At some point as I approached my teens I realized that there was more to music than the current pop radio hits spun by Cousin Brucie. I read in a magazine, maybe Hit Parader, about this guy Jerry Lee Lewis and his songs Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On and Great Balls of Fire. I went down to the local record store and asked if they had the 45s and they actually had an oldies release that had both tunes on the same disk. This seven minute version of Whole Lotta is red hot and kind of awkward and goofy, too. By this point the Killer had been playing this song for seven years, but he doesn’t seem tired of it at all.
You may or may not be a fan of Beck. He is a Scientology challenge, for sure, and he’s made a lot of desultory music over the past 10 years or so. Is his relationship to the mothership to blame? I have no idea. Is he depressive? Apparently so.
What I do know is that the music on the first handful of records he made is great. Fantastically great. His album Stereopathic Soulmanure may well be his best, but we’re all free to argue about that. What can’t be argued is that “Satan Gave Me a Taco” is irresistible.
My cousin Kate and her husband Jason saw Robert Plant and Chris Rea at the Royal Albert Hall recently. I know this because she posted a photo on Facebook. She said the show was excellent, and now I have to admit that I had no idea who Chris Rea is. A quick Google answered some questions and led me to this song, which is a captivating hybrid of London Calling’s dystopia and Sultans of Swing’s lyricism. I’ve listened to it a few times now, and I grow increasingly sure that to Republicans, this could be a song describing the Affordable Care Act, though clearly what Rea is going after is much different.
I read the lovely piece Laurie Anderson wrote about her relationship with Lou, their lives together, and his final day and it occurred to me that I didn’t know any music they did together.
In Our Sleep is a Laurie Anderson song Lou sings on. Perfect night music.
This is a Bob Wills tune, but I have to admit I don’t know if Bob Wills wrote it or just ah-haa’d it between fiddle breaks.
I came to know this Commander Cody version before I knew who Bob Wills was (and I got to know Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys because of the Commander), and it resonates for me. Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen was the first band I could claim as my own. When I discovered them they fit securely in the part of me that yearns for the bucolic and also chooses the R. Crumb-like jookiness of the city. I don’t blame you if on first pass you don’t think it’s awesome, but then I ask you to reconsider.
I was talking to Steve about country music in Arizona. We’re both fans (he plays in a country band) and agreed that the country music radio we’ve listened to lately was horrible. I came home and quickly discovered Brandy Clark. I have no idea if she gets any country radio play, but she writes clean and sharp country songs with classic country music themes, without cliche or hokum or manufactured pathos.
I have a reservation. She tells stories about workers and their families, and while I’m assuming that’s where she’s from, what I hear makes me less than certain that these are her stories. Her song about believing in Jesus and the Lotto, for instance, seems not a little condescending and alien, like Obama talking about people clinging to their guns and religion out of despair. I may understand the point, intellectually, but I’m pretty sure the subject of the songs wouldn’t recognize themselves.
That may be a problem, or maybe she’s taking on the shibboleths of the genre. It’s too soon for me to tell, but it’s something to keep an eye on.
And catchy melodies and concise lyrics wash away many sins. I like the tunes of her songs, and the sharp turns of phrase (these are “her songs” in the pop sense, always with writing partners and collaborators), and most of all the arrangements, which can be elaborate as in this clip, but are still direct and honest and accessible.
Her album reminds me of the first two Steve Earle albums, and early Roseanne Cash. Good stuff if you like country music that maybe doesn’t land on country radio.
Missed a few nights of Night Music while at First Pitch Arizona, seeing some Arizona Fall League games, and seeing scores of friends for food, beers, baseball, and poker. Oh, and talking, with Remnants friends and others. Lots of talking. My buddy Mike drove down from Berkeley and we bunked together. He noted when we met on Wednesday that he’d driven through two of the towns named in this tune on his way south.
I’m not a fan of the super stylized break in the chorus, but Linda and band are perfect for the rest of it. Thanks Mike!
In the mid 70s (’74-’78) there was a short lived power pop band founded in San Francisco but relocated to LA called The Nerves. They never reached their full potential, but a couple of the group members went on to greater fame – Peter Case with The Plimsouls (“A Million Miles Away”) and Paul Collins with The Beat. Both had decent success as solo acts too.
But The Nerves put out some pretty good tunes that still deserve to be heard. The first is the British Invasion inspired “When You Find Out” written by Case.
It opens with a simple drum beat, jangly guitars and a catchy melody. The lyrics are simple and earnestly sung with a nice harmony in the chorus.
The other song is “Hangin’ on the Telephone” – yes, the same song made famous by Blondie through its inclusion on their blockbuster album Parallel Lines.
The Nerves version is a bit slower, rawer and less dense. Although I love Blondie’s recording, I think I like this one better.
