This is the High Numbers, an early detour into mod by the Who, covered with professional film. Careers are made of this, though the band didn’t fit the fashion and soon reverted to their original name.
But this is also a great cover of a Miracles tune, a Holland-Dozier-Holland composition, something that can make a career, too.
In this case, however, it wasn’t this great cut but what came later that made the career. And the film of their live performance ended up in a documentary that earned a Grammy nomination in 2009.
I just read Gene’s comment about the Political Correctness Police in the comments to the Now I’ve Got A Witness post (about the ranking of every Rolling Stones’ song). I started reading the list from the bottom up, and was noting the very excellent songs ranked near the bottom of the list. Short and Curlies, in particular, apparently because it is misogynistic ignoring the jamming instrumental track behind the lyrics.
In any case, I come at the Political Correctness Police a little differently. I believe people have a basic right to express their opinions, and I also believe people have a right not to be aggressively attacked with hateful speech. Since those two positions are not mutually exclusive, the resolution is one of constant negotiation with oneself and with those within earshot.
For me, there is a big distinction between words said by a person directly to another person in such a way that the implication is personal, and the same words issuing into the public space in a more general way. The former is hate speech, the later is hateful speech (if the subject is hate) and hate speech is perhaps not illegal but certainly morally reprehensible, while hateful speech can be extreme and uncomfortable and repulsive, but its immorality is far from automatic and should be given every benefit of the doubt.
Which brings us to the Rolling Stones’ Brown Sugar, which is certainly one of the most rampantly offensive and rocking songs in their oeuvre. A writer named Lauretta Charlton wrote a defense of the song in Vulture a couple of years ago, and quotes Mick Jagger as saying, in 1995, “I never would write that song now. I would probably censor myself. I’d think, ‘Oh God, I can’t. I’ve got to stop. I can’t just write raw like that.’”
I can imagine a world without the hatred and history of Brown Sugar didn’t exist (I have a good imagination), and in such a world such a song probably wouldn’t exist. But that isn’t our world, and if in 1969 Jagger didn’t pour out the lyrics to the song (which he in subsequent years in live shows changed, because he felt uncomfortable singing the originals) as he did, our world would be a lesser place. Fuck those Political Correctness Police.
David Marchese ranks Brown Sugar as the 10th best Stones song of all time.
This Nanker Phelge instrumental is off of England’s Newest Hitmakers. It features lots of Ian Stewart on the organ, Jagger on the harp (I presume), and a rank and kind of exciting guitar solo. Stewie seems to be a recurring theme in these low-rated songs. Judge for yourself:
The tune is from the same sessions and was released on the same album that produced this cover of Marvin Gaye’s hit, which was written by Holland-Dozier-Holland. Can I get a witness is judged to be the 324th worst song by the Rolling Stones.
Good music is good music. How’s that for profundity? I make that point because today’s song of the week may seem to be a very unlikely choice to many of you. It is “Houston” by Dean Martin.
This song is just cool. It is rock and roll. Not in a purist way, but in the same way that James Dean or the Firesign Theater were – and they weren’t even musicians (at least in the main). It’s all about the attitude! Martin and the rest of his Rat Packers had it in spades.
“Houston” was written by Lee Hazelwood, who is most famous for his work with Nancy Sinatra – he wrote and produced “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” – including their duet on “Some Velvet Morning.” “Houston” made it to #21 on the Billboard pop charts in 1965, a year that was still dominated by the British Invasion groups and Motown.
Lyrically the song is about a good natured guy despite being down on his luck and unable to catch a break.
I got holes in both of my shoes
Well I’m a walking case of the blues
Saw a dollar yesterday
But the wind blew it away
Goin’ back to Houston, Houston, Houston
Good music is good music – no matter where it comes from.
I came upon this project today. It was published today. A guy named David Marchese has published his ranking of all 373 Rolling Stones, from last to first, in Vulture, which is the culture blog of New York magazine. Presumably the print edition will feature some of this stuff, but what caught my attention is that I know all this music.
I’ve seen people ranking all of Bowie’s songs, or Prince’s, and I’m naturally interested, but as closely as I followed parts of their careers, I’ve also ignored parts. So, I’m not an expert.
And while I lost touch with the Stones albums in the 90s and onward, I did listen to them all, and I know lots about all the classic phases. So, every decision, I figured, in this list, would matter.
But how to approach such a massive thing?
I read the introduction and discovered some parameters. I also discovered that the Stones wrote some songs that were offensive to less privileged people, that is those without a penis and white skin. This is certainly true.
When I went off to college, in 1974, I was immediately challenged by the women on my floor, for loving the Stones. Jack Kerouac, too. Their gripe then about the Stones was Under My Thumb and Stupid Girl. And Brown Sugar, obs. And all those objections have a point.
When you’re making a list ranking the songs of a band, or a person, or a genre, or whatever, balancing the viscerally pleasing with the culturally objectionable is the biggest challenge. The story, the attitude a song expresses, the context of its release, its cultural moment all come into play.
Which David Marchese tackles in his intro to his list. He writes: “The Rolling Stones have multiple songs that are lyrically reprehensible to women and people of color — often both at the same time. If I were questioned about this topic at the Pearly Gates, I’d suggest that the Stones’ offensive attitudes had more to do with a craven desire to be provocative than any fundamental malignant worldview, but maybe I’m a fool. Whatever the true motivation behind them, a handful of the band’s songs have been tarred by Jagger and Richards’s sex and race insensitivity. There’s no getting around it.”
The question is still how to approach this massive thing. You should read Marchese’s piece and make up your own mind. I waded in and found the bottom ranking of Sing This Song All Together (See What Happens) as a bit polemic, but perfectly reasonable. Especially since he notes just how good the rest of Their Satanic Majesty’s Request can be.
Then comes awfulness. Indian Girl, from Emotional Rescue, has all the awfulness of Jagger’s line about Puerto Rican girls just dyin’ to meet you, from the title track, without the groove.
Going Home, from Aftermath, is a great three minute song extended for some reason. Is it this awful? I would have to revisit. Not time for that. The song is too long.
Melody, from Black and Blue, is a curious jam featuring Billy Preston. The Fifth Beatle and the Sixth Stone. Not a great tune, but hardly awful or deserving approbrium.
Harlem Shuffle, from Dirty Work, offended me the day it came out. In those days a new Stones single got radio play. It’s a cover, and a not particularly felicitous one.
Which brings us to Short and Curlies. This is from It’s Only Rock and Roll. Marchese calls Ian Stewart a frequent sideman, but Stew was actually in the original band and was jettisoned for craven reasons. (Not handsome enough?)
Short and Curlies reminds me of the delightful Jamming With Edward, which is basically a jam session with Mick, Charlie and Bill with Ry Cooder and Nicky Hopkins (playing the Stew part). A piano fronted jam band playing rollicking (mostly) blues.
Allmusic hates on Jamming, and Marchese hates on Short and Curlies, which does exhibit women-hating tendencies, but if this is the Stones 368th best song, you’re not listening to how strong this jam is. Even if it doesn’t really go anywhere.
If this is the shit, I’m looking forward to making my way through the rest.
One of the buried treasures of the power pop genre is The Big Shot Chronicles by the California based Game Theory. The band was another in the long list of groups that garnered significant critical acclaim but never achieved more than a cult following with the public. That’s exactly the type of artist we strive to expose through the SotW.
My favorite song on The Big Shot Chronicles and today’s SotW is “Erica’s Word”, written by bandleader Scott Miller.
“Erica’s Word” has all the hallmarks of great power pop – a solid beat, chiming guitars, a strong melody and, of course, a killer singalong chorus. All of this is expertly produced and mixed by the talented Mitch Easter, best known for his work with R.E.M.
Game Theory’s (Miller’s) lyrics are noted for their sophistication and cleverness. One of the often cited lines from “Erica’s Word” is the nerdy “Erica’s gone shy, some unknown X behind the why, All is soulless today, Mass not conserving in the old way” — where math and physics collide.
Stewart Mason relates another beautiful detail in the song in his AllMusic review, writing “The moment in the final verse where Miller sweetly sings “Girl, I hope it comes through for you in the clutch” and adds a teasing extra bar before spitting out a snotty “But I won’t bet much!” and swinging into the final chorus is one of those perfect little moments power pop fans savor like truffles.”
Sadly, Miller ended his own life at the tender age of 53, four years ago this month.
Jonathan Demme’s life is rightly noted for his 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:
We recorded this a couple of weeks ago, and originally I was going to wait to “master” it, but the more I listen the more I want it exactly as it is. It’s not hard rock but it is hard pop. This one has Bill Stevenson (Descendents, Black Flag) on drums, and might be the softest he has ever played, at least on the verses. I played everything else and wrote the song, the girls are in fine form, and if Cecilia Webber is not a GREAT singer I don’t know what a great singer is. Cecilia just turned 15. I hope you enjoy it.
The Clash’s eponymous debut was released in the UK in 40 years ago, in April 1977. But it wasn’t released in the US until July 1979 – and that was in a modified version that replaced 5 of the original cuts with 6 different ones.
As a result, many here in the US (me included) heard their second album – Give ‘Em Enough Rope, released in November 1978 – before the more critically acclaimed The Clash. But as is often the case, the first album we are exposed to by a band becomes our lifelong favorite. Often criticized for its “sanitized” production by American Sandy Pearlman who had previously worked with Blue Oyster Cult, GEER sounded good to me then and still does today.
Today’s SotW is “Stay Free.”
When I first heard “Stay Free” back in ’78 I thought it might be a song about the childhood relationship between Paul McCartney and John Lennon. That was way off base, but you can’t blame me for heading in that direction since “Stay Free” is the Clash’s most Beatle-y song.
It turns out this Mick Jones song is actually about his childhood schoolmate, Robin Banks. They became lifelong friends after getting sent to the headmaster after having an argument in class over who was better, Chuck Berry or Bo Diddley. The headmaster was so spitting mad that his jacket lapel ended up with gob on it. That hilarious situation and their mutual disdain for authority figures bonded their friendship.
Mick wrote the tribute to his old buddy when Robin was locked up for bank robbery.
He covers their childhood:
We met when we were in school
Never took no shit from no one, we weren’t fools
The teacher says we’re dumb
We’re only having fun
We piss on everyone
In the classroom
The bank robbery and related incarceration:
I practiced daily in my room
You were down the crown planning your next move
Go on a nicking spree
Hit the wrong guy
Each of you get three
Years in Brixton
It ends with a poignant love letter:
‘Cause years have passed and things have changed
And I move anyway I want to go
I’ll never forget the feeling I got
When I heard that you’d got home
An’ I’ll never forget the smile on my face
‘Cause I knew where you would be
An’ if you’re in the crown tonight
Have a drink on me
But go easy…step lightly…stay free
Then Jones rips into a guitar solo that captures the spirit of the young boys’ wilder days. It’s a beautiful thing!
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:
