tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54898162174017727992023-11-16T02:41:59.355-08:00Early Evening"If my words did glow, with the gold of sunshine ..." I have a confession to make, and I want you all to Hear it. I love music. In so many ways, it has formed and informed my life. I owe it so much. Why not write about it?Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-41387116125160376862020-03-21T15:22:00.001-07:002020-03-23T10:14:00.085-07:00Fearless<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“<i>You
say the hill's too steep to climb<br />
Chiding!<br />
You say you'd like to see me try<br />
Climbing!</i>”</span><span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The last week brought a dizzying cycle of denial, realization,
pain, loss, hope, and fear, all in no particular order. Everywhere in the world,
people are getting sick and dying at the hands of an invisible enemy. The same
foe has destroyed successes built through the hard work of decades in a matter
of days. One of our most basic needs: to be near our friends and loved ones,
has become verboten. We cannot go where we want to go. It’s all so painful to
watch and experience. To paraphrase Thomas Paine’s words from a similarly fraught time in our
history, these are the times that try our souls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Where is all of this heading? Only God knows. One thing is certain:
the confusion and trials of the last week are not over. While society does what
it can to soften the blows, they will continue, and we don't know for how long.
What to do? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In America, let’s join together as patriots. We’ve
got the invisible enemy at the gates, and it must be stopped. Ascribe the best intentions
to our political leaders at all levels regardless of your affiliations or
theirs. They are all doing the public work of trying to keep us safe. The questions
of how and why we got here are important, but for another day. Grab an oar and
help pull the boat forward. The alternative is defeat, needless loss, and
chaos. Those things are nowhere in 243 years of American DNA. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Find silver linings in this dark cloud. They’re there. Instead of
carping about being stuck in your homes, consider this: never again for the
rest of our lives are we likely to have this much uninterrupted time with our families,
spouses, and partners. Never again will this many weeks pass without the (understandable)
interruptions represented by ceaseless work, socializing, spend-the-nights, vacations,
and [you name it]. This time together is a gift. Embrace it and see the good in
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Seeing my fellow Athenians attack our streets for every available
form of exercise—all at responsible social distances—has been a joy. Healthy
habits will come out of this. The value of Fresh Air is rising every single day
all around us. We can carry the health and well-being that Fresh Air brings
forward to all sorts of good ends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Seeing our inherent kindness as humans bubble back to the surface
has been wonderful. Think backwards a month. How did you look at your fellow
citizens? How do you look at them now? Has it changed? Are you trying to force
them into one camp or another in your mind as you look around today, or do you
feel more attached to them? We were in this together a month ago, and we’re in
it together today. What’s changed? We’ve all been reminded of the critical
necessity of working together. We should embrace that moving forward and do
better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">We’re all suffering through this crisis in our own ways, but we
should suffer together. Let’s all stay in touch! I haven’t valued telephone
conversations with friends as much in my adult life as I have for the last week;
it’s been therapeutic to hear their observations, fears, and how they are fighting
through these scary days. Texts hardly cut it. It means so much to hear each
other’s voices, and to video chat, teleconference, Marco Polo, Skype, or whatever
system in the world you use to see other people’s faces without being right
next to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I have a deeper appreciation for the people I know and love than I
did a week ago, and I’m going to work hard to remember that when we get on the
back side of this unpleasantness. And we’re going to. It’ll happen faster if we
whip this enemy together. Fearless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Take care of yourselves in every way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Spence<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sl_apx8JoMw" width="560"></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-17264744358717392702014-10-10T19:23:00.000-07:002014-10-13T19:04:15.985-07:00Album Review - Sturgill Simpson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXO4Ge1Dn7JLh58jVo-dswLsXr5WVJNsUnsFPWpOLZdcl7SjTOpOKigesWxclEcUYoxJxQj_lh2RxNBkJ-O6uuULyd98o7HoFmizMqAX9qnnmCBYn-eTq3UQ1IjeE9paIXXp9GFXYGPk/s1600/imgres-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXO4Ge1Dn7JLh58jVo-dswLsXr5WVJNsUnsFPWpOLZdcl7SjTOpOKigesWxclEcUYoxJxQj_lh2RxNBkJ-O6uuULyd98o7HoFmizMqAX9qnnmCBYn-eTq3UQ1IjeE9paIXXp9GFXYGPk/s1600/imgres-2.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3999996185303px;"><b>Sturgill Simpson</b></span></span><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Metamodern Sounds in Country Music</span></i><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">High Top Mountain Records (2014)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Old School authenticity is the Holy Grail of the musical traditionalist. The closer he comes to evoking the masters of the past in a modern context, the better. He is Music's revisionist historian. You can trace the arc of the prime era Rolling Stones albums in the early work of the Black Crowes.<span style="font-size: x-small;">* </span>You won't hear a modern folk act that doesn't search for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electric_Dylan_controversy" target="_blank">pre-Newport '65</a> Bob Dylan. All Stevie Ray Vaughan wanted was to be a walking synthesis of the Great Kings of blues guitar (B.B., Albert, and Freddie). While the traditionalist usually seeks to incorporate something new, more than that, he wants to be <i>authentic</i>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sturgill Simpson is a dyed-in-the-wool Outlaw Country traditionalist, with a psychedelic edge. His latest release, <i>Metamodern Sounds in Country Music,</i> is a blast from the future of the Country past. Everybody in Country wants Outlaw credibility; most of the modern artists just want to be Pop even more (i.e., new more than authentic). While he may hit the stage in tennis shoes instead of Laredos, you'll never hear a debate over whether Simpson is a sellout. His music answers the question, <i>accentato</i>. Like early era Old Crow Medicine Show, he walks decades in the past with a 2000's vocabulary. He'd be right at home on the Texas scene in 1974, until his audience got confused by some of his lyrics. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Put yourself in the middle of the wide open country on a cool fall evening, your boots up on a log and a fire focusing your attention. <i>Metamodern</i> is playing. Instead of a Budweiser in your hand, there's a Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Besides the above-transistor quality of the Bluetooth speaker and the rich flavor of the beer, you'd swear you were in 1978 listening to deep tracks of a non-greatest hits Waylon Jennings release that George Jones produced. It's all there, the slide guitar, the growling baritone ... then this (from opening track, "Turtles all the way Down"): </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's a gateway in our minds that leads somewhere out there,<br />Far beyond this place,<br />Where reptile aliens made of light,<br />Cut you open, pull out all your pain. </span></i></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whoa! Wait a minute! Did Phish make a Country record?!? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Indeed, Simpson is notoriously unafraid of mind-expanding chemicals. There's just enough trippiness and reverb in his music to fix it in the present (witness the non-Outlaw, two-minute Country electronica jam that serves as an album coda in "It Ain't All Flowers"), but it's just under the surface. He may be a hippie at heart, but he can play the pissed off misanthrope shitkicker when he needs to, as in the slow-boil Telecaster growl of "<a href="http://youtu.be/BTnmWu0_W6w" target="_blank">Living the Dream</a>." In "Life of Sin," he toasts the Bad Life in Luckenbach dance hall two-step style. He channels Willie Nelson's (his idealogical, if not musical, forbear) tender side on the philosophically mellow finger-picking of "Voices." Just when things seem stuck in the gutter of the Low Life, he picks the listener up with the Country Gospel swing of "A Little Light," then looks boldly forward with the soaring pedal steel elegance of "Just Let Go." There are no Country covers here, but Simpson makes an enchanting turn of When in Rome's 1988 minor electric dance hit, "<a href="http://youtu.be/uQCD9Vh_CtE" target="_blank">The Promise</a>," sound like a late night on Sixth Street in Austin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sturgill Simpson is the genuine article. <i>Metamodern</i> is an engaging lesson in perfectly-executed traditionalism, with an invigorating modern twist that even a Country amateur can sink his teeth into. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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* <i>Shake Your Money Maker</i> was the Crowes' Sticky Fingers; <i>The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion</i> was their <i>Exile on Main Street</i>.<br />
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<i>Correction: An earlier version of this post identified Metamodern Sounds as Simpson's debut album. It is actually his second, the first being 2013's High Top Mountain. </i><br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-58360026377796773202014-06-27T18:08:00.001-07:002014-06-27T18:08:11.539-07:00Best Songs You've Never Heard, Part III - Villa Nellcote<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIgN8qGJWpOprmAT-DxyMKiZe74huqKHSg1L4hfJEfPDc1YIsbeoowVB4bqutx-SIoBuVzCy6V4Eydh7f3t06latEbbBGI8j_pSSEzsuaCI74ytHLmDTfJYZlgO-JPTB-vGsfDaX7cQk/s1600/imgres-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIgN8qGJWpOprmAT-DxyMKiZe74huqKHSg1L4hfJEfPDc1YIsbeoowVB4bqutx-SIoBuVzCy6V4Eydh7f3t06latEbbBGI8j_pSSEzsuaCI74ytHLmDTfJYZlgO-JPTB-vGsfDaX7cQk/s1600/imgres-1.jpg" height="269" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max chilling at the Villa, Summer of '71</td></tr>
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If Rock and Roll is a <a href="http://700pm.blogspot.com/search?q=greatest+rock+and+roll+band" target="_blank">state of being</a>, then what happened at Villa Nellcote, Nice, France, in the summer of 1971 is the genre's eternal zenith. You've heard the story. Stones fail to pay super high British taxes on their earnings. Taxman cometh. Stones have no cash. Stones forced to high tail it from England before they suffer legal sanction. Keith Richards finds a 16 room mansion overlooking the ocean in the South of France and a <i>speedboat</i> to go with it. Perfect. "Let's hang out for the summer; make an album and chill ... No studio at the Villa? No problem. We are the Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World. We'll bring our own."<br />
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So ensconced in their summer quarters, the Stones realized Rock Nirvana (or Hell, depending on one's view of things): drugs (copious amounts, even by their standards), supermodel groupies, A list guests (Gram Parsons was in town for a while and, oh, John Lennon dropped by), quarreling, cheating, disappearing, reappearing, narrowly avoiding arrest and deportation threats, speedboating, and other activities of the Greatest Rock Stars Ever at the height of their powers (i.e., scraping the bottom of the gutter).<br />
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None of it could have happened in the Social Media World; the whole thing would have blown up like a hydrogen bomb two weeks in when Justin Bieber showed up and posted a selfie next to Richards and a giant pile of drugs and #nellcotemeltdown started trending. This Fire didn't need any help to burn out fast. Less then a year after Richards signed a lease on the Villa, the Stones had worn out their welcome and unceremoniously blown town. For a full and excellent account of the summer, see Robert Greenfield,<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Exile-Main-Street-Season-Rolling/dp/030681563X" target="_blank"> </a><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Exile-Main-Street-Season-Rolling/dp/030681563X" target="_blank">Exile on Main Street</a>: A Season in Hell With the Rolling Stones</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnEL7HYz81LdYNd2TwmKEtONJ3ghjtcmat4ovuPTEZRydjlxOHHAFErUxqsU6GglDJW2Ami11OHEYdnPhyphenhyphen_-Q_YAnDURUZqmMx-yW8ZjHi5ttIeENeXL5K8feoYDjlEv8_QG22Cq5aHtg/s1600/MickKeithJimmy_tarle_univ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnEL7HYz81LdYNd2TwmKEtONJ3ghjtcmat4ovuPTEZRydjlxOHHAFErUxqsU6GglDJW2Ami11OHEYdnPhyphenhyphen_-Q_YAnDURUZqmMx-yW8ZjHi5ttIeENeXL5K8feoYDjlEv8_QG22Cq5aHtg/s1600/MickKeithJimmy_tarle_univ.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
As always, the Stones found inspiration from chaos. In the sweltering, musty basement of the Villa, against all odds, with every reason in the world to lay an egg, soil their reputation, and send themselves on a 20 year death spiral towards the Casino Circuit, what did they do? Recorded the backbone of the Greatest Rock and Roll Album That Ever Was or Will Be. <br />
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Perhaps the finest song on <i>Exile on Main Street,</i> and thus one of the Greatest Rock and Roll Songs Ever Recorded, is the piano trip to the Heavens, "Loving Cup." You've heard it, but never like this. The official version of the song is too lovely, to clear, to have been born in a place as sordid as the Villa basement. Not this version. I can only imagine this alternate take arose at some point after 3:00 a.m. on a steamy July night, in the basement, in the middle of a deep human haze. All must have been quiet and dark on the heights of Cote d'Azur, all but the primal Rock wails in the night emanating from Nellcote. Lesser artists and softer men would have been beaten down by it all and laid about like overcooked sloths. Not our Heroes. When all seemed gone for the night, and there was nothing left to do but quit and watch the sunrise, I can see <a href="http://consequenceofsound.net/2010/10/icons-of-rock-nicky-hopkins/" target="_blank">Nicky Hopkins</a> take the piano for just. one. more. I see an exhausted Charlie Watts calling up to the recording truck parked outside and asking Jimmy Miller for just a bit more tape. Like cosmic dust forming a nebula, the song rises slowly from the haze. Bit by bit, the players find their parts. Mick Taylor, barely upright, summons just a bit more masterpiece country blues from his Les Paul. There could only have been one microphone in the middle of the floor, under a hanging bulb, with Jagger and Richards manning it. From chaos, comes art. "What a beautiful buzz!"<br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-14337348555269685842014-06-20T14:43:00.001-07:002014-06-20T14:44:31.152-07:00Best Stones Songs You've Never Heard, Part II<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anita Pallenberg</td></tr>
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By 1968, Mick Jagger was a global superstar, which naturally led him to acting. For his cinematic debut, only the oddball British psychedelic crime noir of <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFxfn3LakeM" target="_blank">Performance</a></i> could have worked. And what better leading lady than <i>Keith Richards's</i> girlfriend, mythical late 60's London scenester beauty, Anita Pallenberg? Only in the hyper sexual bizzaro world of the Rolling Stones could one man be working on a near X rated film, in the open, with his best friend's girl. <br />
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At some point during the <i>Performance</i> shoot, word got out that Jagger and Pallenberg were a bit too far ... in-character while shooting the love scenes. Richards did not take it well, and took to sitting in car in front of the studio while the two overheated actors "played their parts." Must have been awkward at band rehearsal the next day.<br />
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Thankfully, Jagger's affair with Pallenberg (do you even call it that when it's in the open?) wasn't the only thing going on Planet Stones at the time. Guitar legend Ry Cooder had shown on the scene, teaching Richards the open G and E Country Blues tuning that would burn in <i>Let it Bleed</i> era classics like "Honky Tonk Women," its deep fried cousin, "<a href="http://youtu.be/60c6cxv6RY0" target="_blank">Country Honk</a>," and Delta parable "<a href="http://youtu.be/IaZGljc5Xp0" target="_blank">Prodigal Son</a>." Armed with Richard's searing arsenal of down home American licks, the Stones set about finishing the Country-Work fusion work that Buddy Holly and Carl Perkins had started a decade earlier. What we now call "alt country" can be traced back to the day Ry Cooder met Keith Richards. <br />
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As being Rolling Stones is the only job either of them ever had, "Memo From Turner" must be the only memo that Mick Jagger or Keith Richards ever wrote. In the Stones saga, non-Stones tend to be transient presences. Thankfully, Ry Cooder stuck around long enough to pitch in on the "Turner" studio effort. While appearing on the <i>Performance</i> soundtrack as a Jagger song, the Jagger/Richards writing credit and the song's appearance on the 1989 <i>London Years</i> box set (where I found it) qualify it as Stones enough for this list (despite the fact that no Stones besides Jagger are heard on the recording). Cooder's sunny day driving slide line is the central theme here. Jagger gives dismissive vocal treatment to what sounds like an awkward conversation between Turner (a criminal in the <i>Performance story</i> played by Jagger in the film) and a stranger who recognizes him, to Turner's apparent chagrin. Despite, or perhaps because of, its sordid backstory, "Turner" is a charming piece of Stones obscurity. <br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-82472211904195173922014-05-30T19:38:00.000-07:002014-05-30T19:39:25.506-07:00Best Stones Songs You've Never Heard, Part I<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brian Jones, circa 1964</td></tr>
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On the night of July 3, 1969, the Rolling Stones sat in Olympic Studios in London, working out a new track with freshly minted guitarist Mick Taylor. At about 2:00 a.m., the word reached them that founding member and original guitarist Brian Jones had been found dead in the pool at his Sussex home. Jones, who had been fired from the band and replaced by Taylor less than a month earlier, thus became a founding member of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club" target="_blank">The 27 Club</a>. The news literally dropped the Stones to the floor. Charlie Watts wept. Two days later, the Stones would play Hyde Park before a quarter million to memorialize their fallen mate.<br />
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On that fateful June night, the song the Stones were working up was an overhaul of Stevie Wonder's 1968 non-hit "<a href="http://youtu.be/cQsIxztAoE4" target="_blank">I Don't Know Why</a>." The song lyrics are rooted in confusion and pain, voiced by Rock's ever-present pleading lover. It must have served as an appropriate tableau for these young artists, their invincibility shattered. The result of their work does "I Don't Know's" R&B origins proud. The underwater vibrato opening sequence segues with immediate power into a Muscle Shoalsesque (the studio had opened earlier that year; the Stones would <a href="http://youtu.be/jjEFC-K3ZMg" target="_blank">record there in December</a>), brass and ivory accented theme that dominates the rest of the song. Taylor's presence is immediately felt, with a searing slide overlay that crackles the song's back half. Watts uses his snare like a conductor, setting off each of the song's mini-crescendos. Pain and exhaustion resonate in Jagger's voice as he pleads his way through the lines of a narrator resolved to defeat ("I ain't gonna stop, your cheating ways ..."). The put-on vocal tic in the third line is charming in its quirkiness. "I Don't Know Why" this little three minute heater never turned more ears.<br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-79529214423665021612014-05-24T06:59:00.000-07:002014-05-24T06:59:59.268-07:00Sunshine DaydreamThe heat rises, and with it, the spirits of a hemisphere. Shade becomes a precious commodity as the air thickens; umbrellas open. The strips of sand on the outer boundaries of the continents bustle. Morning comes with a fast-rising temper, foretelling a day that rides the cries of cicadas to a stubborn end. Entering our cars, we grab the vents in a short-breathed, desperate search for the first hint of cold air. Students scatter into the heat to search for amusement in the absence of academic pressure. We know it intuitively, but the arrival of Memorial Day serves as an exclamation point. Summer's here.<br />
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No season begs for a soundtrack like Summer. A steamy blast of July air through an open car window gives any song resonance. The beads of sweat on the listener's forehead relate him to the hard creative work of the artist; the act of listening becomes work. It's all part of the natural order of things. Confined to their studios by the cold of winter, artists record. Then, as the lifeguards take their whistles, the world goes outside to hear the musical bounty that results. New albums drop. Amphitheaters hum with energy in the night. Open fields become small cities built on Music, teeming with the barefooted and shirtless. Humans don't stand outside in groups of 100,000 in 90+ degree heat to watch movies.<br />
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Stop for a moment. Place yourself on a tall chair at the Surf Restaurant on Amelia Island on a 94 degree July afternoon. It's 6:47 pm. Happy hour. The open grid of the plastic cushions waffles the back of your thighs; the PVC frame of the chair creaks with each frequent shift. The sun starts to hide itself behind the faded white boards of the deck, making the evening sauna tolerable. Still, a short plastic pitcher of Miller Lite stands no more than a 10 minute chance at drinkability without a bag of ice sitting in it. You were in the ocean 20 minutes ago, but the middle of your back still sweats. There's a soft breeze coming off the ocean, but the heat rising off of A1A microwaves it and robs it of the ocean's moisture before it can cool your face. Still, all is well. (Sweat purifies the soul.) Over the sultry din of the conversation, what do you hear? (Close your eyes) ........... "Come Monday" by Jimmy Buffett? I thought so. Music is part of the Fabric of Life; the weave is strongest in Summer. <br />
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Over the next few months, dust off some Music you love from Summers past. Think back to some sacred Early Evening spent staring out over the ocean. Reflect on a long day of bobbing lazily on a crystal clear lake. Reminisce fondly over a long-ago, unforgettable night of live music under the stars. There was Music in the background. Rediscover it.<br />
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"Sunshine daydream ... blooming like a red rose, breathing more freely."<br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-71249820601003449502014-04-19T10:52:00.003-07:002014-04-19T10:52:55.420-07:00Cobain - 20 Years Later<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twenty years ago this month, Generation X+ lost its avatar. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kurt Donald Cobain was a Supernova in a malcontent's body, a self-described "</span><a href="http://youtu.be/-5ijtz6Du_s" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">negative creep</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">." </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was a musical genius, not in the technical vein of a John Coltrane or the lyrical mastery of a Bob Dylan, but in his ability to see far into the depths, down to where the music of his day was heading, and to capture the moment and take the plunge. He was not the first Grunge artist, but he was the greatest.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sheepish and introverted by nature, when holding a guitar and backed by a bass and drums, his rage poured out of him like spitting blasts of hot lava. To hear him in his prime, you could not help but grit your teeth and clinch your mouth into a half grin as you put your own "</span><a href="http://youtu.be/ogsEw7wuimk" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">teenage angst</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">" on display. His dour philosophical being was summed entirely in the two most famous words he ever wrote: "<a href="http://youtu.be/hTWKbfoikeg" target="_blank">A DENIAL</a>!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most musicians seek fame, or at least to make a living in music, which requires some measure of fame. In 1988, when whammy bars, teased hair, and dudes in tight leather ruled popular Rock music, it took an artist confident in his craft to forego the potential payday of Hair Metal for a micro genre known to few outside of King County, Washington. Cobain eschewed the bombastic conventional wisdom of his day and, four years after Nirvana's first gig, he found himself a platinum-selling artist on the cover of Rolling Stone. His genius was, in part, his ability to realize an unpredicted musical future that so few saw. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was hard for those of us in Generation X+ (the late Gen X'ers, born in the mid to late 70's) to wrap our hands fully around Hair Metal. The Sex/Drugs/Rock n Roll lifestyle Hair celebrated, in hyperbolic proportions, was hard to realize whilst living with attentive parents. We couldn't stay up all night partying with supermodels, like Axl Rose. Any of us, however, could be pissed, and that was the only credential for embracing Grunge. Re-watch the video for "<a href="http://youtu.be/hTWKbfoikeg" target="_blank">Smells Like Teen Spirit</a>." In an hour of MTV three months before "Teen Spirit" broke, one would see busty women jumping into hot tubs built into the back of limousines while champagne sprayed everywhere, over-wrought guitar solos squealed like a reverb tooth drill, and some David Lee Roth doppelganger jumped around in sex-fueled chimpanzee mode. Not so in "Teen Spirit," where we see a dimly lit horror story gym full of pissed looking teenagers looking for a reason to mosh. Not even the Goth High cheerleaders get attention in this teen angst dreamscape. Unwashed hair falls down over bowed faces. Everybody's pissed. This was Grunge, and it was easy for Gen X+ to sink it's teeth into it. Overnight, the angry nerds and disenfranchised poets of the world went from zero to hero. (Barely five years later, the same nerds would take the business world from the suits as the Tech Revolution hit its early crest.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As frustrating as it was for my entire CD collection to become obsolete in a couple of months starting when Pearl Jam's "Alive" hit heavy rotation on <i>Headbangers Ball</i>, it was exhilarating to watch the musical zeitgeist of the day get blown to bits and tossed out on the curb like four-day-old garbage. (Anybody want to buy a <a href="http://youtu.be/ukmobha2krY" target="_blank">Slaugther</a> CD?) This was the closest thing my generation (or any generation before or after) would see to the British Invasion. (Recall also that the Grunge Explosion coincided with the sudden and meteoric <a href="http://youtu.be/7sFm-AV807o" target="_blank">rise of </a><u><span style="color: blue;">Rap</span></u> in the early 90's. Those were heady days.) No matter what one's views may be on the mertis of a revolution, it's cool to watch one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, 20 years after Generation X+ lost its spokesman, how are we to view the man? Is this anniversary a reason for celebration? For me, it's more of a lament. Sometimes, we are so desperate for a voice or hero that, when we find one, we smother him until he cannot breathe. Such was the case with Cobain. He never wanted the spotlight that burned him so. If a generation of American youth hadn't held him up as the savior, if he would have simply stayed in the Seattle underground making artistically critical music that did not turn him into a pop culture sensation, he'd probably still be with us. Instead, a beautiful 20 month old child was left fatherless, another Rock fairy tale cut short. At age 27 , he'd played his last gig </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(sound <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club" target="_blank">familiar</a>?)</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. What if one of his stints in rehab had taken hold? What if he'd seen the Light? Could Cobain have served as an example, leading Gen X+ through the rage of its youth into a calmer, more sober, domesticated future? While he gave us a final hint (see below), we will never know. For all his musical genius, Cobain's life was a human tragedy marked by pain, addiction, and depression. Looking back, we can only hope that many who witnessed his rise and fall were inspired to avoid their hero's fate. The Music must be separated from the Man; we don't have to worship the latter to admire the former. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cobain's finest moment in my view was, ironically, his
softest. Less than five months before his death, on November 19, 1993, Nirvana
sat down for a session on MTV's Unplugged. Here we get a tantalizing
70 minute view of what may have been. We see a calm, self-assured Cobain,
softly playing the music of his own heroes alongside stripped-down versions of
his own compositions. The performance opened a window into his soul, and we get
a portrait of the artist as a man that aged too fast. We see where a
tired Cobain could go musically when the rage burned out and his underlying
vulnerability was laid bare. The people in front of him were no longer an inconvenience; he smiled that night; c<a href="http://youtu.be/1G8V6ta9Auk"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">ome as you are</span></a>. At the end of the set,
when the time came to put an exclamation point on one of his life's greatest
moments, Cobain reached into history. After a short life spent creating the New, he
showed us his familiarity with the Old with a haunting version of the American folk
standard "Where Did You Sleep Last NIght" (a/k/a "In the
Pines"). </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; white-space: normal;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>My girl, my girl, don't lie to me. Tell me where did you sleep last night.</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was in that pleading refrain that Cobain found his moment. For a man exhausted by the glare of a spotlight he came into unwittingly and learned quickly to hate, the inquiry resonated at some point far inside his being; a point we'd never know. Was the delicacy of this night a harbinger of things to come? Might Grunge have become Goth Folk, with Cobain leading the charge? We will never know. Instead, we are left to stand in appreciation of what this tortured artist gave us before his candle burned out, too early. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-39705469773019697592014-03-14T19:01:00.001-07:002014-03-14T19:02:46.252-07:00Album Review - Vampire Weekend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9XEHZtbVvKbKXYa0Ylz8dWkRQgd18QSXrZ-JEKBmZ9FmhP7i8BgT0oJ-7M7DMe4nx2XJn8-WSU-Ki_EOVE93od6b85bnoqPrdh5PI3vhJ2c7CiolXZzEtO2jPOsxCBw2Ffm3loCPXec/s1600/imgres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9XEHZtbVvKbKXYa0Ylz8dWkRQgd18QSXrZ-JEKBmZ9FmhP7i8BgT0oJ-7M7DMe4nx2XJn8-WSU-Ki_EOVE93od6b85bnoqPrdh5PI3vhJ2c7CiolXZzEtO2jPOsxCBw2Ffm3loCPXec/s1600/imgres.jpg" /></a><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vampire Weekend</span></b><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Modern Vampires of the City</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">XL Recordings (2013)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Artistically significant charm is a tough musical bogey. On their third LP, <i>Modern Vampires of the City, </i>New York based indie sensations Vampire Weekend deliver deceptively dense, diverse, yet accessible pop that delights. It's the kind of album that connects with music snobs, English scholars, and teenagers alike; dance music for the contemplative. It's a bold musical vision, fully realized.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The songs bear little relationship to each other, but they nonetheless feel like parts of a cohesive piece. The vibe is intelligent pop, with the sophisticated poetry of Columbia educated lead singer and lyricist Ezra Koenig feeding a philosophical mood. (If Koenig was more focused on sex than philosophy, it would be easy to hear screaming girls in your head.) This from the album opener and mellow morning drive mood music, "Obvious Bicycle":</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So keep that list of who to thank in mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And don't forget the rich ones who were kind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh you ought to spare your face the razor,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because no one's gonna spare their time for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why don't you spare their world a traitor,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take your wager back and leave before you lose. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The morning of "Bicycle" quickly becomes night, and the dance party begins. If Jim James nailed his own version of <i>Graceland</i>, with a twist of <i>Yankee Hotel Foxtrot</i>, this would be the near result. Koenig has a background in African music, and it permeates much of the record, especially the superb "<a href="http://youtu.be/q6FjwUwJup0" target="_blank">Everlasting Arms</a>." His vocal chops match his lyrical prowess. Like James, he knows how to measure his vocal effort, alternately rocking you to sleep or bringing down the house, as the context requires.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As one would expect from Ivy League musicians, inspirations are diverse. "Arms" opens with orchestration before launching us to the African savannah. The album even brings Irish hyper folk into the mix (the Riverdance ready "Worship You"). "Don't Lie" lays gospel organ over a marching band drum roll. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Intelligent and versatile, VW can weld campfire folk into soaring electronica without sounding contrived. Album highlight "<a href="http://youtu.be/lJCIhDQkqTQ" target="_blank">Hannah Hunt</a>" pulls the listener quickly through an initial burst of synthesized chaos into crackling love song serenity...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our days were long our nights no longer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Count the seconds, watching hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though we live on the US dollar,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You and me, we got our own sense of time. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once a trance is obtained, the listener is ripped momentarily out of it with percussive shots of out-of-nowhere piano and renewed electronic noise. Then, a peaceful drumroll leads immediately back to ... serenity. The song is a model of lyrical quality and restrained texture, delivered in a taught sub 4 minute package. "Hunt" is emblematic of the album's quirky, taut genius. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a body of work, <i>Modern Vampires </i>is a bold experiment in intelligent pop, beautifully executed both musically and lyrically. I can't get enough of it. Casual fun should always be this serious; deep art this charming. </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="250" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Z-2pF0A87TQ" width="450"></iframe> Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-57174525039748407552014-03-01T17:37:00.001-08:002014-03-02T06:33:19.930-08:00SOTW - March 1, 2014 - "Try Not to Look So Pretty"Dwight Yoakam is the Genuine Article; a Music Lover's musician. Yoakam is a lineal descendant of the badass masters of the Bakersfield style (stylistically if not geographically). Unlike so many in his genre, he writes his own songs. It's hard to imagine him holding an instrument on stage unless he planned to play it, and well. Looking at him, you get the feeling that cowboy boots are less a stage prop than an integral part of his being. <br />
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Despite growing up on the Georgia Coastal Plain, I've never been a Country kind of guy. Modern Country in the Garth Brooks vein, while accessible, always felt too engineered. Like Rock, Country diverged from its roots, but I never felt it did so with the same success. Still, I could never help but be intrigued by Dwight Yoakam. His piercing tenor demands attention; it's the kind of voice that focuses the mind of the listener no matter his genre preference. While knowing little about Dwight, I've always had the feeling that, if his name came up in a room full of serious, Old School Country Fans that cut their teeth on Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard, you'd see nods of approval and hear things like, "Hell yeah, Dwight's the real deal." <br />
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On Sunday nights during high school, mostly out of sheer boredom, Zackary Wade and I would often go and ride for miles and miles. It's the way young and restless minds fill time in Wide Open Spaces. I well remember floating up I-75 in a crystal blue '91 Buick Reatta with Zackary, skipping around Dwight's modern classic, <i>This Time. </i>Zackary had an infuriating (for me) propensity to skip around to singalong choruses (his cassette copy of the Allman Brothers<i> Decade of Hits</i> had jagged edges before and after the long solo in "Blue Sky"), and the advent of the CD fed the habit. But, your Song of the Week for March 1, 2014 was one that Zackary never had any problem sitting through (the mark of true musical greatness). While "Try Not to Look so Pretty" would barely get you half way from Vienna to Unadilla on a northbound trip up 75, it left an enduring imprint on my young mind.<br />
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A song of heartbreak should not be so lovely. Void of pretense and resorting to only pragmatic metaphorical device (no storms brewing in the distance or fires burning here; only a "useless thought," thrown away at night), the song boils the sentiment of the heartsick lover down to a totally useless plea. The pain lies in the beauty before the narrator, and there's nothing that can be done about that, but he must beg anyway. A timeless modern Country classic, "Try Not to Look so Pretty" exudes resolute, straight-faced heartbreak in the great Country tradition. <br />
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/M260rX6Ubkk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-55030449683878509772014-02-07T19:37:00.002-08:002014-02-07T19:42:12.126-08:00Not Fade Away (The Day the Music Died?)<div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clear Lake, Iowa; February 3, 1959 just before 1:00 a.m. The wind howls at 30+ mph on a biting winter night as a light snow begins to fall on the deep frozen plains. The weather is deteriorating faster than the forecasters called for. The clouds are closing in, with visibility dropping quickly. The stars will soon be obscured, the night pitch black. At the Mason Municipal Airport, a small Beechcraft Bonanza, piloted by 21 year-old Roger Peterson, taxis onto the runway carrying three passengers. With its 165hp Continental engine barking defiantly against the arctic gale, the plane takes off to the south, then banks north, headed for Fargo, North Dakota. Its owner, Jonathan Dwyer, stands alone in the night and watches the gathering clouds swallow the flashing red tail beacon. It disappears, leaving only the wail of the night. "It's better to burn out, than to <a href="http://youtu.be/Fpr8Y39FLMA" target="_blank">fade away</a>." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thus, 55 years ago this week, Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and J.P. "Big Bopper" Richardson flew into eternity. Barely six miles from the airport, the Bonanza was shattered across an icy corn field and the brilliant young stars on board were given to the Ages. Holly was 22; Valens 17. You may be familiar with the tragic details (many of which were memorialized in the 1987 film, <i>La Bamba</i>). Holly chartered the plane because the school bus the artists were using for their Midwestern "Winter Dance Party" tour had a busted heater and he wanted to make the next stop in time to rest and wash clothes. Valens, who had a fear of flying after watching two planes collide above his middle school playground, won his seat on the doomed plane in a coin flip. Richardson had the flu and was given his seat on the plane by a member of Holly's backing band named Waylon Jennings. When he found out Jennings would not fly, Holly quipped, "Well, I hope your ol' bus freezes up." Jennings responded, "Well, I hope your ol' plane crashes." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aircraft, drugs, and fast machines have taken too many of Rock's legends too early. While it's painful to consider what could have been, I try to take solace in what was avoided. Holly left us as his star exploded. The world only ever knew him as a glowing, smiling, youthful ball of kinetic musical energy, ripping at musical conventions in his black, thick-framed glasses with Texas-born fire; helping to fuse Rock to Roll. He never had to endure the indignity of muddling through worn out hits on the casino circuit or not waking up in some hotel room with a needle stuck in his arm. He got to the Top, then he was gone. "A love for real, not fade away." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Holly was one of the Mercury astronauts of Rock (think Elvis, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Bo Diddley), leaving a mark on its early history that was as vivid as it was indelible. It would be easier to list the Rock bands that have not covered him. (According to one <a href="http://www.buddyhollyarchives.com/2009/03/covers-a-lot-of-people-have-sung-holly/" target="_blank">source</a>, no less than 83 bands have recorded "<a href="http://youtu.be/QzDzt9lGwhM" target="_blank">Peggy Sue</a>.") This week, we will celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Beatles first performance on the Ed Sullivan show. As you watch the news, consider the first question that popped into John Lennon's mind as he walked onto what was then the biggest stage on earth: "<a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-greatest-artists-of-all-time-19691231/buddy-holly-20110420" target="_blank">Was this the stage that Buddy Holly played on</a>?" Despite being gone before his 23rd birthday and committing only 40 or so songs to tape, Holly was named Rolling Stone's <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-greatest-artists-of-all-time-19691231/buddy-holly-20110420" target="_blank">13th Greatest Artist</a> in Rock history. You think <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.weezerpedia.com/wiki/images/f/f3/Riverscuomo.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.weezerpedia.com/wiki/index.php?title%3DRivers_Cuomo&h=276&w=183&sz=1&tbnid=6icbbCdRCmPdeM:&tbnh=186&tbnw=123&zoom=1&usg=__SH-dyIPwM2ZtvonJ3uyB7Ohi_MI=&docid=p76oTb1JEUKi-M&itg=1&sa=X&ei=uZ31Uoz5CoqvkAez0oHABQ&sqi=2&ved=0CJUBEPwdMAo" target="_blank">Rivers Cuomo</a> or the hipster at the nearest coffee shop would be wearing horn-rimmed glasses if it wasn't for Buddy Holly? I doubt it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The topic of Holly's greatest and most enduring song, is permanence; not of life or the physical, but of love. His body left us in that frigid Iowa corn field, but the Cat was out of the Bag by then. He'd met the imperative he set for himself in a manner that would reverberate through the Musical decades. <a href="http://youtu.be/WqukWXviyew" target="_blank">Don McLean</a> had it wrong. The Music didn't die on February 3, 1959. It was just beginning. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"A love to last more than one day. A love that's real - not fade away."</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-62986101828028771272014-01-30T18:39:00.001-08:002014-01-30T18:48:59.883-08:00SOTW - January 31, 2014 - "Tan Lines" <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been so damn cold all week. Let's turn our minds to someplace warmer ... the Beach. Yes. While enjoying the Beach, people bathe in the sun. Skin exposed to the sun turns brown, or red. Skin covered by clothes stays some shade of white, depending on the individual. The borderline between exposed and unexposed skin in the sun is a strange, but compelling, topic for a song.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The way one views a Tan Line is a function of age. For the parent, it's "did I get sunscreen there ... I sure hope she doesn't get burned ... we'll reapply when we go up for lunch ...") For the grandparent, it's a sign that the normal sun blocking protocols broke down ("Too much wind for the umbrella yesterday!"), resulting in actual exposure to UV rays and a modern Real Simple no no. For the young - those to whom a sunburn is little more than the badge of shotgunned beers and a killer day at the beach - the Tan Line is an object of .... Desire, for it marks the boundary between the un-forbidden and (possibly) forbidden. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it is to local Athens, GA heroes, The Futurebirds. To anyone who's ever seen the 'Birds live, their view of the Tan Line, as portrayed in your Song of the Week for January 31, 2014, will come as no surprise. Any doubt as to lyricist Carter King's sentiments is removed in the first line:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "<i>Sifting through pictures from the naked beach when all I want is you here naked here with me</i>." </span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;">So, the focus is on the Flesh, the tone loud and longing. But for anybody with an image of a Southern indie "Sexual Healing" in mind, think again. This is the musical equivalent of breezy beach volleyball after a six pack on a late June afternoon; 18 a side, nobody cares who wins. The juvenile lust is built on a sunny day pedal steel riff that would fit in a mid-tempo Gram Parsons road trip song. After dancing around the main riff for two verses and the repetitive, "</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;">I know it's all for these tan lines" chorus, the party builds to a house-wrecking, reverb drenched, Velvet Underground meets Wilco crescendo. It's my favorite tune on 2013's excellent <i>Baba Yaga </i>and a perfect segue to the afternoon Beach session for young parents ... or a funnel of beer for those whose Biological Clocks are quiet. Like a frisbee, it's fun for all ages. "Tan Lines" belongs on your summer vacay playlist. </span></span><br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0Athens, GA, USA33.95 -83.383333333.739238 -83.7060568 34.160762000000005 -83.060609800000009tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-26797076054686963512014-01-10T18:16:00.002-08:002014-01-10T18:16:23.495-08:00SOTW - January 10, 2014 - "Song for Zula"<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Some say love, is a burning thing,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>That it makes, a fiery ring...</i>"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You think you know where I'm going, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With the exception of the Almighty, has anything inspired more music than the pain of Love lost? Whole genres (e.g., Blues, old Country) are built around longing and pleading for an object of desire, just out of reach. Lyrically, the love-lost composer expresses one of three general sentiments: 1. I lost her and want her back; 2. I lost her, and it hurts so bad, and I don't know what to do about it; 3. I lost her, and it hurts so bad, but I'm determined to get past the pain and move forward. In Matthew Houck's (performing under <i>nom de guerre</i> "Phosphorescent") ethereal 2013 album <i>Muchacho </i>we find all three, fused into an inspiring mix of pain and resolution.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the middle of what he described as a "domestic crisis," which can only mean a bad case of confusion and heartbreak, Houck retreated with his guitar to a desolate hut on the Yucatan Peninsula to put the finishing touches on the material that eventually became <i>Muchacho.</i> The soundscape that resulted from this isolated creative process is a stirring mix of Jim James meets <i>Blood on the Tracks</i> era Dylan vocals, laid over a sparse electronic backdrop. It is superb, must-listen, contemplative mood music. Houck is an Alabamian who cut his teeth in early '00's Athens, so his music resonates in the Southern mind; this is outlaw Country for the Radiohead generation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The gripping centerpiece of <i>Muchacho</i> is your Song of the Week for January 10, 2014. "Song for Zula" must have been written for the lost object of Houck's affection. It is a profound statement of resolution in the face of Love lost. The opening lines channel Johnny Cash and tell the listener immediately that this story is heated. This is no one night stand. There are wounds here, and they are fresh. We are then taken on a meandering path of pain ("t<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.765625px;">hen I saw love disfigure me")</span>, defeat ("y<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.765625px;">ou see the cage it called. I said, come on in</span>"), anger ("and I could kill you with my bar hands if I was free") and this poetically moving statement of resolution (see 3 above): </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see the moon is bright, in that treetop night.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see the shadows that we cast in the cold clean light.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I might fear I go, and my heart is white,</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we race right out on the desert plains all night. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So honey I am now, some broken thing, </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not lay in the dark waiting for day here.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now my heart is gold, my feet are light,</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I am racing out on the desert plains all night. </span></i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Houck thus stares down the dragon, and prevails. It's always a better ending when our hero finds his way forward in the face of loss.</span><br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-10693312216018500372013-12-22T17:59:00.001-08:002013-12-22T18:39:15.680-08:00"Well, it's Christmas time, pretty baby!" <div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: justify;">H</span><span style="text-align: justify;">eri la Krismasi! </span><span style="text-align: justify;">J</span><span style="text-align: justify;">oyeux Noël!</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> C</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> Рождеством Христовым!</span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Catch the Spirit; it's everywhere, and contagious. Plug in the tree. Light a fire. Pour yourself a drink. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Put your feet up.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> Lean back and take a breath. T</span><span style="text-align: justify;">ake a moment and soak It in. There's 10 minutes somewhere out there to wrap that last gift. "It's Christmas time, pretty baby!" </span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">No holiday, no time, is constituted of Music more than Christmas. The scale and beauty of the tunes inspired by the Season is staggering. It's the one topic that virtually every musician who commits song to tape addresses at one time or another. What else could <a href="http://youtu.be/OR07r0ZMFb8" target="_blank">Run DMC</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPvAQxZsgpQ&feature=share&list=PL4EF45A5266DB5638" target="_blank">Pavarotti</a>, and <a href="http://youtu.be/BvYW1EpKfsY" target="_blank">Waylon Jennings</a> have in common? It fills the air wherever you go, like smoke from chimneys interspersed with winter fog. Whether rattling through a tinny speaker at the grocery store or playing on the soundtrack inside your head, it's everywhere. Holiday is the one musical category that, regardless of genre preference, everyone, and I mean <i>everyone</i>, likes. Dare you say otherwise? Be it wistful (the immortal "<a href="http://youtu.be/GJSUT8Inl14" target="_blank">White Christmas</a>") serious ("<a href="http://youtu.be/DT1fA59oH7Q" target="_blank">The Little Drummer Boy</a>"), playful (the ubiquitous "<a href="http://youtu.be/itcMLwMEeMQ" target="_blank">Jingle Bell Rock</a>"), it's all equally beloved. We just want to hear it and to know that, for 30 short days, the world is the slightest bit Different. The Season allows us to place problems great and small in context and feel the energy that comes with shared Joy; Music serves as a medium for the serene excitement of Christmas. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"It's Christmas time, pretty baby!" </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"> </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">At Christmas, Music joins an infinitely diverse global citizenry in a singular celebration of a Savior, born in a barn, in a small town, a long way from here, a long time ago. Whilst walking about the nearest mall in December, look around. Consider the socioeconomic, geographic, religious, and experiential histories of the people you pass. They may not celebrate the Season. Giving may be the furthest thing from their minds, or they may be spending their last dime on a modern day Gift of the Magi. But, when they hear mention of a certain Reindeer with a flushed nose or the (highly improbable, in the South) prospect of Christmas snow, it affects them all, in the best way. They know it. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">The song brings us all together.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">"It's Christmas time, pretty baby!" </span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Looking back at 37 Holiday seasons, I'm so thankful for Christmas and the role that its Music has played in my life. When I was a child, Dad had an old Sony receiver that sat on a mahogany table in the tile-floored, wood-paneled study that hung off the side of our Georgian brick cottage. The Sony had a metallic silver front and wood sides and you had to turn a knob to move an actual needle to find a radio station. It had cushioning at the end of the dial so it would give you a pleasing bounce when you went too far to the right past 108 FM. When you flipped the power switch off, it took it several seconds to go dark. (It looked like <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/48136705@N05/8605012751/" target="_blank">this</a>.) A more modern black double cassette deck sat on top of it. When Mom pulled out the musty-smelling box of ornaments each year, one of the first things that came out was a solid black cassette tape. It had a red and white label on the side with "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rw7P2hCuPME&feature=share&list=PLBF92F68FD82B0D71" target="_blank">Perry Como</a> - Christmas Music" written on it. I knew how to work the old Sony, so I could get Perry started. Sister Beth and I (Sister Meg was toddling at the time) didn't know a thing about Perry Como and would never have voluntarily listened to any non-Christmas song of his; I don't think Mom even listened to him. But, every December, in the green glow of the old Sony and the full spectrum splendor of the tree (colored or white this year?), Perry brought us the joy of tradition. That's when the celebration started in earnest. We knew it then. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">"It's Christmas time, pretty baby!" </span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>It seems like a different world now. We go so fast these days. It takes so much work to create a moment, we are often too exhausted and anxious to enjoy it when it arrives. Let this year be different, and let the Music be your guide. To paraphrase Dylan, the answer's in the air all around us. Take a few seconds and <i>focus</i> on the words you hear sung in church, at the mall, sitting in your wing chair with your feet up, or inside your head. What you will find in them is the reason that we celebrate and, in many ways, the celebration itself. <span style="text-align: justify;">"It's Christmas time, pretty baby!" </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">MERRY CHRISTMAS!</span></div>
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-91060320908380316552013-10-18T19:08:00.000-07:002013-10-18T19:08:31.856-07:00Redemption (Jason Isbell)When excess and stubborn pride diminish a man's life to a point of near zero, the first step in redemption is to admit a lack of control; to recognize and confront weakness. In Rock, where careers are built on ego and gluttony, redemption and adoration are hard to find simultaneously. If you take the bottle of liquor out of a Rock Star's hand and strip him of self-destructive bombast, what's left?<br />
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Jason Isbell had to figure it out. The scion of a musical family and a natural talent, in 2001, Isbell found himself leading the Drive By Truckers' southern-fried 3 guitar attack at age 22. He endeared himself to a half-generation of Southern music fans with timeless statements of the "Dirty South" such as "Outfit" and "Decoration Day." While former DBT mates Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley focused on the South's grimy underbelly, Isbell's approach was more nostalgic and down home. Where Hood focuses on anthemic statements of Southern mystery and faded glory ("Sinkhole," "Ronnie & Neil"), and Cooley on loners and crooks ("Women Without Whiskey," "Cottonseed"), Isbell was more the rebellious teenager feeling his way while raging in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot ("Goddamn Lonely Love," "Never Gonna Change"). It was never really a square fit, and Isbell left DBT in 2007 to walk alone.<br />
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It was a long and painful road littered with plastic liquor bottles, small crowds, and self-destruction. Success did not find him quickly, substance abuse set in, and Isbell came to represent one of Cooley's desperate loners. The gutter was deep, but thankfully not too long. Things started to turn with the release of 2011's well-received <i>Here We Rest </i>and its memorable sing-along highlight, "Codeine." During the sessions for <i>Rest</i>, Isbell fell in love with now-wife Amanda Shires and sought out sobriety. He found it, probably saving his life in the process. Building off of the success of <i>Rest</i>, Isbell sharpened his focus, embraced sobriety, and moved boldly in the right direction. For a former Drive By Trucker, facing the world solo with an acoustic guitar in hand and his back to the bottle must have been daunting. <br />
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With the release of 2013's critically-acclaimed <i>Southeastern</i>, things have come full circle. Instead of running from his past, Isbell used it as fuel for great music and a better tomorrow. On album highlights like "<a href="http://youtu.be/74S1dtoqAD0" target="_blank">Tired of Traveling Alone</a>," we see a man with his weaknesses on full display. Haunting album opener "Cover Me Up" provides an immediate admission of vulnerability; elsewhere we find fear of death (barroom rocker "Super 8") and intrigue ("Elephant"). Hardly abandoning his Muscle Shoals / DBT roots ("Flying Over Water"), Isbell is comfortable, and effective, with a Martin acoustic in his hand ("Live Oak"). The result is a superb <i>tour de force</i> that serves as a necessary component of, and stirring testament to, Isbell's ongoing quest for redemption. <br />
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I saw him play the Georgia Theater recently with his backing band, the 400 Unit, and he looked and sounded great. This is not a man on shaky ground; there's no apparent apprehension of falling back into the Hole. Watching the taut 90 minute set, I saw a traditionalist that would have been as comfortable at Johnny Cash's Sun Studio as he would jamming at Muscle Shoals with the Stones (this night brought a solid rendition of "Can't You Hear Me Knocking"as the closer). Eschewing displays of virtuosity on the guitar in favor of more terse solos in the Carl Perkins mold, Isbell is a natural and enigmatic showman. He shows an appreciation for his audience instead of rebelling against them; engaging them instead of prodding them. While his DBT songs remain the crowd-pleasing centerpieces of the set (a scorching "Never Gonna Change" was this night's highlight), his solo material continues to gain traction on its merit. What I saw was a healthy, rejuvinated, and vital artist nearing the top of his game; a man who is comfortable in his skin in a way nobody could have expected when he was passing around a handle of Jack Daniels at 1:40 a.m. in his DBT glory days. It's inspiring to watch a man who has confronted and conquered self-destruction, with the battle serving to fuel a vital new period of his art. <br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-3651299064558872002013-09-26T18:48:00.000-07:002013-09-27T05:17:34.614-07:00SOTW - September 27, 2013 - Tigers Come to Town ("Fearless")The Big Game. It's a Southern bit of greatness. For seven precious fall days, dusk becomes a bit cooler and anxiety rises like a bottle rocket. There's an omnipresence in the air that occupies Everyone's minds, whether they will admit it or not. The clock ticks ... slowly ... towards Friday at 6:00 p.m. Then, and only then, we can focus 100% of our attention on The Big Game. At some point, you've read every available bit of analysis and breakdown. For better or worse, the world will be temporarily but sharply different at 8:00 p.m. Saturday night; this much we know. Will they or won't they? Do we have enough defense? Can they stop us? Is Murray over the hump in Big Games. Who have they really played? Will the crowd show up? Will this be Clemson, or South Carolina? Is Mettenberger for real? Are we <i>really </i>favored. Will The Hat do something crazy? The Tigers are coming to town. They are good. So are we. At some point, the matter must be left to skill and chance and strength and nerves and luck and sweat and strategy and all the infinite variables that, no matter how hard we try to break it down, will decide The Big Game. <br />
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No matter what we do or say or think, it's all going to be in the hands of a bunch of kids that were in high school a few years ago come 3:36 p.m. on Saturday. We will be there with them in mind, body, and unified spirit. Pull. It. Out. Dawgs!<br />
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I wish they'd put me in charge of the PA in the locker room just before kickoff on Saturday. As tempted as I'd be to blast "<a href="http://youtu.be/0J2QdDbelmY" target="_blank">Seven Nation Army</a>," I'd take a different tack, one of calm inspiration. Instead of trying to charge the young gladiators' bodies, I'd try and focus their minds. Pink Floyd recorded their excellent 1971 album <i>Meddle </i>when they could find spare moments in a frenetic concert schedule. You'd never know it from the placid, stirring sincerity of my favorite track from the album and your Song of the Week for September 27, 2013, "Fearless." The song, built on an unforgettable open G acoustic riff (atypically played by bassist Roger Waters in the studio), challenges then inspires before reaching a peaceful lyrical resolution. It winds into an unpredictable ending (hinted at early in the song) in the form of the Liverpool F.C. Kop choir singing the English football chant, "You'll Never Walk Alone." We will be playing American football on Saturday, but the message resonates on any continent. <br />
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"<i>You say the hill's too steep to climb. Climb it</i>!" <br />
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<br />Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-50408208279749717212013-09-12T18:53:00.003-07:002013-09-12T18:53:41.717-07:00SOTW - September 12, 2013 - "Easy" (John McCauley)<span style="background-color: white;">Equal parts Kurt Cobain (self-destruction) and Neil Young (quirky folk-rock earthiness) with a dash of Axl Rose (ssweat-drenched kisses from the front row), Deer Tick frontman John McCauley is an enigmatic indie rock hurricane. His catalogue is wide and deep despite his youth, ranging from Bakersfield alt country (2007's <i>War Elephant</i>), to power pop (2010 side project <i><a href="http://youtu.be/JT9ujXP5WD8" target="_blank">Middle Brother</a></i>), to crass garage grunge (2012's not-so-well received <i>Divine Providence</i>). He's turned himself into Jim James for the unwashed, super late-night crowd (complete with a recent <a href="http://www.esquire.com/blogs/culture/deer-tick-john-mccauley-interview" target="_blank">Q&A</a> in none other than <a href="http://www.esquire.com/blogs/culture/deer-tick-john-mccauley-interview" target="_blank"><i>Esquire</i> </a>magazine). Can he get comfortable with stardom?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Like Young, McCauley is as comfortable (and good) solo acoustic as he is with the amps blowing apart. When you get through the showmanship and occasional boorishness, there's a delicate earnestness about him. He can weave dreams (my personal favorite, "<a href="http://youtu.be/EM89oK_vhB0" target="_blank">Dirty Dishes</a>" off of <i>Elephant; </i>don't get me started) and say grace ("<a href="http://youtu.be/bQLOfMUHRO4" target="_blank">Choir of Angels</a>" off of 2010's <i>Black Dirt Sessions</i>). The only time I've seen him live, your Song of the Week for September 13, 2013, which lies on the other end of the McCauley spectrum, was the set highlight. A tense introspective rocker off of 2009's <i>Born on Flag Day </i>that evokes a man with a bad hangover, "Easy" is anything but. Your music collection could probably use a little more Deer Tick. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"> </span>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-57564979402858704302013-08-15T18:21:00.000-07:002013-08-15T18:21:48.913-07:00Album Review - T. Hardy Morris, Audition Tapes <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reminiscence is a more common musical theme than coming of age. Everybody has a past. All to often in music, the artist doesn't have a future. Both themes are effectively spun on <i>Audition Tapes</i>, the debut solo effort from Athens, GA stalwart and Dead Confederate frontman T. Hardy Morris. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While young at 33, Morris is a veteran of the music scene, having played live music in Confederate and its predecessors (Redbelly) dating back to his teenage years. His experience shows here in perspective and patience. Confederate fans will be surprised by the tempered ambiance of Morris outside of his normal context. The stainless industrialism of Confederate is nowhere to be found, and Morris decompresses wearing a (figurative) thrift store Cowboy hat. The result is stripped-down, pedal steel infused indie folk that evokes Unplugged-era Kirk Cobain blended with <i>Harvest Moon </i>Neil Young<i>. </i>The musical theme is subtle, with open-space instrumentation devoid of flash but supportive of the contemplative mood. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Statements of nascent post-road adulthood (excellent opening track "Lucky") are patiently presented alongside cautionary tales of excess ("Hardstuff," with its stirring "leave yourself alone" refrain; album closer "Own Worst Enemy"). On another page, the listener gets a playful look backwards with the portrait-of-youth title track (Wes Anderson, take note). Mature advice is dispensed in the form of "Disaster Proof." (The comforts of marriage and home inevitably give a man perspective.) The material here is serious in theme, but none of it feels heavy. It's a neat trick. If this is Morris's audition tape, he makes the cast. </span>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-17648318425116971262013-07-03T17:47:00.001-07:002013-07-03T17:47:06.532-07:00SOTW - July 3, 2013 - " ... we can not hallow this ground." <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We Americans celebrate our Liberty tomorrow. Its blessings are infinite, but the price is great. 150 years ago this evening, our Nation experienced the latter on an unimaginable scale. Lee sent his Grays up a 40 foot tall ridge just south of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania on a hot July afternoon. Meade's Blues held fast. The determination of a brave few to preserve a More Perfect Union prevailed. The lives of 51,000 American sons and husbands were lost or forever altered on those immortal fields. We are all better for it, for the Union persevered. The Battle of Gettysburg, and the war of which it was a part, are the most incomprehensible chapters of our history. But they must not be forgotten, lest the cost paid by those brave souls on 3 July 1863 be in vain. About the battle, Abraham Lincoln later uttered some of the greatest words any mortal ever has. They bear repeating on the eve of our Independence Day (and forevermore): </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you know little of The Civil War, then Ken Burns's documentary of the same name is a wonderful place to start. Every American should watch it at least once. The theme music of Burns's masterwork is your Song of the Week for July 3, 1863. Happy Independence Day, fellow Americans! Let's never forget how lucky we are to live and breathe on this soil. </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="190" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/L_qIhrB73Uo" width="350"></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-12980490623881583542013-06-28T18:58:00.002-07:002013-06-28T19:00:38.555-07:00LakewoodLakewood Amphitheater in Atlanta, Georgia is the Wrigley Field of music in the South. Outdated, painted-over, dilapidated, and unfortunately located, it's home field charm shines through its rust. Ask a Southern music lover where "the Lawn" is. You'll get a knowing smile and an immediate "Lakewood. [Insert some variant of 'I've had some killer times at that place!']." It's hard to explain how or why it has survived. It's difficult to get to; getting home is even worse. The neighborhood can be scary. The lots are unsavory barely-maintained urban asphalt and gravel-dirt with no facilities and indicia of squatting everywhere. Tailgating friends can be a 30 minute urban adventure away with poor coordination. And what's with that old stadium? But on just the right midsummer night, when the obligatory afternoon micro storm had passed and the heat started to seep out of the concrete as the sun set, a stirring Vibe took over. <br />
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For me, there's significant personal history there. It was the site of my very first concert (a Pantera/Sepultura/Prong triple bill in '94; the '80's era Poison and Bon Jovi shows at Albany Civic Center were a non-starter in the Johnson household) and some of the best I've ever seen (where to start: Phil Lesh Quintet 8/5/01, Phish 6/23/00, Radiohead 5/8/08). When Phish hit town back in the early '00's, typically around July 4, you could smell the electricity around the place. Tickets sold out the day they went on sale (waiting in line at the Publix in Buckhead on a Saturday morning was the only chance you had) and were impossible to come by. With every type of handmade good being offered by every type of person imaginable, for half a day, it was an island unto itself; the closest analog that children of the '70's and '80's will have to a prime era 'Dead experience. The memory of weaving through the glow stick wasteland peppering the standing, laying, spinning, spun-out, and jumping bodies on the Lawn is eternal. As bad as you wanted to find Your Spot and unload a couple of the beers you carried through the melee for your journey friends, the journey was strangely pleasurable. It was like stumbling through a cloud of bliss, a momentary oasis of unadulterated joy that would only dissipate when the sun rose again.<br />
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I'm heading back to Lakewood tomorrow for the first time in years. The Bob Dylan Americana Music Festival awaits. We will see whether the nostalgia masks the grand old venue's deficiencies to more discerning (i.e., aged) eyes. The place will be different to me now, but that's quite OK. The Ghosts of those magical nights in the '00's live on in my head.<br />
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[For your listening pleasure, Early Evening presents the aforementioned 8/5/01 show from the "The Q." What. A. Night. You can see the setlist <a href="http://archive.org/details/plf2001-08-05.flac16" target="_blank">here</a>. The opening Jam > Help on the Way > Viola Lee and the near 20 minute "Sugaree" (track 6) are sure to get your weekend off to the right start.]<br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-32507172495003947592013-06-20T17:12:00.000-07:002013-06-20T17:12:17.852-07:00SOTW - June 21, 2013 - "In a booth in the corner ..." It's a love story as old as time. A smoke-filled dive bar, late at night. Packed and steamy hot. The din pulsates, warping the dimly-lit air. You can hear the juke box playing, the song indiscernible. Glasses and foreheads sweat. Things reach a crescendo. Romance abounds, floating, waiting to attach itself to two souls in (fleeting) communion.
A man walks in. There's a lady in a booth in the corner. Eyes meet, then meet again. Seconds pass. Then again. No coincidence. People begin filtering out to find the Night's conclusion. Not these two. A pitcher of drinks. Then another... <br />
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Daylight comes and birds chirp. No eye contact now. Only pleasureful shame. What the hell? They know the score. A love story as old as time, but a short one.<br />
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Loretta Lynn was 43 years years old when Jack White was born. Musically, several genres separate the Coal Miner's Daughter and The Pale Master. How and why they came to make music together, much less tell us a dazzling story of temporary lovers, I cannot explain. Such asymmetry in age, style, and experience can spell forced disaster; not here. Jack and Loretta are both too great for that. Plus, they really like each other. (Not how you are thinking.) This unlikeliest of musical unions - between a then 72 and a 28 year old- produced one of the great modern American albums, 2004's <i>Van Lear Rose</i>. If you grew up in the country, this crossover classic will carry you home, straight to Grandma's arms. It's sound evokes the wind rustling the old pecan trees out back on a hot July evening. Woven with themes of tradition ("This Old House", "High on a Mountaintop"), family ("Family Tree"), trial, and triumph (the title track), this was Americana before Americana was cool. It's essential material for any library and enrichment on a hot summer day.<br />
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The album's unforgettable track, and your Song of the Week for June 21, 2013, bucks the narrative arc of the album a bit and takes us back to our smoke-filled bar. The daydream haze of the intro segues into a gentle hook before blasting into the soaring highs of the main theme. Instead of the story of conquest and adventure that the music portrays, the listener is dropped into a little bar and a sloe gin fizz soaked story of one man, one woman, and an unforgettable night. "Portland, Oregon" is one big smile. "And a pitcher to go!"<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/VuC_l3ymXhM" width="420"></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-54852515732743215052013-05-09T19:50:00.000-07:002013-05-09T19:50:39.458-07:00SOTW - May 10, 2013 - Wayside <br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">wistful</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">desire</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">return</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">thought</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">fact</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">former</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">time</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">one's</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">life . . .</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">sentimental</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">yearning</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">for</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">the</span> </span>happiness<span id="hotword"> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">former</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">place </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">time.</span></span></span><br />
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Was it really so good "back then?" Does our memory place a sheen on the past that obscures the bad? Try or not, we humans constantly assimilate knowledge, understanding, and experience; how would those transpose onto a fondly-recalled past if we re-lived it? Were the Good Ol' Days really so blissful? I say "yes," but not for the reason you might think. It was no better then than it was now, only new. What is new and different is stimulating, and stimulation breeds joy. But, if we have our eyes open, if we are paying Attention, then we are always learning and seeing something new. It happens every day. The past may have been good, but it's the past. Nostalgia, which is longing for "back then" (or the feeling that the past is better than today), is counter-productive because it obscures the glory of the present. </span><br />
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Not that Gillian Welch agrees with any of this, at least not based on her dusty-box-in-the-attic classic (and your Song of the Week for May 10, 2013), "Wayside (Back in Time). This crackling campfire bit of mood folk represents the purest form of nostalgia; not only fond recollection, but the desire to actually go backwards in time. (All to get back to a drunk lover and an apparently unproductive relationship). Wistful and longing in theme, the song embraces the listener from the first soothing ripple of B-3 in the intro. Productive or not, if Gil' is selling nostalgia, I'm buying. </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="280" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wRT4RTjFns8" width="400"></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-53037447016631822822013-04-26T19:00:00.001-07:002013-04-26T19:02:03.314-07:00Album Review - The Futurebirds, Baba Yaga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The Futurebirds</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">Released April 16, 2013</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Making one excellent album is a daunting task for any band; pulling it off back-to-back takes rare skill. With each successive record, the task becomes exponentially more difficult, but you've got to get to second base before you can reach third. The Athens-based Futurebirds are early in the game, but two LP's in, so far, so very good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Baba</i> Yaga,</span> the follow-up to 2010's <i>Hampton's Lullaby, </i>sees the 'Bird's shift their distinct brand of galactic alt country to a more mature and contemplative space. The grind of heavy time on the Road leaves a positive and weary mark. The move is more evolution than revolution, but it's a big step forward that was almost three years in the making. (The band had extended trouble finding the right label for their sophomore effort, eventually landing with the Oxford, Mississippi based Fat Possum label.) Growing up isn't an easy thing for a Rock Band, but the process starts here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The beer-shower singalong choruses of <i>Hamptons</i> ("Yer Not Dead," "Sam Jones") are nearly absent, being exchanged for more nuanced instrumental crescendos</span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">. The tableau of <i>Baba's</i> is wide and thickly layered with sound, never noise. The production value is improved versus <i>Hampton's</i>. Dennis Love's soaring pedal steel flourishes weave themselves throughout and serve as the unifying thread in the band's sound. The other colors are more subdued. The six-string guitar work is more rhythmic than melodic, with few (unneeded) big ticket Rock solos. There is little space in the mix, but it never feels crowded. The lyrical themes have matured, with the listener finding less conquest and more contest. If <i>Hampton's</i> was an afternoon on the beach, <i>Baba</i> is a campfire on the sand under the stars. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">All hands are on the songwriting deck, with guitarist Carter King carrying the bulk of the water. King's irresistible album high-point, "Tan Lines," builds on its rollicking pedal steel hook with a sex and sand lyrical theme that exudes longing and compromise. In the next breath, King has the listener pondering the un-ponderable while channeling <i>Tennessee Fire </i>era Jim James in the stare-and-sway "Death Awaits." When the tempo drops, a contemplative cosmic feel pervades, always propelled by Love's steel, e.g., the spiraling dreamscape of guitarist Daniel Womack's "Felix Helix" and low plains haze of multi-instrumentalist Thomas Johnson's "American Cowboy." Now-departed drummer (and Dead scholar) Payton Bradford evokes Gram Parsons while stumping the listener with a barrage of unanswered questions in the hoist-your-beer instant classic, "Keith and Donna." </span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The subtle sound experimentation built into the album-closing "St. Summertime" (think <i>Z </i>era My Morning Jacket with a dash of <i>Sky Blue Sky </i>Wilco) gives a tantalizing hint at what could come next. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The album could stand to shed a few songs, but the excess material is neither superflous nor offensive. It's a compelling piece of work by a band staying faithful to its name. Stay tuned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">[Editor's Note: While you should absolutely buy a copy of the record and support these artists, you can preview <i>Baba Yaga</i> courtesy of Paste magazine <a href="http://www.pastemagazine.com/blogs/av/2013/04/album-stream-futurebirds---baba-yaga.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><span style="font-family: Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">]</span>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-88157673582280396262013-04-12T20:13:00.000-07:002013-04-12T20:22:45.303-07:00SOTW - April 12, 2013 - Crowes in SpringAt some point, the rising flood of a river must give way to dry land. And so it was in the early 1990's that the The Black Crowes saved Rock and Roll.<br />
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By 1990, Hair Metal had subverted and perverted the Rock of the grand Stones tradition. The genre shifts ("<a href="http://youtu.be/MKdusyjiuvY" target="_blank">Tommy</a>") and historical fusion experiments (<i><a href="http://youtu.be/GNTH9zmleBE" target="_blank">Let It Bleed</a></i>) of the Golden Era had given way to an arms race to reach the most perfectly vapid party chorus ("<a href="http://youtu.be/_88L-CU7PD4" target="_blank">Don't mean nothin', but a good time</a>, how can I resist?!") draped with obnoxious wammy bar guitar antics ("<a href="http://youtu.be/_88L-CU7PD4" target="_blank">Kickstart My Heart</a>"). The only similarity between Hair Metal and the Golden Era was what went on backstage. The Motley Crues of the Hair world misread what their forbears told them; it wasn't <i>all</i> about the Party. Hair Metal garishly threatened to erase all of the musical gains made in the preceding 25 years. (Disclaimer 1: At the time, I loved Hair Metal. How could any teenager of the time not attach to it? It was pop and it was cool. Still, it was terrible music.)<br />
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Then, in 1991, the world shifted slightly on its axis. <i>Nevermind. Ten.</i> Grunge put Hair Metal quickly out of its misery. This was a flood that swept all in front of it musically. But, there was a problem. Like its uncle Punk, for all of its style and attitude, Grunge eschewed musicianship; its purveyors flaunted their lack of musical ability as an anti-Establishment bona fide. At least Hair Metal preserved the core element of the larger-than-life Rock Star. In the Grunge Era, to be a Star was a reason to kill oneself. It was the outright rejection of the time-honored link between Music and fame. Was anybody having <i>fun</i>? (Disclaimer 2: At the time, I loved Grunge. How could any teenager of the time not attach to it? It was pop and it was cool. Still, it was more an attitude and a style than a musical exposition.)<br />
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In this transitional malestrom, a lone candle burned. Ignoring the storm outside, two brothers from Marietta, Georgia looked backwards and drew inspiration from the Masters. Like the Beatles and Stones before them, Chris and Rich Robinson and their Black Crowes hitched their wagon to a few R&B standards, threw some of their own brand of Rock in the back, and rode straight out of Atlanta, GA to Glory. Who needed black plastic cod pieces? Corduroy bell bottoms were more comfortable. As their world embraced studded leather and then flannel, they showed up in velvet and round shades and took the place over. They were an enigma, but they had the chops to make it stick. The world soon took note.<br />
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1990's <i>Shake Your Money Maker</i> staked a definitive piece of Classic Rock turf in what was still a Hair world. It was like Keith Richards had called his hippie nephews, sent them a box of old Blues albums, and told them to go and reclaim the family turf from those who were desecrating it. We all know "Hard to Handle" and "She Talks to Angels," but the blistering piano boogie of "<a href="http://youtu.be/Jjq5Rq4sSZc" target="_blank">Jealous Again</a>" (thanks, Chuck Leavell) and coming-of-age Soul shot of "<a href="http://youtu.be/OD9vMFT_zX4" target="_blank">Seeing Things</a>" showed that the Crowes believed history's lessons. To hear the album now is to marvel at its concept relative to the norms of the day. Three million people agreed. It was the first CD I ever owned, and I still remember the cardboard longbox sitting under the family Christmas tree in 1990 right next to my first Sony Discman. <br />
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By September of 1992, Grunge ruled the world, with the exception of the Crowes, that is. Rejecting the self-absorption and depression of Grunge, they doubled down on their good times brand of Rock and lit a post-hippie fire that gave the burgeoning "jam" scene pop credibility. From some genius corner of their smoke-fogged minds, they reached far back into history and borrowed the greatest album title your writer ever heard from the title of an old hymnal: <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Southern_Harmony_and_Musical_Companion_.jpg" target="_blank">The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion</a></i>. They then attached to said title a masterful collection of Southern Fried Country Honk Brit Rock that fit the 1992 Georgia Coastal Plain like a custom glove. (Grunge never quite sounded right whilst camping at Reeves' Landing next to the Flint River; <i>The Southern Harmony </i>left our 17 year-old minds no doubt as to where its loyalties laid.) Bare feet became more common in my peer group and "dude" re-entered the vernacular after <i>Southern Harmony</i> landed at the old Music Mart on 16th Avenue.<br />
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<i>Money Maker</i> producer George Drakoulious and engineer Brendan O'Brien assembled the album with an unpolished two-channel sound that evokes the days when blues masters could not afford multiple takes and everything was recorded live-in-studio. The soaring B-3 river flow of "<a href="http://youtu.be/1qehWp9Erkk" target="_blank">Thorn in My Pride</a>" and the impossibly punchy roadhouse Gospel of "<a href="http://youtu.be/JpPt_Ow5lh8" target="_blank">Remedy</a>" are the albums finest songs, but your Song of the Week for April 12, 2013 is a deep track slide scorcher that serves as a late album peak before the mellow departure of Bob Marley's "Time Will Tell." The jet-powered opening riff and verse chorus of "My Morning Song" give way to a spacey bridge that slowly soars right back into the chorus's grabbing directive: "Kiss me baby, on Easter Sunday day. Make my haze blow away!"<br />
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. . . And so the grand tradition of Rock was preserved and the torch passed on to a new generation (enter everyone from the Kings of Leon to the Drive By Truckers). It remained cool to be Southern and chill and deferential to those that came before, while still reserving the right to kick open the door and declare the place <i>yours</i>. <br />
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<br />Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-16204548492949408882013-04-06T12:01:00.000-07:002013-04-06T12:01:07.205-07:00SOTW - April 6, 2013 (A Mad World) [Editor's note: Sometime today, Early Evening will celebrate page view number 5,000. For those four or five of you who actually care enough about what I write to look at it 1,000 times, thanks! Seriously, I deeply appreciate all of you who've taken the time to read this blog. It's been a blast!] <br />
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When this glorious spring weekend nears its end, when the referees' whistles are silent and the Sunday sun has set, the nation will turn its eyes to the television and the greatest show there is (and ever has been, in your writer's opinion). Set in the metro grit of 1960's New York, AMC's <i>Mad Men </i>is brilliant for not only the way it looks, but even more for what it <i>says</i>. This tale of high-powered advertising executives and those that are affected by their world of ego and ambition forces the viewer to confront both yin <i>and</i> yang: faithfulness and betrayal; empathy and indifference; brutal honesty and naked pretense; tolerance and prejudice; tireless devotion and flip laziness; courage and cowardice; genius and plagiarism. These recurring themes of the human experience are all found here in dense and often disturbing 60-minute doses. Anyone who refuses to consider them must reach for the remote. The revolutionary style of the show is always there, but it's more garnishment than entree. It should go without saying that I love <i>Mad Men </i>and think it's the kind of intelligent entertainment the world needs more of.<br />
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Since our theme this weekend is brilliance set in 1960's New York, let's turn to a real world example of just that. The <a href="http://700pm.blogspot.com/2012/07/about-velvet-underground.html" target="_blank">Velvet Underground</a> were nothing if not brilliant. Drawing their energy from the same trash-littered sidewalks that Don Draper & Co. traverse in the show, the Velvets shifted from the dark to the light as their career progressed and pop success became more of a goal (they never found it). The VU's Warhol-led ascendancy tracked the same late 1960's period that we expect to see in this season of <i>Mad Men</i>, so we can consider this a period study of sorts. Your Song of the Week for April 6, 2013 is a VU masterpiece and one of the under-appreciated anthems of American music. It is easy to visualize Jack the banker, Jane the clerk, and the song's narrator standing on the same corner with Draper as he tugs on a Lucky Strike and stares off into space searching for some unanswerable. May your cup be filled this weekend.<br />
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Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5489816217401772799.post-46546490628400758922013-03-08T18:30:00.002-08:002013-03-08T18:30:30.345-08:00SOTW - March 8, 2013Legend's Legend Neil Young blazed trails in the stars in the 1970's. Beginning with the 1969 Crazy Horse debut, <i>Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, </i>and culminating with 1979's <i>Rust Never Sleeps</i>, Neil reeled off a nigh uninterrupted run of epic recordings that saw him wielding sledgehammers (<i><a href="http://youtu.be/BoA5cqDSasM" target="_blank">Everybody Knows</a></i>), delicate chisels (1972's dreamscape album-for-the-ages, <i><a href="http://youtu.be/CKOyZjk-R2w" target="_blank">Harvest</a></i>) and searing hot branding irons (1975's recorded-in-a-day pain-riddled Rock cautionary note, <i><a href="http://youtu.be/G6LVIi7pzZI" target="_blank">Tonight's the Night</a></i>). These albums represent a raw, unfiltered rejection of virtuosity in favor of earnestness. Rolling Stone's <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-20120531" target="_blank">500 Greatest Albums of All Time</a> is littered with material from Neil's hot streak.<br />
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Your Song of the Week for March 8, 2013, "Powderfinger," is classic 1970's Neil; vivid <a href="http://700pm.blogspot.com/2012/01/sotw-january-27-2012_3147.html" target="_blank">imagery</a> welded to an Everyman 1/4 rhythm structure (with minor key flourish) and overlaid with lead work that is gripping in its simplicity. One quality of Neil's music is that it moves the listener to believe he can be both poet and guitarist; here's a prime example. Neil only gave us "Powderfinger" live, supplementing its access-ability. In 5 and 1/2 minutes, your SOTW will put you deeply inside the head of an unfortunate, confused, yet inherently brave 22 year-old left behind to defend a town on an unnamed river Somewhere against a menacing, unknown foe for reasons that only Neil knows. You can <i>feel</i> the conflicting thoughts of youth and manhood running through the narrator's head as the main riff drives us repeatedly towards a tragic conclusion told by one of my favorite verses in any song:<br />
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<i>Shelter me, from the powder and the finger.</i><br />
<i>Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger.</i><br />
<i>Think of me, as one you'd never figure,</i><br />
<i>Would fade away so young,</i><br />
<i>With so much left undone,</i><br />
<i>Remember me to my love, </i><br />
<i>I know I'll miss her. </i><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/FMvjfBdeiKw" width="420"></iframe>Spence Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13903397595628347520noreply@blogger.com0