I was sitting with Richie Sambora in San Marcos Square that day and a half we spent in Venice in '01. Drinking pinot grigio, my video rolling, pigeons mulling. He tells me a story about the night Bon Jovi was doing some benefit somewhere maybe Tokyo and Dylan is on the bill. In fact, he's backstage, drifting about the halls, no doubt halting each and individual he passes dead in their tracks (please see the retrospective at Skirball ASAP it's breathtaking). I'll try and paraphrase in Sambora voice. "So anyway, man, he just appears. Fucking Bob Dylan. And Jon and I are standing there, talking or whatever, and as he's passing, Dylan stops, looks at us and says, "I like the Cowboy song." ("Wanted Dead Or Alive")
It's been over twenty years after their debut album (Appetite For Destruction) and over sixteen years since their last relevant studio albums (Use Your Illusion I & II). Yet Guns N' Roses (in name only) can still fill arenas in the U.S. and abroad and there's still a sizable group of people waiting for the elusive Chinese Democracy, even though its release has been delayed possibly more than any album in history.
Perhaps it's because for a lot of people, Guns N' Roses were the last real rock band; dangerous, sexual, rebellious and thunderous, a combination of the Stones, the New York Dolls, punk and Aerosmith that served as a bridge between classic rock and the alternative revolution that would follow almost five years later. No band has filled the vacuum left by GN'R; indie bands have almost none of the power and the corporate rock bands have little of the heart, swagger or personality. I have think the reason people miss Guns N' Roses, and why they're still looking for their reappearance, is because they miss hard rock itself as a vital form, one that can command the attention of not just a niche audience, but the world. Perhaps the idea of hard rock as "danger" was an illusion all along, but it sure didn't seem to be back then.
As for me, I was a big fan of Appetite, but I could feel the end nearing for GN'R when I saw them at Madison Square Garden in December of 1991. Two and half hours late in going on, the band felt bloated; they had needlessly taken on a horn section, Izzy Stradlin was gone and I think Axl went through about three or four costume changes. The show was pretty good, but ultimately disappointing. What was most memorable about the show was the intermission; the P.A. blared the hits of the day and when "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on, the arena erupted. It was before Nirvana-mania had hit full bloom, but I could feel it coming, and in that, the end of GN'R's relevance, except as a foil to the Alternative explosion.
But today's Bootleg Friday is before all of that. It's from a February, 1988 show at the Ritz in New York City, before the band exploded, and while they were still lean, mean and hungry. What future relevance holds for Axl Rose and his band I do not know. But I sure wouldn't bet on them.
I'll be damned if I know, but much of the little I've learned about love has come from the great love songs I've listened to. Music, more than any art form, just goes with love. It's there when we first meet someone and turn them on to the music we love, it's there as a couple, and it's especiallythere when there's a breakup. There's nothing like the feeling when you first fall in love like hearing a love song, even one that you might have heard a thousand times before, and feeling it was written just for you on that day. And there are few feelings more stomach churning than hearing a song about love gone bad when your love is going the same way.
But since Valentine's Day is a celebration of love, that's what we're going to do today. I'll leave it to other blogs to post the break up songs. Without further delay, here's the A Deeper Shade Of Soul Valentine's Day Mix 2008. The songs on it are all pretty spectacular, so whether you're coupled or single, you can't lose. Have a soulful Valentine's Day, everyone!
Aretha Franklin - "Oh Me, Oh My (I'm A Fool For You)" Chet Baker - "My Funny Valentine" Otis Redding - "That's How Strong My Love Is" Al Green - "Your Love Is Like The Morning Sun" Bobby "Blue" Bland - "You're All I Need" Frank Sinatra - "All Of Me" Etta James - "Sunday Kind Of Love" Carl Perkins - "Only You" George Harrison - "What Is Life" Candi Staton - "He Called Me Baby" Coleman Hawkins - "How Deep Is The Ocean" Bruce Springsteen - "Valentine's Day" (7/31/05, Columbus, OH)
Occasionally, I get lucky enough to come across a piece of music I've never heard before that reconnects me to why I fell in love with music in the first place. It's a feeling of profound connection to the universe, a sense that everything is in its right place, a profound joyousness and sense of wonder of what human beings at their best are capable of.
This happened a couple of weeks ago. I was running some errands and was listening to my iPod with it on shuffle and on came an unfamiliar jazz piece. I continued walking, concentrating on whatever mundane task was at hand and then I slowly found my attention being drawn, no, rather taken, by the music. I took my iPod out and saw the song: "Spontaneous Combustion," by the Cannonball Adderley Quintet.
It's a long song, almost 12 minutes, but every second of it occurs as essential; it's playing not for the sake of playing, rather, it's exceptionally skilled musicians communing with their audience, conveying not just a love of music, but a love of being alive and all that it entails, both the good and the bad. As pianist Bobby Timmons finishes his phenomenal solo toward the end of the track, you can hear the people in the crowd erupt - and then when Cannonball (on alto saxophone) and his brother Nat (on cornet) do a brief call and response before they go into the final solo, you can hear the audience sensing that they're seeing and hearing something extraordinary. It's an astonishing piece of music.
What they saw and heard was soul, perhaps a different version of what we think of when we hear the word "soul." But it continues to astound, almost fifty years later.
Somewhere along the line, R.E.M. and I parted ways.
I think what started it was the release of Monster and "What's The Frequency Kenneth," the first lead single from them in years that not only did I not love, I didn't even like. And once I parted ways with them, I really parted ways; I can't even name five songs that they've released since 1994. Perhaps I missed some great songs from those albums, but if I had, it seems as though there was no consensus on what those great songs were.
In my teenage years, R.E.M. were the "underground" band that slowly penetrated above ground. I heard about their early albums sometime in 1985, almost like a whisper; "Have you ever heard R.E.M.? Have you heard Murmur? You have to get it." Murmur was different from anything I had ever heard; opaque and mysterious, but completely compelling and unforgettable. It was my first introduction to rock that wasn't either of the classic variety or just straight punk, and I took to it as an opportunity to, well, feel cooler than the kids in my high school, most of whom had no idea who R.E.M. were. And I also genuinely loved the music, and recognized it as something that was uniquely belonging to my generation, which, given my love of soul, Springsteen, the Stones, and 50's rock, was a nice change. It was different, a little weird, and it was a window into an alternative world that I knew nothing about. Through my love of R.E.M., I found out about the Replacements and the Velvet Underground - for that alone I'll always be grateful to them.
The band seemed to grow as I did, hitting their full stride in the late 80's and early 90's, with Document, Green, Out Of Time and Automatic For The People, all albums I enjoyed tremendously (with the exception of Green). And their emergence as a popular band presaged a million "sellout" debates to come: I remember their signing with Warner Brothers in 1988 instigated my first "'Have they sold out because they went to a major label' argument" with some holier than thou, "Maximum Rock & Roll" reading punk. My answer then (as it is now) was "no." (Punks never really got that selling out had little-to-nothing to do with what label you're on.)
So I was a fan, at times a big one, but for me, there came to be something missing. Perhaps the transition from clubs to theaters to arenas left me cold, as R.E.M. isn't exactly the world's greatest arena rock band. Or maybe it was the loss of Bill Berry - the chemistry of a band like R.E.M.'s is a sensitive thing not to be trifled with. The last time I saw them was in on the Vote For Change tour in October of 2004 in Orlando, Florida, when they played with Springsteen. They played well and they played a set of songs filled with songs that once upon a time, impacted me. But a more disturbing thought crossed my mind; maybe they were a very good band, but maybe they weren't as great as I made them out to be when I was a kid looking for my own sounds. I'd like to think that they're as great as I thought they were. Repeated listenings to Reckoning tell me that.
R.E.M. have a new album, Accelerate, coming out on April 1. The lead single, "Supernatural, Superserious" is the first single that's gotten me even remotely excited about a new R.E.M. album "Drive" was the lead single for Automatic For The People in 1992. Mike Mills' background vocals in the chorus make me smile and remember why I loved them. I hope Accelerate is wonderful - the world could use a great R.E.M. album.
Simon Napier-Bell, former manager of the Yardbirds, has a great piece that's in today's Guardian. It's about his 40 year odyssey in dealing with labels. Highly entertaining stuff. You can read it here.
The Grammys have been trying to shake their fuddy-duddy status for years, changing their rules and making sure that the awards broadcasted will be for artists who reach a younger demo.
How amusing it is then that with one award, Herbie Hancock's win for Album of the Year, all of that youth outreach will seemingly go out the window, and the recording academy will once again be thought of as the curmudgeons who gave Jethro Tull a Best Metal award instead of Metallica (in 1989) and gave Steely Dan the Album of the Year award instead of Eminem (in 2000). It's sort of funny, if you ask me.
Finding soulful moments at the Grammys is often akin to looking for a virgin in a whorehouse. But tonight, A Deeper Shade Of Soul is going to look hard to find the moments (or a moment) that are actually soulful. And we're going to rank them, 1-10 on the Soul Meter. Turn on, tune in and pray for the best.
8:01 - Sinatra is speaking to us from the beyond. He's still the man. Oh God. Alicia Keys is doing one of those creepy duets with Frank. She can't sing jazz for shit. She knows nothing about singing with subtlety. This is a crime against humanity. I'm kind of pissed. Soul Meter - 2.5
8:05 - Carrie Underwood looks like she stepped off the set of the Avengers. Great legs, strong but generic voice and forgettable song. Who comes up with the ideas for these sets? These dancers are kind of disastrous. She finishes it up with the Mariah Carey melisma, signifying emotion but containing none. Soul Meter - 2
8:09 - Prince struts out onstage to introduce the Best R&B Performance Female. He owns the stage. Soul Meter - 7
Alicia Keys wins. No big surprise. Very tasteful speech. I'm not a huge fan of her music, but she's impossible to dislike.
8:17 - A Time reunion! Morris Day looks great. They're doing "Jungle Love." This song has not dated at all. I'm happy. Oh boy...here comes Rihanna and "Umbrella." Another classic single, but...what is up with this mashup shit? She's adorable, but there's just something slight about her. Morris comes out to close it. Soul Meter - 6
8:23 - Tom Hanks emerges to introduce The Band. After Rihanna and the Time, honoring the Band feels completely surreal. Robbie Robertson gets about 3 seconds on camera. Now he's introducing the Beatles. Ringo and Yoko both look great. Cheesy introduction. Cirque De Soleil doing "A Day In The Life." Kind of a cool interpretation. John Lennon's voice still gives shivers and makes the whole production of the Grammys seem faintly ridiculous.
Good version of "Let It Be." Reminds me that it was written originally for Aretha. Good version. Whoever the male vocalist is, he's excellent. He brings it without overdoing it. Soul Meter - 7.5
8:34 - Amy Winehouse wins Best New Artist. Cyndi Lauper is wearing some great opera length black leather gloves.
8:45 - It's Kanye time. He's really not such a great MC. What makes him effective is his complete willingness to make a fool of himself. And he's got good taste in music. Cool glasses. Daft Punk doing some cool futuristic shit. Now he's singing for his recently deceased mother. It's very over the top and Kanye ain't much of a singer, but it's authentic and it works. Soul meter - 7
8:52 - Battle of the bland! Fergie and John Legend. Her voice is so damned ordinary. She sounds like the understudy at "A Chorus Line." She just tried to belt out a note that made my fillings fall out. Soul Meter - 4
9:03 - Cher is presenting Tina Turner and Beyonce. Cher's face doesn't move. Beyonce is doing a routine about the legacy of black jazz and r&b singers to introduce Tina Turner. Oh shit. Ok, I love Tina Tuner, but why can't people just age naturally??? Well, her voice is still there. And I'll shut up...she's Tina Turner and can do whatever the hell she wants to. Tina and Beyonce doing "Proud Mary" together. John Fogerty is in the audience somewhere. I hope he's smiling. Soul Meter - 6.5
9:15 - "Rehab" wins Song Of The Year. Cool.
9:22 - Foo Fighters. Dave Grohl looks really good. He's such a likable guy. I wish I enjoyed his music more. It just seems like there's no 'there' there with them. The girlfriend says, "They're boring." Soul Meter - 5.0
9:33 - Brad Paisley is doing the country portion of the show. That's all I have to say about that. I'm using this time to read up about the results of the Maine primary. Obama won. Excellent.
9:38 - I love Akon's coat. Kanye wins Best Rap Album. He got them to stop the music to talk about his Mama. God bless.
9:42 - The gospel portion. Aretha is good, but not quite on her 'A' game. The Madison Bumblebees kicks some serious ass. Their trombone players were the highlight of the night so far. Soul Meter - Aretha - 6.5, trombone players from Madison Bumblebees - 8.5
9:56 - Carole King introduces Feist. I'm feeling the acoustic "1,2,3,4." Really good rearrangement with the horns, who are giving it a cool New Orleans feel to it. This is a winning performance for her. Her sales are going to go through the roof tomorrow. Great song, very good performance. An actual moment of understatement! Soul Meter - 7.5
10:00 - Weird matchup of the night. Keeley Smith and Kid Rock. Kid Rock doing Louie Prima. And he's doing a great job. I'm actually digging him. Keeley is always fun. Great performance. Soul Meter - 7.5
10:04 - Foo Fighters win Best Rock Album. I don't need to mention that I think Springsteen should have won this. Dave Grohl is a nice guy. Soul Meter - 5
10:11 - Stevie Wonder gets standing ovations just for showing up. He's introducing Berry Gordy as a Grammy Icon. Berry gets a smattering of applause instead of getting the five minute ovation he deserves. Now Stevie's introducing Alicia Keys who does "No One" for what will hopefully be the last time on an award sow. People really love this song. I'm not one of them. It's ok. John Mayer comes out to play guitar. Is it just me, or is he quickly becoming the American Phil Collins of his generation? Soul Meter - 6
10:25 - "Rhapsody In Blue" never gets old. Eighty-three years old and it still feels modern. One of those pieces that makes you believe in God. Herbie Hancock is an eternal bad-ass. And Lang Lang doesn't suck. Pretty awesome. Soul Meter - 9.0
10:41 - It's Amy time from London. "You Know I'm No Good" opens. She sounds good, but she seems a little scared to cut loose at first. She does some great phrasing in the second verse, and lets herself go. Then "Rehab," with a sly grin as she does the chorus. I still have the same complaint about the Dap-Kings; they play way too politely. Her voice is in good form, but there's something uneven about the performance. Soul Meter - 7.5
10:50 - Amy wins Record Of The Year for "Rehab." She looks stunned, but gets it together for a little speech and actually gathers some momentum toward the end. Is this the beginning of her getting it together, or a quick pit stop on the descent?
11:05 - Josh Groban. It's hard for me to take. Soul Meter - 4.5
11:13 - John Fogerty with Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis. I'm scared. Fogerty's voice is ageless. The great thing about Richard and Jerry Lee? They're just as weird today as they were in 1957. Jerry Lee looks and sounds old. Little Richard, the queen that he is, has kept himself in far better shape. Watching the kids in the pit jump for John Fogerty and Little Richard makes me feel like I'm coming down from taking some acid. Soul Meter - 6
11:25 - will.i.am is doing a Grammy medley. Uh, ok. He worked hard on it. Soul Meter - 5
11:28 - Ok. Album Of The Year award. The big one. Kanye wants it badly. And the Grammy goes to...Herbie Hancock. Oh boy. I would not want to be in Kanye's crew tonight. I haven't heard the Herbie album, but you can bet there will be some controversy over the selection. Soul Meter - 6.5
Another Grammys in the books. Actually, not at all a bad show. I remember them being a lot worse when I was a kid. See you next year.
I spent much of yesterday in downtown Manhattan, walking from meeting to meeting, reveling in New York City on a mild winter day, and then, of course, thinking about Lou Reed. More than any other rock performer, Lou Reedis New York, embodying its intelligence, sardonic wit and restless spirit. His unflinching eye, depicting the New York demimonde in all of its alluring and occasionally dangerous darkness, took rock to places it had not gone before. But what most people don’t realize is that there’s a deep thread of compassion running through the best of Reed’s work (“Busload of Faith,” “Perfect Day,” “What’s Good,” “Walk On The Wild Side,” “Jesus”), and it’s what makes his great work soulful. Reed may seem to epitomize the jaded New Yorker, but his cool (and cynicism) should never be confused with jadedness; he’s way too romantic for that (even if he'd tell you differently).
Reed, of course, is best known for the seminal work of the Velvet Underground. And while they may be the band that truly gave birth to alternative music and earned their avant-garde bonifides through their association with people like Andy Warhol and the poet Delmore Schwartz (who Reed studied with when he went to Syracuse), in my estimation, what ensured Reed of a long and illustrious career has been his love of appreciation of the great early rock and r&b artists from the 50’s and 60’s like Carl Perkins and Dion (who Reed called “Bronx Soul” when he inducted him into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame).
I was lucky enough to see Reed play a very up close and personal set about 15 years ago. I was friends with the owner of Reed’s rehearsal space in Chelsea and he invited me to his Christmas party, telling me to stay late, because there’d be a “special guest.” Sure enough, at around midnight, Lou and his band went into one of the rehearsal rooms, plugged in and played a 40 minute set for about 30 of us. They opened with an extra long version of “Rock & Roll” similar to the one on Rock N Roll Animal, with a brilliant opening guitar solo by Reed and played a blistering set. My friends and I just sort of stared at each other, slack-jawed, not quite believing what we were seeing. I may be a Jew, but it had never felt more like Christmas.
Today’s episode of Bootleg Friday is Lou Reed at Park West in Chicago recorded in April of 1978. There’s a distinct element of funk and soul in this show; his rhythm section played much more syncopated than his usual on the beat style, and with a trio of black female background singers, the nod to soul is unmistakable. Enjoy.
There’s something about the sound of Bobby Womack’s voice that I’ve always loved. It’s that mix of gritty and romantic, earthy and ethereal, the same mix that the best soul singers have always had. Womack has never won the acclaim of an Al Green or an Otis Redding (which, truth be told, is understandable, given that he never released an album as epochal as Call Me or Otis Blue), but if there’s an artist who has been everywhere that soul music has been, it’s been Womack.
I wrote about Womack last year, and listening to him today, I can't help but ask; What's more beautiful than the sound of Bobby Womack singing?
It had to happen. In the wake of Amy Winehouse’s success last year, there is now a flood of “soulful” female artists whose albums are about to come out. One of the most anticipated ones is Duffy, from the UK. She hearkens back much more to the pop/soul tradition of Jackie DeShannon and Dusty Springfield (pre-Dusty in Memphis). I haven’t heard the album yet and my experience with her so far has been reduced to seeing a few videos, but so far, I’m not that impressed. She’s got a fine technical voice; excellent range and tone. But in watching the videos, I’m not getting that hit of emotional depth that I need for my soul music to occur as, you know, actually soulful. I’ll hold off on rendering a real verdict until the album drops in mid-May. Here’s one of her videos.
I’ve been a Southside Johnny fan for a long time. He’s a true believer in the power of soul music and despite his never “making it” to even close to the degree of a certain friend of his named Bruce has, he’s persevered, continuing to release albums and putting himself on the line with every performance. His first three albums are all excellent, and Hearts of Stone, his 1978 album produced by Little Steven when he was still known as Miami Steve Van Zandt, is a masterpiece, fusing the hard rock of the Rolling Stones with the soul of Stax.
One of my favorite live music moments was at a Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes show in 1995 at the Stone Pony. It was a Saturday night show and the Pony was packed – a homecoming show for a band that, by that point in time, knew that it would never achieve it’s original dream, but played as though none of that mattered. All there was was a Saturday night and an audience to slay. The band and Southside kicked ass, and during “The Fever,” I was next to the stage singing along (with the exact phrasing that Southside was doing, cause I’m a dork), and Southside saw me, locked eyes with me and then he stuck his microphone in my face and demanded, “Sing it to me my brother!” I did as told. My friend Michael looked at me in astonishment and then almost died laughing.
Today’s edition of Bootleg Friday features a few songs from a Southside Johnny radio performance that he did with Little Steven in 1993. It was a benefit performance for Hungerthon, and to raise money, the band (Southside, Little Steven, Bobby Bandiera, David Haynes and violinist Soozie Tyrell) took requests over the phone, which resulted in a great set of covers, from artists like Neil Young, Van Morrison, Springsteen, Chuck Berry and more. But the most hilarious and unlikely song here is, Madonna’s “Like A Virgin,” which somehow works. Listening to the show you can hear the commitment of a singer who’s always been in the moment, even if big success ultimately eluded him.
The Beatles were my first musical love. After John Lennon was killed in December of 1980, I dug up my older brother and sister’s copies of Revolver, the White Album, Let It Be, Sergeant Pepperand Rubber Soul and I was immediately hooked. They became an obsession, and I was soon reading everything I possibly could about them (my favorite Beatles book remains Philip Norman’s Shout) and rock in general, so my love of the Beatles soon took me to the music that influenced them, mainly 50’s and early 60’s rock, r&b and soul. The first time I ever heard the word Stax was from reading a John Lennon quote about his favorite music.
The Beatles exposed millions of people (like me) to American r&b and soul, and the artists at Stax were grateful for the exposure and enthralled with the Beatles music. And you can hear the Stax artists version of some Beatles classics on the new compilation, Stax Does The Beatles, due out on February 26. Featuring the likes of Booker T. and the MG’s, Isaac Hayes and Carla Thomas, it’s a collection I’m looking forward to getting.
But my favorite r&b cover of a Beatles song is not by a Stax artist, but by Al Green. His version of “I Want To Hold Your Hand” exploded the Beatles version, taking the innocence out of it and making it ridiculously sexy and funky. The horn lines, swelling in the bridge, add something that the Beatles, for all the infectious greatness of their original version, didn’t have.
I haven’t paid much attention to Shelby Lynne in years, since her 2001 “disaster,” the Glen Ballard produced Love, Shelby. I think I might have listened to Identity Crisis, her 2003 release on Capitol a couple of times and then forgot all about it. I had been a fan of I Am Shelby Lynne, her 1999 album that won her a Best New Artist Grammy, despite the fact that she had been signed by Epic Nashville in the late 80’s. (Another example of the stupidity of the Grammys.) I Am… reminded me of a modern Dusty Springfield record in its combination of both earthy and dramatic tones that occurred on occasion as diva-worthy.
So when I heard via the New York Times that Shelby Lynne’s new album, Just A Little Lovin’, is a collection of songs inspired and made famous by Dusty Springfield, I became momentarily excited. But unfortunately, while the album is eminently tasteful, it is a thorough bore. Lynne’s (and producer Phil Ramone’s) arrangements are striking only in their lack of risk and originality; the drama, risk and vulnerability that Springfield sang with is instead replaced by an overwhelming sterility, a celebration of “good taste” that does not even approach the realm of soulfulness. It is utterly harmless music.
Lynne fancies herself a rebel who bucked the conventions of Nashville and has a deluded sense that it makes her a superior artist. What it makes her instead is a snob who uses her commercial failures to justify her utterly false notions of what it is to be a rebel. Perhaps this album will be the commercial breakthrough that she has been looking for for the better part of two decades – but most likely, it will be another chapter of a career in which the artist comforts her own missteps by saying to herself, “They don’t get it,” instead of asking, “What’s missing in my music that could make a difference?”
If you don't have Dusty In Memphis, buy it immediately. But Just A Little Lovin' is one of the most unnecessary albums I've heard in years.
I've been sick with a pretty bad cold the past few days. It's not fun, but the silver lining is that when I'm sick, I have very strange dreams which I almost always remember. (When I'm well, I almost never remember my dreams.)
Anyway, last night I dreamed I was in the Beatles. I was the piano player, which is kind of weird, because I don't even play piano. The setting was 1961. I was in the audience at the Cavern Club (the band was still in the black leather period) and after one of their sets, I went up to John Lennon and told him that they needed a piano player who could "play like Jerry Lee Lewis," and that I was the guy for the gig. I forget exactly what he said, but the next thing I know, I'm playing "High School Confidential" with the Beatles. (In the dream, Ringo was already drumming for them, even though he didn't join until August, 1962. But hey - who cares? It's a dream.) Anyway, John loved it, George and Ringo were pretty psyched as well, and Paul was pretty cool to the whole idea. But I got in. As dreams go, it was a pretty excellent one.
That's all I remember. Maybe tonight I'll dream that auditioned to be the drummer in the E Street Band in 1974 and that I beat Max Weinberg for the gig.
One of my biggest gripes with the major labels has been the lack of real choice in the matter of purchasing music digitally. iTunes 128k AAC files (with DRM) hold no appeal for me, due to both the sound quality and the DRM on the file, and up until recently, there was no alternative if I wanted major label music, except for illegal downloading. (I have and love my subscription to eMusic, but that's limited to independent labels.)
With the advent of the Amazon mp3 store, that is no longer true. I love it. It's not quite as seamless or sexy as iTunes, but the prices are better, sometimes significantly so, and the quality of the file, a 256k unprotected mp3, blows iTunes' offerings out of the water. I've been doing a lot of purchasing on the store, and I can't recommend it highly enough. I've found some great albums (Thelonius Monk with John Coltrane) for great prices ($5.99) and I'm trying really hard not to get addicted to the service.
Warner Music has just signed on with Amazon, leaving the SonyBMG label group as the last major to join. I'm sure they'll be on soon. Very quietly, the labels seem to have quietly put up the white flag in regard to DRM. Good for them...and good for the consumer. I absolutely recommend spending some time on the Amazon mp3 site; it's great to see, finally, quality offerings in the realm of major label digital music.
On New Years Eve I went to a great party at a friend's apartment in Brooklyn. There were a lot of great people, great food, great drink and great dancing. As it happened, I was asked to DJ, which is not an unusual occurrence amongst any gathering of my friends. So I took my iPod and made a playlist that I thought would work; a combination of old and new rock, soul, r&b I thought the revelers would get into.
It didn’t work.
I forgot one of the two cardinal rules of DJ’ing for a party. Play the music people know and love. I had cued up a lot of great, but obscure songs, the kind of tunes that if I was playing them in a car with friends, they’d all say, “Wow! This song is great. Who is it?” I’d explain what songs they were, and I’d get to wow everyone with the depth of my impeccable taste and musical knowledge. But at a New Year’s party with a crew of thirty-somethings, playing an obscurity like Candi Staton’s “Heart On A String” just ain’t gonna work, no matter how great the song might be.
So, needless to say, we quickly switched it up, and on came the Madonna (“Into The Groove,” “Holiday”), Prince (most of Purple Rain), Justin Timberlake and other more familiar favorites, and then it became a sweaty dance party. It cooked.
So next time I DJ a party, I will remember the following; it is my job to entertain the audience and get their asses on the floor, not to turn them on to anything they haven't heard before. It’s about them, not about me. Because if it was up to me, I'd be playing most of Otis Blue.
Oh – and the other cardinal rule of DJ’ing for a party? Make sure the women are pleased with what you’re playing. Make the women happy and you’ve got your party made.
Actually, that’s a pretty good rule for all of life.
I’ve been getting a bunch of You Tube clips sent to me from Monday’s Led Zeppelin show in London. The clips look and sound very good; someone used the word “dignified” to describe the band onstage, and that word certainly has come to mind as I’ve watched. They sound tight and strong, command intact. And to their credit, they’re not hiding their age. Jimmy Page’s hair is silver-white and Robert Plant has a bit of a paunch; they’re not Gods anymore, but very mortal men who are happy to show it.
It’s incredible to me how popular Zeppelin has remained and how they’ve penetrated each successive generation of rock fans. Their music, twenty-eight years after their last studio album, has aged incredibly well, retaining both it’s power and modernity; it’s no wonder that they continue to appeal to new generations of fans. And I believe that appeal is due to their music’s roots in American blues and black music, music that continues to resonate, even if it has long since fallen out of fashion. It’s fitting then that the most anticipated rock reunion in years occurred at an event honoring Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun, a man who believed that southern American black music was the foundation of all of American musical culture. Rock was built on that tradition and punk was the breaking point from it – and while it was a thrilling break, it’s telling that there isn’t one punk band that has had the staying power of the blues based British artists from the 60’s and 70’s.
It was interesting was talking to a couple of friends who were there and who work in the music business; “inspiring” was the word both of them used to describe the show. I asked them why and each of them said it was a treat to see the real thing.
Something in my life has not been right lately. And I've been looking and searching, trying to figure out what it is. And I finally got it - there's been no Bootleg Friday in the past few weeks!
To get back in the game, here are some selections from a Little Feat show in 1973 that was taped for the radio. It's been years since I listened to them, but when I put these tracks on, that heady rush of good time New Orleans came back immediately. Enjoy 'em!
One Monday night in February of 1985 I was watching the Grammy Awards at home. I was up past my bedtime, but I couldn't go to sleep without finding who won the Album of the Year award. It was Born In The U.S.A. versus Purple Rain, with Lionel Richie's Can't Slow Down in the mix, along with two other albums I don't remember. I was rooting hard for Bruce, but I told myself that if Prince won, it'd be well deserved - Purple Rain was great and how could I argue if it won? But I knew it'd be either one of those two.
"And the winner is...Lionel Richie for Can't Slow Down!"
I exploded. I threw something at the TV, and started yelling and cursing at the screen, disgusted that Lionel Richie, who in my view was vapid and bland, could beat Springsteen and Prince. Where was the justice? Were these voters stupid or something? (I woke up my Dad with my commotion, who groggily and forcefully inquired as to what the hell was going on.)
That was my introduction to the wisdom of the Grammy Awards.
Today I'm reminded of that night almost 23 years ago, as Springsteen's Magic, easily one of the best albums of the year, was looked over for Album of the Year honors. Instead, we have nods going to Kanye West, Amy Winehouse, Vince Gill, Herbie Hancock and the Foo Fighers. I personally have no issue with the Kanye and Amy nominations; I was expecting those. And I honestly haven't heard the Vince Gill or Herbie Hancock albums. But the Foo Fighters album? Are you kidding me? I like Dave Grohl and all, but if there's been a more harmless body of work in the last 10 plus years, I'd be hard pressed to name it.
Here's the question. Why do I even care? Why is it important to me that a great work be recognized as such? Everyone knows the Grammy Awards are meaningless, right? Remember, this is the awards body that gave Jethro Tull a Best Metal award instead of Metallica in '89. Best New Artist to Milli Vanilli. Etc., etc.
So why do I care? I guess the first reason is because I love Magic and want Bruce to finally win an Album Of The Year award, just like I wanted Marty Scorcese to win a Best Director Oscar and was thrilled when he did. But even more that that, I suppose that I want great work to be recognized as great work. I was happy when Dylan's Time Out Of Mind and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill won the best album Grammy because for a moment, it felt like there was a little justice in the world. I know I'm making more of this than I need to - there are few things more meaningless than the Grammy Awards, but I can't help but feel like this is the bullshit icing on top of a very bad cake.
PS: The Arcade Fire should have gotten a Best Album Nomination too.
I just finished reading Rick Coleman’s wonderful bio about Fats Domino, “Blue Monday: Fats Domino and the Lost Dawn of Rock N’ Roll.” It’s one of the best music books I’ve read in years. It is exhaustive in its scope about Domino and post WWII New Orleans R&B, but more than anything, it is a book that sets the record straight.
If Elvis’ legacy as has been called into question by a strain of "cultural critic" that (foolishly) calls what he did cultural appropriation (i.e., ripping off blacks), then Fats Domino contribution to rock and r&b has often been left out of the story. This borders on travesty, as Domino was making music that could easily be identified as rock n’ roll five plus years before Elvis, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis ever set foot in a recording studio. My guess is that it’s due to Domino’s non-threatening image; we like our rockers to be overtly rebellious and sexy. Perhaps it’s due to him being a piano based rocker in a genre where the guitar became the main instrument. But however it went down, Domino, despite being a key influence on Elvis, the Beatles, countless others, selling over 100 million records and being an artist who truly shook the walls of segregation (one of the most fascinating threads of the book) has never seemed to get the full extent of the recognition that he deserves.
If the information revolution that we’re experiencing today creates micro-niches of fans interested in one thing, then the revolution began by Fats Domino and his generation of r&b and rock n’ roll musicians did something completely different; it brought vast groups of people together for the first time, often times in direct violation of the law (segregation). It may seem like a small thing now, but when you read “Blue Monday,” you understand both the enormity of the accomplishment (and the price paid for it) and how it altered the history of America forever.
Listening to Alicia Keys is a deflating experience for me. She’s gorgeous, has a solid voice and is obviously talented – but in listening to her new album, As I Am, I get the experience of listening to the musical equivalent of table scraps – someone who has something real to share, but instead serves up the same vaguely empty platitudes of self-empowerment and love over and over. It’s ultimately disappointing, because despite her blandness, I can’t help but think there’s more there.
The album’s songs and arrangements, steeped in touches of 70’s soul, are supposed to signify authenticity, but all they do is reinforce the suspicion that I’m listening to a facsimile of something real. “Superwoman,” in which Keys “overcomes” her sorrow by recognizing her inherent greatness, comes off as vaguely icky and redundant, almost like reading the modern R&B version of a Hallmark card. It all comes off as formula – and even the enjoyable moments of the album, like the luminousness of the melody in “Teenage Love Affair,” all occur as insufficient, missing some sort of key ingredient to make the thing really cook.
Listening to Keys, I can’t help but recollect my joy upon listening to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill for the first time. What I was hearing was not just a wonderful and singular album, but the expression of a woman taking on the world with incisiveness, humor, spirit and sensuality, glossing over nothing and making even her pain seem beautiful.
That was a soul album. As I Am isn’t. It’s a pleasant contemporary R&B album performed by a talented singer who, if she ever going to be a significant artist, needs to dig far deeper into herself and get to something real, maybe even something ugly. As I Am is very pretty...but very vacuous.
I haven't blogged in three weeks, by far the longest time between posts since I started last August. I thank those of you who inquired what's been going on. I can't account for the lapse - just one of those periods where I'm very unkind to what I write. Everything I put to the page, seemed, well, inadequate.
To get back in the swing of things, here's some required reading. A wonderfully informative essay on the Rascals ("Good Lovin,'" "People Got To Be Free") and the battle they waged for civil rights, risking (and harming) their career in the process. This is the story of a (white) band inspired by R&B and soul who wanted to give something back -- and who gave much more than they ever thought they would. They walked it like they talked it.
While most of the music world has been aflutter over Radiohead's decision to bypass the major labels, I'm more excited to discover (via yesterday's NY Times) that Aretha Franklin has completed her deal with Clive Davis and has started her own label, Aretha Records. For years, I've lamented Aretha's continued pursuit of the young R&B audience, which necessitated having songs and producers that simply did not suit her, at the expense of music that could showcase the continued power and emotional range of her singular voice. This is very good news.
Her first album, Aretha: A Woman Falling Out Of Love, will feature songs written and produced by Aretha herself, and I simply can't wait to hear it. Of other note, Atlantic/Rhino has just released a live album of Aretha in Philadelphia from 1972. I haven't heard it yet, but I look forward to getting my hands on it.
I find it very intimidating to write about jazz. I know far less about it then I know about rock and soul, and the history of the music is simply so vast. It's a music that I have come to love only in the past few years, and it occurs for me much like my love of wine: I know what I like, I am ready for more, but writing as an expert would be fraudulent.
That being said, here's a wonderful five song collection of Dizzy Gillespie and his quintet in Hamburg, Germany from 1953. You can hear in the songs what he brought to the table: a fusion of Latin sounds and rhythms with jazz and the darker, richer tones of bop, the revolution in jazz which he helped to usher in.
Listening to this music fifty plus years after the fact, you don't hear the radicalness of it. You hear the beauty in it.
Brett Dennen won me over on Tuesday night at the Bowery Ballroom.
This was a surprise to me. I had listened to his album, So Much More, a few times and thought that it was somewhat unassuming. The songs were pleasant, but didn't leave that much of a mark on me. Another pretty good singer-songwriter, or so I thought.
What struck me about Dennen live is that he is completely his own man. Most performers try (unsuccessfully) to be something they're not, using the stage to attempt to hide some element of themselves that they'd rather die than admit to. Dennen is just...himself. Holding his guitar high up on his chest, chunky in build and wearing a headband that no one would ever confuse with cool, he is so warm, open and engaging on the stage that everything that could be seen as a "flaw" suddenly begins to work for him. His music may not be completely original, as he works in the tradition of singer-songwriters started by Dylan (Paul Simon seems to be a big influence), but he himself occurs as an original, and damn if that isn't refreshing.
Dennen's songs, while good, will have to reach the next level for him to have the possibility of being a major artist. But I'm looking forward to hearing his next album...there's something happening here.
First things first. I need to apologize for not putting up Bootleg Friday last week. No excuses, but I'm still working on finding a final file hosting solution. The one's that I'm using now have very limited daily bandwidth, so if you cannot access the file today, try the following day, etc. I will have this issue resolved by the middle of next week.
Ok, now that business is taken care of, today's episode of Bootleg Friday is short (due to the bandwidth issue) but very sweet. It's two Rolling Stones songs; an alternate version of Let It Bleed's "You Got The Silver" with Mick Jagger instead of Keith Richards on vocals. I've always been more of a Keith guy and I slag Mick pretty casually, but Mick's vocal on this is incredible, and is a revelation. The other song is an outtake called "Highway Child," recorded around 1970 with Ry Cooder at Keith's house.
I haven't been listening to the Stones all that much lately, but their music from this period, 1968-1972, continually occurs for me as the greatest rock n' roll ever. Better than Dylan, better than the Beatles. Why? Because the Stones brought sex and groove like no one else, and in doing so, they exemplified the form of rock as music. If an alien came to me and said, "Play me one song so I'll understand what rock n' roll is," I'd probably play them "Gimme Shelter." Or "Rocks Off." Or "Brown Sugar." Or "Sway." You get the idea.
There was a good article in yesterday's Guardian about the importance of drummers that's worth reading. Ironically, I found the article only a few hours after I got a text from a friend of mine who was at the Shins show on Tuesday night who told me that he was loving the show, but that I was right about their drummer. (The lameness of most indie drummers is one of my difficulties with the genre.)
At the Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band show last week at Madison Square Garden, while I was continually amazed by the energy Springsteen was generating, I found myself almost as often frustrated by the stiffness of Max Weinberg's playing. Weinberg is one of the great power drummers, and on the Springsteen material that calls for power ("The Ties That Bind," "Backstreets," "Badlands"), he's unparalleled. But on most of the new material from Magic, and on the earlier songs that call for groove and precision ("Brilliant Diguise," "Thundercrack"), well, I heard plodding instead.
I write this not to criticize Weinberg; he's suffered for his music, with several hand operations and back problems. Rather, it's to illustrate one of those truisms of music that is rarely mentioned and is isn't even consciously noticed by most listeners - although I think they know it intrinsically; without a great groove, even the best performances are dragged down. Or as Duke Ellington said, "It don't mean a thing if ain't got that swing."
Another year, another CMJ, another four nights of me standing in clubs wondering what the hell the big deal is about buzz band _______. No matter, for this is not a post about me whining about my incomprehension at the continued ascendancy of indie rock. That's because I've got an article for you to read that sums it up much better than I could. It's Sasha Frere-Jones' piece in this week's New Yorker about indie's lack of soul. It's sure to cause a major (mostly negative) reaction in the blogosphere, as indie is dis-proportionally influential in media circles, and here is one reaction from Slate, which I enjoyed as well.
I especially admired Jones' willingness to slaughter some sacred cows that, well, needed some slaughtering. Espeically Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
I'm having a little trouble with my file service this morning, and I have 1pm meeting, so there's going to be a delay in today's edition of Bootleg Friday. It will be up this afternoon.
Ben: So you’ve listened to the Radiohead album three times. It seems like everyone is raving about it. What do you think?
Lazar: I think basically the same thing that I always think. It’s “good.” It’s well-crafted. It’s very modern and of the moment. It's intelligently arranged. I don’t think there are any particularly great songs on it. I can listen to it and derive a little pleasure from it. But it doesn’t do much for me.
Ben: You’ve never been a fan.
Lazar: Well, I’ve tried a bunch. Shit, I’ve listened to Ok Computer about 100 times, trying to hear what the hell everyone else hears in it. And I actually like Kid A a lot; I love “Morning Bell.” I think that song is actually soulful. But deep down, I suspect they’re really a bunch of pretentious British art school wankers. Hipsters fall for that sort of thing like evangelicals fall for Bush.
Ben: Didn’t you heckle them once?
Lazar: Yes, I heckled them at MSG in the summer of 2001. Everyone was rapturously into the show and I thought it was self-indulgent bullshit. I even booed them. I got a couple of nasty looks, but no one said anything. A couple of people came up to me after the show and told me they agreed with me – they didn't think it was that great either. My friend who got me tickets to the show wasn’t so thrilled with me. But she enjoys telling the story to people when she’s making fun of me.
Ben: What is it about them that makes you so crazy?
Lazar: The make me feel profoundly alienated. I’ve never been the guy who seeks to set myself apart through music. When I was really young and felt completely alienated from my peers, music was the means through which I could actually communicate with people and be my fully expressed self. I love that music can be the means through which I can make a connection with someone that transcends boundaries of race, class, geography, etc. So I look to music as a tool to face down the coldness of the world, which is probably why I love the heat (and community) of soul music (and Springsteen) so passionately. When I listen to Radiohead, I hear a fetishization of alienation – and the fact that so many people love it and think that it’s of such a high artistic quality makes me a little sad. Also, I have to admit that they’re one of those bands that always make me question myself: “Am I missing something?” “What am I not hearing?” “Do I need to spend more time with it?” It’s annoying.
Ben: You sure make this mean a lot. They’re just a band.
Lazar: Welcome to my brain. It’s not always a fun place to be.
Ben: Maybe you just don't get it.
Lazar: (snarling) Yeah. And maybe everyone's taste is up their...
The Radiohead site has been inaccessible all day. I've tried several times and each time it's a different fuck up. Earlier it was just way slow. Like 5 minutes per page load. Now it seems their server has crashed and is defaulting to some secure interface that requires a login and password. Yes, I'm sure the traffic is overwhelming, but they should have been prepared. Every potential buyer who can't log in will log in later and use that disappointment as rationale to not pay.
160kb is lame. Yes, it's higher quality than most of what iTunes sells, but it's not CD quality. Yes, I'm holding them to a higher standard than almost every other web retailer, but they want to be judged by a higher standard. And you know what? Amazon sells their downloads at 256kb which i would consider close enough to CD quality to please everybody but the stodgiest audiophile.
A CD is being released next year? Or in time for the holidays? In addition to the box set? Essentially the band is leaking the new album with a tip jar button.
At the end of the day this is a genius publicity move and not much more. They're not giving away the "crown jewels." they're giving away something that would have been readily available for free to any young computer user with the time and inclination to get it. And, they ARE putting out a traditional CD with traditional distro.
So, 4 stars for the concept. 1 star for execution. Let's see if Trent gets it right.
Trent Reznor announced on Monday that Nine Inch Nails are out of their deal with Interscope Records and are not going to resign with a major label, going the Radiohead route of selling directly to the consumer. That's not surprising, given that he's been bad mouthing his label for a long time, even urging his fans to steal his CD's. It's also a move that makes sense given the fact that the avenues for mass exposure for a band like Nine Inch Nails (alternative radio and MTV) no longer deliver the results they once did.
But what I find fascinating are the comments on the Nine Inch Nails home page. It's over 1400 comments, 99% of which are filled with invective towards the major labels. That's not surprising either, given the anti-establishment bent of NIN's music, and the fact that "the man" is never popular in such a camp. But the intensity of the vitriol is worth noting (especially given recent events: Radiohead's decision to self-release their music, and the R.I.A.A. winning their first trial against a file-sharer); you really get a sense that the reputation of the record industry is probably a notch or two below child molester. I'm not going to argue the truth or untruth about the perception of the major labels. (It lies somewhere in the middle.) But in a business environment where consumers are super-empowered in their choices in how to consume music, I believe that how labels are perceived by consumers is their number one challenge to turning their business around. And winning $220,000 judgements against single mothers may be a "victory," but it will be, in the long run, a Pyrrhic one.
Today I'm going to dispense with the preamble. Johnny Cash in Austin, Texas on December 8, 1994, touring behind his first album recorded with Rick Rubin, American Recordings. Enjoy.
But after listening to her new album, 100 Days, 100 Nights, I'm left cold by her once again. She and the Dap-Kings recreate a lovingly faithful version of soul music circa 1966 - great horn lines, nice walking bass, jaunty rhythm guitar that falls in the "right" spots and lovely upright piano. And Jones' voice projects a gritty charm that makes it impossible not to root for her.
Unfortunately though, the greatness one hears in 100 Days, 100 Nights is in the echo of the era it recreates, not in the album itself. The album is a collection of thoroughly unremarkable songs that, while enjoyable to hear, do not dig deep enough emotionally to be truly affecting. They occur as part "my man did me wrong" and "you're going to pay for doing me wrong," all of it feeling more like an exercise in soul rather than actually being soulful. And while a great soul singer can make the most banal lyric feel like a Biblical truth, Jones is a fine singer, not a great one, and here, that makes all the difference.
There are some high points. "Tell Me" is a lovely piece of Motown feeling pop-soul that gets its point across with welcome brevity, and "Nobody's Baby" is a fine echo of Linda Lyndell's 1968 hit for Stax, "What A Man," which was later covered by Salt-N-Pepa featuring En Vogue and turned into the smash "Whatta Man."
If Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings are going to capitalize on their moment in the spotlight, it is going to have to be on the stage, because 100 Days, 100 Nights is an album that skates on the surface of soulfulness without penetrating the soul itself. If they are to take their game up to the next level, they're going to have to go far deeper.
I'm writing this from a cafe in Williamsburg, one of Brooklyn's meccas of hipsterdom. I just finished a meeting and have a little time to kill before my next one...EVERYONE in this cafe has a Mac. Literally. Twelve computers, all Macs, including mine. Steve Jobs would kvell.
One of the things I love about iTunes is that if I can see what music people have on their computer if we're sharing the same network. An iTunes network named "Professor Esser" just showed up. So I'm checking it out as I write, and I'll be damned if it isn't the most "Willamsburg" collection of stuff I've ever seen in my life. I mean, it's right out of central casting:
Ace of Base: check ("The Sign") Barry Manilow: check ("Copacabana") Backstreet Boys: check ("I Want It That Way") Belinda Carlisle: check ("Heaven Is A Place On Earth")
And of course, there's the classic rock section:
David Bowie: check (9 albums) Lou Reed: check (3 albums) Iggy & The Stooges (5 albums - 3 Stooges, 2 Iggy) Beach Boys Pet Sounds: check 1st two Elvis Costello albums: check
And finally, what would a music collection be without a little comedy?
David Cross: check (3 albums)
No Stones, Springsteen, Aretha, Otis or James.
I'm not really making fun. Ok, maybe I am, a little. It's not that the above artists aren't worthwhile. It's that it's a cliche of the music taste of a hipster come to life. I guess the thing about cliches is that they're sometime true.
All music posted on this site is for promotional purposes only. This site urges the legal purchase of music. It positively impacts artists when you purchase their CD or download their music legally.
If you are an artist, or are affiliated with an artist and you want your music taken down, please contact me and I'll be happy to do so.
Files will be taken down roughly a week after originally posted.
I'm stealing this from the letters section of The Lefsetz Letter, but it's too priceless not to share.
