Category: music

Can’t Keep Up with the News

I read and watch the news regularly. Yet it was only yesterday that I discovered Radiohead’s “In Rainbows”: Track-By-Track Preview, posted on October 1 by Rolling Stone magazine. As you may know, the new album has an unusual “pay what you will” pricing schedule.

I somehow missed the story about what’s her face suggesting that we’d better off if women were denied the vote in the United States. On the other hand, there’s a movement afoot to just ignore her, which, in fact, I usually do.

But mostly, I’m surprised that it wasn’t until yesterday that I discovered that we are in the midst of “Islamo-Fascism Awareness Week“, reportedly on 200 college campuses, “to confront the two Big Lies of the political left: that George Bush created the war on terror and that Global Warming is a greater danger to Americans than the terrorist threat. Nothing could be more politically incorrect than to point this out. But nothing could be more important for American students to hear…Islamo-Fascism Awareness Week is a national effort to oppose these lies and to rally American students to defend their country.” The reaction against this can be found here and here and probably lots of places in ways better than I could.

And, yes, I’m one of those “liberals” who have trouble with the term Islamofascist. I think many people would balk a term such as Christofascist, which suggests, at least to me, that the faith is INHERENTLY fascistic, rather than an aberration of Christianity, expressed well in this story from three years ago about the Christian Right and the Rise of American Fascism by Chris Hedges, that I read recently.

ROG

ROG

Rock Hall QUESTIONS

A couple weeks ago, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominated these folks to be voted on:
Madonna
Afrika Bambaataa
The Beastie Boys
Leonard Cohen
Donna Summer
The Ventures
Chic (third year)
The Dave Clark Five (third year)
John Mellencamp (second year)
The results will be announced early next January, with the awards ceremony in March.

1. Who will be selected this year? I’m guessing Madonna, Afrika and the Beastie Boys – I don’t think you can pick the Beastie Boys (or indeed most hip hop/rap artists) without picking Afrika; but as to the other two, I really don’t know. Maybe DC5 and Chic because they’re repeaters. Leonard Cohen should be in the Hall as a songwriter, not a singer.

2. Who would you like to be selected this year? For me, Madonna, Afrika, and DC5.

3. There are a number of people, some of whom are listed here (lower half of the page) who’ve been bypassed for the Hall. Who would you like to see? My picks: Peter Gabriel and/or Genesis, Graham Parker. I also would love to see some consideration to some more commercial bands such as – OK, I’ll admit it – the Doobie Brothers.

Oh, and on another topic:

4. What do you think of the FCC plan to ease limits on media owners?

ROG

ROG

Robert , Declan and Amos

Negotiations and love songs: a couple weeks ago, Carol and I received tickets to go to the Albany Symphony on September 28. Bereft of babysitters, it meant one of us could go, but one would have to stay home with Lydia. Since my friend Rocco, who I’ve known since my FantaCo days in the early 1980s, had finally secured tickets for him, his girlfriend Kara and me to see Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello at the Times Union Center on October 6, guess who went to ASO? Hint: she went with one of her girlfriends.

On October 6, Rocco picked me up at home, having already dropped off Kara and another couple. We parked only three blocks away, on Madison Avenue, but the rainstorm of a couple hours earlier returned, so Rocco got a little wet; I was wearing my rain slicker, just in case. I went looking for cheap souvenirs; in the land of $35 and $40 T-shirts, there were none.

Amos Lee and his band started; I must admit that, though he must have at least two albums, I had never heard of him. The music was somewhat folky and jazzy, sometimes sounding like The Band, maybe because of the heavy organ sound. He did five uptempo songs, then two slower sons – a mistake for an opening act, I think, because, in anticipating the headliners, everyone knows he’s not going to end with a ballad. That said, I really liked the band and all the vocals; on at least one song, he sounded eeriely like John Hiatt. I enjoyed the songs, too, except the slower What’s Going On Here, which just couldn’t stand up next to the song it evoked, Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On.

There’s a 10- or-15-minute break, then, without warning or introduction, Elvis Costello, all dressed in black, launches into The Angels Want To Wear My Red Shoes, followed by Blue Chair; I was trying to remember if he had any songs with the word Yellow in them, so that he could cover all the primary colors. During these two songs, streams of people were pouring back to their seats, more or less in our sight line, so this was a bit distracting. Elvis then did a great set on solo guitar. On Oliver’s Army, and later songs, he did a false ending that milked the applause.

Elvis talked a bit about how his father always told him to “look down on a note”; he admits that he STILL has no idea what he’s talking about. After Down Among the Wines and Spirits, which I presume is a (great) new song, he talked about his twin boys, who had turned ten months old that day, and American citizens, and he expressed his hope that, someday, his sons will be President and Vice-President, something, he noted, the current governor of California cannot do. He mentioned, not by name, his wife, who is “a piano player” (Diana Krall), who was backstage with the boys, and that the sons were “carny kids”. I theorized that Elvis was particularly chatty because of his long history in Albany, going back over a quarter century.

He ended with Veronica; Radio Sweetheart, the “first song I ever recorded”, which effectively segued into Van Morrison’s Jackie Wilson Said; Peace, Love and Understanding, surprisingly maintaining its anthemic quality with just guitar and vocal; and the moving The Scarlet Tide.

A somewhat longer break took place, and I went out to try to figure out something. As I noted, we were in Section 102. So there was a sign in the hall that read 102 – 101, then another that read 103-102, 104-103, etc. This meant that the higher number was on the left and the lower number was on the right. This explained why no fewer than 10 parties came into our section telling people that they were sitting in their seats, when in fact, THEY were in the wrong section. One person sat in Kara’s seat while she and Rocco were in the lobby, and I redirected her. In retrospect, the designers should have numbered the sections from left to right, rather than from right to left, but we figured it out; why couldn’t the others?

I also ran into my friend Bill and his wife Brenda. I’ve known Bill since kindergarten in Binghamton, and attended their wedding near Albany 20-some years ago. While we were talking, the auditorium got dark and a voiceover came on, so I rushed back to my seat. The narrative was about an icon of the ’60s and Christianity, and losing his way, only to come back, starting in the late ’90s with three great albums; something like that. Then Dylan (also in black) and his band (in maroon suits) began.

I checked with people later, and the sense of the people in the cheap seats, not necessarily the people on the floor, was the same. While the band was solid, Dylan’s vocals were even more indecipherable than usual. Worse, the sound was muddy. My experience was not enhanced by a woman behind me and to my left yelling, at least six times, “Play something we grew up with,” peculiar, because the second and fourth songs (Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right and Simple Twist of Fate) certainly should have qualified; but he deconstructed them so much that maybe she didn’t recognize them. The people behind me and to my right were bored, as they were talking throughout, and not about the music; one woman was text-messaging. The guy immediately in front of me, probably in his mid-20s, had a a hash pipe he was sharing at least a half dozen times with his girlfriend or wife and another couple. None of these enhanced my experience.

It wasn’t until they, and lots of others that I could see, left, that the show became halfway enjoyable to me. Summer Days, the 13th song, was a crowd favorite. By the time of the second encore tune, a tremendous All Along the Watchtower, which somehow cut through the sonic mire, another woman behind me was dancing. Afterwards, I thanked her for appreciating what the music was rather than what she wanted it to be. Rocco asked if I knew her; no, I did not.

It was the consensus of everyone I talked to, including Bill and Brenda, that Amos Lee was excellent. There was generally positive opinions about Costello; I enjoyed him a great deal. But it was unanimous that the Dylan experience was disappointing. Rocco thought the show started strong, hit a lull in the middle, then ended great. Bill had gone to find another couple, who had better seats, still along the sides, and the sound was MUCH better, which makes me theorize that, depending on where you sat would have HEAVILY influenced how you felt about Bobby Z. and his band. Indeed I checked with someone with seats on the floor, and the sound was fine, though Dylan’s words were not, and even he suggested that the music didn’t really gel until the sixth or seventh song.

Still, I really enjoyed the first two acts, and the latter stages of the third, I got to meet Rocco’s girlfriend and hang out with Rocco, so it wasn’t as though the night were a total bust.
***
Sarge Blotto’s review and Dylan’s and Costello’s playlist.

ROG

ROG

"The fighter still remains"

Lefty had a question recently: Do you have a “special song” that is tied to an event in your life? I feel there are LOTS of songs that bring me specifically to a time and place, from Etta James’ At Last, which was played at Carol’s and my wedding after our five-year off-and-on courtship to Albinoni’s Adagio sung by my church choir three weeks before my friend Arlene died of cancer. There are probably hundreds of these.

Since Paul Simon’s birthday is today, I thought I’d note the effect of the songs of Simon & Garfunkel on me.

Album: Wednesday Morning 3 A.M.
Not so much, since I got it well after its 1964 release, maybe not until 1968.

Album: Sounds of Silence
We read the poem Richard Cory by Edwin Arlington Robinson in English class in junior high, and we were struck that, in the song, the protagonist, even after Cory’s suicide, STILL sings:
But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.
Was the worker suicidal as well? When you’re 13 or 14, this is heavy stuff.

Album: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme
It was my father who bought this, not for me or my sisters, but for himself.
The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy): possibly the first S&G song I owned personally, from a Columbia compilation album, Best of ’66; covers of Homeward Bound (by Chad & Jeremy) and Cloudy (by The Cyrkle, who had a hit with Simon’s Red Rubber Ball) was on it, too. So, I got to appreciate Paul as a WRITER.
The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine: I got razzed about this title.
A Simple Desultory Philippic (or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission: I was obsessed with this song, playing it over and over. (It has a Beatles reference, and it rocks.) When I got the S&G box set, the album was heavily represented, but to my disappointment, this song was not on it.
7 O’Clock News/Silent Night: My father’s favorite song. “In Chicago Richard Speck, accused murderer of nine student nurses, was brought before a grand jury today for indictment.” I remembered that case very well, and knew that there were eight nurses who died, as one was able to hide. So the codification of wrong information on the album really bugged me; a librarian, even then.

Album: Bookends
Voices of Old People: “I’d give, without regret, $100 for that picture.” Been there.
Mrs. Robinson: Since I never saw The Graduate until fairly recently, I mused on the meaning of this song for decades.
Punky’s Dilemma: “Old Roger draft-dodger, Leavin’ by the basement door, Everybody knows what he’s Tippy-toeing down there for.” Talkin’ about being razzed.
At the Zoo: Like many of these songs, I knew/know all the lyrics. My high school friend Carol HATED this song.

Album: Bridge Over Troubled Waters
My sister’s boyfriend had bought her the Bridge single. What I remember now is that the single was in a different key from the album cut; can’t remember which was higher. Or maybe it was different tape speeds, but the versions are not quite the same.
Cecilia: Among the group of the left-of-center, anti-war folks I hung out with in high school was Cecily, who I’m still friends with.
The Boxer: Another song I knew well, and eventually experienced “a comeon from the whores on 7th avenue” as described here. (I may have been lonesome, but I took no comfort there.)
Why Don’t You Write Me: A paean to everyone back home during my freshman year of college.

The solo Paul was even more significant. I’ll have to do that sometime.
ROG

ROG

Kill More Of Your Idols

Back in JANUARY, I summarized the first half of the book Kill Your Idols, edited by Jim DeRogatis and Carmel Carrillo, about classic albums that were overpraised. I promised the rest the following month. Well, the book then disappeared in my home office, until my wife tidied up (mostly HER stuff, I might add), and I found it again.

Patti Smith, Horses. Arista, 1975. By Melanie Haupt.
The writer’s point: I really want to like it, but I just can’t get down with it.
My point: Actually, I tend to agree. I bought this, on LP, and listened to it several times, trying to “get” it, but I don’t.

Bob Marley and the Wailers, Exodus. Island, 1977. By Dave Chamberlain
The writer’s point: overly commercial, not his best effort, lacks fire.
My point: I don’t know the other albums well enough to say, but I enjoy it on its own merits.

Fleetwood Mac, Rumours. Reprise, 1977. By Jim Walsh.
The writer’s point: Actually, I don’t know WHAT the point is. Mostly, how he wants to get a gun so he can kill the members of the band, I think.
My point: I own it on vinyl. There are a few songs on here I actually like (Go Your Own Way) – I know people who would disagree – but I am surprised that it became the utter phenomenon it did.

Paul McCartney - Ram
Paul McCartney, Ram. Capitol, 1971. By Tom Phalen.
The writer’s point: bombastic, over-produced weak songs.
My point: OK, it’s definitely a goofy album, and even at the time of its release, it took some heat, so I’m surprised it’s even included in the book. That said, I enjoyed it well enough, and don’t care that Paul swiped stuff from his previous band.

John Lennon/Yoko Ono, Double Fantasy. Geffen, 1980. By Allison Stewart.
The writer’s point: The album is impossible to separate from the events of December 8, 1980. Lennon’s contributions were moving, if slightly cloying. But Ono’s atonality interrupts even that.
My point: Yes, 12/8/80 is all over it. I liked that John was (finally) comfortable in his skin. And I sorta like Kiss Kiss Kiss. But truth to tell, I haven’t listened to it in so long, that except for the Makin’ Whoopie swipe I’m Your Angel, I can’t even REMEMBER the Yoko songs.

The Sex Pistols, Never Mind the Bollocks…Here’s the Sex Pistols. Warner Brothers, 1977. By Jim Testa.
The writer’s point: Except for Anarchy in the U.K. and God Save the Queen, he’s got the feeling that he’s been cheated.
My point: Agree. I find the rest all but unlistenable.

Dead Kennedys, Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables. Alternative Tentacles, 1980. By Marco Leavitt (of Albany, NY).
The writer’s point: Hard to take because they take themselves so seriously, even when they’re trying to be humorous.
My point: Actually, I’ve never heard of this album.

Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run. Columbia, 1975. By David Sprague.
The writer’s point: The Newsweek/Time hype of this bloated album with characters devolved from his previous releases was muscled by the pre-release of every song to a rock station in Cleveland.
My point: O.K., it isn’t the messianic departure the hype suggested, and maybe is a bit overproduced in that Phil Spector way, but still enjoyable.

Bruce Springsteen, Born in the U.S.A. Columbia, 1984. By Rob O’Connor.
The writer’s point: Springsteen is corny, mundane, and conventional. He doesn’t recognize rock and roll as the rebellious forbidden fruit, and obviously never had a real job in his life. He intentionally misled people into misreading the title song, ripped off the other songs from other artists, and generally panders to his audience. The album sounds like mud.
My point: I was never hot on Dancing in the Dark, but that aside, I think this is an interesting, diverse piece of Americana.

Various Artists, My Greatest Exes. By Carmel Carrillo.
The writer’s point: Since I’m the co-editor of this book, I can write an indulgent chapter about music my ex-girlfriends like and dis them (the songs, and, by extension, the ex-girlfriends).
My point: Not worthy of comment.


Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Imperial Bedroom. Columbia, 1982, By Michael Corcoran.
The writer’s point: It’s trying to be Sgt. Pepper or at least Pet Sounds. Instead the album is bloated and pretentious.
My point: I was totally distracted by this sentence:
I was there when they unlocked the front door at Strawberry Records in Albany, New York, the day Imperial Bedroom came out. I KNEW this guy! He used to write for a variety of publications, some of which he put out himself, that he would drop off at FantaCo, the comic book store I worked at in that time period. Knew his then-girlfriend, too, who was MUCH younger. AND I used to buy albums at Strawberry’s, and at Just A Song, which was virtually in the same space before that.
As for the album, I just didn’t play it all that often. There were three or four great songs that stood out, but the rest, not so much.

U2, The Joshua Tree. Island, 1987. By Eric Waggoner and Bob Mehr.
The writers’ point: U2 hemorrhaged sincerity to produce “one of the most relentlessly banal albums in the pantheon of the greats.”
My point: As early as 1988, I had this album on my 20 desert albums. When I told that to someone, he thought it was too soon to tell. Fair enough; it’s still on my 20-30 desert albums.

Public Enemy, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. Def Jam/Columbia, 1988. By Arsenio Orteza.
The writer’s point: Shrill noise similar to “Chinese water torture” with a 20-year-old message. And racist to boot.
My point: I have never owned this album, so feel unqualified to comment.

Nirvana, Nevermind. Geffen, 1991. By Anders Smith Lindell.
The writer’s point: It “made punk safe for the shopping mall.” The overdone soft/loud schtick wore out its welcome.
My point: This is first album that made me feel old. I thought the lyrics to Smells Like Teen Spirit were laughable or a parody, though I appreciated it musically. Upon more plays, I appreciated it more, though it DOES have too much of that soft/loud schtick.

The Smashing Pumpkins, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Virgin, 1995. By Rick Reger.
The writer’s point: It was “designed to create the impression of ‘significance’ where, in fact, none existed. The scope of the album isn’t its strength, it’s its “fatal flaw”.
My point: I’ve never owned it, so can’t speak well enough of it.

Radiohead, OK Computer. Capitol, 1997. By David Menconi.
The writer’s point: Completely boring and unmoving, though marketed well.
My point: I bought it. I listened to it thrice. I don’t get it, either, though the last time, I heard it in 2- or 3-song chunks and it was (surprisingly) better.

Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Nonesuch, 2003. By Allison Augustyn.
The writer’s point: Tranquilizing, with a few catchy songs
My point: This was on my “to buy” list -I have other Wilco, which I like – but I haven’t yet.

That’s it, except for About the Contributors, which is a lot of fun, actually, because at least half of them have one or more albums on their Top Ten albums that someone else has royally panned.

ROG

ROG
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