The National, a ponderous musical enterprise that some speak of rapturously and whose music I’ve never been able listen to for more than a minute or two before changing the dial, played recently at the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. They covered the Ramones, local boys one and all, and led off with a dark story.
The Ramones demonstrate how to do it right.
Live in 2009. The music is good, but do the Specials seem like a multiracial band? And is Amy really a part of all this?
I like the music, I love the song Ghost Town, and I’ve become a huge Winehouse fan. She is amazing. But there was a missed opportunity here (and it was a bit odd just how the crowd was). Not blaming the band, but wasn’t the goal a more integrated following?
So likeable, and pretty revealing, too. Which goes together.
So, this was from a live tribute to Paul McCartney at the White House. It has the White House logo on it.
It’s new to me. And wildly spirited and emotional, partly because Costello’s mum’s connection, but also because Costello is full of fire. And so is the band, especially the horn player, who comes from the president’s own band.
This is good stuff.
Hank III and his Damn Band are great. No doubt about it. But not perfect.
You have to decide where to draw the line. Have fun.
Cute video making its way around the way things make their way around today.
BOSS BABY! Nicholas is only 2 years old, but that doesn't stop him from knowing every word to Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days!" pic.twitter.com/7k394M3Iow
— Eyewitness News (@ABC7NY) May 11, 2017
No doubt, this song is hooky as heck, and I think the two year old gets it right. When asked to sing “throws that speedball by you, makes you look like a fool,” the tyke seems a little nonplussed.
Either he knows that a speedball is a shot of half heroin and half cocaine, or…
He knows no one in baseball calls a fastball, even a hot one, a speed ball.
Here’s what Paul Dickson says in the Baseball Dictionary:
speedball n. the fastball
Alright, okay, maybe I’m wrong. But I’ve never heard anyone ever call a fastball a speedball. Except Springsteen. This has always struck me as one of the jankiest lyrics by a guy who usually gets it right.
Jonathan Demme’s life is rightly noted for hisย versatile and diverse talents and interests, though his love of music seems to be the unifying connection between his genre films, documentaries, blockbusters, and humanitarian work. I liked much of his oeuvre, maybe not as passionately as some, but I admired his restless and generous life. And when I heard the news I thought of this, as I’m sure did many:
My buddy Rael was going to be in town on Friday, and the Tribeca Film Festival was premiering a new movie about PiL and Johnny Rotten. Neither of us were big PiL fans, but this seemed like a fun date. I bought tickets.
Fast forward a few weeks, and Rael is sick. He can’t come into town. So I call my musically adventurous friend Julie. I know she is not a PiL fan, not a Sex Pistols fan, but I’ll have fun with her in any case. Plus, it turns out, there will be a discussion with Lydon/Rotten after the screening. More show biz!
We both order fish and chips at the venerable Tribeca institution, Walkers, and the fish is great, the cole slaw is fine, and the chips are very tasty. That’s a win.
Here’s the deal on the movie, in a few short bites:
If you love PiL you will chew this movie up with delight. It not only fetishises each version of the band, it exalts the Rotten process. Your taste is reified.
If you come from a more historical perspective, the movie does a pretty fine tick tock of the whys wheres and wayfores of the band over a long career.
If you enjoy watching John Lydon sing PiL songs, there’s lots here for you.
If you enjoy watching John Lydon talk about his life, there’s a good amount of that for you.
If you were an observer of PiL, and not a fan of the music, I think you might find a lot of fun in the music. More than you might expect. Less in Lydon’s memorable vocals than Wobble’s bass, Levene’s skronky guitar, and the similarly discordant and yet powerful music all the iterations of this band made.
So, there’s lots to like about the movie, but when you think about it as a movie, it starts to pale. This is a movie that seems to get Johnny Rotten talking emotionally and revealingly about his life. It’s a movie that chronicles many internecine wars among the various configurations of PiL. And it is, most tellingly, a movie that buys John Lydon’s version of the story.
Lydon’s version is a good story, but all the other voices in the film have other stories. And they’re allowed to tell them up to a point. That’s the point where Lydon/Rotten decides to drown them out.
What I’m describing is not an indictment. Rotten/Lydon, in the post-screening chat, talks about how he aspires to be a valued songwriter. He is saying he doesn’t think he’s there yet. He’s right about that, and wonderfully honest to admit it.
But the history of PiL the film describes is the arc of moving from talented and disorganized non-professionals to, over 20 years, the hiring of professional musicians who can actually play. And then marvelling at how everything got better.
And in many ways it did, but what seems to me most revealing is how all the aesthetic challenges disappeared once the band was competent. And this idea of competent musicians versus energetic amateurs is an invigorating discussion for everyone, but the movie glides over the issues.
It’s easy to see why, but without a discussion about talent, expression, experience, professionalism, talent and creativity, plus other stuff, I’m not sure how much what they produced matters.
I love PiL, I went to the screening tonight, because of this appearance I saw one morning in 1980 on American Bandstand:
Nuff said.
Sonny Boy Williamson wrote this song, or maybe he wrote it with Elmore James. Or they wrote it together with another guy, too. Someone knows the story, and he’s probably gone.
This cut is live, comes from theย Fillmore Eastย but was from the last show ever at the Fillmore East, in 1971, not at the other shows in which the band made their bones at that place.
It’s a remarkable cut. Berry Oakley is percolating and that great rhythm section is propulsive. The guitars are sweet, and Gregg sings. You taughtย me good. This band was great at getting jazzy and improving and turning meh lyrics into musical profundity, but given this piece of meat they come back concise, energetic, and unbeatable. In other words, with the best.
