It's official: I AM AN OLD FART
In an UNOFFICIAL meeting of the Rock and Roll Discussion Group [myslef, J Michal Leone, 'Uncle Rich' Zottola and guest panelists Lonnie King, Bill Horn and Bob Costanza [i think] in Bill Horn's garage over Hienekins Friday evening, we have deiceded that rock and roll is DEAD. The consensis we reached was that R&R died when the Sex Pistols came out... PUNK KILLED the rock and roll. Specifically, they took all of the ROLL out of rock and roll. So I guess we are stuick with rock, as long as we no longer call it rock and roll.
Actually, we decided there is an occasional rock and roll artitst [i say the Black Crowes, Michael nominated Lenny Kravitz]... Of course, Michael does ot believe that London Calling is one of the top 10 albums of all time, so we will have to discount his opinions from now on.
I was stuck in a room of 50-somethings trying to defend the 80s and losing... what could I use, Duran Duran? Of course. none of us understood much of anything today, so that makes me an OFFICIAL Old Fart, just like them. The question eventaully became "Is it a youth, it was better then thing because that's when it made its impact on me" thing. I think we tabled that one for now. Just like the "What was the first rock and roll record?"
Michael will be back in town and wants to meet the local contingent of the Rock and Roll round table. I will try to notify you with as much lead time as I can so we can hook up for dinner and friendly debate... hopefully on Michael's Visa card....
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Turkey Day
So it’s Thanksgiving Day, the turkey has been devoured, the football is over and I am looking for something to do because one more night of staring at my own four walls is going to drive me nuts. So I am driving through town, just up and down some side street to see what’s there and I come across a little non-descript shack with an old gold Caddy and busted neon sign that reads J--rn-list L-unge. Hmmm, I am up for someplace named ‘The Journalist Lounge,’ I thought.
I walked into a dank, dark bar, couple pool tables, couple old four chair dining room tables with wooden chairs that had seen better days before ending up in here and an old black squat jukebox that still plays 45s over on one wall. It’s just me and the bartender in there, a tall blonde guy with glasses behind the bar watching some sitcom on a TV in the corner. I took off my jacket and sat down at the corner stool next to the TV.
“What’s it going to be tonight?’ he asked.
“Bourbon and Coke,” I told him. He reached for a glass and started pouring. “Slow night?”
“Always is,” he said. “’Specting some traveling folks will be through tonight though.”
He handed me my drink and leaned against the cooler again and resumed watching his show, leaving me to stare at the ice in my drink. Out of boredom I wandered over to the jukebox. Man it was a beauty, circa 1979 like they used to have at the little grill down by the lake when we lived in Arlington. I used to ride my bike down there in the summer and get a soda and listen to Rick James’ Superfreak, Blondie doing One Way or Another or Nick Gilder’s Hot Child in the City. Or maybe it was James’ Mary Jane… Anyway, so I am checking the titles, not bad, little Luchenbach, Texas, little That’ll Be the Day, the Buddy Holly version, Chuck Berry, Creedence, London Calling!
“Get away from that fucking jukebox!” someone yelled at me, making me jump and almost spill my drink. “That’s a travesty of a jukebox! Not one fucking Sex Pistols song on it!”
“And there ain’t gonna be, neither!” shouted the bartender. “We put one on for you and you broke four tables spinnin’ ‘round drunk and bouncin’ off the walls, you fuckin’ walrus!”
“Aw what do you know about rock and roll?” the stranger shouted back. “The most progressive thing in your record collection is Frank Zappa.”
I turned to that taunt to see a wide bodied man in a black T shirt, black leather jacket, jeans and black boots glaring at the bartender. His shining shaved dome reminded me of Brando in Apocalypse Now. The bartender clicked his tongue and shook his head, not daring to meet the stranger’s glare.
“Whatta you want tonight Lester? I ain’t talking music with you no more you evil motherfucker.”
Lester slammed his hand on the bar at that.
“That’s right you fucking yokel, you know I’m right, that’s why you won’t argue with me! Gimme bourbon, straight up!”
“Bangs, you’re still a fucking pig, despite the haircut,” the bartender growled and he poured. “And you don’t know SHIT about music and you never did.”
“I knew how to make a living writing about it,” he said.
“You knew how to write enough to get paid,” the bartender said. “I wouldn’t call it living.”
“Fuck you Clem,” Lester shot back. “I did the Morrison and ‘died’ and now look at me! I’m worth more now than I ever was alive! My name is everywhere! EVERYONE’S comparing themselves to me, a fucking loser form El Cajon California who just typed for something to do while he was speeding away! I’m a fucking genius now that I’m dead!”
“You sure are a LOUD son of a bitch for someone who’s dead,” Clem growled back.
“SHEE-IT Clem, you should see it! They’re out there knocking themselves out trying to figure this shit out. ‘What would Lester say if he was alive today? What would he think about today’s music? What would he think about the state of rock journalism?’ I’ll tell you what I think of the state of rock journalism. Those fuckers like Marcus and Marsh and that hack Kurt Loder can eat my fucking smelly BVDs. Jann Wenner is a starstruck faggy asshole who wouldn’t know a musician if they bit him on the ass. He’s an Art Garfunkel loving, Mick Jagger’s dick sucking wanna be. He wanted to be the star. Fuck him! Fuck his slick, star fucking loving fashion plate magazine! Man, back in the day…”
Suddenly, mid-rant, Lester turned and started glaring at me.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?”
“Man, I just stopped in for a drink,” I said, sitting back down at the bar.
“You can’t just stop in here for a drink,” Lester howled. “You’ve gotta be a licensed journalist! You just letting anybody wander in here, Clem?”
“I got a BLOG I write on.”
“Oh fuck,” Lester rolled his eyes. He downed the shot and motioned for a refill. “A BLOG? Well excuse the fuck out of me! You fuckers, you all think you’re Lester bangs, don’t cha? You ain’t him pal. There’s only one and he’s dead.”
I stared at Lester for a second. “Didn’t you just say you were him?”
Lester laughed.
“Yeah, you got me. Well, I used to be him.” He sipped a bit of the whiskey. “Yeah, I used to be. Had someone sell all my shit and send it to me in Mexico where I can write in peace. Great move dying. Suddenly, everyone re-thinks their stand on you, man. They forgive you for whatever fucked up shit you did to them. Talk nice about you. I miss some of those dudes. Loved that little shit Cameron Crowe. Thought about calling his ass after Almost Famous, ha ha. ‘This is the voice from the grave you little fucker, send me some money! Quit writing dipshit movies and tell us what it’s like to bang Nancy Wilson all night!’”
He stopped and sipped on the whiskey again.
“Ha ha,” he chuckled. “That would have been hilarious. See how they got Phillip Seymour Hoffman to soften me up for the movie? I’m an angel now, a ‘prophet for the fall of rock and roll and rock journalism.’ Ha ha. Man, I was just rambling. I just did what I did, I just let it fly.”
He took a crumpled pack of smokes out of a pocket of his jacket and fished one out.
“I wanted to be a musician,” he sighed, taking a drag. “Never learned to play though. Never… shit I don’t know. I tell that drunken buffoon Morrison I wrote better lyrics than the fucking Crystal Ship or anything on that third Doors album, but he just calls me a hack and keeps going down the beach. I keep telling him to get a haircut, too, but he’s still a fucking hippie.”
“Jim Morrison?” I asked.
“Yeah, he split for a walking tour of Europe in’71 and never looked back, he says. Seems like a nice enough guy now that he gave up coke and shit. Met him in Mexico in ’85, now we’re neighbors in a little town in Guatemala. He’s a jogging freak, too. Always walking or running somewhere. The Doors guys are hip, send him some cash when a CD is re-issued or shit. Man you should have seen the fat check Marcus cut when they issued that second book of MY shit. I saw all those zeros and I thought I missed a decimal point somewhere!”
He stubbed out the cigarette and downed the whiskey.
“So you’ve got your little BLOG and you write about what you like and you do it for kicks and hope someone reads it. You do it to clear your head. It’s a great thing, no deadlines, no column inches to fill, just write what you want when you want. That’s it man, that’s the way to be. Paper will always be around, but the Internet is where it’s at man.”
Lester stood up and put the crumpled pack of smokes in his pocket again.
“Hey Clem, set him up on my tab,” Lester said. He offered a hand and I shook it. “Nice to chat with you, I gotta run. Catching a plane to Hunter Thompson’s for a weekend of football and drunken debauchery.”
“But Lester,” I asked, “What about the future of music journalism?”
“Fuck it man. Like the man once said: NO FUTURE. All you can do now is get a job writing ass kissing pieces for Rolling Stone or people or churning out shit books on Springsteeen like Marsh, or ghostwriting Levon Helm’s memoirs. No man, rock journalism is fucking dead as a doorknob. Dead as Michael Jackson’s career. Man I write reviews on Amazon.com for grins. There ain’t no money in it, but it’s as valid a medium as any of the rock and roll magazines today, since there’s no such thing as a bed review anymore. Still afraid to piss off advertisers.” He chuckled to himself again and put a friendly hand on my shoulder. “No, you keep doing it the way you are, plugging away for a dozen or so friends on your little web page. Because there is no real journalism anymore.”
And he stood up again and shook my hand again. “Gotta run. See you next time through, Clem! Get some real music for that jukebox!”
And with that, he was gone. I sat stunned for a few minutes. Clem sat another bourbon and coke down next to my half empty one.
“Intense, isn’t he?” he said wiping down the bar and putting the shot glasses in the sink. “I don’t know if he really is or not. He just shows up once in a while and has a few and we don’t see him for three or four months. Been doing it for years now. He’s awful fun to hang around with anyway.”
I sat there and drank my drinks in silence for a while, thinking about what the man had said and thinking ‘That’s what I get for looking for an adventure after the turkey has been devoured and the football is over.’
So it’s Thanksgiving Day, the turkey has been devoured, the football is over and I am looking for something to do because one more night of staring at my own four walls is going to drive me nuts. So I am driving through town, just up and down some side street to see what’s there and I come across a little non-descript shack with an old gold Caddy and busted neon sign that reads J--rn-list L-unge. Hmmm, I am up for someplace named ‘The Journalist Lounge,’ I thought.
I walked into a dank, dark bar, couple pool tables, couple old four chair dining room tables with wooden chairs that had seen better days before ending up in here and an old black squat jukebox that still plays 45s over on one wall. It’s just me and the bartender in there, a tall blonde guy with glasses behind the bar watching some sitcom on a TV in the corner. I took off my jacket and sat down at the corner stool next to the TV.
“What’s it going to be tonight?’ he asked.
“Bourbon and Coke,” I told him. He reached for a glass and started pouring. “Slow night?”
“Always is,” he said. “’Specting some traveling folks will be through tonight though.”
He handed me my drink and leaned against the cooler again and resumed watching his show, leaving me to stare at the ice in my drink. Out of boredom I wandered over to the jukebox. Man it was a beauty, circa 1979 like they used to have at the little grill down by the lake when we lived in Arlington. I used to ride my bike down there in the summer and get a soda and listen to Rick James’ Superfreak, Blondie doing One Way or Another or Nick Gilder’s Hot Child in the City. Or maybe it was James’ Mary Jane… Anyway, so I am checking the titles, not bad, little Luchenbach, Texas, little That’ll Be the Day, the Buddy Holly version, Chuck Berry, Creedence, London Calling!
“Get away from that fucking jukebox!” someone yelled at me, making me jump and almost spill my drink. “That’s a travesty of a jukebox! Not one fucking Sex Pistols song on it!”
“And there ain’t gonna be, neither!” shouted the bartender. “We put one on for you and you broke four tables spinnin’ ‘round drunk and bouncin’ off the walls, you fuckin’ walrus!”
“Aw what do you know about rock and roll?” the stranger shouted back. “The most progressive thing in your record collection is Frank Zappa.”
I turned to that taunt to see a wide bodied man in a black T shirt, black leather jacket, jeans and black boots glaring at the bartender. His shining shaved dome reminded me of Brando in Apocalypse Now. The bartender clicked his tongue and shook his head, not daring to meet the stranger’s glare.
“Whatta you want tonight Lester? I ain’t talking music with you no more you evil motherfucker.”
Lester slammed his hand on the bar at that.
“That’s right you fucking yokel, you know I’m right, that’s why you won’t argue with me! Gimme bourbon, straight up!”
“Bangs, you’re still a fucking pig, despite the haircut,” the bartender growled and he poured. “And you don’t know SHIT about music and you never did.”
“I knew how to make a living writing about it,” he said.
“You knew how to write enough to get paid,” the bartender said. “I wouldn’t call it living.”
“Fuck you Clem,” Lester shot back. “I did the Morrison and ‘died’ and now look at me! I’m worth more now than I ever was alive! My name is everywhere! EVERYONE’S comparing themselves to me, a fucking loser form El Cajon California who just typed for something to do while he was speeding away! I’m a fucking genius now that I’m dead!”
“You sure are a LOUD son of a bitch for someone who’s dead,” Clem growled back.
“SHEE-IT Clem, you should see it! They’re out there knocking themselves out trying to figure this shit out. ‘What would Lester say if he was alive today? What would he think about today’s music? What would he think about the state of rock journalism?’ I’ll tell you what I think of the state of rock journalism. Those fuckers like Marcus and Marsh and that hack Kurt Loder can eat my fucking smelly BVDs. Jann Wenner is a starstruck faggy asshole who wouldn’t know a musician if they bit him on the ass. He’s an Art Garfunkel loving, Mick Jagger’s dick sucking wanna be. He wanted to be the star. Fuck him! Fuck his slick, star fucking loving fashion plate magazine! Man, back in the day…”
Suddenly, mid-rant, Lester turned and started glaring at me.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?”
“Man, I just stopped in for a drink,” I said, sitting back down at the bar.
“You can’t just stop in here for a drink,” Lester howled. “You’ve gotta be a licensed journalist! You just letting anybody wander in here, Clem?”
“I got a BLOG I write on.”
“Oh fuck,” Lester rolled his eyes. He downed the shot and motioned for a refill. “A BLOG? Well excuse the fuck out of me! You fuckers, you all think you’re Lester bangs, don’t cha? You ain’t him pal. There’s only one and he’s dead.”
I stared at Lester for a second. “Didn’t you just say you were him?”
Lester laughed.
“Yeah, you got me. Well, I used to be him.” He sipped a bit of the whiskey. “Yeah, I used to be. Had someone sell all my shit and send it to me in Mexico where I can write in peace. Great move dying. Suddenly, everyone re-thinks their stand on you, man. They forgive you for whatever fucked up shit you did to them. Talk nice about you. I miss some of those dudes. Loved that little shit Cameron Crowe. Thought about calling his ass after Almost Famous, ha ha. ‘This is the voice from the grave you little fucker, send me some money! Quit writing dipshit movies and tell us what it’s like to bang Nancy Wilson all night!’”
He stopped and sipped on the whiskey again.
“Ha ha,” he chuckled. “That would have been hilarious. See how they got Phillip Seymour Hoffman to soften me up for the movie? I’m an angel now, a ‘prophet for the fall of rock and roll and rock journalism.’ Ha ha. Man, I was just rambling. I just did what I did, I just let it fly.”
He took a crumpled pack of smokes out of a pocket of his jacket and fished one out.
“I wanted to be a musician,” he sighed, taking a drag. “Never learned to play though. Never… shit I don’t know. I tell that drunken buffoon Morrison I wrote better lyrics than the fucking Crystal Ship or anything on that third Doors album, but he just calls me a hack and keeps going down the beach. I keep telling him to get a haircut, too, but he’s still a fucking hippie.”
“Jim Morrison?” I asked.
“Yeah, he split for a walking tour of Europe in’71 and never looked back, he says. Seems like a nice enough guy now that he gave up coke and shit. Met him in Mexico in ’85, now we’re neighbors in a little town in Guatemala. He’s a jogging freak, too. Always walking or running somewhere. The Doors guys are hip, send him some cash when a CD is re-issued or shit. Man you should have seen the fat check Marcus cut when they issued that second book of MY shit. I saw all those zeros and I thought I missed a decimal point somewhere!”
He stubbed out the cigarette and downed the whiskey.
“So you’ve got your little BLOG and you write about what you like and you do it for kicks and hope someone reads it. You do it to clear your head. It’s a great thing, no deadlines, no column inches to fill, just write what you want when you want. That’s it man, that’s the way to be. Paper will always be around, but the Internet is where it’s at man.”
Lester stood up and put the crumpled pack of smokes in his pocket again.
“Hey Clem, set him up on my tab,” Lester said. He offered a hand and I shook it. “Nice to chat with you, I gotta run. Catching a plane to Hunter Thompson’s for a weekend of football and drunken debauchery.”
“But Lester,” I asked, “What about the future of music journalism?”
“Fuck it man. Like the man once said: NO FUTURE. All you can do now is get a job writing ass kissing pieces for Rolling Stone or people or churning out shit books on Springsteeen like Marsh, or ghostwriting Levon Helm’s memoirs. No man, rock journalism is fucking dead as a doorknob. Dead as Michael Jackson’s career. Man I write reviews on Amazon.com for grins. There ain’t no money in it, but it’s as valid a medium as any of the rock and roll magazines today, since there’s no such thing as a bed review anymore. Still afraid to piss off advertisers.” He chuckled to himself again and put a friendly hand on my shoulder. “No, you keep doing it the way you are, plugging away for a dozen or so friends on your little web page. Because there is no real journalism anymore.”
And he stood up again and shook my hand again. “Gotta run. See you next time through, Clem! Get some real music for that jukebox!”
And with that, he was gone. I sat stunned for a few minutes. Clem sat another bourbon and coke down next to my half empty one.
“Intense, isn’t he?” he said wiping down the bar and putting the shot glasses in the sink. “I don’t know if he really is or not. He just shows up once in a while and has a few and we don’t see him for three or four months. Been doing it for years now. He’s awful fun to hang around with anyway.”
I sat there and drank my drinks in silence for a while, thinking about what the man had said and thinking ‘That’s what I get for looking for an adventure after the turkey has been devoured and the football is over.’
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Let It Blurt
There’s a lot of talk on various blogs right now about rock criticism. Is it dead? Is ‘rock journalism’ dead? Is there any future for rock criticism? Are we all just pretending we’re Lester Bangs out here? Wasn’t it better ‘way back when?’
The reason I mention it [other than finally posting something new… okay here’s something new to read Lizardbreath!] is because I was just contemplating the same thing before my trip to Pennsylvania to see relations, because I was reading about the arguments of Bangs and Co. circa 1978. [Is 'rock journalism' in decline? What's the next avenue?] Yeah, well, that book is good mind wasting reading; hey I just finished East of Eden and I am halfway through Grapes of Wrath, so eat chain. The short argument is that the rise of garbage like People cut the meat out of real rock and roll journalism, making reviews shorter and articles more about ‘celebrity’ and talent [or relative lack there of]. I think this is important, because it’s something that is never really addressed and it’s something the 10 second TV blurb or the fawning VH1 Behind the Music: Brittany has only made worse. This crap is beginning to get on my nerve. I all ready blocked MTV in this house because I don’t CARE about ‘Cribs’ or ‘The Real World’ or ‘Road Rules’ or whatever. I wanted MUSIC on Music Television, but I have to get digital or satellite to get a real music channel like M2. And if VH1 isn’t running some ‘Worst Hair Decisions’ or ‘Top Bodies in Rock’ or ‘I Miss My Rubik’s Cube and Pac Man and Whatever Happened to My Cheryl Ladd Poster’ show, they’re hip-hopping me to damn death. Listen to me: I don’t care about ‘bling-bling,’ how many cases of Kristal champagne can fit in your party room fridge and I am tired of videos with people in various states of undress shaking big butts in my face. Show me four guys with instruments again, who step up to a mike for a chorus and make guitar player faces during short, noisy solos! Show me the speaker like “Bastards of Young” or the Ramones hitting the black and white TV trying to tune it in on “Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio.”
Oh, but I am forgetting that this is the S.A.S generation. What’s that? Short Attention Span! I blame the original MTV for this, too. Fast cut editing and off the wall angles; yeah they had to get our attention somehow, even if they were the only game in town, eh? But in the SAS Generation, the FIRST thing they learned was get it while you’re on top, cause if you slip for two weeks, people are on to the next thing, pronto, Billy. And the corporations learned it faster. “Man you are it! You’re hot, number six with a bullet, here’s the new video budget, take half a mil!, whoops, new record didn’t sell, blame Napster and the economy, you owe us for that last video, we’ll take it from your one hit album for the rest of your life, you may start seeing some nickels when you’re fifty, see you in the 3.99 bin at the used CD store, NEXT!”
Let’s take Brittany for an example. What the fuck is she? She’s a face and a body. Can she sing? Debatable, but we’ll say for the sake of argument she can sing. Does she have anything to say other than “I am not a role model” and “I wanted my record to address adult issues like sex.” Well hell, this is Madonna all over again! But like the Mo girl, she’s getting press, amazing amounts of press ‘cause she’s a tits and ass show and it brings in viewers. That’s right I said it! Was that ‘kiss’ anything more that Madonna rolling around showing her garters under the wedding dress at the MTV awards whatever year that was? Give it to the girl, she learned from [and apparently has the blessing of] the best: ‘Ain’t no such thing as bad press!’ My prediction, dated, right here, right now: Brittany will utter the F Word on her next record. And it will get a LOT of press and she will sigh and again utter ‘I am not a role model, I want to be seen as an adult. I am not a virgin you know.’ You read it here first.
What has me so cranky? Michael is in town. I love Michael, but he admits he is stuck in a time warp: 1964-1974. I want to do an hour on tape and post our discussion. Ask what was so great about then? What about the 80s? What about REM and Replacements? Do you let your 12 year old daughter listen to the shit that’s out there now?
Man, sitting here with whiskey and coke and remastered Television [reissued by, you guessed it, Rhino again!]; maybe I am channeling the spirit of Lester [big HAW HAW]! Why is Marquee Moon so GREAT and Adventure [2nd] so mediocre? So maybe I am in my own time warp I know I like a lot on Michael’s era…not the Monkees or the Turtles or Dave Clark Five, maybe a couple singles but not ALL encompassing! I don’t need ALL the Monkees, maybe not even a full greatest hits album. On the other hand, Michael is an anal complete archivist. He all ready owns all the Beatles, but he wants the two double CD sets 1962-1966 and 1967-1970! I keep asking why he needs those, can’t he burn them himself or burn BETTER compilations, but he just shrugs and says “I want them, that’s why.” Like owning the Rolling Stones Hot Rocks collection. He doesn’t understand why I am put off by this [IMHO] egregious purchase; part of it is “you all ready own half of this, why pay for it again? You’re playing right to the record company pricks Zappa warned you about! How many Doors Greatest Hits CDs have been released in the last 15 years?”… the other part is it make me grin to know I am grating a nerve.
Now I owe Michael a lot. He turns me onto many things I never would have heard otherwise. Like the other day we were watching football and listening to the first Journey [the Neal Schon-Greg Rollie-Anysley Dunbar, fresh from Santana Journey, not the ‘label says you should get a real singer, how about Steve Perry?’ Journey] and [Leslie] West, [Jack] Bruce and [Corky] Lainge and discussing Robin Trower [Bruce, Bill Lordan and Trower’s BLT, great under rated record!]. He played a Turtles record called Battle of the Bands, [remember battle of the bands? I remebered one night seeing Trying Season lose to a cover band someplace in Arlington… the cover band had a talk box and did ‘Do You Feel Like We Do’ and ‘Those Shoes’ while I am screaming “play something ORIGINAL!”] with the Turtles doing ten different musical styles that was really cool. Discussing the original Alice Cooper band [Alice Cooper was the name of the band and they quit in 1975 because, well, Alice became Alice.] and Alice replacing them with Lou Reed’s Rock and Roll Animal band for Welcome to My Nightmare. I am worried he is becoming that ‘baby boomer, we were the greatest generation’ person. Of course, he is a Rush Limbaugh fan, so I don’t know.
ADD: I think I have just figured it out... I am afraind Michael is going to be some sort of Elitist Completist, which is the ULTIMATE musical snobbery, and we all know I HAVE to be the biggest music snob on the BLOG. I mean I have been trying recently to determine whetjher I am a music collector [i.e. Am I collecting songs and not worried about formats, so what's wrong with burning down CDs I have and selling the 'corporate packaging'] or if I am a record collector [i.e. Am I collecting the music ALONG WITH the sleeve and photos and liner notes and stuff I find so interesting]. So far it's a pretty even split, the sitcking point being Aerosmith Toys in the Attic and Rocks. Do I want people to come in and SEE that little plastic box printed in a factory somewhere and go "Cool album" or do I just need to have it for myself and let people ask when they DON'T see it in my collection? Or do I burn a two on one CD and go buy some used vynil for "showing off?"
Anyway, I am working Thanksgiving and the day after. I’ll take the money, but I know getting off at 800 Thursday night and being in at 700 Friday morning is going to suck. Y’All enjoy your turkey America, I will be thinking of my next rant…
There’s a lot of talk on various blogs right now about rock criticism. Is it dead? Is ‘rock journalism’ dead? Is there any future for rock criticism? Are we all just pretending we’re Lester Bangs out here? Wasn’t it better ‘way back when?’
The reason I mention it [other than finally posting something new… okay here’s something new to read Lizardbreath!] is because I was just contemplating the same thing before my trip to Pennsylvania to see relations, because I was reading about the arguments of Bangs and Co. circa 1978. [Is 'rock journalism' in decline? What's the next avenue?] Yeah, well, that book is good mind wasting reading; hey I just finished East of Eden and I am halfway through Grapes of Wrath, so eat chain. The short argument is that the rise of garbage like People cut the meat out of real rock and roll journalism, making reviews shorter and articles more about ‘celebrity’ and talent [or relative lack there of]. I think this is important, because it’s something that is never really addressed and it’s something the 10 second TV blurb or the fawning VH1 Behind the Music: Brittany has only made worse. This crap is beginning to get on my nerve. I all ready blocked MTV in this house because I don’t CARE about ‘Cribs’ or ‘The Real World’ or ‘Road Rules’ or whatever. I wanted MUSIC on Music Television, but I have to get digital or satellite to get a real music channel like M2. And if VH1 isn’t running some ‘Worst Hair Decisions’ or ‘Top Bodies in Rock’ or ‘I Miss My Rubik’s Cube and Pac Man and Whatever Happened to My Cheryl Ladd Poster’ show, they’re hip-hopping me to damn death. Listen to me: I don’t care about ‘bling-bling,’ how many cases of Kristal champagne can fit in your party room fridge and I am tired of videos with people in various states of undress shaking big butts in my face. Show me four guys with instruments again, who step up to a mike for a chorus and make guitar player faces during short, noisy solos! Show me the speaker like “Bastards of Young” or the Ramones hitting the black and white TV trying to tune it in on “Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio.”
Oh, but I am forgetting that this is the S.A.S generation. What’s that? Short Attention Span! I blame the original MTV for this, too. Fast cut editing and off the wall angles; yeah they had to get our attention somehow, even if they were the only game in town, eh? But in the SAS Generation, the FIRST thing they learned was get it while you’re on top, cause if you slip for two weeks, people are on to the next thing, pronto, Billy. And the corporations learned it faster. “Man you are it! You’re hot, number six with a bullet, here’s the new video budget, take half a mil!, whoops, new record didn’t sell, blame Napster and the economy, you owe us for that last video, we’ll take it from your one hit album for the rest of your life, you may start seeing some nickels when you’re fifty, see you in the 3.99 bin at the used CD store, NEXT!”
Let’s take Brittany for an example. What the fuck is she? She’s a face and a body. Can she sing? Debatable, but we’ll say for the sake of argument she can sing. Does she have anything to say other than “I am not a role model” and “I wanted my record to address adult issues like sex.” Well hell, this is Madonna all over again! But like the Mo girl, she’s getting press, amazing amounts of press ‘cause she’s a tits and ass show and it brings in viewers. That’s right I said it! Was that ‘kiss’ anything more that Madonna rolling around showing her garters under the wedding dress at the MTV awards whatever year that was? Give it to the girl, she learned from [and apparently has the blessing of] the best: ‘Ain’t no such thing as bad press!’ My prediction, dated, right here, right now: Brittany will utter the F Word on her next record. And it will get a LOT of press and she will sigh and again utter ‘I am not a role model, I want to be seen as an adult. I am not a virgin you know.’ You read it here first.
What has me so cranky? Michael is in town. I love Michael, but he admits he is stuck in a time warp: 1964-1974. I want to do an hour on tape and post our discussion. Ask what was so great about then? What about the 80s? What about REM and Replacements? Do you let your 12 year old daughter listen to the shit that’s out there now?
Man, sitting here with whiskey and coke and remastered Television [reissued by, you guessed it, Rhino again!]; maybe I am channeling the spirit of Lester [big HAW HAW]! Why is Marquee Moon so GREAT and Adventure [2nd] so mediocre? So maybe I am in my own time warp I know I like a lot on Michael’s era…not the Monkees or the Turtles or Dave Clark Five, maybe a couple singles but not ALL encompassing! I don’t need ALL the Monkees, maybe not even a full greatest hits album. On the other hand, Michael is an anal complete archivist. He all ready owns all the Beatles, but he wants the two double CD sets 1962-1966 and 1967-1970! I keep asking why he needs those, can’t he burn them himself or burn BETTER compilations, but he just shrugs and says “I want them, that’s why.” Like owning the Rolling Stones Hot Rocks collection. He doesn’t understand why I am put off by this [IMHO] egregious purchase; part of it is “you all ready own half of this, why pay for it again? You’re playing right to the record company pricks Zappa warned you about! How many Doors Greatest Hits CDs have been released in the last 15 years?”… the other part is it make me grin to know I am grating a nerve.
Now I owe Michael a lot. He turns me onto many things I never would have heard otherwise. Like the other day we were watching football and listening to the first Journey [the Neal Schon-Greg Rollie-Anysley Dunbar, fresh from Santana Journey, not the ‘label says you should get a real singer, how about Steve Perry?’ Journey] and [Leslie] West, [Jack] Bruce and [Corky] Lainge and discussing Robin Trower [Bruce, Bill Lordan and Trower’s BLT, great under rated record!]. He played a Turtles record called Battle of the Bands, [remember battle of the bands? I remebered one night seeing Trying Season lose to a cover band someplace in Arlington… the cover band had a talk box and did ‘Do You Feel Like We Do’ and ‘Those Shoes’ while I am screaming “play something ORIGINAL!”] with the Turtles doing ten different musical styles that was really cool. Discussing the original Alice Cooper band [Alice Cooper was the name of the band and they quit in 1975 because, well, Alice became Alice.] and Alice replacing them with Lou Reed’s Rock and Roll Animal band for Welcome to My Nightmare. I am worried he is becoming that ‘baby boomer, we were the greatest generation’ person. Of course, he is a Rush Limbaugh fan, so I don’t know.
ADD: I think I have just figured it out... I am afraind Michael is going to be some sort of Elitist Completist, which is the ULTIMATE musical snobbery, and we all know I HAVE to be the biggest music snob on the BLOG. I mean I have been trying recently to determine whetjher I am a music collector [i.e. Am I collecting songs and not worried about formats, so what's wrong with burning down CDs I have and selling the 'corporate packaging'] or if I am a record collector [i.e. Am I collecting the music ALONG WITH the sleeve and photos and liner notes and stuff I find so interesting]. So far it's a pretty even split, the sitcking point being Aerosmith Toys in the Attic and Rocks. Do I want people to come in and SEE that little plastic box printed in a factory somewhere and go "Cool album" or do I just need to have it for myself and let people ask when they DON'T see it in my collection? Or do I burn a two on one CD and go buy some used vynil for "showing off?"
Anyway, I am working Thanksgiving and the day after. I’ll take the money, but I know getting off at 800 Thursday night and being in at 700 Friday morning is going to suck. Y’All enjoy your turkey America, I will be thinking of my next rant…
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
More Guilty Pleasures…
Well, I don’t consider this a guilty pleasure because I unabashedly love this band, but last night I got an urge to hear Queen II. I know some people go “Eww, that’s everything that was WRONG with rock and roll in the 70’s.” Some people had a problem with Freddie Mercury’s “flamboyance.” [Like Elton John was a withering flower] Well you can all kiss my big fat happy white ass.
On the first few records, notably Queen and Queen II, they were a fairly progressive band along the likes of King Crimson and Yes, but instead of being virtuoso instrumentalists and trying to throw every flat-7th-suspended 9th chord they knew into the mix, they concentrated more on songs. Of course they always had those layers of vocals and guitars, though the layers would build and build over the next few years, peaking with A Night at the Opera’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and ‘The Prophet Song.’ [The vocals would remain important, but would never get into those numbers of layers again.] I learned a lot trying to sing along with those harmonies, and I suspect that one Robert John ‘Mutt’ Lange did, too.It was also important that they had three guys in the band who could take a lead vocal, though Freddie took most of the vocal chores [Yes only had that annoying Jon Anderson]. They were also lucky in that all four members wrote [silent bassist John Deacon wrote the hits ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ drummer Roger Taylor wrote a lot of up-tempo rockers and Brain May wrote some of the nicer, more introspective pieces.
Though the layers were less dense and the focus sharper, their third Sheer Heart Attack [the song with the same title would appear on 1977’s News of the World, penned by drummer Roger Taylor and featuring a punkish wall of guitars and white noise ‘solo’ ] introduced Freddie’s piano playing into the fore, especially on their hit ‘Killer Queen.’ But they also hit you over the head with the speed drive of ‘Stone Cold Crazy’ and the camp, roaring twenties flavored ‘Bring Back That Leroy Brown.’ I have on tape a show from just after Freddie’s death where he talks about Queen’s independent stance on their music; “ A lot of bands will do one thing on their first record, and if that doesn’t work, will say ‘Well, let’s try this…’; No no no no! This is the wrong way to go about it.” Apparently Queen had their own over the top sound they wanted and just waited for the rest of the world to come around to it.
Of course, A Night at the Opera was their major breakthrough. Whoever would have thought that a six and a half minute song with an operatic break in the middle would become a world wide smash? Unfortunately, the follow up, A Day at the Races, is one that I just cannot stand, though I don’t know why… there’s only a couple songs that I like on it, ‘Somebody to Love’ and ‘White Man’ and the classic ‘Tie Your Mother Down.’ They came back with the harder edged News of the World. Yeah, it’s got ‘We Will Rock You / We Are the Champions’ but it’s still a good record, powered by the previously mentioned ‘Sheer Heart Attack,’ Taylor’s other composition on the record, ‘Fight from the Inside,’ ‘Spread Your Wings’ and Freddie’s excellent ‘Get Down Make Love.’ I think that has a lot to do with them not working with Roy Thomas Baker [who would do the first few Cars albums, also] and recording in Munich with the producer known only as Mack. [Mack also did Billy Squier’s first couple hit records, before he was prancing around in pink on MTV and a couple of ELO records around this period, too.]
Jazz was the first full length Queen I heard. My friend Mark got it and put up the ‘Start of the Bicycle Race’ poster with all the girls [Mark was a catalyst for a lot of growing up at the time, which is another article unto itself]. Mark’s dad owned a jewelry store at the time on Cooper and Pioneer/303 in Arlington, when that was still a fairly happening part of town in the late 70’s early 80’s, and we would go out there with his mom sometimes when she’d take us to the movies and go to the record store that was a few doors down and just kill time looking through the racks and dreaming of the music we would buy… I remember plainly the guy was going out of business and we were dying to have Live Killers, but the guy wouldn’t budge on the 12.99. As a matter of fact, Mark and I saw Queen [with Billy Squier] in 1982 at Reunion [decent seats on the floor, about 1/3 of the way back on the left], what turned out to be their last US tour, and my second concert [first was ELO in 1981 at Tarrant County with my Dad, the kings of Ohio, the Michael Stanly Band opening]. Mark told me if someone handed me a joint and I saw a cop to flick it into the aisle… he was all ready so much more worldly wise being from New York City [Queens, as a matter of fact] and spending a couple of weeks in the summer back there with a half brother…. but more about me and Mark later.
We moved out to Burleson in January 1980, after ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ had been the surprise hit of the summer of 79 [I remember being in the Pizza Hut in front of the Edison’s at Park Springs and 303 playing a little table top pinball machine when I first heard it, and it knocked my socks off.] When The Game came out, I liked it, but I got sick of ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ pretty quick. The better track was the track that followed it on the album, ‘Dragon Attack.’ And Brian May’s ‘Sail Away Sweet Sister’ and Roger Taylor’s ‘Rock It [Prime Jive]’ and ‘Coming Soon.’ The Game also marked the first appearance of a synthesizer on a Queen record, something they would embrace heavily on albums to come. Then came the great Queen/Bowie record ‘Under Pressure.’ Then Queen fell off the radar in the US. Now I know Hot Space was a fairly mediocre record [knew it the first time I played it], too much Freddie, too much disco, but the follow up, The Works was a lot better. Now I know some people only heard ‘Radio Ga-Ga’ and went “blah blah” but the second side had a great song ‘Hammer to Fall,’ which I saw the video for ONCE on some second rate video show that used to run after Saturday Night Live back then, and ‘Machines.’ I found A Kind of Magic [remember ‘One Vision’] by sheer dumb luck, wandering into the old Sound Warehouse on Camp Bowie and seeing it on an endcap. [Remember endcaps and wall displays Nate and Ed? Well the SW on CB had a pyramid at the front of the store for new releases. When I was at Forever Young, we’d take down Phillip’s displays and make our own ‘guess the theme’ endcaps, like bands named after animals or bands with people named Jerry in them…] I think I bought that and This is Big Audio Dynamite the same day.
I had just been ‘released’ from Sound Warehouse when The Miracle came out [all songs credited to Queen, not individuals]. It has its moments, but it was pretty clearly dinosaur rock. Innuendo came out a couple of years later with the tough ending track ‘The Show Must Go On,’ and the playful ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad.’ Freddie was still in good voice [Brain said later, “he would come in and be good for an hour or two, then prop himself up at the mixing desk. It was just amazing some of the things he forced out of his body.”] but it was clear from the photograph inside he was not well.
It’s been just over ten years since Freddie died. Some people only see the stigma of him dying of AIDS and being gay. I still love the man’s music. I don’t let what he did behind closed doors color the body of work, the same way I don’t let it color my judgment of Rob Halford [and some of those Priest records just ROCK! But I do occasionally find myself wondering about some of the lyrics; they take on a very tongue in cheek double-entendre knowing that he is what he is. “Better by you, better than me,” indeed.] Freddie maintained a sense of humor about himself. He said of the drastic change in appearance from 1975 to 1980 “If I was running around in long hair and nail polish now, I’d look ridiculous. I mean I looked ridiculous then, too, but it worked!”
Sadly, like the Clash, radio only plays a handful of the work: ‘Bohemian,’
‘Killer Queen,’ ‘Fat Bottomed Girls,’ ‘Champions,’ ‘Rock You’ and occasionally ‘Dust,’ or ‘Crazy Little Thing.’ That’s a hand full of singles from almost 20 years of work [the posthumous Made in Heaven, plus Live at Wembly ’86 and Live at the BBC [circa 1973-74] not withstanding]. That’s more than the Clash can lay claim to. But I wonder if, in the grand scheme, they’re really going to be any more than a one hit wonder.
Well, I don’t consider this a guilty pleasure because I unabashedly love this band, but last night I got an urge to hear Queen II. I know some people go “Eww, that’s everything that was WRONG with rock and roll in the 70’s.” Some people had a problem with Freddie Mercury’s “flamboyance.” [Like Elton John was a withering flower] Well you can all kiss my big fat happy white ass.
On the first few records, notably Queen and Queen II, they were a fairly progressive band along the likes of King Crimson and Yes, but instead of being virtuoso instrumentalists and trying to throw every flat-7th-suspended 9th chord they knew into the mix, they concentrated more on songs. Of course they always had those layers of vocals and guitars, though the layers would build and build over the next few years, peaking with A Night at the Opera’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and ‘The Prophet Song.’ [The vocals would remain important, but would never get into those numbers of layers again.] I learned a lot trying to sing along with those harmonies, and I suspect that one Robert John ‘Mutt’ Lange did, too.It was also important that they had three guys in the band who could take a lead vocal, though Freddie took most of the vocal chores [Yes only had that annoying Jon Anderson]. They were also lucky in that all four members wrote [silent bassist John Deacon wrote the hits ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ drummer Roger Taylor wrote a lot of up-tempo rockers and Brain May wrote some of the nicer, more introspective pieces.
Though the layers were less dense and the focus sharper, their third Sheer Heart Attack [the song with the same title would appear on 1977’s News of the World, penned by drummer Roger Taylor and featuring a punkish wall of guitars and white noise ‘solo’ ] introduced Freddie’s piano playing into the fore, especially on their hit ‘Killer Queen.’ But they also hit you over the head with the speed drive of ‘Stone Cold Crazy’ and the camp, roaring twenties flavored ‘Bring Back That Leroy Brown.’ I have on tape a show from just after Freddie’s death where he talks about Queen’s independent stance on their music; “ A lot of bands will do one thing on their first record, and if that doesn’t work, will say ‘Well, let’s try this…’; No no no no! This is the wrong way to go about it.” Apparently Queen had their own over the top sound they wanted and just waited for the rest of the world to come around to it.
Of course, A Night at the Opera was their major breakthrough. Whoever would have thought that a six and a half minute song with an operatic break in the middle would become a world wide smash? Unfortunately, the follow up, A Day at the Races, is one that I just cannot stand, though I don’t know why… there’s only a couple songs that I like on it, ‘Somebody to Love’ and ‘White Man’ and the classic ‘Tie Your Mother Down.’ They came back with the harder edged News of the World. Yeah, it’s got ‘We Will Rock You / We Are the Champions’ but it’s still a good record, powered by the previously mentioned ‘Sheer Heart Attack,’ Taylor’s other composition on the record, ‘Fight from the Inside,’ ‘Spread Your Wings’ and Freddie’s excellent ‘Get Down Make Love.’ I think that has a lot to do with them not working with Roy Thomas Baker [who would do the first few Cars albums, also] and recording in Munich with the producer known only as Mack. [Mack also did Billy Squier’s first couple hit records, before he was prancing around in pink on MTV and a couple of ELO records around this period, too.]
Jazz was the first full length Queen I heard. My friend Mark got it and put up the ‘Start of the Bicycle Race’ poster with all the girls [Mark was a catalyst for a lot of growing up at the time, which is another article unto itself]. Mark’s dad owned a jewelry store at the time on Cooper and Pioneer/303 in Arlington, when that was still a fairly happening part of town in the late 70’s early 80’s, and we would go out there with his mom sometimes when she’d take us to the movies and go to the record store that was a few doors down and just kill time looking through the racks and dreaming of the music we would buy… I remember plainly the guy was going out of business and we were dying to have Live Killers, but the guy wouldn’t budge on the 12.99. As a matter of fact, Mark and I saw Queen [with Billy Squier] in 1982 at Reunion [decent seats on the floor, about 1/3 of the way back on the left], what turned out to be their last US tour, and my second concert [first was ELO in 1981 at Tarrant County with my Dad, the kings of Ohio, the Michael Stanly Band opening]. Mark told me if someone handed me a joint and I saw a cop to flick it into the aisle… he was all ready so much more worldly wise being from New York City [Queens, as a matter of fact] and spending a couple of weeks in the summer back there with a half brother…. but more about me and Mark later.
We moved out to Burleson in January 1980, after ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ had been the surprise hit of the summer of 79 [I remember being in the Pizza Hut in front of the Edison’s at Park Springs and 303 playing a little table top pinball machine when I first heard it, and it knocked my socks off.] When The Game came out, I liked it, but I got sick of ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ pretty quick. The better track was the track that followed it on the album, ‘Dragon Attack.’ And Brian May’s ‘Sail Away Sweet Sister’ and Roger Taylor’s ‘Rock It [Prime Jive]’ and ‘Coming Soon.’ The Game also marked the first appearance of a synthesizer on a Queen record, something they would embrace heavily on albums to come. Then came the great Queen/Bowie record ‘Under Pressure.’ Then Queen fell off the radar in the US. Now I know Hot Space was a fairly mediocre record [knew it the first time I played it], too much Freddie, too much disco, but the follow up, The Works was a lot better. Now I know some people only heard ‘Radio Ga-Ga’ and went “blah blah” but the second side had a great song ‘Hammer to Fall,’ which I saw the video for ONCE on some second rate video show that used to run after Saturday Night Live back then, and ‘Machines.’ I found A Kind of Magic [remember ‘One Vision’] by sheer dumb luck, wandering into the old Sound Warehouse on Camp Bowie and seeing it on an endcap. [Remember endcaps and wall displays Nate and Ed? Well the SW on CB had a pyramid at the front of the store for new releases. When I was at Forever Young, we’d take down Phillip’s displays and make our own ‘guess the theme’ endcaps, like bands named after animals or bands with people named Jerry in them…] I think I bought that and This is Big Audio Dynamite the same day.
I had just been ‘released’ from Sound Warehouse when The Miracle came out [all songs credited to Queen, not individuals]. It has its moments, but it was pretty clearly dinosaur rock. Innuendo came out a couple of years later with the tough ending track ‘The Show Must Go On,’ and the playful ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad.’ Freddie was still in good voice [Brain said later, “he would come in and be good for an hour or two, then prop himself up at the mixing desk. It was just amazing some of the things he forced out of his body.”] but it was clear from the photograph inside he was not well.
It’s been just over ten years since Freddie died. Some people only see the stigma of him dying of AIDS and being gay. I still love the man’s music. I don’t let what he did behind closed doors color the body of work, the same way I don’t let it color my judgment of Rob Halford [and some of those Priest records just ROCK! But I do occasionally find myself wondering about some of the lyrics; they take on a very tongue in cheek double-entendre knowing that he is what he is. “Better by you, better than me,” indeed.] Freddie maintained a sense of humor about himself. He said of the drastic change in appearance from 1975 to 1980 “If I was running around in long hair and nail polish now, I’d look ridiculous. I mean I looked ridiculous then, too, but it worked!”
Sadly, like the Clash, radio only plays a handful of the work: ‘Bohemian,’
‘Killer Queen,’ ‘Fat Bottomed Girls,’ ‘Champions,’ ‘Rock You’ and occasionally ‘Dust,’ or ‘Crazy Little Thing.’ That’s a hand full of singles from almost 20 years of work [the posthumous Made in Heaven, plus Live at Wembly ’86 and Live at the BBC [circa 1973-74] not withstanding]. That’s more than the Clash can lay claim to. But I wonder if, in the grand scheme, they’re really going to be any more than a one hit wonder.
Monday, November 10, 2003
Rock and Roll?
From the first five seconds, it’s clear that Ryan Adams new record is an ELECTRIC record. Ryan made this one with just drummer Johnny T. and three or four guest bass players and a couple guest vocalists [including current flame I guess, Parker Posey, who is also given a co-writing credit on one song]. On a lot of the early cuts, it’s just Ryan screaming vocals over layered power guitars ala Foo Fighters or Smashing Pumpkins. As a matter of fact, I think on this record Ryan is really trying to BE Billy Corrigan [without shaving his head].
‘This Is It’ opens with a slice of pure power pop [amazingly not the first single]. ‘1974’ [note similarity to Smashing Pumpkins title ‘1979’] has a good Fun House era Stooges groove, very similar to ‘TV Eye.’ ‘Wish You Were Here’ is musically interesting, but is dragged down by awful lyrics [CHORUS: “It’s all a bunch of shit/And there’s nothing to do around here/ It’s totally fucked/ I’m totally fucked/ Wish you were here”]. ‘So Alive’ is a great eighties groove [‘Strength’ by the Alarm meets U2’s ‘I Will Follow’] with some Morrisey meets Bono vocal styling. ‘Burning Photographs’ has a really cool reverbed and tremoloed [change in volume vs. vibrato :change in pitch] guitars. Who is this about? [“Pretty pictures in a magazine/ Everybody is so make believe it’s true/ I used to be sad/ Now I’m bored with you/ You’re doomed to repeat the past/ Cause nothing is going to last/ I burned all your photographs”] ‘Note to Self: Don’t Die’ is Ryan’s ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings.’ Of course the title track, ‘Rock and Roll’ features just Ryan on piano, but he admits his problem out load: “Send all of my best to the band/ I don’t think I’ll make it to the show/ There’s this girl I can’t get out of my head.” ‘Anybody Want to Take Me Home’ is a nice song with it’s chiming 12 strings and sad boy alone in NYC lyrics, but it would be better for Adam Duritz / Counting Crows. ‘The Drugs Are not Working’ has more cool guitars with viobrato arm / wang bar dives over another Stooges groove winding up to the last two minutes of some wah-wah guitars and cheesy synthetic strings finally ending with about ten seconds of piano.
It’s not a bad record. I can even see myself enjoying it as mindless pop entertainment in a sort of U2 October meets Smashing Pumpkins kind of way. But as any sort of artistic statement, forget about it. There’s no real EMOTION to this record at all, and that’s one of the things that made Ryan’s other solo and Whiskeytown enjoyable; there was a joy in just playing or an underlying sadness or anger that is totally NOT present on this record.
Love Is Hell [Part 1, Part 2 is due out the first week on December] on the other hand is the return of brooding Ryan and definitely [or ‘defiantly’ rumor is that the label rejected this project as Ryan’s new full length disc] more acoustic and sad. One could hardly wonder why if you’re pop star whiz kid turned in this brooding, unpretty [read: no hit single or radio potential, no VH1 videos] album. However, all of you that have been griping about Ryan’s ‘new pop sound’ should be happier.
Leading off with ‘Political Scientist’ a tale of people living out on the edge of someplace and sinking in a life in which “There’s no guarantees.” ‘Afraid Not Dying’ seems to be Ryan’s take on the end of the movie Titanic, or someone drowning in their life. It’s a way better song than my quick summation may suggest, with lines like “She started freezing/ Lungs all collapsing/ The momentum is passing/ But the moment is eating us whole.” ‘Love Is Hell’ has nice chiming guitars and sounds like it could be a Stranger’s Almanac out take. Adams also covers Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall,’ a great acoustic take with one plaintive keyboard note droning underneath and a great subdued string arrangement towards the end. ‘World War 24’ is another tale of people sinking in their own lives for something “tasting sugar sweet, she love it when it hits her teeth.” The album/EP ends with ‘Avalanche’ one more song about someone who’s lost someone else: “I found your photograph/ In a box in a magazine/ I can’t remember you/ Remember us or anything…” “I watch the window and listen for the cars/ I can’t remember the last time it was yours…” and features the guitar lick that will turn up on Rock and Roll in 'Burning Photographs.'
Overall, I’d say this is a deeper, much more artistic work than Rock and Roll, but knowing the state of the music business, it’s not hard to see why it was rejected. It’s deep enough to compare to Lou Reed’s brilliant but depressing Berlin or Sprinsteen’s spare look at America, Nebraska. I’m not sure of the emotional content or commitment, but this sure feels better than Rock and Roll.
RANDOM NOTES: Saw Cheap Trick at Next Stage Saturday and they rocked the house and shame on you if you missed it, though the house was about 95% full. We were FAR FAR left and I think the sound could have been better on our side, but NS is definately designed for concerts. Whoever decided to charge $ 12 for parking needs a kick in the pants, and getting out of there is a disaster, far worse then Reunion or the AAC. But the band was tight, even if Robin Zander never took off his hat [not cap, hat, the same one he was sporting on Letterman and Conan]. Tom Peterson looked like he just rolled out of bed, but they played great, opening with a three song acoustic set, and played 'I Want You to Want Me' early in the set and whipped out 'Big Eyes' and 'Down on the Street' [aka the 'That 70's Show' theme]. Frankly I had forgotten some of their hits, like 'If You Want My Love' and 'I Can't Take It,' but they didn't whip out any 'Southern Girls' 'ELO Kiddies' or 'California Man' and I personally think that 'Voices' would have been great for the acoustic set. But they rocked the house.
At the same time, the CBE [Can't Beat the East] Dallas Stars were losing to Boston... ha ha 1-6 vs the East. If 'Iron Mike' Keenan' get fired for underachieving with a bunch of kids in Florida, has the clock began ticking for Dave Tippet in Big D? From what I have seen, Sergei Zubov is playing just AWFUL this year [it seems to be going through the D one player at a time, two years ago it was Hatcher, last year Rich Matvichuk...]. Mike Modano is underachieving and Bill Geuirin can't score on the road... well, NO ONE can score on the road. Unfortunately, they play 41 game on the raod again this year [nice how that works out, eh?]. But hey, they didn't give up a 9-0 whitewash to the red hot Tampa Bay Lighning [yet] like the Pens did the same night. How hard is that on a young team, especially a 21 year old goaltender who gave up 8 of the 9?
Hmmm, Jaromir Jagr doesn't like the coach and he's underachieving and not playing to his potential. Remember when I said Mario traded him because he was a whiny selfish brat and locker room poison, that it WASN'T all about money [though that was a factor, for sure]? No? Well, trust me I did. And I heard Bary Melrose say that Jagr hasn't had anyone who could tell him to act like a grown up since Ron Francis left Pittsburgh. So I feel vindicated.
Detroit falling apart all ready? Cujo [the over-rated] sucking and Dominic has a groin strain, depth tested all ready and they're not making the cut... could Dallas and Detroit BOTH have fallen to the lower half of the playoff tree so early? Neither looks like they could make it out of the first round right now. Look out for St Louis and Chicago and the surprising LA Kings.
Speaking of LA, rumor is that Jason Allison [the oft-injured] has worn out his welcome in La La Land. Detroit could use the depth, but what do they have left to give? Could one of the grind liners [Kirk Maltby or Darren McCarty] be sent West to shake up the Wings? Would LA take Cujo on a dare, because Chechmanek continues to show flashes of lunk-headedness that got him shipped out of Philadelphia...
I forgot about the Mike Comrie saga in Edmonton... hometown boy makes a million then says 'I can't take playing at home.' A good young center, if small, he could be a fine addition to any team, but look for someone with a deep system to make a pitch, because Edmonton still can't take on salary... could the Wild, Nashville or Atlanta make a run for him? See if underachieving Patrick Stefan in Atlanta get a ticket to Edmonton for Christmas...
How do the Devils keep winning when they can only score two goals a night? With a healy Johnny Vermont [LeClair] and Tony Amonte, the Flyers look like a dangerous team again, if they can get Simon Gagne or Jason Williams scoring again. Can the underachieving NY Hockey Rangers EVER get on the same page together? Will Slats hire Mike Keenan again to take himself out of the frying pan? How is it the underachieving Toronto Maple Leafs are ahead of a run and gun team like the Ottawa Senators?
From the first five seconds, it’s clear that Ryan Adams new record is an ELECTRIC record. Ryan made this one with just drummer Johnny T. and three or four guest bass players and a couple guest vocalists [including current flame I guess, Parker Posey, who is also given a co-writing credit on one song]. On a lot of the early cuts, it’s just Ryan screaming vocals over layered power guitars ala Foo Fighters or Smashing Pumpkins. As a matter of fact, I think on this record Ryan is really trying to BE Billy Corrigan [without shaving his head].
‘This Is It’ opens with a slice of pure power pop [amazingly not the first single]. ‘1974’ [note similarity to Smashing Pumpkins title ‘1979’] has a good Fun House era Stooges groove, very similar to ‘TV Eye.’ ‘Wish You Were Here’ is musically interesting, but is dragged down by awful lyrics [CHORUS: “It’s all a bunch of shit/And there’s nothing to do around here/ It’s totally fucked/ I’m totally fucked/ Wish you were here”]. ‘So Alive’ is a great eighties groove [‘Strength’ by the Alarm meets U2’s ‘I Will Follow’] with some Morrisey meets Bono vocal styling. ‘Burning Photographs’ has a really cool reverbed and tremoloed [change in volume vs. vibrato :change in pitch] guitars. Who is this about? [“Pretty pictures in a magazine/ Everybody is so make believe it’s true/ I used to be sad/ Now I’m bored with you/ You’re doomed to repeat the past/ Cause nothing is going to last/ I burned all your photographs”] ‘Note to Self: Don’t Die’ is Ryan’s ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings.’ Of course the title track, ‘Rock and Roll’ features just Ryan on piano, but he admits his problem out load: “Send all of my best to the band/ I don’t think I’ll make it to the show/ There’s this girl I can’t get out of my head.” ‘Anybody Want to Take Me Home’ is a nice song with it’s chiming 12 strings and sad boy alone in NYC lyrics, but it would be better for Adam Duritz / Counting Crows. ‘The Drugs Are not Working’ has more cool guitars with viobrato arm / wang bar dives over another Stooges groove winding up to the last two minutes of some wah-wah guitars and cheesy synthetic strings finally ending with about ten seconds of piano.
It’s not a bad record. I can even see myself enjoying it as mindless pop entertainment in a sort of U2 October meets Smashing Pumpkins kind of way. But as any sort of artistic statement, forget about it. There’s no real EMOTION to this record at all, and that’s one of the things that made Ryan’s other solo and Whiskeytown enjoyable; there was a joy in just playing or an underlying sadness or anger that is totally NOT present on this record.
Love Is Hell [Part 1, Part 2 is due out the first week on December] on the other hand is the return of brooding Ryan and definitely [or ‘defiantly’ rumor is that the label rejected this project as Ryan’s new full length disc] more acoustic and sad. One could hardly wonder why if you’re pop star whiz kid turned in this brooding, unpretty [read: no hit single or radio potential, no VH1 videos] album. However, all of you that have been griping about Ryan’s ‘new pop sound’ should be happier.
Leading off with ‘Political Scientist’ a tale of people living out on the edge of someplace and sinking in a life in which “There’s no guarantees.” ‘Afraid Not Dying’ seems to be Ryan’s take on the end of the movie Titanic, or someone drowning in their life. It’s a way better song than my quick summation may suggest, with lines like “She started freezing/ Lungs all collapsing/ The momentum is passing/ But the moment is eating us whole.” ‘Love Is Hell’ has nice chiming guitars and sounds like it could be a Stranger’s Almanac out take. Adams also covers Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall,’ a great acoustic take with one plaintive keyboard note droning underneath and a great subdued string arrangement towards the end. ‘World War 24’ is another tale of people sinking in their own lives for something “tasting sugar sweet, she love it when it hits her teeth.” The album/EP ends with ‘Avalanche’ one more song about someone who’s lost someone else: “I found your photograph/ In a box in a magazine/ I can’t remember you/ Remember us or anything…” “I watch the window and listen for the cars/ I can’t remember the last time it was yours…” and features the guitar lick that will turn up on Rock and Roll in 'Burning Photographs.'
Overall, I’d say this is a deeper, much more artistic work than Rock and Roll, but knowing the state of the music business, it’s not hard to see why it was rejected. It’s deep enough to compare to Lou Reed’s brilliant but depressing Berlin or Sprinsteen’s spare look at America, Nebraska. I’m not sure of the emotional content or commitment, but this sure feels better than Rock and Roll.
RANDOM NOTES: Saw Cheap Trick at Next Stage Saturday and they rocked the house and shame on you if you missed it, though the house was about 95% full. We were FAR FAR left and I think the sound could have been better on our side, but NS is definately designed for concerts. Whoever decided to charge $ 12 for parking needs a kick in the pants, and getting out of there is a disaster, far worse then Reunion or the AAC. But the band was tight, even if Robin Zander never took off his hat [not cap, hat, the same one he was sporting on Letterman and Conan]. Tom Peterson looked like he just rolled out of bed, but they played great, opening with a three song acoustic set, and played 'I Want You to Want Me' early in the set and whipped out 'Big Eyes' and 'Down on the Street' [aka the 'That 70's Show' theme]. Frankly I had forgotten some of their hits, like 'If You Want My Love' and 'I Can't Take It,' but they didn't whip out any 'Southern Girls' 'ELO Kiddies' or 'California Man' and I personally think that 'Voices' would have been great for the acoustic set. But they rocked the house.
At the same time, the CBE [Can't Beat the East] Dallas Stars were losing to Boston... ha ha 1-6 vs the East. If 'Iron Mike' Keenan' get fired for underachieving with a bunch of kids in Florida, has the clock began ticking for Dave Tippet in Big D? From what I have seen, Sergei Zubov is playing just AWFUL this year [it seems to be going through the D one player at a time, two years ago it was Hatcher, last year Rich Matvichuk...]. Mike Modano is underachieving and Bill Geuirin can't score on the road... well, NO ONE can score on the road. Unfortunately, they play 41 game on the raod again this year [nice how that works out, eh?]. But hey, they didn't give up a 9-0 whitewash to the red hot Tampa Bay Lighning [yet] like the Pens did the same night. How hard is that on a young team, especially a 21 year old goaltender who gave up 8 of the 9?
Hmmm, Jaromir Jagr doesn't like the coach and he's underachieving and not playing to his potential. Remember when I said Mario traded him because he was a whiny selfish brat and locker room poison, that it WASN'T all about money [though that was a factor, for sure]? No? Well, trust me I did. And I heard Bary Melrose say that Jagr hasn't had anyone who could tell him to act like a grown up since Ron Francis left Pittsburgh. So I feel vindicated.
Detroit falling apart all ready? Cujo [the over-rated] sucking and Dominic has a groin strain, depth tested all ready and they're not making the cut... could Dallas and Detroit BOTH have fallen to the lower half of the playoff tree so early? Neither looks like they could make it out of the first round right now. Look out for St Louis and Chicago and the surprising LA Kings.
Speaking of LA, rumor is that Jason Allison [the oft-injured] has worn out his welcome in La La Land. Detroit could use the depth, but what do they have left to give? Could one of the grind liners [Kirk Maltby or Darren McCarty] be sent West to shake up the Wings? Would LA take Cujo on a dare, because Chechmanek continues to show flashes of lunk-headedness that got him shipped out of Philadelphia...
I forgot about the Mike Comrie saga in Edmonton... hometown boy makes a million then says 'I can't take playing at home.' A good young center, if small, he could be a fine addition to any team, but look for someone with a deep system to make a pitch, because Edmonton still can't take on salary... could the Wild, Nashville or Atlanta make a run for him? See if underachieving Patrick Stefan in Atlanta get a ticket to Edmonton for Christmas...
How do the Devils keep winning when they can only score two goals a night? With a healy Johnny Vermont [LeClair] and Tony Amonte, the Flyers look like a dangerous team again, if they can get Simon Gagne or Jason Williams scoring again. Can the underachieving NY Hockey Rangers EVER get on the same page together? Will Slats hire Mike Keenan again to take himself out of the frying pan? How is it the underachieving Toronto Maple Leafs are ahead of a run and gun team like the Ottawa Senators?
Saturday, November 01, 2003
I am beginning to wonder if Paul Westerberg laughing at us, the faithful. With Come Feel Me Tremble and Dead Man Shake he has sold us 2 CDs of lo-fi goods. Oh, granted they’re some of the most soulful and heart-wrenching goods you’re likely to encounter anywhere else, certainly not on the radio or VH1. I will even go so far as to say there is more soul in one of Westerberg’s fucked up solos [purposeful or not] on ‘Dirty Diesel’ than the whole catalog of Brittany / N’Synch / The Strokes AND insert popular flavor of the month band here. But this set doesn’t break much, if any new ground. It’s less polished than last year’s Stereo /Mono set. Stereo was mixed much prettier. There were definitive highs and the vocals were pushed out front, though they were left intentionally raw and rough. Here, the songs seem to be mixed [or NOT mixed] to be very raw. ‘Dirty Diesel’ for example has a hard separation of guitar hard left, bass, handclaps, lyric and drums hard right, and the lyrics are buried in the rumble of Paul’s none too pretty bass playing.
Also I have to mention right away that the track listing is whack. Track 3, ‘Hillbilly Junk’ is really track 9, so you have to play along with the scorecard. Whether this is another of Paul’s jokes, I do not know, but I wondered about making twelve different versions with no numbers on the label, so you’d have to number them yourself. Or making collector’s items trying to gather all twelve mixes. Hey, if people will buy a CD of every stinkin’ Pearl Jam [or Grateful Dead or Phish] show on a tour, they could buy twelve Westerbergs! Or sell the set as 14 separate single song discs you can download to your computer and burn one final CD in your own favorite running order.
Now before you get too down, let’s run through some first impressions. ‘What A Day [For A Night]’ is a nice easy track, proving Westerberg’s not ALWAYS as serious as ‘Boring Enormous’ or ‘Let the Bad Times Roll.’ ‘Wild and Lethal’ is five minutes is almost joyful [a word rarely associated with Westerberg] and includes a fun harmonica solo! The ‘Alternate Take’ [quiet] of ‘Crackle and Drag’ seems to be the more fitting, given the dark subject matter [think ‘Blackeyed Susan’ from 14 Songs], but the electric version is pretty damn catchy and infectious, like an awful lot of Mono was. ‘Pine Box’ is a full out rocker, the closest thing to the Mats he’s pulled off since the first solo record. It’s nice to know PW can still pull off things like this, but then again I think it’d been a whole lot more effective with a full band ala 14 Songs, where Paul could lay back and let someone else carry a few bars or go against him with a descending bass line or something. ‘Meet Me Down the Alley’ is back to typical PW of Suicane or Stereo, not as blue as ‘Bad Times Roll,’ but still searching for something, still “not too young to die.”
Westerberg’s cover of Jackson Browne’s ‘These Days’ has been getting some ink because we all know PW can turn out some good songs on his own [now Joe Cocker is a great interpreter of songs!], but I think it’s a good track. It’s probably not as pretty as Jackson’s version… Jackson has a silky voice and usually hires top talent like David Lindley, Russ Kunkle and Waddy Wachtel [admit it, Westerberg’s voice can be shaky and nasal, though that’s part of his charm], but Paul lays down some pretty good slide guitar and puts a lot of feeling into Browne’s song about growing older [and even growing up a little]. If there was any justice and/or real radio, this would be a great late night/ pre-dawn morning track.
Dead Man Shake by Westerberg’s alter ego [or split personality] Grandpaboy on blues label Fat Possum is more blues tinged than Westerberg’s fucked up Faces “pop” [I hear a lot of Ronnie Wood in his playing]. Very lo-fideleity again. There’s not a lot of high frequencies on this until late in the record, making it feel claustrophobic at times. ‘MPLS’ and ‘Take Out Some Insurance’ are pretty good ronk and honk blues reminiscent of Jimmy Reed. ‘Vampires and Failures’ is a good track, if a simple throwaway, but it’s followed by the 5 ½ minute drag of ‘No Matter What You Say,’ which is just bar band blues [pre- Stevie Ray Vaughn; no guitar pyrotechnic, feedback and whammy bar shit here!] bum notes and all. Think the Doors ‘Cars Hiss by My Window’ meets the Allman Brothers ‘Stormy Monday’ as played by your cousins in their basement. ‘Get A Move On’ is another of the original tracks that could have been something if it had been polished a little. Here it sounds like Neil Young and Crazy Horse warming up circa Ragged Glory, before they turned the Marshalls on. The cover of John Prine’s ‘Souvenirs’ is a pretty nice country-ish track, but Hank Williams’ ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’ sounds like it was run through a bullhorn. ‘What Kind of Fool Am I?’ which closes is a nice touch. Another great song Grandpaboy can make the lyrics really hit home on, ala ‘Good Day’ from PW’s Eventually.
But sadly, on the two CDs it’s a lot of hit or miss. We were shown on Stereo that PW can still churn out heartbreakingly great stuff, even if it’s a little rough. Here it feels like he’s just spinning his wheels, or even worse, popping the clutch and stalling out. Maybe it’s my fault for expecting so much from the artist.
On the other hand, there are still those who remember and can play ‘Real Rock and Roll’ the way your Mom and Dad or you may remember it, with crunchy guitars and hooks that would make Rick Neilson proud. This I can attest to have attended the recent CD release party for Nope, who shared the bill with Nate Fowler’s Elixir, at the Double Wide in Dallas.
First, let me say that me and my friend Casey from work dug the motif of the Double Wide. Bad velvet art, bad 70s lamps and lampshades, pretty good jukebox from what we heard [X, Kiss, Ramones, Devo] and reasonably priced drinks. Both said we wished it was closer to home because it’s just a nice ‘hanging out’ bar. Probably the martinis are not as good as Cosmo’s but as a neighborhood BAR, like the old Elm Street Bar or the Lakewood Landing, I think it has promise.
And while I am at it, I will declare off the top that Nate has been a friend of mine for a long time. I have seen him grow from a Van Halen / Steve Vai hairspray and technique freak to a damn fine rock and roll guitarist. He still regularly abuses an old old stomp box analog delay that I traded to him at one time for a pink [and I mean PINK] Ibanez guitar [since painted lime green by my Dad].Though I wish he’d trade in one of those Les Pauls and use a Tele once in a while [the 71-reissue that Nope had on stage would be great!], that’s our old argument. So I have some affiliation here. But Nate’s been in the woodshed a long time, like since February, so it’s a new experience seeing him again. Nate [and his lovely wife… hi Sandy!] and I also trade a lot of “Have you heard this album?” And one album he got a hold of and played me way before this release was Nope. And I liked what I heard right away: real guitars [and bass and drums], real songs, good vocals and lyrics. No synthesized drums and I didn’t hear the words “baby” “oops” or voulez-vous” at all. And it’s not a really danceable album, although now that I’ve seen the boys, they strike me as really choreographically challenged anyway.
Nope, Chris Purdy and Herman Suede, cousins I believe, kicked off the night with longtime Dallas mainstays Kinley Wolfe [who would do double duty backing up Fowler, too] on bass and Earl Darling on drums. Seeing Suede [sometimes hatted, sometimes showing off a mowhawk] on Angus Young’s mainstay cherry red Gibson SG enlightens a rock and roll heart like mine, because only rock and rollers pull out the SG. Purdy’s Tele was a little low in the mix [from the right side of the stage where I was, anyway], but they just stood there and rocked for 45 minutes or so. No frills, no keyboards, no bullshit.
Unfortunately, I did not grab a set list, so I don’t know the order of the songs they played, but I got the CD. You’re going to ask me why I like this CD, and I'll be damned if I can tell you. I can hear snatches of influence from other bands I like. I can tell you what it ISN’T. It’s not the Marshall amp and power chord ‘power pop’ like Jimmy Eat World or Green Day or even Clumsy. It’s not progressive [Television / Talking Heads]. It’s not country or even country flavored Americana [Ryan Adams / Wilco]. I don’t hear a stick of any Stones/Georgia Satellites/ bar band E-A-D bash and thrash. It’s got to be kind of like hearing that first R.E.M. record [Chronic Town or ‘Radio Free Europe’ I mean, still not a fan of Murmur, and my first R.E.M. was Life’s Rich Pagent] or the first Pretenders and thinking “Boy, that doesn’t sound like anything else!”
‘Great Little Loser’ is a great two chord self depreciating stomp. “Can’t Put My Finger on It’ is classic power pop like the Goo Goo Dolls used to do, minus the Marshall stacks. [Nope also know when to NOT hold a power chord for ten bars over a verse… sometimes it’s what you don’t do that makes you different!] ‘It’s Up to You’ reminds of R.E.M. with all those arpegiated chords, but Purdy’s vocals really make it closer to the Church. ‘Nite Cap’ is another ode to hanging at the bar, but with the twist of having the “night cap during the day.” Anyone who’s ever played hooky and gone day drinking can appreciate how funny it can feel to start drinking while it’s still full daylight outside. ‘All Over Town’ is a great acoustic ‘everything’s going wrong’ song Ryan Adams would have been proud to write. ‘Let the Good Times Roll’ is more power pop more in a Replacements / Bash and Pop vein. ‘Clifford’ has a great Westerberg feel [ala ‘Here Comes A Regular’]. The “bonus” track is a fan-fucking-tastic rock and roll take of Mary J. Blige’s ‘Real Love.’ I’d hate to sell this album on a cover tune, but someone needs to get that song on the radio. Buy this album because there isn’t much original rock and roll like this out there anymore!
So after a really good set by Nope, Fowler and Wolfe and drummer Mike Wood took the stage and let loose a killer set of rock and roll. AlterNATEly sounding like the New York Dolls / Johnny Thunders meets Ronnie Wood and Izzy Stradlin, Fowler grabbed that heavy Gibson by the neck and didn’t let up for 45 minutes. He’s said ever since completing the Elixir record he wants a second guitarist, but the way he played, he may have found a way to make a trio work [I suspect liberal use of the delay to get that ‘twin guitar’ signature sound ala ‘Bleeding Years’ and ‘Shiver in the Sunshine’]. He also laid down some tasty slide work on the last two songs of the set. And most pleasantly, Fowler’s vocals continue to improve. Again, I don’t have a set list, and EVERYTHING Fowler played was new, but I hope it’s not another nine months before he plays again. Dallas can use more bands like Nope and the Elixir [and Marc Soloman’s Clumsy… I saw him at the show, but I don’t know him well enough to just walk up and ask the guy what he’s doing.].
As a matter of fact, why not start our own rock and roll revival right here in Dallas? Dallas hasn’t had a scene or identity since the New Bohemians era and that was [believe it or not] almost 15 years ago. Why not make Dallas the Detroit of the early 1970s, [Stooges, Bob Seger before he sold out, Kiss and J Geils breakthrough markets] where good rocking bands come and break or get broken? Somehow get someone like Irv at Idol to snag these guys up and make him the new Vangaurd or Epitath or Sub Pop… hey a guy can dream can’t he?
Also ran into Ron Geida, the Mick Taylor to Ed Voyles Kieth Richards, of Jasper Stone at the show, who advises that they are waiting for the return of their new CD from mastering in the next couple weeks. Spoke to Ed and he advises, for the record, that this record “rocks like fuck.” They will be releasing sometime early in the New Year, check here and the Jasper Stone site for info.
NOPE: www.nope.us
Jasper Stone: www.jasper-stone.com
Also I have to mention right away that the track listing is whack. Track 3, ‘Hillbilly Junk’ is really track 9, so you have to play along with the scorecard. Whether this is another of Paul’s jokes, I do not know, but I wondered about making twelve different versions with no numbers on the label, so you’d have to number them yourself. Or making collector’s items trying to gather all twelve mixes. Hey, if people will buy a CD of every stinkin’ Pearl Jam [or Grateful Dead or Phish] show on a tour, they could buy twelve Westerbergs! Or sell the set as 14 separate single song discs you can download to your computer and burn one final CD in your own favorite running order.
Now before you get too down, let’s run through some first impressions. ‘What A Day [For A Night]’ is a nice easy track, proving Westerberg’s not ALWAYS as serious as ‘Boring Enormous’ or ‘Let the Bad Times Roll.’ ‘Wild and Lethal’ is five minutes is almost joyful [a word rarely associated with Westerberg] and includes a fun harmonica solo! The ‘Alternate Take’ [quiet] of ‘Crackle and Drag’ seems to be the more fitting, given the dark subject matter [think ‘Blackeyed Susan’ from 14 Songs], but the electric version is pretty damn catchy and infectious, like an awful lot of Mono was. ‘Pine Box’ is a full out rocker, the closest thing to the Mats he’s pulled off since the first solo record. It’s nice to know PW can still pull off things like this, but then again I think it’d been a whole lot more effective with a full band ala 14 Songs, where Paul could lay back and let someone else carry a few bars or go against him with a descending bass line or something. ‘Meet Me Down the Alley’ is back to typical PW of Suicane or Stereo, not as blue as ‘Bad Times Roll,’ but still searching for something, still “not too young to die.”
Westerberg’s cover of Jackson Browne’s ‘These Days’ has been getting some ink because we all know PW can turn out some good songs on his own [now Joe Cocker is a great interpreter of songs!], but I think it’s a good track. It’s probably not as pretty as Jackson’s version… Jackson has a silky voice and usually hires top talent like David Lindley, Russ Kunkle and Waddy Wachtel [admit it, Westerberg’s voice can be shaky and nasal, though that’s part of his charm], but Paul lays down some pretty good slide guitar and puts a lot of feeling into Browne’s song about growing older [and even growing up a little]. If there was any justice and/or real radio, this would be a great late night/ pre-dawn morning track.
Dead Man Shake by Westerberg’s alter ego [or split personality] Grandpaboy on blues label Fat Possum is more blues tinged than Westerberg’s fucked up Faces “pop” [I hear a lot of Ronnie Wood in his playing]. Very lo-fideleity again. There’s not a lot of high frequencies on this until late in the record, making it feel claustrophobic at times. ‘MPLS’ and ‘Take Out Some Insurance’ are pretty good ronk and honk blues reminiscent of Jimmy Reed. ‘Vampires and Failures’ is a good track, if a simple throwaway, but it’s followed by the 5 ½ minute drag of ‘No Matter What You Say,’ which is just bar band blues [pre- Stevie Ray Vaughn; no guitar pyrotechnic, feedback and whammy bar shit here!] bum notes and all. Think the Doors ‘Cars Hiss by My Window’ meets the Allman Brothers ‘Stormy Monday’ as played by your cousins in their basement. ‘Get A Move On’ is another of the original tracks that could have been something if it had been polished a little. Here it sounds like Neil Young and Crazy Horse warming up circa Ragged Glory, before they turned the Marshalls on. The cover of John Prine’s ‘Souvenirs’ is a pretty nice country-ish track, but Hank Williams’ ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’ sounds like it was run through a bullhorn. ‘What Kind of Fool Am I?’ which closes is a nice touch. Another great song Grandpaboy can make the lyrics really hit home on, ala ‘Good Day’ from PW’s Eventually.
But sadly, on the two CDs it’s a lot of hit or miss. We were shown on Stereo that PW can still churn out heartbreakingly great stuff, even if it’s a little rough. Here it feels like he’s just spinning his wheels, or even worse, popping the clutch and stalling out. Maybe it’s my fault for expecting so much from the artist.
On the other hand, there are still those who remember and can play ‘Real Rock and Roll’ the way your Mom and Dad or you may remember it, with crunchy guitars and hooks that would make Rick Neilson proud. This I can attest to have attended the recent CD release party for Nope, who shared the bill with Nate Fowler’s Elixir, at the Double Wide in Dallas.
First, let me say that me and my friend Casey from work dug the motif of the Double Wide. Bad velvet art, bad 70s lamps and lampshades, pretty good jukebox from what we heard [X, Kiss, Ramones, Devo] and reasonably priced drinks. Both said we wished it was closer to home because it’s just a nice ‘hanging out’ bar. Probably the martinis are not as good as Cosmo’s but as a neighborhood BAR, like the old Elm Street Bar or the Lakewood Landing, I think it has promise.
And while I am at it, I will declare off the top that Nate has been a friend of mine for a long time. I have seen him grow from a Van Halen / Steve Vai hairspray and technique freak to a damn fine rock and roll guitarist. He still regularly abuses an old old stomp box analog delay that I traded to him at one time for a pink [and I mean PINK] Ibanez guitar [since painted lime green by my Dad].Though I wish he’d trade in one of those Les Pauls and use a Tele once in a while [the 71-reissue that Nope had on stage would be great!], that’s our old argument. So I have some affiliation here. But Nate’s been in the woodshed a long time, like since February, so it’s a new experience seeing him again. Nate [and his lovely wife… hi Sandy!] and I also trade a lot of “Have you heard this album?” And one album he got a hold of and played me way before this release was Nope. And I liked what I heard right away: real guitars [and bass and drums], real songs, good vocals and lyrics. No synthesized drums and I didn’t hear the words “baby” “oops” or voulez-vous” at all. And it’s not a really danceable album, although now that I’ve seen the boys, they strike me as really choreographically challenged anyway.
Nope, Chris Purdy and Herman Suede, cousins I believe, kicked off the night with longtime Dallas mainstays Kinley Wolfe [who would do double duty backing up Fowler, too] on bass and Earl Darling on drums. Seeing Suede [sometimes hatted, sometimes showing off a mowhawk] on Angus Young’s mainstay cherry red Gibson SG enlightens a rock and roll heart like mine, because only rock and rollers pull out the SG. Purdy’s Tele was a little low in the mix [from the right side of the stage where I was, anyway], but they just stood there and rocked for 45 minutes or so. No frills, no keyboards, no bullshit.
Unfortunately, I did not grab a set list, so I don’t know the order of the songs they played, but I got the CD. You’re going to ask me why I like this CD, and I'll be damned if I can tell you. I can hear snatches of influence from other bands I like. I can tell you what it ISN’T. It’s not the Marshall amp and power chord ‘power pop’ like Jimmy Eat World or Green Day or even Clumsy. It’s not progressive [Television / Talking Heads]. It’s not country or even country flavored Americana [Ryan Adams / Wilco]. I don’t hear a stick of any Stones/Georgia Satellites/ bar band E-A-D bash and thrash. It’s got to be kind of like hearing that first R.E.M. record [Chronic Town or ‘Radio Free Europe’ I mean, still not a fan of Murmur, and my first R.E.M. was Life’s Rich Pagent] or the first Pretenders and thinking “Boy, that doesn’t sound like anything else!”
‘Great Little Loser’ is a great two chord self depreciating stomp. “Can’t Put My Finger on It’ is classic power pop like the Goo Goo Dolls used to do, minus the Marshall stacks. [Nope also know when to NOT hold a power chord for ten bars over a verse… sometimes it’s what you don’t do that makes you different!] ‘It’s Up to You’ reminds of R.E.M. with all those arpegiated chords, but Purdy’s vocals really make it closer to the Church. ‘Nite Cap’ is another ode to hanging at the bar, but with the twist of having the “night cap during the day.” Anyone who’s ever played hooky and gone day drinking can appreciate how funny it can feel to start drinking while it’s still full daylight outside. ‘All Over Town’ is a great acoustic ‘everything’s going wrong’ song Ryan Adams would have been proud to write. ‘Let the Good Times Roll’ is more power pop more in a Replacements / Bash and Pop vein. ‘Clifford’ has a great Westerberg feel [ala ‘Here Comes A Regular’]. The “bonus” track is a fan-fucking-tastic rock and roll take of Mary J. Blige’s ‘Real Love.’ I’d hate to sell this album on a cover tune, but someone needs to get that song on the radio. Buy this album because there isn’t much original rock and roll like this out there anymore!
So after a really good set by Nope, Fowler and Wolfe and drummer Mike Wood took the stage and let loose a killer set of rock and roll. AlterNATEly sounding like the New York Dolls / Johnny Thunders meets Ronnie Wood and Izzy Stradlin, Fowler grabbed that heavy Gibson by the neck and didn’t let up for 45 minutes. He’s said ever since completing the Elixir record he wants a second guitarist, but the way he played, he may have found a way to make a trio work [I suspect liberal use of the delay to get that ‘twin guitar’ signature sound ala ‘Bleeding Years’ and ‘Shiver in the Sunshine’]. He also laid down some tasty slide work on the last two songs of the set. And most pleasantly, Fowler’s vocals continue to improve. Again, I don’t have a set list, and EVERYTHING Fowler played was new, but I hope it’s not another nine months before he plays again. Dallas can use more bands like Nope and the Elixir [and Marc Soloman’s Clumsy… I saw him at the show, but I don’t know him well enough to just walk up and ask the guy what he’s doing.].
As a matter of fact, why not start our own rock and roll revival right here in Dallas? Dallas hasn’t had a scene or identity since the New Bohemians era and that was [believe it or not] almost 15 years ago. Why not make Dallas the Detroit of the early 1970s, [Stooges, Bob Seger before he sold out, Kiss and J Geils breakthrough markets] where good rocking bands come and break or get broken? Somehow get someone like Irv at Idol to snag these guys up and make him the new Vangaurd or Epitath or Sub Pop… hey a guy can dream can’t he?
Also ran into Ron Geida, the Mick Taylor to Ed Voyles Kieth Richards, of Jasper Stone at the show, who advises that they are waiting for the return of their new CD from mastering in the next couple weeks. Spoke to Ed and he advises, for the record, that this record “rocks like fuck.” They will be releasing sometime early in the New Year, check here and the Jasper Stone site for info.
NOPE: www.nope.us
Jasper Stone: www.jasper-stone.com