Author Archives: Lawr Michaels

The Agony of the XTC

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skylarkingWhile concocting my top 50 albums for our collective list, there were a lot of discs that I wish could have made it but didn’t.

I wanted to put my 16 hits by Buddy Holly on, but I don’t believe Greatest Hits albums belong in a “what’s best” competition with the albums from which the best songs came.

Lou Reed’s Rock and Roll Animal also deserved some attention as it is a fabulous piece of work, although its strength lies largely within two cuts: Rock and Roll and Sweet Jane.

There were others but one album that completely slipped my mind and list was the British band XTC’s wonderful record Skylarking.

The fact is I still might not have remembered this lovely piece of Brit pop, save Diane and I were streaming the last season of Weeds, and the closing song on one of the episodes was Dear God  from Skylarking.

Released in 1986, and produced by the one and only Todd Rundgren (who also managed to bring other bands, like Grand Funk Railroad to the mainstream), Skylarking is as lovely a piece of Beatlesque Brit Pop as has been produced.

The title, lifted from Percy Shelley’s poem, To a Skylark is enough to make me love the disc and concept (my MA focus was on 19th Century British Literature, and that included a lot of Shelley and my favorite, Samuel Coleridge) which is sort of A Day in the Life expanded into  the pastoral.

Apparently there was a lot of friction between principal songwriter/guitarist Andy Partridge and Rundgren during the recording, but in retrospect Partridge yielded to his producer’s wizardry, noting in the book Song Stories, by Neville Farmer, “Musician and producer Todd Rundgren squeezed the XTC clay into its most complete/connected/cyclical record ever. Not an easy album to make for various ego reasons but time has humbled me into admitting that Todd conjured up some of the most magical production and arranging conceivable. A summer’s day cooked into one cake.”

The album kicks off with the lazy flowing effect laced Summer Cauldron which portends–and segues–into Grass, as sweet and dreamy a cut as you will find anywhere.

The Meeting Place, in fact all the subsequent cuts, smack of a fabulous amalgamation of that Beatleseque pop along with a new wave attitude that affirms the influence and direction the Fab Four started as a natural evolution, realized by a really good band, under the direction of a really really great producer.

However, these songs and this sound are hardly derivative as XTC is clearly their own band, with their own sound. They just also understand their roots and as with most successful artists, understand how to reinterpret their heritage with their vision of the contemporary and even and eye on the future.

In fact with Ballet for a Rainy Day, the band even points to their next studio album as XTC (they released Psonic Psunspot in 1987, a year after Skylarking,as the Dukes of Stratsphear) opening the vocals with the lyrics “oranges and lemons.”

Probably the most controversial tune on the disc is Dear God, which Partridge both hated, and which did not make the first cut of the disc. The song also wound up being the definitive song on the album, not to mention the most covered.

There are a couple of tracks after Dear God on my CD–Dying and Sacrificial Bonfire–that I remember being on my cassette, the format on which I originally purchased Skylarking in the late 80’s when I first purchased; however, I seem to remember Dear God being the last cut, which added to the punch and the message of the song.

Of all the tunes on Skylarking, my favorite was always Earn Enough for Us, a paean to love, life, society, and British life, that bops along so breezily and with such solid and catchy parts it almost seems like the participants don’t even have to try.

My father once told me, “A genius is someone who can do easily what the rest of us cannot do at all.”

I think there is not only some truth to that, but also that both the band XTC and producer Rundgren were totally in control of their art with Skylarking. They were also at the top of their game. Meaning the anguish noted in Song Stories just sounds easy.

 

 

 

Shuffling off to Buffa-Lawr

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I love shuffle. Like listening to killer free form FM.

I have around 1500 tunes on my IPhone, and the last 15 (that are not designated “Track XX” because I am too lazy to write the name in):

 

  1. Come Together: Spiritualized
  2. Somebody to Love: Airplane
  3. See the Sky About to Rain: Neil Young live at Massey Hall
  4. Deep Blue: Arcade Fire
  5. Prayer in Open D: Emmylou Harris and Spyboy
  6. Set Me Free: The Kinks
  7. Drown: Smashing Pumpkins
  8. Mr. Tough: Yo La Tengo
  9. What if we Give it Away: REM
  10. Achin’ to Be: Replacements
  11. Good Things Happen to Bad People: Richard Thompson
  12. Sunday Morning: Velvet Underground
  13. Love You To: Beatles
  14. Boris the Spider: The Who
  15. Poem for Eva: Bill Frisell

You Say You Want a Revolution?

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Happy Fourth of July.

Which is always a good day to reflect upon freedom and liberty and justice for all.

As the progeny of immigrants who fled the holocaust–and then whose father was drafted and sent to invade the country from which he fled–I have a pretty serious appreciation for our freedoms, and more frequently than just July 4.

In fact, at this time where revolution and talk thereof, along with the drive for democracy, occurs before our very eyes–in Egypt, as I write–on the television almost daily, I do have some hope for the world and that change, albeit slow, is possible.

So, why am I writing this jingoistic crap on a rock and roll site?

Because music, and literature and the arts play such a serious role in changing our culture and pushing forth the idea of progress.

johnnycIn fact, there is no better case in point than John Lennon’s struggle not to become an American citizen, but to simply stay in the States back during the Nixon era.

The FBI, led by J. Edgar Hoover and wanting to protect the Nixon White House and its policies back in the 70’s, worked hard to expel Lennon and Yoko Ono. In fact there is a great PBS American Masters film called LENNONYC that documents Lennon and Ono’s battle with the government. (And keeping things current, I found a pretty good article correlating Lennon’s struggle with the Dream Act.)

So, over the past month, I noted a couple of rock’n’roll documentaries that I wanted to see, and that tie the notions of freedom to music.

The first is the HBO produced film Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer, a movie that ostensibly depicts the Russian punk band Pussy Riot and their three members who were sentenced to two years in prison for protesting the return of Vladmir Putin to the head of the Russian government (the charge was “hooliganism”).

I confess that did not watch the whole film because in truth the movie wasn’t really very good, and the music of Pussy Riot was not really the issue anyway. It is clearly freedom of thought and speech and a government’s suppression those freedoms–the same thing in 2013 in Russia, that Nixon wanted to suppress–that was the core.  pussyriot

The other film was the Oscar winning documentary of last year, Searching for Sugar Man:  a movie about the Detroit-based singer/songwriter Rodriguez, his music. For Rodriguez album Cold Fact, virtually unknown in the United States (though distributed through Motown) was as influential among the youth of South Africa during the final throes of Apartheid in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s as anything Bob Dylan produced domestically a decade earlier.

Though both journeys–those of Pussy Riot and Rodriguez–are beyond compelling, yet completely different paths, the influence and notoriety that each propagated due to their respective art is huge. (Interestingly, both artists are identified as rock and rollers, though their music could not indeed be more different.)

coldfact

The point, though, is that just as the US wanted to censor John Lennon, and the South Africans did indeed censor Rodriguez (by the way, Searching for Sugar Man is indeed a terrific movie as well as a wonderful celebration to the human spirit) now, 40 years later, the Russians have worked to suppress Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, Yekaterina Samutsevich and Maria Alyokhina, the three convicted members of Pussy Riot.

What these examples remind us is just how powerful music is, for it can make national governments fearful of performers who simply want to tell their own version of the truth.

I write this remembering that our country is far from perfect; however, at least there are now ideally few of us who need fear being imprisoned for speaking our mind irrespective of which side of the political fence we live or speak (meaning I think Trace Adkins is a xenophobic pig, and that Ted Nugent is an idiot, but I am glad they have the freedom to say and sing what they want).

I think the other points are never underestimate the power of art, which includes music. And, finally, that the struggle for freedom for all the inhabitants of the planet is a long and winding road.

Just a few things to think about as we enjoy our own Independence Day (and, do catch both LENNONYC and Searching for Sugar Man).


 

Take That Dave Marsh

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keefA little below this space, Mike Salfino put up Dave Marsh’s list of the 30 greatest rock’n’roll guitar players of all time, circa 1980, from RollingStone magazine.

I confess.

I love lists. In fact, I think we all do. And, I used to love Rollingstone, having subscribed since my birthday in 1969 (I was 17, and as a subscription bonus, I got a copy of 1+1+1=3 by The Sir Douglas Quintet, and which I still posses) until about ten years ago when fashion and politics seemed to me more of the focal point of the magazine, as opposed to music.

And, that is ok, for the nature of existence is change. But, by a decade ago, I was becoming a good enough guitar player myself that I began subscribing to Guitar Player sort of just to drool over the gear, for I am a gearhead, but also because the magazine wrote about things I was more interested in than The New Kids on the Block.

Anyway, in 2011, on my birthday no less, Guitar Player’s Darrin Fox placed his list of the 50 greatest rhythm guitar players of all time. Mind you most of the guys on the list we would think of lead players, but I think Fox is looking more a the context of how the guitar, as a rhythm instrument, works with the bass and drums and whatever else to help create the groove.

Because, without a groove, a song is nothing.

But, the list–which is simply alphabetical avoiding any border skirmishes on rank–is so vastly different from Marsh’s, though virtually all the players on it were indeed playing in 1980. And, I personally think the list is a better indicator of actual musicianship than Marsh’s anyway.

And, while we see the names we would expect, like Keef and Steve Cropper, the spread from Maybelle Carter to Joao Gilberto to Tom Morello to Earl Slick to Malcolm Young, represents not just great players, but players whose style influenced the context of their career, band, orchestra, or all of the above.

Here is the link to the Top 50, with Fox’s reasoning for each player.

Please Don’t Mop the Floor With Me

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tonesMy mates here have been lamenting the passing of several notable clubs, known for booking bands who often made it big, to larger (sic Arena) venues.

Make no mistake, paying your dues, and working the club circuit is no easy way to simply try and make a mark on the music world (let alone make a living). And, for most young musicians, it is pretty much the only path forward there is.

I know both my partners Steve Moyer and Gene McCaffrey have paid these dues, and as younger guys than I. Meaning, they did it as a job, which is indeed a hard row to hoe.

I have probably been playing dive bars off and on for the past five years, but for me it is simply because playing out is so much fun (and, since I make a comfy living outside of music, no pressure). But, at my advanced age, I don’t really have any illusions that anyone will ever discover the Biletones. In fact, though we are pretty disciplined, practicing at least every week, I know we will never be good or tight enough to be considered a serious band.

Of course that does not diminish the pleasure, for just a little over a week ago the Biletones played Rooster’s Roadhouse in Alameda, drawing a pretty typical crowd for us of about 75 folks. Which is actually not so bad for a bunch of guys in their 50’s and 60’s (well, me anyway).

Truth is I have never really played a huge venue (about 400 is the most) and I am not knocking the Arena circuit, but truth is also that I have very little use for it any more.

The best concerts I ever saw were generally at Winterland, the Fillmore, and a great old club in San Francisco that passed on a la CBGB’s and Maxwell’s, The Old Waldorf. For, I saw the Cars (first US tour), U2 (first American tour), Ian Hunter (with Mick Ronson), Hall and Oates (during their punk period, with a young G. E. Smith and Ray Cooper), The Records, Bram Tchaikovsky, Leo Kottke, Romeo Void and a lot of other bands in a venue that only held about 250 people.

There is nothing like seeing a band–especially a hot one–in a little club, however. Nothing like it for the band, and nothing like it for the crowd, for the energy feeds symbiotically, elevating the experience all around.

More to the point, I also find I am just not that interested in elbowing my way through thousands of people to sit half-a-mile away from the stage (which at my age I cannot really see too clearly anyway). In fact, most of the time I don’t even need an opening act. Let alone standing in line for 20 minutes for the honor of using a Port-o-Potty.

As it was, this past week I have been in Chicago, doing some work, but then helping Diane’s cousin Cherie and her husband Mike move into this cool house they built in Woodstock, about 40 miles northwest from the center of town.

On Saturday, I had committed to watch the Blackhawks and Bruins duke it out with Mike and his friend Jeff at a local bar, Rosie O’Hare’s, where their friend Steve Hopp, a carpenter by day, oversees the smoking of meat at night (it is good, too).

Now, I am not much of a hockey fan, but watching sports in Chicago is generally a lot more fun than watching sports in the Bay Area. Not that ATT does not rock, or even the Coliseum when the Athletics are hot. Plus, the Niners, Sharks, and Warriors all have devoted followings, and even the piece of shit Raiders (call me bitter) have the “Black Hole.”

But, football here is so different than at home, and these locals go ape shit over their hockey team (I am actually looking forward to watching the next game with Jeff and Mike, and like I said, I am not a hockey fan).

Anyway, after the game–in fact we got a two song taste before Saturday’s overtime began–the local band Jimmy Nick and Don’t Tell Mama completely blitzed the place with solid Chicago Blues.

A young band (I believe Nick is just 22 years old), grabbing the blues tradition pretty well, these guys have a great local reputation, in fact the clip here was recorded just a few weeks back at the very same Rosie’s. (They laid down a great cover of Los Lobos’ “I Got Loaded,” that featured a blazing guitar solo centered around the theme to “The Andy Griffith Show.”)


After we split from Rosie’s, Mike drove the long way back home, showing me that rural Chicago has a pretty active bar scene, and I really liked that. Kind of like I like that my mates Steve and Tom Muscarella always implore us to go to brick and mortar record stores.

For though I appreciate the fact that bulk purchasing allows big business to offer lower prices, there is something indeed to be said for supporting small business. For, those small businesses–and I am talking about mom and pop establishments, not companies like Koch Industries that masquerades as small business because only two guys own it—are largely our neighbors and community.

So, we should do what we can to keep them rocking.

Jefferson Airplane: THE Best San Francisco Band

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volunteers cov

I guess the news of ex-Jefferson Airplane/Hot Tuna drummer and percussionist Joey Covington’s passing earlier this week sort of pushed the thoughts I have always had about the Airplane into this virtual-osity.

I think of all the San Francisco bands–especially those who bore the “psychedelic” moniker–the Airplane were the truest to the spirit of rock ‘n’ roll.

True, The Dead were a great band,but they were a jam band. Big Brother was a great band, but they were a blues band. Quicksilver and Country Joe and the Fish were great bands, but they were indeed psychedelic,though the Fish gravitated more towards jug band music, and Quicksilver the blues.

However, though the Airplane could indeed be classified as a psychedelic band, they embraced what I think is the essence of real rock ‘n’ roll, and that is attitude.

It was the Airplane, who with White Rabbit encouraged us to “feed our head” as part of what I consider a favorite all time album of mine, Surrealistic Pillow.

That disc followed Takes Off, which featured the band’s first drummer, Skip Spence, who then fled to Moby Grape (another great, albeit tragic band), and female lead singer, Signe Anderson. One the heels of Pillow came After Bathing at Baxter’s and then the wonderful Crown of Creation, but it was album #5, Volunteers, that really sealed the deal of the Airplane owning the the title of best band of their generation. That is because very few albums until then were as in your face as was Volunteers.

Aside from the faux salutes and homage/parodies to Old Glory all over the liner notes and inserts, the opening track , We Can Be Together, announced that as “outlaws in the eyes of America,” we would “cheat lie forge fuck hide and deal.” Equally menacing, the song then screams “Up against the wall, Up against the wall, motherfucker.”

The Farm implies the pastoral life romanticized by Flower Power is the way to go, and the beautiful pairing of the post-apocalyptic Wooden Ships (co-penned by David Crosby, Stephen Stills, and Paul Kanter) and Kantner’s adaptation of the lovely Good Shepherd, with the haunting guitar of Jorma Kaukonen might be demure compared to the fuck you of Together, but they never-the-less indicate there is a different path out there and we are on it, like it or not.

There is also the symmetry of the title track and closing cut, that screams “Look what’s happening out in the streets, got a revolution, got to revolution,” riffing off the Goodwill-like spiritual renewal organization Volunteers of America, shouting out just that: We are volunteers of America.

And, though spiritual renewal may indeed be what author Kantner was pointing to, it was certainly not a Salvation Army style one.

There are other parts of the album, like the half sides of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich–something so American–on either sides of the inside of the album, so that when closed, there was indeed a complete sandwich, albeit in just two dimensions.

pbj

Finally, there is the newsletter from the Paz Chin In, a Woodstock take off, that in the text gives us the lyrics (it was still the 60’s, so fuck is replaced by the word “fred”) plus cartoons, baseball stats (with a great subtle homage to local hero and SF Giant, Willie Mays), a goofy crossword puzzle with no questions but cryptic squares, and a funny reminder that says, “Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon.” However, the first is crossed out, and replaced with the word “last,’ and at the time it was true, that Armstrong was first and last.

volunteers back

We are also reminded in the notes to “feed and water our flag,” among other suggestions

In my mind, there is no other statement by any band in the counter culture that ever embraced art and music and sentiments in such a fashion.  Within Volunteers, Jefferson Airplane pushed the agenda of “we are forces of chaos and anarchy,” sneering at the status quo while also supplying a deadly combination of cuts in here-to-fore uncharted territory.  In fact, nothing else was even close.

Of course the band did rankle in other ways. Like Grace Slick trying to get into the White House to then first daughter Tricia Nixon’s tea for Finch College graduates. Slick, as alumnae, was invited, and did try to attend. However, the singer was not allowed entrance. According to Slick, she and her date, Yippie Abbie Hoffman, were pulled out of the entrance line and denied because they were on the FBI watch list at the time.

Per Slick, all the Airplane were on the list for “suspect lyrics.” Also per Slick, she did try to sneak LSD in to slip Nixon the father–hardly beloved by the left at the time–a mickey (presumably in his cottage cheese and ketchup).

Jefferson Airplane did release a few more discs after Volunteers–Bark and Long John Silver–but they never had the bite of Volunteers. The band did release a terrific live disc, Bless it’s Pointed Little Head that captures everything that is Airplane, and features a brilliant cover of Fred Neil’s The Other Side of this Life, which opens with a Jack Cassady bass-line, that is then joined by some deadly interplay by Kaukonen, then Dryden, and the best of the band systematically joining in.

If the Airplane peaked with Volunteers, they then slowly landed, re-emerging as Jefferson Starship, which was a Kantner/Slick/Balin endeavor to start, but quickly the principles abandoned ship, and the group morphed into the Starship, which really had nothing to do with anything Jefferson at all.

However, Kaukonen, Cassady, and the late Covington did form their own spin-off, Hot Tuna who did stay true to the folk-blues roots that signaled a lot of the original band’s sound in the first place.

Certainly, the Airplane, and especially the then exotic and brainy Slick, with the powerful voice, generated a lot of buzz when they entered the eye of the public at large, but to me at the time it all seemed in the context of the media trying to be or act hip. And, though Slick was indeed a great character, the real story was what a killer band the Airplane really was.

More to the point, they were a great band that embraced the “fuck all of you in the mainstream” principles that are the essence of rock ‘n’  roll.

It’s No Use Calling, the Sky is Falling, and It’s Getting Pretty Near the End

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notimeI love the movie Almost Famous.

Aside from the work being a terrific piece of cinema, I was a subscriber to RollingStone when the original article–written by Cameron Crowe and based upon the Allman Brothers Band tour–on which now director Crowe’s film is based, was published. I remember the words and for sure the photographs.

I am also a big fan of Phillip Seymour Hoffman, the chameleon actor who portrayed Truman Capote, Scottie (the neurotic “go-for” in Boogie Nights), Brandt, the other Lebowski’s ‘go-for,’ Athletics manager Art Howe (in Moneyball), and my favorite, tragically doomed rock critic Lester Bangs in Crowe’s tome.

In a typically Bangsian rant, the actor dismisses cool bands–including the Doors and Morrison Hotel–, extolling the 70’s band, The Guess Who thusly: “Give me the Guess Who. They got the courage to be drunken buffoons, which makes them poetic.”

Well, over the last few months we have been having work done to our home, and that meant storing a bunch of crap in what usually masquerades as my music room. Actually, I love the room. All my guitars and array of amps live in there, along with a drum kit and a keyboard. I have a a little PA, and all my music books (some songbooks, but I am talking Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung  type books) in there as well.

There is also a stereo–with a turntable no less–and all the 800 or so albums I collected before albums and their moniker became things of the past.

So, with one phase the reconstruction completed, my niece and music bud Lindsay came over not just to help me put stuff in order, but to redo the albums, placing them in band name/release date order a la High Fidelity.

In the course of going through things, I happened onto my old single of The Guess Who’s,  No Time  which I suppose I have lugged around from house-to-house for the past 40 years or so.

I guess in a Proustian/Swann’s Way fahion, stumbling across the record brought back a flood of Guess Who memories. Like remembering that Burton Cummings had appeared as “an eligible bachelor” on The Dating Game (he wasn’t picked) and the Hoffman cum Bangs line from Crowe’s movie.

In retrospect, Bang’s observation of the band as a bunch of “drunken buffoons” is kind of harsh (but, that is Bangs). Although I don’t know the particulars of their habits regarding the ingestion of alcohol, let alone pyschotropics, but I do know that the Guess Who had a litany of hits.

Between 1968-76, the team of Cummings and guitarist Randy Bachman (the Bachman of Bachman-Turner Overdrive) penned/released no fewer than 32 singles that registered on the Top 100 of one, if not all the charts for Canada, Australia, and the United States.

Of their songs that really clicked in the States, both American Woman and No Sugar Tonight/Mother Nature (the song the title for this piece was stolen from) hit #1.

But, there are a number of great pop tunes within the group’s catalog, including the amazing output list below over a three-year span:

  1. These Eyes (1969)
  2. Laughing (1969)
  3. Undun (1969)
  4. No Time (1970)
  5. American Woman (1970)
  6. No Sugar Tonight (1970)
  7. Hand Me Down World (1970)
  8. Share the Land (1970)
  9. Hang Onto Your Life (1971)
  10. Albert Flasher (from 1971, and which is part of the Almost Famous soundtrack)

The group still released songs after that fruitful period, but nothing apparently as strong, and they barely registered a flicker on any chart other than their native Canadian one.

They continued to perform as the Guess Who until 1975, split up, and then–shudder–reformed and are still apparently playing to my fellow boomers who refuse to let go of the past.

Irrespective, that list of ten tunes above deserves more merit than even Mr. Bangs could offer.

Both These Eyes and especially Undun were just great tracks at the time, with the flute in Undun pre-dating Jethro Tull and Ian Anderson by a couple of years.

No Time is simply a great song, with a cool drum kick that starts the groove off.  And there are similarly the vague and cool words:

“no time for my watch and chain,
no time for a summer rain,
seasons change and so do I,
you need not wonder why,
for no time left for you…”

OK, so maybe a little hippy dippy trippy, but it was 60’s, and, well, American Woman was probably no less naive in principle. It also rocked enough for Lenny Kravitz to cover in a great way, and it is another song I always wanted to cover in one of my bands.

The apex, though, was No Sugar Tonight/Mother Nature, probably the band’s maximum opus that sort of merged together two tunes eventually pulling the melody from No Sugar for the coda and finish.

Certainly, Cummings, Bachman, et al, were not The Stooges, or even the Seeds or the 13th Floor Elevators in the world of in your face Rock’n’Roll.

But, for a brief time, right when FM radio was taking off, and baby boomers were determining that “Up With People,” and “The King Family” were not really what represented music and the future (check out the first 20 years of Super Bowl halftime acts, and you will see), and no one really knew what direction we were supposed to go, let alone would go, The Guess Who popped out some pretty good and tuneful tunes.

To me, they were even more than drunken buffoons. They still are.

 

Doors of Life: Always Swinging

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doorsMy life long friend Stephen Clayton managed to see the Doors twice during their mercurial rise,and then demise after the death of Jim Morrison.

He said they were were ridiculously good one time, and awful–as Morrison was drunk–the second time.

Maybe it was fortuitous, but I happened to be listening to the local head banger station (sorry, no XM/Sirius for me yet, still) in my car the other day and John Densmore, the Doors drummer happened to be the guest. I always thought both Densmore and guitar player Robbie Krieger under-rated, living in the shadow of the more riff driven keyboard player Ray Manzerak, and of course the specter Jim Morrison.

Densmore shared some nice tidbits (like that Lonnie Mack, with whom the Doors were touring at the time played the bass on “Roadhouse Blues”) and maybe it was a harbinger as Manzarek passed away Monday at the age of 74 in Germany (presumably undergoing some form of cancer treatment not offered in the States).

Morrison was at least enigmatic, and a strong singer, and he played his Lizard King role to the max, but just how good a band were the Doors?

To me, there is no question the band’s first eponymously titled album was a great one. Forget the signature “Light My Fire.” “Break on Through,” “Soul Kitchen,” and their treatment of the Brecht/Weil tune “Whiskey Bar” were all so realized, as was “The End” which found its way to being a pivotal part of the soundtrack to Francis Ford Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now.”

“Strange Days” had its moments but to me it was largely a function of rushing a second album out on the tails and success of the first. Uneven, at best is what I would call it.

And then I ran sort of cold with the Doors schtick. I never even owned “Morrison Hotel,” or “Waiting for the Sun,” and I have a vinyl copy of “Soft Parade” I bought at a used record store for $2 mid-70’s.

However, I do love “L.A. Woman,” having bought it both when it came out on vinyl, and like the first album, repurchasing on CD (what a racket, vinyl, to 8-track, to cassette, to CD, to digital download, meaning you could buy the same work no fewer than six times if your timing is bad enough).

But, along with “Love Her Madly,” were “Riders on the Storm,” “Cars Hiss By My Window,” and the killer title track that I was surprised to realize I still remembered all the words to when it popped on my shuffle (in the car, so I am not a total cretin) a few weeks back.

Meaning the Doors at worst had a solid sound and a collection of tunes that more than carry the burden of being remembered.

But, were they great, or was Morrison’s outrageous behavior, that was as much contrived as was a lot of his poetry, the real driver of the band’s perceived “greatness”?

I guess that is a lot of the paradox, for Morrison, when on, was apparently a riveting performer, and certainly he had a powerful and memorable voice.

He was also a lout and buffoon who took a lot of pleasure in pissing off Ed Sullivan, which in 1969 was not that hard to do (remember, the Stones, corporate players that they are, were ok with changing the words of “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” although to this day I still shake my head in wonder as to why any of us gives such a shit about who sleeps with whom?).

He was also a drunk, which is pretty well documented and maybe Hemingway could earn a Nobel prize and wear that mantle, but Ernest’s body of work was also a lot more substantial. So was Richard Burton’s for that matter.

I think, though that like Janis Joplin and James Dean (who was vastly over-rated in my opinion, basically playing a role great once, then replaying the same role two more times before he self destructed) and Amy Winehouse and John Belushi (also vastly over-rated) that early death somehow gives the public the freedom to transmogrify “what ifs” into “genius.”

And whatever else be said of Jim Morrison, he was hardly a genius. I mean, if nothing else, most geniuses do not die of natural causes in bathtubs at the age of 27.

But, our desire to apotheosize our fallen idols is probably as out of control as our use of the words genius and classic.

I doubt, were Morrison still alive today, he would be as vibrant and productive as say Darryl Hall. Or even Dave Navarro.

 

 

 

I Got Em’

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photo (3)As the lone West Coaster of this quartet, it is appropriate that I write my first post about my recent foray to the Fillmore–as in West, although I am not sure there is an East any longer–to see Yo La Tengo.

I do love the Tengo, and this was my third time seeing them, so armed with my buds Michele and Leslie, we first gobbled down noodles at the Japan Center, then trucked up the street to the Auditorium.

I have to confess that though I am a big fan, and probably own six or seven of the band’s albums, I don’t really know the names of the bulk of Yo La Tengo’s tunes. I do say that “Painful” and “New Wave Hotdog/President Yo La Tengo” are my faves, but even then I might recognize the tunes, but forget the names.

Unlike the other two Tengo shows I witnessed, this time the troika of players did a great 35 minute acoustic set to start (as I turn into a cranky old man, almost worthy of shaking my fist at the neighborhood youngins screaming, “you kids stay outta my yard, it is clear to me that I don’t really care about the opening act, and there was none this time save acoustic Tengo) featuring “Two Trains,” and finishing the seven tune min set with a lovely “No Water.”

Ira announced a short break and all the ear splitting stuff was set up while Leslie, Michele, and I found a couple of friends and hung out by the bar, and by 10 PM the Tengo were back on stage, serious shit strapped on.

The electric set featured just a killer version of the ever sweet “Nowhere Near” and a driving “Stockholm Syndrome,” plus “The Story of Yo La Tengo” along with ten other pop-laced tunes that built and drove into the bands familiar wall of noise.

During the final cut of the set, “Electric,” Michele pulled out her IPhone and started to record. When the song ended, I asked “Did you actually record some of that cacophony?” She nodded saying, “It was pure noise,” and, I responded with “Yeah, but it was in tune and in time noise. That is what makes them so terrific.”

To which I got another nod.

The band came back and to my joy started their encore with “Drug Test,” easily my favorite song within their catalog (and one I do know the title of) and came back with “Nervous Breakdown,” and then a softer cover of “Yellow Sarong” which was great, but during which James, the bass player’s amp started in with its own decibels.

After the tune, James unplugged, and plugged his bass in a couple of times to see the source of the problem, looked at Ira, and Ira shrugged and said, “Well, I guess that is it.”

It was. But all in tune, and in time.