Trane is kicking his heroin habit, playing with Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk, chasing the sound that will take him far into the stratosphere during this last decade of his life. He'll make music you can base a church on (The Church of St. John Coltrane, based right here in S.F.).

So, lets appreciate Coltrane getting it together, attempting to find the the right backing musicians for his solo excursions. Of the two recordings, I'm more fond of Lush Life, especially Trane's interpretation of the Billy Strayhorn title composition. Of course, Trane will go on to record a devastating version of this tune with vocalist Johnny Hartman (discussed a few months ago when we were listening to Coltrane vinyl). As far as the uptempo numbers on both records, Trane's getting there, but he's not there yet.

Upcoming: Much more Coltrane on CD and a consideration of three great Joe Ely records.

Dancing In Your Head

2005-04-08T18:34:00.000-07:00

Hey, wanna stir up your pets? Play them Ornette Coleman's Dancing In Your Head, his 1975 release featuring his harmolodic group, Prime Time, and the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Right at this moment as I'm playing this stimulating, unnerving ritual funk, Heather the cat has awoken from her late afternoon stupor and is rubbing her face against The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD. She meows at me, "This music makes me feel like I'm going to cough up a hairball-- or worse." "Do your worst, Princess," I reply. "You know I will," she says. Probably at six in the morning.

Earlier today, I pressed Heather's patience with Ornette's New York Is Now! It's Ornette and Dewey Redman plus the classic Coltrane rhythm section of Jimmy Garrison on bass and Elvin Jones on drums. Not a bad recording, but the quartet fails to really catch fire. Garrison and Jones don't lock in to Ornette the way they did with their recently departed leader (this recording was made in 1968). The rhythm section of Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins (or Ed Blackwell) is sorely missed. Still, an interesting experiment in gutbucket r&b free jazz.

I believe that Feline Americans, such as Heather, are inclined more toward the music of Duke Ellington than Ornette Coleman. It's hard to imagine any cat, dog or mouse not being fond of Ellington's tribute to his departed musical soulmate, Billy Strayhorn, ...and his mother called him Bill. Recorded in the summer and fall of 1967, not long after "Sweet Pea" had passed away, this is a swinging and moving testimony to the compositions of the man. The band sounds fully engaged, moved by the passions that Strayhorn stirred up in his rich compositions. The most devastating performance is Johnny Hodges' deeply-felt alto cries on Strayhorn's final composition, Blood Count (he was working right up until the end). It just kills you to listen to it. Also wonderful is Hodges' moody interpretation of Day-Dream, a personal tribute from the Rabbit, as this Strayhorn tune was designed especially for him back in '41.

This morning I rolled out of bed and put on Duke Ellington and John Coltrane's collaboration from 1962. Not quite as wild as the Money Jungle album, but a nice listen. Supposedly Trane was having trouble with his mouthpiece at the time, so he's not blowing like crazy. Not surprisingly then, the two best tunes are the ballads, In a Sentimental Mood and My Little Brown Book. As I recall, my oft-mentioned jazz teacher, Grover Sales, locked us in his classroom and made us stay late (with the lights off) so that we could listen to the moody majesty of Duke and Trane playing In a Sentimental Mood. It was breathtaking, and I was Brainwashed For Life.

Mr. Samuels's Planet

2005-04-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it's fitting that on the day that Saul Bellow died I was listening to avant-garde jazz musician Anthony Coleman's Selfhaters (on John Zorn's Tzadik label), an examination of the tangled notions of Jewish self-hatred. Mother's milk for a self-reflexive Yid like me. In the wide-open America of self-invention, triumph and defeat (and triumph again), can a Jew even define his or her culture? And which Jewish culture, as Coleman asks in his liner notes: "Jerusalem, Belz, the Lower East Side or Rockland County? Or the culture of wandering, the culture of acquisitiveness, of having-no-voice-of-one's own, of mauschel-ing in any and all languages. Well, this disc doesn't purport to answer. Some say that's Jewish, too..."

Exactly. And that's why I find this mixture of melancholy wailing, introspective drones and even an interpretation of Duke Ellington's The Mooche (nice how that compliments our Ellington vinyl listening) so fascinating. You know the old joke: two Jews, three opinions. I don't know anything else about Anthony Coleman's work. I'll have to check it out.

And speaking of Canadian Jews (Bellow was born in Montreal), I listened to Leonard Cohen's The Best Of on CD. I'm embarrassed to admit that this is the only L.C. I own. I've always been meaning to spend more time with his canon, I just haven't gotten to it. This Best Of collection reminds me of my mother. She often played it around the house. A melancholy Jewess playing a melancholy Jew for her melancholy Jewish son. Well, maybe not for me. My ears just happened to be in the way, and my soul (assuming I have one) happened to get it, even if it took me a few years to realize that I had it.

Another CD I listened to was Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come. Longtime readers of this blog may remember I listened to some of Ornette's contemporary (to Shape) Atlantic recordings on vinyl a couple of months ago. There isn't much in music that I find more exciting than Charlie Haden's bass notes that lead to Ornette and Don Cherry's alto and trumpet cries to begin Lonely Woman, the opening track on the album. Bird and Diz for the new generation.

And speaking of Duke...This morning I listened to Money Jungle, his thrilling trio date with Charles Mingus on bass and Max Roach on drums. On the uptempo numbers, Money Jungle and Caravan, the pace is so frenetic that it almost seems out of control. Ellington's energetic piano playing on the title track seems to be driving Mingus a little mad (not a difficult thing to do). Quite a wild dialogue (or is it dueling monologues?) between the two of them. The ballad, Fleurette Africaine is simply lovely.

Yesterday's Ellington listen, Duke Ellington and His Orchestra Featuring Paul Gonsalves (1962) was a real surprise. I bought this record many years ago during my Ellingtonmania and just filed it away. So, in listening and relistening to it with pleasure over the past couple of days, it's like I just bought it. Gonsalves, as you may remember from my entry from a couple of days ago, was the tenor sax hero of Ellington's triumphant 1956 Newport appearance. In a sense, Gonsalves gave his boss a much-needed career jolt (due to the good press from that jazz festival, Ellington was "remembered" by the powers-that-be). Duke was ever-grateful to Gonsalves, and helped out the troubled, talented tenorist when he could. The story behind this album goes that Ellington had a pressing recording date but no new material, so he summoned the band and gave all the solos to Gonsalves in repayment for his loyalty and good work. Anyway, Gonsalves plays his ass off on this record--displaying a cool, breathy tone that is influenced by Ben Webster and maybe Sonny Rollins(?). A real classy slab o' wax.

27 Choruses

2005-04-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

As I was saying in the previous entry, one could easily spend a year studying the work of Duke Ellington. My old jazz teacher Grover Sales used to shout at us: "One day, major universities will offer courses in Early, Middle and Late Ellington!"

Even though my Ellington collection numbers in the double digits, it's as if I own a mere smattering of his recordings. Which is true, actually.

Today's Ellington listening demonstrates the range of the man's music: Great Times!-- a collection of Duke's piano duets with longtime collaborator, Billy Strayhorn, and Ellington at Newport.

The Great Times! record is a fascinating because it's often difficult to separate which is Strayhorn and which is Ellington taking the solo--although at some points there's no mistaking Duke's rich splashy chords (wha?).

The Ellington at Newport (from 1956) record is famous of course for the incredible 27 chorus tenor sax solo that Paul Gonsalves plays on Diminuendo and Crescendo Blues. It's such an exciting solo, with the crowd getting into it and the band urging Gonsalves on, that I always get a little teary-eyed listening to it. I sure am becoming a sap in my old age. Anyway, there's also some other neat stuff on this record: Johnny Hodges' classy feature piece on Jeep's Blues (this performance actually closed out the Ellington band's set, but it's resequenced on the record so that the famous Gonsalves solo concludes the disc). Also, other great soloists such as Clark Terry and Cat Anderson are featured on some of the other numbers. And the sound is fantastic. This was the Duke Ellington "comeback" performance/album that kept his career on top for another twenty years.

On the portable CD player I listened to The Clash's London Calling. It's in my personal Top Ten album/song list. I remember when these guys performed songs from the album on the old late night comedy show Fridays. The band was tricked out in black leather, looking cool and greasy. They rushed through the songs sloppy, urgent, singing off-key. My friends were not impressed. "That band you like, The Clash? They suck!" Because they didn't sound like Boston, I guess.

We Love You Madly!

2005-04-04T20:17:00.000-07:00

I feel like I should apologize to you, dear reader--not to mention The Psychedelic Eskimo--for my unwillingness to let go of the Gene Clark topic, but I wanted to mention one more thing. If you are seeking out a collection of his Byrds work, Raven has put a CD compilation of his work from 1964-1973 (there was an ill-fated Byrds reunion that year) called Gene Clark in the Byrds. In my Clarkian madness I thought about buying it at Amoeba the other day, even though I have almost all that material on various discs. I would be intrigued to hear his cover of Neil Young's "Cowgirl in the Sand"...

Okay, on to other things. From Gene Clark to Johnny Clarke. I played a couple of his CDs over the past few days: Dreader Dread (a comp on the Blood & Fire label) and Authorised Rockers (a collection of two of his Virgin records). As the titles might indicate, Johnny Clarke is a reggae singer. After Dennis Brown and Gregory Isaacs, Clarke was the most popular Dancehall singer in Jamaica. He had a sweet, soulful voice, although not as distinctive as Brown and Isaacs. His material is pretty good, although of the fairly standard Rasta platitudinal variety. The strength of these recordings, especially the Blood & Fire comp (sounding great as all their releases do), are the tough riddims of producer Bunny Lee and Clarke's ability as an interpreter of other's songs--specifically Peter Tosh's "I'm the Toughest" and Bob Marley's "Time Will Tell."

My commute CD for today was the Clash's first release--the UK version. As I mentioned when I played the American vinyl version which has different sequencing and classic singles like "Complete Control" and "White Man in Hammersmith Palais," I prefer that release (Although the UK version does have "Deny," which is a pretty cool song). Listening to "Remote Control"--featured on both versions--reminds me of a dream I had many years ago when I was unhappily married. It took place right around the time Kurt Cobain killed himself. I wasn't a big Cobain fan but I dreamed that he and a sort of all star group of Grunge rockers were recording a song in a studio for a charity We Are The World type of thing. My dream was framed like a making-of-the-song documentary. The song the group sang was "Remote Control. I probably hadn't heard it in over a decade at that point. I woke up with the word "Repression!"--the chant/refrain that is repeated at the end of the song--in my brain. After that, I knew that my subconscious wasn't going to let me rest until I got divorced. Nice musical memory, huh?

My Duke Ellington progress has been slow on vinyl. I intended to listen to a three-record set devoted to a 1943 Ellington band performance at Carnegie Hall. It includes Duke's premier performance of his extended work, Black, Brown and Beige. However, when I took the records out of the jacket, I remembered the sad truth: the discs are all warped. I recall buying this record in the midst of a hot Ellington obsession and I carelessly didn't check the condition of the discs. Also, a pretty unscrupulous move by a Haight Street record seller--who is no longer in business, by the way.

I had better luck with a two-disc set devoted to the 1947 version of Duke's orchestra, also performing at Carnegie Hall. This record finds the band about to make a transition from the old-timers like Johnny Hodges, Lawrence Brown and Sonny Greer to the youngblood modernists like Paul Gonsalves, Clark Terry, and Louis Bellson. Anyway this record has a hodgepodge of stuff from an extended piece called the Liberian Suite to a Johnny Hodges medley and a Theme Medley of the real old-time Ellington Orchestra numbers. The surreal vocalist Al Hibbler is featured on one of the Liberian Suite numbers. As always, Duke is a deep, rich pianist and a classy and amiable MC. I suppose I could spend a year just studying Ellington music.

Goodbye, Gene. Hello, more vinyl.

2005-04-02T22:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday The Psychedelic Eskimo and I went to Amoeba. It was a new month and I was eager to blow my self-imposed fifty dollar monthly spending limit. I started five bucks in the hole because I bought a copy of Thin Lizzy's Johnny the Fox in the waning days of March.
Anyway, I got out of Amoeba with two bucks to spare for the rest of April! Dollar bins, here I come!

I picked up four groovy records: Jimmy McGriff's organ jazz soul record, Let's Stay Together; Art Pepper's famous record with the Miles Davis rhythm section, Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section (according to Pepper in his autobiography, Straight Life, he was very strung out when the cover photo of him leaning against a tree with his sax was taken); Joe Tex's Soul Country, featuring the jolliest version of "Ode To Billie Joe" you'll ever hear--great groove but kind of missing the point of the lyrics; lastly, Emitt Rhodes's self-titled debut--as someone has likely written, the best Paul McCartney album not made by a person named Paul McCartney. I wanted to buy the new Nick Cave b sides and rarities two-disc set, but I'll have to wait for the merry month of May, I guess.

I only listened to one alphabetical entry today: Gene Clark and Carla Olson's So Rebellious a Lover. Recorded in the last years of Gene's life, it's his last brilliant work. Tell me if anyone in the alt.country, whatever you wanna call it world, has written a better song than "Gypsy Rider."

I've just gotten to the point in the Gene Clark biography, Mr. Tambourine Man, where he is entering his final, grim months. It's agony to read. What a waste, man.
The book's author, John Einarson, has confirmed what I've always believed(and bitched and moaned about, if you recall my entries about this on the other site--home.earthlink.net/~uncorrected): the 1991 Byrds box set is shite! Some of Gene Clark's best songs are ignored in favor of inferior Dylan covers all sung by Roger McGuinn. You'd never know Gene was the original lead singer by listening to this badly compiled set. Chris Hillman and David Crosby were pissed about the set, too. Hillman promises that there will be a better, more representative box set in the future. I'll keep my fingers crossed. Listen to Gene Clark!