Author Archives: Tom Muscarella

Song of the Week – Acadian Driftwood, The Band

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For Sean

The Band’s “Acadian Driftwood,” the standout track from their 1975 album Northern Lights – Southern Cross, is a masterclass in musical storytelling.  With its roots planted firmly in the rich soil of North American history, the song spins a tale of sorrow, exile, and the quiet resilience of a displaced people.  “Acadian Driftwood” showcases The Band’s unparalleled ability to turn historical events into deeply personal, emotionally resonant music.

The history that inspired “Acadian Driftwood” is as bleak as it is complex. In 1755, the British began the forced expulsion of the Acadian settlers from what is now Nova Scotia, a brutal campaign known as the Grand Dérangement.  These French-speaking settlers, caught in the crossfire of the French and Indian War, refused to swear an unconditional oath of allegiance to the British Crown.  For this defiance, they were torn from their lands, and their homes, and scattered across North America.  Many found their way to Louisiana, becoming the forebears of today’s Cajun culture.  

But the story, as told by songwriter Robbie Robertson, isn’t just about the events of history but about the people who lived through them.  The song’s lyrics paint a picture of defeat and despair — “The war was over, and the spirit was broken” — but also of a deep connection to a land that was no longer theirs.

If the storyline feels familiar, it’s because “Acadian Driftwood” owes a debt to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie.  Longfellow’s work, penned in 1847, tells the story of Evangeline, an Acadian woman separated from her lover, Gabriel, during the expulsion.  Her life becomes a quest to reunite with him, a journey that spans the breadth of North America and years of heartache. Much like “Acadian Driftwood,” Evangeline isn’t concerned with the finer points of historical accuracy.  Instead, it’s a romanticized, almost mythic portrayal of loss and the enduring hope for a reunion.

The song also sits comfortably alongside another of The Band’s masterpieces, “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.”  Both tracks are cut from the same cloth — a rich tapestry of historical events, steeped in melancholy, told from the perspective of those left to pick up the pieces. But where “Dixie” captures the bitterness of a defeated South at the close of the American Civil War, “Acadian Driftwood” is more reflective, more sorrowful.  The pain of the Acadians isn’t just in the loss of a war but in the loss of a homeland, an identity.  It’s less about the pride of place and more about the quiet strength of those who were uprooted and left to drift.

Musically, “Acadian Driftwood” is as layered as the story it tells.  The Band, always masters of blending genres, creates a soundscape that’s at once familiar and otherworldly.  Garth Hudson’s accordion and synthesizer weave a delicate, haunting melody that feels like the mist rising off a Nova Scotian marsh.  There’s a sense of longing in every note, a yearning for a place that exists now only in memory.  Levon Helm’s drumming, always steady, always true, anchors the track, providing a rhythmic heartbeat that drives the story forward.

The vocals, shared among Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Helm, are nothing short of sublime.  Each voice brings a different shade of emotion to the story.  Manuel’s fragile, almost ethereal opening lines set the tone; his voice captures the despair of the Acadians as they realize they’ve lost everything.  He swaps verses with Helm, whose earthy growl adds a layer of gravitas; a reminder that these aren’t just stories — they’re the lives of real people, people who fought, who struggled, and who survived.  And then there’s Danko who takes the “ice fishin’” verse instead of Manuel, and whose voice displays a creaky weariness. 

The chorus, where all three voices blend together, is pure magic.  It’s a moment of communal mourning, underscored by harmonies that evoke a sense of unity, even in the face of overwhelming loss.  It’s here that the true power of “Acadian Driftwood” lies — not in its historical accuracy but in its emotional truth.

The song ends with a refrain in French:

Sais tu Acadie                                      Do you know Acadia
J’ai la mal du pays                               I am homesick
Ta neige acadie                                    Your snow Acadia
Fait des larmes au soleil                      makes tears to the sun

In the end, “Acadian Driftwood” is more than just a song about the past.  It’s a meditation on the human cost of history, on what it means to be displaced, to lose your home and your sense of self.  It’s about the resilience of those who endure, who carry their memories with them even as they’re forced to drift.  Like “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” it’s a reminder that history isn’t just something that happens to other people.  It’s something that shapes us all, in ways both big and small.  And in the hands of The Band, it becomes something more — a timeless piece of art that speaks to the soul.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Jerry Yester Productions

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If you were asked who Jerry Yester is, you’d probably mention his time with the Lovin’ Spoonful—and you’d be right. Yester stepped in as the Spoonful’s guitarist after Canadian member Zal Yanovsky departed, following a controversial drug bust. Yanovsky and bandmate Steve Boone were caught up in a marijuana scandal in San Francisco in 1966. To avoid deportation, Yanovsky cooperated with the authorities, a move that was seen by some as betraying his friends and led to tensions within the band. But that’s a story for another time. This one is about Yester.

While Yester’s role in the Lovin’ Spoonful was significant—he contributed to their 1967 album Everything Playing—his most remarkable contributions to rock history are arguably his work as a producer.

Yester, alongside Yanovsky, played a pivotal role in shaping Tim Buckley’s experimental, jazz-infused sound on his 1969 album Happy Sad. A standout track on that record is the tender love song, “Buzzin’ Fly,” a testament to Yester’s ability to nurture an artist’s creative evolution.

One of my favorite “under the radar” albums is the self-titled debut of Aztec Two-Step, released by Elektra in 1972. This folk-rock gem is filled with sweet melodies, intriguing lyrics, and beautiful harmonies, all brought together under Yester’s expert guidance as producer. The track “Baking” is a great example of the band’s distinctive style.

Yester was also at the helm for the debut album by Tom Waits, Closing Time (1973). This version of Waits, with his smooth, crooning vocals, contrasts sharply with the more experimental, Kurt Weill-inspired Waits of the 1980s, known for albums like Swordfishtrombones and Rain Dogs on Island Records. Closing Time opens with one of Waits’ most famous songs, “Ol’ 55,” which was later covered by the Eagles on their album On the Border.

Jerry Yester deserves far more recognition for his work as a producer, which stands as a significant part of his legacy, beyond his fame as a member of the Lovin’ Spoonful.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – The Ostrich, The Primitives

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In 2017, Rolling Stone contributing editor Anthony DeCurtis released what many consider the definitive biography of Lou Reed. Although I bought a copy when it first came out, it somehow slipped through the cracks and sat unread—until now.

Diving into Lou Reed: A Life, I uncovered fascinating details about Reed’s early years. After graduating from Syracuse University, Reed found himself adrift, caught between avoiding the draft for the Vietnam War and launching his music career. He ended up writing songs for Pickwick Records, a low-budget label that churned out tracks designed to capitalize on the latest pop culture trends.

During the early ’60s dance craze, with the Twist leading the charge, Pickwick tasked Reed and his co-writers with creating something in that vein. The result was “The Ostrich,” credited to a fictional band called The Primitives.

This track is a raw piece of garage rock, featuring a primal beat, pounding bass line, and Reed’s hoarse vocals—a foreshadowing of the stripped-down sound that would define the Velvet Underground. However, the lyrics, meant to teach listeners a new dance, are laughably absurd and far removed from the sophisticated themes the Velvet Underground would later explore. Yet, lines like “You take it forward, put your head between your knees/Do just about anything you please” suggest that Reed might have been sneaking in a bit of subversion even in this commercial project.

But there’s a more profound reason why this novelty song holds a significant place in rock history.

“The Ostrich” garnered enough attention to earn a spot on a local television show. The problem? The Primitives didn’t exist outside the studio. A band had to be quickly assembled to perform live, and among the musicians recruited was John Cale. Without “The Ostrich,” Reed and Cale might never have met—meaning there would have been no Velvet Underground.

It’s impossible to imagine the world of rock ‘n’ roll without the seismic impact of the Velvet Underground. Reed and Cale’s partnership reshaped the landscape of music, influencing countless artists and genres that followed.

So, while “The Ostrich” might seem like a quirky footnote in Reed’s career, it’s a crucial piece of rock history.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – No Milk Today, Herman’s Hermits

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It would be easy to dismiss the music of Herman’s Hermits as teenage, bubblegum pap, and I agree to a large degree.  I love their first US hit (#13), a cover of the King/Goffin tune “I’m Into Something Good”, which was originally released by The Cookies.  But their next few hits were novelties or rip-offs of legitimate R&B hits.

But later the Hermits released a few more substantial records, including today’s SotW, “No Milk Today.”

This track, released in the US in 1967, was written by Graham Gouldman, later of 10 cc.  Gouldman also wrote many other hits.  Some were for the Yardbirds, such as “For Your Love,” and “Heart Full of Soul,” and others for the Hollies, including “Bus Stop “ and “Look Through Any Window.”

Although never formally credited, Gouldman has been incredibly open about his father’s contributions to his song lyrics.  In fact, I’ve heard him admit in an interview that his father provided the concept behind “No Milk Today.”

Until the early 60s, many families still relied on home delivery of milk.  As homeowners began to purchase refrigerators, the need (or desire) to have milk deliveries declined.  That makes the sentiment of “No Milk Today” an anachronism.

The song tells the story of a marriage in decline.  The wife has left, so the singer leaves a note telling the delivery man that no milk is needed.  He shares his vulnerability that the neighbors will notice.

No milk today, my love has gone away
The bottle stands forlorn, a symbol of the dawn
No milk today, it seems a common sight
But people passing by don’t know the reason why

How could they know just what this message means?
The end of my hopes, the end of all my dreams
How could they know the palace there had been
Behind the door where my love reigned as queen?

The B-side was another good Herman’s Hermit song called “There’s a Kind of Hush.”  I admit, “No Milk Today” isn’t the type of provocative rock that Lou Reed traded in, but it’s a pretty sophisticated pop song – if you’re willing to open your mind to it.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Brother Brother, Carole King

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If there’s a quintessential Carole King moment, it might be “Brother Brother.” The track, from her 1971 album Music — an album often overshadowed by the iconic Tapestry — isn’t just a song; it’s an unraveling of personal tragedy, a chilling elegy that gives voice to the unspoken anguish of familial estrangement and mental health despair.  It goes way beyond being a simple response to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” released earlier the same year, as it has often been interpreted.

The song was written about her younger brother Richard who was born deaf and suffered from severe mental infirmity.  So severe was his disability, that his parents felt incapable of raising him on their own and had him institutionalized.  She wrote “Brother, Brother” to convey the feelings she recalled from visits to him at the mental hospital.

It’s hard not to hear “Brother Brother” as a lament, a plaintive cry that echoes through the silence of institutional walls.  The song’s somber chord progression serves as the perfect vehicle for King’s exploration of loss. Yet, the real heartbreak lies in its lyrical content. King’s verse —

You have always been so good to me
And though you didn’t always talk to me
There wasn’t much my lovin’ eyes could not see
And I don’t believe you need all your misery

— isn’t just a lyric; it’s a window into a soul grappling with the constraints imposed by society on mental health and family. The distance, physical and emotional, reflects an era’s inadequate understanding of mental illness, but also the isolation that personal tragedy can bring.

In the end, King’s “Brother Brother” is more than a song; it’s a profound exploration of familial love and institutional despair, a piece of music that bridges personal suffering and public awareness. Through its melancholy melodies and poignant lyrics, it captures the essence of a moment when the personal was beginning to be recognized as inherently political. And in this recognition, it speaks to us still, echoing through the decades with a voice that remains as relevant as ever.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Coast, Kim Deal

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It’s time for some new tunes.  How about this one from Kim Deal who first gained fame as the bassist in the Pixies and then went on to further success with the Breeders — a solo single called “Coast.”

Several media outlets, including Rolling Stone, have reported Deal’s inspiration for the song:

“According to Deal, the song came about 4 years ago when she attended a friend’s nuptials and heard the wedding band play (Jimmy) Buffet’s “Margaritaville.”  Combined with an unsatisfying trip she took too many years ago to Nantucket – where she went to “duck and roll out of my life,” she sings – Deal concocted her own, ironic take on a bummed-out escapist tune.

Deal’s sister Kelly plays guitar, and former (Breeders) band bassist Mando Lopez also contributes.  Woozy horns and a lazy, laconic guitar lead only add to Deal’s wry observations on the local surfers checking the swells on the WAM chart: “All hold up and abandon plans for the good times/Where forgotten roads take lost lives/To beautiful kids on the coast.””

Does anybody else hear a fractured resemblance in the melody to Blondie’s “Sunday Girl?”

The track was recorded by producer Steve Albini, who died of a heart attack last May, at his Chicago studio – Electrical Audio.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Silver Heels, Fleetwood Mac

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In the annals of Fleetwood Mac’s storied history, stands the band’s Bob Welch period.  Snuggled between the group’s formative Peter Green time and the wildly popular and enduring Buckingham/Nicks era, the middle period Welch years form a fascinating chapter of transformation and creativity. Among the gems from this period is the evocative track “Silver Heels,” a song that exemplifies Welch’s unique contributions to the band’s sound and ethos. Released on the 1974 album Heroes Are Hard to Find (Welch’s last with the band), “Silver Heels” highlights his songwriting prowess.

To understand the significance of “Silver Heels,” it’s essential to consider the broader context of Fleetwood Mac during Bob Welch’s tenure. Welch joined Fleetwood Mac in 1971, succeeding the departing Peter Green, whose departure marked the end of the band’s initial blues phase. Welch’s arrival signaled a new direction for the band, integrating more rock and pop elements into their music. This shift was not merely a change in style but a strategic pivot that aimed to revitalize Fleetwood Mac’s commercial prospects.

Welch brought with him a distinct songwriting ability and a knack for blending melodic sensibilities with rock and pop influences. This creative evolution was crucial as the band navigated its identity during this transitional phase. By the time “Silver Heels” was recorded, Fleetwood Mac had begun to see some success with their new sound, albeit still striving for the breakthrough that would eventually come with the addition of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks.

“Silver Heels” is emblematic of Welch’s ability to craft songs that are both introspective and accessible. The song’s title, “Silver Heels,” immediately conjures images of glamour and mystique, suggesting a narrative or character-driven exploration. The lyrics, coupled with Welch’s distinctive guitar work and smooth vocal delivery, create a sense of allure and enigma.

She came in and her flags were flying
She was a sailboat of sweet perfume
And I could see that her eyes were smiling
From across the room
Well, I couldn’t think of conversation
I was busy looking at her fur
She said hey, you never ask me
So I guess I’ll say the word

Musically, “Silver Heels” showcases Welch’s deftness in merging rock and pop elements. The track features a layered arrangement that includes subtle yet effective guitar riffs and a steady rhythm section. Welch’s guitar work – including a nice solo at about 2:15 — adds a nuanced texture to the song, blending seamlessly with the melodic lines

His vocals, characterized by their smooth, almost ethereal quality, further enhance the song’s atmospheric feel, especially on the catchy chorus, with its name-checking of Paul McCartney and Etta James.

“Silver Heels” may not have achieved the iconic status of some of Fleetwood Mac’s later hits, but it remains a testament to the band’s versatility and Welch’s influence. The song captures a moment of experimentation and growth within Fleetwood Mac, underscoring the band’s willingness to explore new directions and sounds.

In retrospect, “Silver Heels” serves as a reminder of the rich tapestry of Fleetwood Mac’s musical journey. It highlights how each era, including the Bob Welch period, contributed to the band’s enduring legacy. As you revisit “Silver Heels,” you will not only experience a snapshot of Fleetwood Mac’s past but also appreciate the nuanced artistry and cultural references that helped shape one of rock’s most long-lived bands.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Itchycoo Park, The Small Faces

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Few songs scream “summer” as loudly as “Itchycoo Park” by the Small Faces.

The track was released in August 1967 – the Summer of Love!  It has a joyous pop melody with carefree lyrics about frolicking in the park, in the sun, getting high.  That sounds like a great summer day to me!

“Itchycoo Park,” written by the talented duo of Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane, peaked at #16 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1968.  It famously employed an effect called flanging, which produced that “swooshing” sound heard in the drum breaks and choruses.

Both songwriters went on to further their careers in rock and roll.  Marriott left the Small Faces to form Humble Pie alongside Peter Frampton.  When Marriott split, Lane hired Ronnie Wood to replace him, then snatched Rod Stewart from the Jeff Beck Group.  The band dropped the word “small” from their name and became known simply as The Faces.

Tragically, both died in the ‘90s at young ages. Yet, their contributions to the realm of music endure. So, crank up the volume, let the music take you back to the trippy ‘60s, and groove to the eternal magic of “Itchycoo Park.”

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – They Never Met, Martin Mull

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Martin Mull passed away on June 27th.  He held a warm place in my heart.  I enjoyed his snarky sense of humor and his amusing songs.  I had a copy of his self-titled debut album (1972) that included some of my favorite titles like “Livin’ Above My Station”, “Eggs”, and “Partly Marion”, all of which had Levon Helm on drums.  (Helm’s partner at the time, Libby Titus, supplied backing vocals.)

I fondly remember seeing him live in the fall of 1975 at Paul’s Mall on Boylston Street in Boston.

The show was probably a lot like this:

 Martin Mull – Soundstage 4/24/1976

Later he became a regular on the late-night soap opera parody, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, playing the character Garth Gimble.  My friends and I made time nightly to catch the show in college.  That role led to a couple of offshoots, Fernwood 2 Night (1977), America 2 Night (1978), where Gimble (Mull) was in the lead role.

All this led to dozens of television and film roles in a career that kept him busy up until now.

Today’s SotW is a duet he did with Melissa Manchester called “They Never Met.”  It’s the story of two aging virgins whose destiny could have been different, but “they never met.”

But they never met
Not even briefly
I know what you thought
You thought that they might
Now, what was the problem?
Thе problem was, chiefly
She workеd the day shift
And he worked the night

A few years ago, I went to the Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach.  The ticket included a pre-show featuring a concert by Manchester.  When her performance ended, she hung around for a “meet and greet.”  When my turn came to say hello, I sang her the chorus to “They Never Met.”  I clearly caught her by surprise.  She seemed to recognize the song but also had a quizzical look on her face – like she couldn’t quite place it.  Her reaction was priceless!

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – You Got the Silver, Rolling Stones

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A new documentary about the life of Anita Pallenberg was recently released.  Pallenberg, The First Lady of The Rolling Stones, was a significant part of the band, even though she was not a musician.

The film is superb.  The story moves along briskly.  It has excellent video footage (much of it from private home movies), great interviews (including audio from Keith Richards), and readings from Pallenberg’s unpublished memoir (voiced by Scarlett Johansson).

One of my favorite moments was learning that Richards wrote “You Got the Silver” for Pallenberg after the birth of their first son, Marlon.  Though Richards was reluctant to become a father, this was a very tender moment in their often stormy relationship.

“… Silver” is a bluesy, deep cut from Let It Bleed (1969).  It is one of the few songs on which Richards is the lead vocalist.  The Stones recorded a version with Mick Jagger singing lead but opted to include Richards’ version on the album.  That was an appropriate choice given the personal nature of the track.

Hey babe, what’s in your eyes?
I saw them flashing like airplane lights
You fill my cup, babe, that’s for sure
I must come back for a little more

You got my heart you got my soul
You got the silver you got the gold
You got the diamonds from the mine
Well that’s all right, it’ll buy some time

By the time of the Let It Bleed sessions, founding Rolling Stone Brian Jones was, for the most part, a “no show.”  But he did contribute an autoharp part to “… Silver.”

Catching Fire: The Story of Anita Pallenberg can be seen on most streaming services (to rent for $6.99).  Here is a link to the New York Times review of the film:

Catching Fire – NYT Review

Enjoy… until next week.