Nearly forty years after he crossed into the next dimension, there is an ongoing fascination with Jimi Hendrix. He caught the attention of heavyweights in many genres of music, pulled off miracles with a stomp box and revolutionized rock guitar in the process.
Are You Experienced hit the scene with the force of a grand piano landing on a box of powdered donuts, snapping the minds of countless listeners when it was unleashed in 1967. Light years ahead of everything else at that time, his debut was the envy of many of his contemporaries.
Heavy schedules followed with commitments that pushed him toward the inevitable cycle that has taken out many very talented performers.
Legions of feedback-loving, volume pigs have tried to emulate him, possessing none of his finesse and feel. More than one of his peers has gone on record stating that they could not figure out how he produced those tones, even after studying his technique up close.
Valleys of Neptune is a "new" release, featuring material captured in studio sessions dating from early 1969, with a couple of tracks that were done outside that period. His legacy had been tarnished somewhat by posthumous, grave-robbing, cash-in releases that hit the market in the 70s and continued to appear while the legal issues surrounding his estate were being untangled. The late 90s saw a reversal of this state of affairs, with a faithful restoration of First Rays of the New Rising Sun, an LP he was working on at the time of his death.
Now we get a further sampling of his work. Seven of the twelve cuts here have not left the vaults until now.
1. "Stone Free" 2. "Valleys of Neptune" Previously unreleased 3. "Bleeding Heart" 4. "Hear My Train a Comin'" 5. "Mr. Bad Luck" Previously unreleased 6. "Sunshine of Your Love" Previously unreleased 7. "Lover Man" Previously unreleased 8. "Ships Passing Through the Night" Previously unreleased 9. "Fire" 10. "Red House" 11. "Lullaby for the Summer" Previously unreleased 12. "Crying Blue Rain" Previously unreleased
Better still that these tapes are being handled in a more respectful manner, especially after years of shoddy repackages that would not have met with the approval of the man himself.
Overall, it sounds pretty solid with nothing standing out as any great departure from what he had previously done.
The point being?
Allegedly, one of his ambitions was to shed the stage persona that he had been growing tired of and delve into big band jazz, following along the lines of Wes Montgomery. Hard to fathom, although his followers might have eventually watched him take a seat on the bandstand amongst a larger group of musicians. Had he lived, this would have made for a startling career shift. Jimi's occasional summit meetings with Miles Davis are especially legendary. The select few that were privileged enough to hear the combination of these two virtuosos, playing behind closed doors for pleasure, were suitably impressed. Again, if there was a tape machine running, it would be quite interesting to hear what they did. Missed opportunity otherwise.
For the hard-core archivists out there, this album may be seen as a bit slight in terms of real surprises. Hendrix was known for tracking quite a bit, bringing in a revolving cast of supporting players to jam and get ideas down. With that in mind, there is hope that more gems may be unearthed for release, showcasing another side of his multi-faceted musical personality.
Don't you just love the internet? News travels at insane speeds, though most of it reads like it was fact-checked by a sleep deprived chimp who has just polished off three bottles of cough syrup.
Indeed, it must have been that very primate who let news of Gordon Lightfoot's death slip past quality control and take up a portion of cyberspace, namely the websites of several Canadian newspapers a few days ago.
That is until the man himself made a statement to the contrary, courtesy of a Toronto news station. Currently on tour, Lightfoot is delivering his classics to packed houses. Catch him in the act if you can. His work is understated, has been covered by countless artists and is well worthy of investigation.
Don Quixote is no exception.
Not a runaway commercial smash upon release, the bearded bard turned in this thoroughly laid back set back in early 1972. Lightfoot was on an artistic roll during this period, having nicely bevelled some of the rougher edges found in his earliest work (also great) to find a superb balance between what he had to say and how he would sonically present it. Delicate acoustic passages, fine supporting players and a sure touch with a tune are all strengths that enhance the listening experience, though it is his way with words that steals the show.
One of the finest lyricists to ever commit pen to paper.
In this respect, he had few peers, always exploring interesting themes, story telling and making it all seem effortless. That rich, distinct vocal delivery is his signature, perfectly balanced against a backdrop of acoustics, sighing steel and occasional strings. Rarely missing the mark, Don Quixote would slip neatly into the alt country/folk parade that, to these ears, has been a hiding place for the more experimental aspects of rock since the mid-nineties.
Whether he's celebrating Canadian geography in the guise of uprooting and heading west ("Alberta Bound") spinning an early ecological tale ("Ode to Big Blue") or simply turning out one of the most touching love songs to ever grace a record ("Beautiful") this is Lightfoot at his best. The title of "poet" is too readily assigned these days, more often than not to hacks whose attempts at profundity should be relegated to the broom closets of the Hallmark corporation.
Power pop/rock, tightly arranged with great harmonies and lascivious lyrics that seemed a perfect match for the leering gentleman who sang them.
Doug Fieger succumbed to cancer yesterday at age 57.
This album has been in my collection for 30 years. It really doesn't seem that long ago. "My Sharona" was all over the radio and The Knack were poised for big things. The Beatles with a dirty mind.
Viewed as an incredible return to form, the third Wings platter was nothing short of miraculous as it was made under tumultuous circumstances. All of the key elements that had informed his best work in the past were still there, waiting to be unlocked. Reconnected with his muse, McCartney did not waste an inch of tape in the process.
Paul: “When we got back, people said ‘Ah, out of adversity has been born a fine album.’ I hate that theory. I hate the idea that you have to sweat and suffer to produce something good. It may be true as well.”
Denny Seiwell and Henry McCullough both quit their positions shortly before the group was set to travel to Africa and begin tracking sessions. Soldiering on as a trio, Paul, Linda and Denny found themselves in a less than adequate recording facility. To further complicate matters, Paul and Linda were robbed, losing the demo tapes they had brought along to work from. Legendary musician Fela Kuti expressed concern that they had made the trek to co-opt their rich culture of indigenous music and rhythms.
So your band has imploded, you are in a foreign country looking at an unfinished studio without even a rough draft of your new songs and the locals aren't exactly thrilled that you bothered to make the trip in the first place.
What do you do?
Geoff Emerick, who had accompanied them to Lagos to serve as engineer, worked some magic to help bring their workspace up to code. Approaching the project in the same manner as he did when making the McCartney LP, Paul played drums, bass, guitar and keyboards with contributions from Denny and Linda on various instruments and backing vocals. When everything seemed dire, the team rallied in grand style. The sheer power of the multi-part title cut followed by "Jet" sets the tone as the underlying theme of the record deals with flight and escape. You can take that any way you like, though the theme involving "leaving the ground" continues with the cocktail lounge jazz of Bluebird. Everything clicks on the first side, which closes out with a nice tribute to Lennon's Plastic Ono Band sound on "Let Me Roll It". Heavy reverb on the vocals, the guitar tone and a little primal whimper thrown in toward the fade all ice the cake. It's a very civilized way of ending the "John vs. Paul" sniping that played out on their recent records and in the press.
Confident in every possible way, the melodies and song structures found here are exceptional, with a consistency that was entirely missing from Wild Life and Red Rose Speedway. He and Denny (along with Linda) utilize that great vocal blend to full effect, especially with "No Words", a fine tune which Laine brought in and finished with Paul's help. Experimental sound collage takes up the middle section of "Picasso's Last Words". The initial progression and hook was the result of a friendly challenge. Actor Dustin Hoffman asked him about his song writing process, specifically around what subject matter inspired him to invent a new tune. He went a step further, showing McCartney a Time magazine article about the recent death of Pablo Picasso, which mentioned his reported dying words: "Drink to me, drink to my health, you know I can't drink anymore".
Could you write a song about this?
Within minutes, he had something, to Hoffman's delight.
The finale references the homestretch of Sgt. Pepper with a cool flashback. Just as "Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five" builds to an orchestrated climax, you get a quick reprise of the chorus of "Band On the Run" before the needle goes skidding off into the run-out grooves. Unquestionably standing as one of the top five solo records that he or his former colleagues ever made, Band On the Run stayed on the charts for 116 weeks, hit number one twice and repaired a lot of damage to his artistic credibility. Wings would press on through the remainder of the decade, with changing lineups, selling millions of discs, though McCartney would not quite match the overall quality found here.
Wings expanded to a five piece outfit, travelled through Europe playing small gigs and released a few singles in 1972. All the while, Paul and company were squeezing in recording sessions, chipping away at what would become the "Next Album". Working steadily, enough material was taped to fill a double LP. This idea was scrapped when the calendar page flipped over into 1973, the end product of the work boiled down to a single disc. This left contributions from other members of Wings on the cutting room floor. "My Love" was then dangled before the public as a taster single. Listeners snapped it up like piranhas, sending the tune to the top of the US charts. Now billed as "Paul McCartney and Wings", the band seemed poised for a commercial breakthrough.
Artistically, the project fell well below expectation, with many listeners thinking of other places to shove that rose which protrudes from McCartney's mouth in the cover shot.
Thorns first, of course.
I will be the first to admit that MacCartney has done excellent work, is a stellar musician, singer, producer, etc. Which is precisely why this is so damn frustrating to listen to. You expect a bit more and it is not there. At least with Wild Life, it's understood that he was intentionally doing something off the floor with no polish. Red Rose Speedway took time, effort and it still plays like he was screwing around.Substance is entirely lacking which precludes any serious evaluation of the material. Paul traded on his melodic gifts to lodge his creations in the brains of millions. On Speedway he blows some great opportunities by taking ideas with promise and turning them into cutesy mush. "Single Pigeon" is a prime example, with a piano line that could have been worked up into something great. Instead, Linda chips in with flat responses in the pre-chorus and the whole thing goes down in flames as a children's sing-along. The words don't help, either.
What works well here had already been tracked two years prior during the studio dates for Ram ("Get On the Right Thing", "Little Lamb Dragonfly")."Big Barn Bed" got started during this period as well, though it was updated and recorded specifically for Speedway. Again, it sounds like he did a massive bong hit and wrote down whatever came to mind, though the arrangement is clever. His skills in this department hadn't deserted him.
Speaking of circling around the hookah, Paul may owe mechanical royalties to Pink Floyd and the Beach Boys for "Loup (1st Indian on the Moon)". When the first bit with the chant breaks down, there are some random bleeps and sound effects which give the impression that Loup has reached his destination, happily bounding on the lunar surface. Listen carefully (if you have a copy) to the bass part that is employed in this section as it is lifted directly from the Pet Sounds track "Here Today".
Brian Wilson jolts upright from a dead sleep, wide-eyed and screaming.
Despite the obvious syrupy nature of the song, "My Love" stands head and shoulders above everything else. Henry McCullough's solo is a model of taste and economy.
Wings could never be considered a group of equals because Paul dominated the writing. Prone to dictatorial methods in the studio, he did not allow for those around him to fully contribute and come up with their own instrumental parts for the songs. When he did, great moments such as the inspired guitar solo in "My Love" would happen. Conversely, when the players followed a "by the numbers" formula laid down by the boss, listeners ended up with garbage like "When The Night".
No one has asked, nevertheless, allow me to present a more palatable version of Red Rose Speedway:
Side One
Big Barn Bed
My Love
Get On the Right Thing
Little Lamb Dragonfly
One More Kiss
Side two
Hi Hi Hi
Soily
C Moon
Give Ireland Back to the Irish
The Mess
The crowd loses their mind, giving a five minute standing ovation.
Fortunately, the next chapter in the story would prove to be far more successful from a musical standpoint. Just as he was about to be written off, he stepped up and silenced all of his critics.
After issuing two solo records, James Paul McCartney decided that he wanted to be part of a band again. Getting back in front of an audience would require a solid supporting cast. Enlisting drummer Denny Seiwell, whose solid work on Ram impressed him, was a fine start. His choice to fill the keyboard slot in his new aggregation was shocking.
His wife Linda.
Had she been a seasoned pro, the rock world still would have been skeptical, though it really was an odd pick because she could barely play a note. He insisted that she should be part of the project, taught her a few basic chords and then there were three.
Casting an eye about for a guitarist, he hit upon the idea of having Denny Laine join him. After all, he had known Laine from his days with the Moody Blues (pre Justin Hayward), liked his voice and thought that they would work well together. According to Paul, the name for this new group came out of a stressful time as Linda was giving birth to their second child, Stella. Complications arose and it wasn't certain that the baby would survive. While praying for his wife and child, the image of angel's wings came to McCartney.
Wings quietly started rehearsing a freshly minted batch of tunes in July of '71.
Take it, Tony!
Puffing on some of Mother Nature's finest, having a few beers and knocking around a few oldies, they also jammed on a few new ideas as well. Paul made the executive decision to record some of their "first takes". That's always a good move if you want to sift through the tapes and pick out certain things that merit further development.
He probably shouldn't have released them for public consumption.
Before erupting into an extended laughing fit, consider listening to this from a different perspective. You're hearing a bootleg that mistakenly fell into a pile and was given the green light as an official release. No need to run back into a burning building to retrieve this, though if you do find it on vinyl for a buck, (as I did, way back) then you're set.
No expectations.
McCartney himself had to have realized that this was the byproduct of working up some ideas to break in the band. Nothing more. So you have some pointless fun ("Mumbo"), a song directed at toddlers ("Bip Bop"), the catchy pop tune ("Tomorrow") and a white, left-handed-cigarette-smoking-reggae-fied cover ("Love is Strange").
Ideas that have promise ("Wild Life", "Some People Never Know") run way too long on underdeveloped melodies with no transitions to make them more interesting. Had more time been invested with certain tracks (and backing vocals turned down in the mix) the results would have been marginally better.
Unsurprisingly, extreme critical backlash met "Wild Life" upon its release at the tail end of '71. Once half of an enormously influential song writing partnership, McCartney now seemed to have lost the plot.
"Dear Friend" would be the standout track on Wild Life. It is a small olive branch that he extended to Lennon in the wake of the very public pissing match that they were engaged in at that time.
Best viewed as some messy sketches from a writer trying to escape a long shadow and do things differently.
"I thought McCartney was quite good, but then it didn't quite do it in every way. After it got knocked I thought... do just the opposite next time. So Ram was with the top people in the top studio. I thought, this is what they want. But again, it was critically panned."
Knives had indeed been sharpened and prepared for deployment in advance of the release of McCartney's second solo outing. Many of these evaluations were quite unfair, though the passage of time has led to a revision of such assessments.
Ram was markedly different from the DIY feel of the first disc. Gone was the "one man band" approach, eschewed in favor of having some of New York's finest session players back him up. Relocating to his wife's home turf to record, Paul held some auditions with Denny Seiwell winning the drum seat. Guitarists David Spinozza and Hugh McCracken also got the nod to for this gig.
Billed as a Paul and Linda McCartney production, Ram represented another 180 degree turn in direction. Strong melodies abound in a set that features a handful of his most ingenious creations. There is definitely quite a bit to take in as production values are of high quality. Substance in lyrical content is lacking, the exception being in those instances where pointed messages are addressed to John Lennon.
Let's backtrack for a moment.
McCartney bore the brunt of public backlash in the wake of the Beatles' split, which drove him toward excessive drinking and harder drugs. While he was no stranger to daily blazing, this path was not a positive one. He has since freely admitted that Linda stepped in, knocked some sense into him and he quickly refocused his energies on making music.
Some profound changes had taken place that would prove to be detrimental in their overall effect. His interest in putting some effort into the lyrics seemed to have waned. Without an editor to help prune his output, it seemed that a lot of fluff was making it past quality control. He also seemed eager to involve Linda in the recording process. She was no John Lennon.
Then there was the cover art depicting Paul, proudly gum-booted, grappling with livestock in the mud.
Paul: "This wasn’t posed. Me and Linda decided to catalogue all our sheep, so there’s a photograph of me holding every bloody sheep in the flock that year. Over 100 of them. I was supposed to be cropped out."
OK
On the plus side, he continued to branch out in terms of how his compositions were structured. There are an array of stylistic elements to be found as jazzy seventh chords crop up frequently along with a few elaborate orchestral arrangements. New directions tend to alienate some fans, bring new ones on board and leave others scratching their heads. For those that didn't return the album to the retailer for a refund upon first listen, there are definitely some rewards.
Opening strong with "Too Many People", this guitar oriented slab of meat comes complete with McCartney in full cry, belting out a very direct lyric. This is where we return to our conversational marker concerning John Lennon.
What exactly was "Macca" saying over the intro?
Paul: "Yeah. Piss off, cake. Like, a piece of cake becomes piss off cake, And it’s nothing, it’s so harmless really, just little digs.Too Many People was a bit of a dig at John, because he was digging at me. We were digging at each other in the press. Not harsh, but pissed off with each other, basically. But the first line is about 'too many people preaching practices.' I felt John and Yoko were telling everyone what to do. And I felt we didn’t need to be told what to do. "
My one issue here lies with those shrieking backing vocals in the verses, placed far too high in the mix. Otherwise, it stands up pretty well.
"Ram On" is where the Beach Boys meet the ukulele in a phenomenally melodic hybrid, with excellent vocals. Creative and memorable, this is the direction that he would have been well advised to follow. "Dear Boy" falls into a similar category with those unmistakably layered backing harmonies and jaunty piano. Sure, it's lightweight pop, though it redeems itself by virtue of clever arrangement.
Ram's centerpiece is the multi-part stunner, "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey"
Running on the strength of several hook lines and an exhilarating chorus ("Hands across the water, Heads across the sky") it's no surprise that this went to the top of the US charts in late summer 1971. This one also happens to be one of my first concrete musical memories. Vivid flashes come back of driving around in my father's Galaxie 500 with this song as part of the soundtrack, as it hit big on the radio shortly after my third birthday. Everything seems larger and more vibrant when you are new to the world.
I digress.
Had the sense of adventure and ambition that was packed into this gem been sustained for the entire album, Ram would have ranked as Paul's finest hour. By and large, the remaining content definitely has merit. There is the breezy "Heart of the Country" which verges on the cusp of jazz and even has McCartney tipping his hat to Mel Torme with some scatting after the choruses. Finer still is his dead-on Buddy Holly tribute, "Eat At Home", complete with tight guitar fills, slap back echo and well-timed, Holly-esque vocal mannerisms.
Hard on the heels of the aforementioned "Uncle Albert" in the nominations for for best track is the lavish production that brings the LP to a close. "The Back Seat of My Car" goes after the grandiosity that was achieved as the song suite from the "back nine" of Abbey Road raced toward the finish line. The theme is fairly straightforward, involving the suspension of disbelief that comes with young love.
“We believe that we can’t be wrong.”
Teenage arrogance is usually tempered by the disapproving parental voice not far in the background. All in the pursuit of the freedom to drive off somewhere with your girl and have no commitments to hold you back.
Brian Wilson waking up with wood?
You bet.
Hovering between Cm7 and F major with B flat thrown in for good measure, languid piano with brilliant guitar coloring set the tone as McCartney enters with his characteristic smooth delivery. Building on the basic bed track, brass and strings are employed in to bring this excellent vehicle to full speed. In the end, Paul is at the top of his range with the proceedings going out on a high note. Genius level work.
Again, it is a pity that he did not take a far more critical second listen to the overall product. Though RAM is enjoyable on many levels, there are three glaring clunkers that should have been left in the vaults. Replacing "3 Legs", "Smile Away" and "Long Haired Lady" with "Another Day", "Oh Woman, Oh Why" and "Dear Friend" (cooked up during the sessions for Ram) would have made for a much better listen.
"Monkberry Moon Delight" should have been stripped of those abysmal call and response vocal parts that featured Linda, given some better lyrics and presto! New and improved for the whole family to enjoy.
McCartney alone was calling the shots now.
Regardless of how far he would stray into overt treacle in the seventies, from here on in, there would be no balancing presence to steer him back from the outer limits of sugary sentimentality. This is precisely where the Lennon-McCartney team had worked so well. When the two embarked on their solo ventures, Lennon's output lacked McCartney's arranging skills and knack for bridge creation. Conversely. McCartney missed Lennon's acidic bite with words and his nudges toward more basic, stripped down sounds.
Paul would later confess that this was somewhat of a fallow period for him writing-wise, though things really weren't that bad. Melody is found in abundance on RAM, along with exceptional playing and that aforementioned US number one single.
Curiously, when irreconcilable differences finally splintered one of the greatest song writing partnerships of the 20th century, Paul McCartney chose to release an LP that came pretty close to demo quality. Going one better, despite having one of rock music’s greatest voices, he subversively filled half of the album with instrumentals. Rough hewn best describes the result, though Paul did take a couple of submissions that didn’t make the grade on recent Beatle LPs (“Junk”, “Teddy Boy” and “Every Night”) a few fragments and one truly powerful new song (“Maybe I’m Amazed”) to complete the program.
Going solo in the most literal sense, he played every note on the disc, with wife Linda occasionally joining in on harmonies, that is when there were vocal tracks present.
Listening to it forty years after the fact, Paul’s own evaluation of the record is pretty much on the money. On first airing, it certainly must have amounted to a moment of collective shock for those who had become accustomed to the elaborate productions that his former group had been turning out over the past few years.
What happened to the guy who had been the key driver of the impeccable song suite that comprised the second side of Abbey Road?
MAN WE WAS LONELY
With his band on the rocks, longtime friends not speaking to him, earnings tied up in a company that would soon be at the center of a litigious shit-storm and a host of other miserable developments, it’s not surprising that his output would be anything other than low key. Reflective of his personal state at that time, the music on McCartney was portrayed as being a summation of “home, family and love” on the PR message track when it was issued. Cloistered in his makeshift studio at his farm in Scotland , he diligently tracked his parts at times opting to book the odd session in London . During these blocks of time, he would have an engineer assist with getting things to tape, though he would ask that no mention be made of what they were up to.
Production-wise, there is every indication that these sketches were homemade, with no effort to trim extraneous noises from the final mix. Close listening reveals a handful of minor incidences where you hear domestic background patter or a door shutting. Certainly, this is just the by-product of knocking out a few tunes at home, with no concentrated effort on McCartney’s part to emphasize these random sounds.
Interesting in these times to ponder that Paul prefigured the lo-fi movement by decades when he made his one-man show available for public consumption in early 1970. Being a McCartney vehicle, the songs that manage to amount to more than just musical jotting have killer melodies. Lyrically, there’s nothing substantive going on and he doesn’t trouble himself to include any tunes that lash out at his former band mates. Self-pity is also left out of the equation. Reverting to type, he provides no indication that anything is wrong on record, no doubt a product of the stiff upper lip he was taught to keep in place as part of a male-dominated, Northern Liverpudlian upbringing.
His one act of defiance came in crafting a mock interview that appeared as an insert with the original UK issue of McCartney. Bizarre, though the content made its way into the homes of thousands of unsuspecting Britons. Allen Klein deleted this from the US version of McCartney, no doubt because of the denigrating commentary aimed at himself and the other Beatles.
"Kreen Akrore" takes "Moby Dick" deep into the Brazilian jungle, from where few have returned to tell their tale...
"Junk" boasts a beautiful melody, ranking as one of his most underrated creations. Best in show here? You guessed it.
Submitted for your approval (or derisive laughter) is a list of some of the earliest and most influential recordings in this much maligned, sometimes ignored but thoroughly interesting hybrid format
By no means is this a definitive or complete run down of every artist/group that kidnapped a pedal steel player and turned down the amps just enough to avoid scurrilous looks from folks in ten gallon hats. You may quibble with my choices and find yourself doubting why certain albums are missing. Keep in mind that these entries feature those brave souls who built this club. Everyone else merely stood in the velvet rope and stanchion lined queue, waiting for their chance to get past the big guy at the door.
There are quite a few precursors to this style, all quite excellent recordings in their own right.. Many of the pioneers involved in the records that defined what came to be known as “rock and roll” had serious country and western influences. In the early to mid sixties, artists who had heretofore been associated with a specific genre, began to branch out and cross over into entirely new territory.
Commercially lucrative, incredibly inventive and a success from every possible angle was the 1962 Ray Charles LP Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music. This is a stunning exercise in versatility
Johnny Cash’s Orange Blossom Special disc saw him covering Bob Dylan’s songs and moving, yet again, slightly left of the country format.
Meanwhile, Jerry Lee Lewis and Rick Nelson plunged headlong into the trappings of mellow, countrified bliss with Country Songs For City Folks and Bright Lights and Country Music.
These developments were certainly interesting and I would recommend these releases to anyone who hasn’t heard them. The Beatles and the Stones featured tunes that could be construed as experiments along these lines (“I’ll Cry Instead”, “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party”, “It’s All Over Now”, etc.) though the actual balance between the two worlds was not truly achieved until the International Submarine Band successfully integrated the elements with their LP, Safe at Home.
Widely accepted as the first country rock album, it was recorded in 1967, delayed from official release until 1968 and promptly sank without a trace. Gram Parsons was the key member of this group and when he joined the Byrds, his influence was enough to steer McGuinn and Hillman down a stone country path with Sweetheart of the Rodeo. It flopped miserably at the time, though this is not a reflection of the quality as it is an album par excellence. If you enjoy the fine art of dot connection, a handful of names will come up repeatedly when you investigate the players behind these creations:
Gram Parsons, Bob Dylan, Gene Clark, Chris Hillman, Bernie Leadon, Clarence White and Doug Dillard.
All would have a stake in many of the earliest forms of this type of music.
Here's a short list of other recordings to check out:
The Flying Burrito Brothers-The Guilded Palace of Sin
The Holy Grail.
The Byrds-Sweetheart of the Rodeo
This is perfect from start to finish.
The Everly Brothers-Roots
Absolutely the most underrated project that Phil and Don were ever involved with. There are some fantastic songs on this disc, though it was lost in the myriad of late 60's psychedelia, heavy rock and pop. If you see it, buy it.
These LPs are stellar as well.
Dillard and Clark-The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard and Clark Gene Clark-Gene Clark and the Gosdin Brothers The Byrds-Sweetheart of the Rodeo Dylan-Nashville Skyline Poco-Pickin' Up the Pieces
"Now the first of December was covered with snow So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston Though the Berkshires seem dreamlike on account of that frosting With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go..."
Traveling that same road, on our way to spend Christmas with my lovely wife's sister and her family in Connecticut, I thought of this lyric and was damn glad that the "frosting" was merely window decoration at the side of the highway and not on it. Thankfully, life did not imitate the art of James Taylor.
JT must have had Robert Frost's poem, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" in mind while composing "Sweet Baby James"
Miles to go before I sleep
Though it did involve covering many miles, the drive was beautiful with sunny skies and wonderfully clear roads. The scenery in New York State never fails to dazzle the eye. Christmas in the US of A was perfect, as my son had a terrific time with his cousins.
Back home now, looking forward to my buddy's New Year bash, followed by a two night gig at Pier 21 here in Ottawa.
Purists will go to great lengths to protect an art form from becoming diluted or tainted by the introduction of elements that would dare to give it wider commercial appeal.
Populists are generally responsible for pissing them off.
Amusing from a contemporary viewpoint, as most genres of music have been blended many times over, but in the early sixties if you were a fan of folk, rock or pop was a lower form of entertainment. In short, it was viewed as bubblegum for mindless kids to waste their time with.
Collegiate types of that era would be the first to lecture you on the merits of what the performer had to say with special emphasis placed on the fact that many (though not all) who pursued this style of music sang about social injustice, politics and the madness of waging war against fellow human beings. In truth, the folk tradition stretches back further than even the most tenacious music researcher would likely care to investigate. Etymology aside, the revival of the form in the fifties would bring many new converts into the fold and a host of performers that played acoustic instruments and had a message tucked in their back pockets. Many simply gave recorded life to songs that had been passed down through generations.
One young singer-songwriter who came to prominence in the early sixties had captured the minds and hearts of his audience with compelling work that moved peers and listeners alike to appoint him as spokesperson for the "protest movement" that swept college campuses and all corners where words were the most powerful weapons with which to denounce the most reprehensible actions of the establishment. Bob Dylan was practically deified by the folkies.
No one counted on the fact that this guy was not interested in labels or becoming the crown prince of topical song writing. When he released the excellent Bringing It All Back Home LP in '65, his core audience was completely shaken by what they heard. Electric guitars, drums and nary a word that addressed the socio-political upheaval of the times. One tune from this set was co-opted by a newly formed rock group, whose members had themselves been steeped in acoustic folk music. The arrival of the Beatles in the US changed the game plan and for Jim McGuinn, seeing George Harrison playing that electric, 12-string Rickenbacker in the film "A Hard Day's Night" was his epiphany.
The worlds of Dylan and The Beatles collided in the sound of The Byrds and "folk rock" became a buzzword in the summer of 1965.
At that precise moment, a frustrated, idealistic and somewhat drunken folk music purist emptied the contents of his beer on a friend who tried to get him to listen to this groovy new group.
Editing Dylan's verses down to two from the original four, adding floating, ethereal harmonies, bright electric 12 string and employing McGuinn's brilliant arrangement ensured that the Byrds version of "Mr. Tambourine Man" would find a spot at the top of the charts. Within seconds of the start of that chiming, iconic riff, you know what you're listening to. Heralding the promise of all that would follow it, they instantly became one of the most stirring groups in the universe.
Why?
Combining literate subject matter, three part harmony and two guitar/bass /drums backing was truly a step forward, with many established acts sitting up and taking notice. All of these ingredients had previously shown up on records by the Searchers ("Needles and Pins" was a precursor to Gene Clark's "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better"), the Beatles, the Animals and Dylan himself, though no one had successfully integrated them until the Byrds came along. Without a doubt, that sound has been bounced off the walls of countless studios by scores of subsequent artists in the decades that followed.
Absolutely stunning vocals were the cornerstone of this record. Gene Clark, David Crosby and McGuinn brought an embarrassment of riches to the table in this department. All had done the folk circuit either on their own or with other small groups. Chris Hillman was the Eddie Van Halen of the mandolin, schooled in country and bluegrass and switched to bass primarily to fill the gap. Michael Clarke looked like Brian Jones, though he was a quick study when it came to picking up the requisite skills to handle the back beat. Together they became a force, though this incarnation of the band fared better in the studio than they did on stage.
That is when they were finally given the green light to do their own instrumental work.
McGuinn was the only Byrd allowed to play on "Mr. Tambourine Man" (the lead single) as the others were sidelined in favor of session players. Hiring members of Phil Spector's famed "Wrecking Crew", Terry Melcher had Hal Blaine, Leon Russell, Larry Knetchel, Bill Pittman and Jerry Cole handle the other instruments. The same lineup recorded "I Knew I'd Want You" as well. Crosby and Clark sang on both tracks with McGuinn, though.
They tracked their own parts on all other songs on the disc. Four Dylan tunes appear on Mr. Tambourine Man (the LP) which they interpret quite well. Three more covers made the album, with the remaining space filled by Gene Clark's compositions, several of which were co-written with McGuinn. The one original that stood head and shoulders above the others was the magnificent "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better", with excellent harmonized lines that echo the verses and the indelible stamp of the Rickenbacker 360. Over twenty years later, Tom Petty would re-record this gem for his first solo project and it retained a contemporary freshness that made it seem like a brand new song.
He didn't alter the arrangement at all.
Clark's early efforts have been nailed by some critics as being derivative of British Invasion stylings, though frankly, most of the output of that era followed a blueprint that was designed and engineered for radio playlists. He wrote to hit the benchmarks laid out for that format and did it well, being by far the most accomplished wordsmith of the five at that point.
For me, whether McGuinn pronounced it correctly or not, the best adaptation out of the pack was their take on Pete Seeger's "Bells of Rhymney" which depicts a Welsh coal mining disaster. I can relate to this as I grew up in an industrial area with a number of coal mines. When you heard the pit whistle (kind of close to an air raid siren in tone) it meant something went woefully wrong deep beneath the surface. McGuinn's solo still gives me shivers each time I hear it. This is what I would play to anyone to demonstrate how subtlety is a much more powerful way to evoke emotion in the listener, rather than beating them over the head with histrionics and a "now you're supposed to feel something" vibe. This is the biggest blunder that makers of contemporary film and music continually repeat: They don't think that the masses possess enough intelligence to discern what is being depicted by their art without flash cards.
"Cry here" "Applaud here" "Big laugh now"
Enough of my ranting, please judge for yourself.
Overall, this is one of the strongest debut sets of that era, inspiring their peers right out of their skulls. Reportedly, Dylan felt a bit let down that the Byrds take on "All I Really Want To Do" was beaten in the charts by Sonny and Cher's version. (With everyone clamoring to record his music, his bank account wasn't suffering). McGuinn was an ideal and sympathetic translator of Bob's work, though Dylan started working with other musicians around the same period and his compositions were augmented with electric accompaniment from that point on.
Let's leave the last words to McGuinn, caught here in performance last May.
In "The Hero With a Thousand Faces", Joseph Campbell described apotheosis as the expansion of consciousness that the hero experiences after defeating his foe.
Aptly named, the Heartbreakers' third album was forged under a cloud of trying circumstances, though Petty's tenacity saw him emerge victorious from a legal battle to free himself from a lopsided deal. He recovered ownership of his publishing, secured a decent royalty rate and gained complete artistic control over all future projects. On record, his reputation as a solid song writer was established, with several singles from the album scoring as massive hits.
Slightly altering Campbell's take on things, it's fair to say that the band's profile underwent an expansion into mass consciousness and they officially became rock stars. Thirty years on from official release, "Refugee", "Don't Do Me Like That", "Even the Losers" and "Here Comes My Girl" retain a deserved presence on classic rock playlists.
Damn the Torpedoes could be viewed as Petty's mantra in light of the many battles he has waged to keep the insidious aspects of the record business at bay, while remaining dedicated to honing his craft.
Poised to crack the commercial coconut after releasing two respectable discs, they teamed with producer Jimmy Iovine who helped to clearly define the sonic personalities of the five musicians. Listen for the payoff in the form of a startling exercise in dynamics called "Refugee"
Playing up the strengths of each member, Stan Lynch's drums are way up front in the mix, with a gradual build of ominous sounding guitars grinding out Mike Campbell's now famous F#m, A, E progression. Benmont Tench's swirling Hammond fills are the cherry on top of a very satisfying sundae. Everything is bridled during the verses, allowing for the dramatic punch of everyone hitting the chorus hard and loud.
Quintessential early Heartbreakers.
Deploying several important weapons in their arsenal, not the least of which is the pure skill and precision that Campbell brings to everything that he touches, the first side continues to impress with "Here Comes My Girl". The spoken verses are a masterstroke, building tension that almost threatens to snap before Petty brings the sugar (but not too much) of the chorus. This is the second and last tune co-written with Campbell on the disc, though I really think that he should have been involved in a few more selections as his input was always beneficial to the final product. This is not to say that the rest is disposable.
Far from it.
Petty proudly flies the flag of rock and roll throughout a killer album side. Though there is a fair amount of polish in production, the execution is equally flawless, as the musicianship was nothing short of superb. Designed to leap from the speaker grills, grab you by the ear and make you take notice, this is one big "fuck off" of an album. Doubtlessly, he had drafted and re-written this many times to match the concert that blasted away inside his head.
Could there be a more sympathetic and skilled group of team players than these guys?
Mike Campbell is the most underrated guitarist on the planet. Benmont Tench is a virtual encyclopedia when it comes to music history and a virtuoso in his own right. No less.
Those who dismiss Tom Petty and his cohorts are also writing off several genres of fantastic music in doing so. His songs are not facile, it is just that he works very hard to make it look easy. Don't be fooled, as thousands of hours went into producing his stellar discography. Arguably, his output has only grown stronger with the passage of time.
Dylanesque inflection,(with the twist being that he's blessed with greater range as a vocalist) ringing, 12 string Byrdsian jangle, airtight harmonies and concise arrangements all contribute to something that is ultimately quite timeless. Petty wore his influences on his sleeve (and still does), though his brilliance lies in the fact that he has been able to synthesize the best elements of what came before with his own slant.
This is a very good record.
All nine tracks hit the mark and for those that were concerned about the health of the industry in the late 70s, Petty was seen as a savior of sorts. In performance, they delivered as well or better than they did in the studio because they gave a shit about quality. The impact of Damn the Torpedoes was huge, though it was kept from hitting number one by Roger Waters Oedipal opus, The Wall. My first encounter with this marvelous platter came by flipping through the record collection of my buddy's older sister. It wasn't until Long After Dark in '82 when I really caught up with him, but he has done very little to change my mind about his talent and commitment to excellence after all these years.
"Louisiana Rain" closes out the set on a somewhat down tempo note. One of his finest early songs, it dates from the ill-fated, but productive sessions that were undertaken as his previous band, Mudcrutch was breathing its last. This wistful, country tinged confection hinted at the change in direction that would lead him on to very interesting paths and collaborations as the eighties unfolded. Damn the Torpedoes created lifelong fans out of listeners and his peers.
Another sad anniversary is marked today, which needs no explanation. It is hard to believe that twenty-nine years have passed since a very senseless act triggered a shockwave of grief and outrage that stretched around the globe.
It seemed surreal hearing the radio report that morning as I was getting ready for school. Lennon’s voice was as familiar to me as that of a family member. I remember playing the "Starting Over" single, which I had bought just a couple of weeks prior (and still have) before heading out in the cold to catch the bus.
At twelve, the generational impact wasn’t a factor in my reaction, though I do recall staring at the gatefold picture of Sgt. Pepper later that evening and thinking how strange it was that the smiling, bespectacled guy in that photo was gone.
In a kinder universe, the Beatles Anthology project would have ended with an absolutely mind blowing Unplugged set.
Parting gifts come in varied forms, garnering different reactions from their recipients. When the bearers of said farewell offering do it right, everyone should leave with a drop of telltale moisture etched around the eyes. No doubt that this was the case when Cream capped a career that was notorious for its brilliance as well as its brevity.
Privately, the intense dislike that Bruce and Baker had for each other kept the aggregation on the cusp of implosion during their entire run. Curiously, the end really came when Clapton received a copy of The Band's Music From Big Pink LP and thus spent the rest of his career trying to emulate it, feeling that he and his mates had veered wildly away from their original vision.
Virtuosos all, merely saying that these guys could really play is simply a mild restatement of the obvious.
They were absolute moonsters on their respective instruments, standing about ten feet taller than their contemporaries as a live act.
Showing more than a touch of musical split personality disorder, Goodbye was a truncated version of Wheels of Fire with the studio cuts sounding decidedly un-Cream like. The live tunes were taken from a particularly inspired night at the LA Forum in the fall of '68.
Jack Bruce is a force, as he conducts a masterclass in symphonic four string art through every second of "I'm So Glad". It is a performance worthy of Orpheus, producing a cascade of notes through an electronic lyre, leaving the Macedonian hills ringing and the guard dog of Hades sitting pretty, offering his right paw, tail wagging happily.
The evil Furies weep and the Sirens' voices are tamed as all three solo like madmen in tandem.
No less impressive are their renditions of "Politician" and "Sitting On Top of the World". Anyone that was fortunate enough to have seen them in their excessive prime was treated to the spectacle of two massive towers of Marshall amps sitting on either side of Ginger's impressive drum kit. Playing with sheer abandon, there was little that came close to the electric thrill that emanated from every stage that they walked upon. Clapton's magic combo of white Gibson SG through the stack was a unique voice (sonically almost a cross between violin and guitar) and Baker tuned his drums to the point where they transcended percussion.
Having divested themselves of the US touring commitment, the next step was to produce a monumental spectacular that would rival "Wheels of Fire" in scope. Lacking the heart to carry on with such an undertaking, they managed to tape foundation work on a mere three selections at Wally Heider's facility in LA before calling a halt to the sessions.
Trooping back to the UK with tape boxes marked “Eric’s Tune”, “Jack’s Tune” and “Ginger’s Tune”, Cream prepared to give their Farewell Concert in November of 1968. The last original music that they would ever wax could scarcely be more different than the wild, improvisational flights captured in their live sets. These songs sound as if they had been laid down by a completely different band.
In truth, they hinted at what their sound may have morphed into had they not been ripped apart by their extreme personal differences. Their hardcore following had already painted them into a corner from which they would not be allowed out of. Tiring of playing to type, the operation came to an authoritative stop.
So they hastily completed their respective compositions at London's IBC Studios, with Felix Pappalardi on hand tp produce.
Fellow Band enthusiast and pal George Harrison had originally supplied the majority of "Eric's Tune" to Clapton.
Harrison: " I wrote most of the words and Eric had the bridge and the first couple of chord changes. I was writing the words down and, when we came to the middle bit, I wrote 'bridge'. Sitting opposite to me, he looked and said, 'What's that- badge'? So he called it 'Badge' because it made him laugh."
George plays rhythm up to the pregnant pause and then Eric does the best GH imitation ever, complete with Leslie toned arpeggios and a laid back solo. Funky bass lines and piano are provided by Bruce, culminating in one of the most accessible, melodic things that they ever did. Ringo Starr added the lines about "our kid" (younger sibling) marrying Mabel and the swans in the park.
Bruce's whimsical "Doing That Scrapyard Thing" had most of the lyric supplied by Pete Brown over the telephone, around midnight in the midst of the recording. This is a remarkably bizarre tune, though I say this in the kindest sense as it is stacked with fantastic changes, prominent piano breaks and falsetto vocals. Jack claims that it was autobiographical, though with so much going on it seems tough to pin down any specific meaning. Ginger's "What A Bringdown" was anything but, as it represents his finest offering to the Cream discography. Barreling through changes in time signature and sporting surreal words, it brings the LP to a close with edgy uncertainty.
That was it.
Goodbye?
Well, it would be 25 years before all three would find themselves playing together again in a one-off gig for their rock hall of fame induction. Following this, twelve more years would pass before they reformed once more in 2005 for a series of concerts that will likely stand as their last shows.
ARTHUR (or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire)
"You're gonna find out just how powerful America is, you Limey bastard!!"
Following backstage fist fight with a union official prior to taping one of Dick Clark's TV specials back in 1965, Raymond Douglas Davies would soon find his opponent's shouted threat to be all too prophetic. The Kinks would be banned from performing in the States for several years as a direct result of this incident and general bad behavior during their visit.
What type of shit do you have to cause to warrant such a decree? Watch this clip.
Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, the Kinks missed out on a golden opportunity to cash in on the lucrative US touring market. They played venues in Europe, while other acts rode the crest of the "British Invasion" marketing tsunami that roared ashore in America.
Fate would then steer Davies down an incredibly creative avenue.
Taking inspiration from his own backyard, he began to write from a decidedly "English" point of view and set the group up with a string of classic singles. With regard to his craft, I believe that he was without peer during this period as the quality of the work was nothing short of stunning. "Sunny Afternoon", "See My Friends", "A Well Respected Man", "Dedicated Follower of Fashion", "Waterloo Sunset" and "Autumn Almanac" are but a few examples of the truly fantastic output that poured forth from Davies in the mid-sixties.
If you do not know or own these songs, you are missing out on true works of art. I could not give more effusive praise to any of his contemporaries. His masterpiece, The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society album, consolidated many of his pet subjects and presented several characters that populated his imaginary, ideal and very British locale.
Under-exposure, poor marketing and Davies determination not to cop out and distort his vision by co-opting the day-glo bullshit that was commonplace in the era of psychedelic rock almost finished off the KInks as a commercial entity. 1969 brought a series of seismic shifts in circumstance as charter member/bassist Pete Quaife quit the group and Ray, with screenwriter Julian Mitchell, embarked on writing material that would form the basis of a combination album/made for TV film, loosely based on the real life departure of his older sister, Rosie, who emigrated to Australia some years before with her husband Arthur. The production never made it past the preliminary stages.
Fortunately, the album did not meet the same fate. Beating Pete Townshend's Tommy to the stores by a month as the first "rock opera" (though the Pretty Things S.F. Sorrow pre-dates both), the premise is that Arthur’s children are planning to emigrate to "the promised land" of Australia. He sits by the fire, thinks back on where he and his country went wrong, argues with his son, and realizes that the world has passed him by.
Conversational marker.
In the midst of creating his masterwork, Ray found time to head to LA and produce Turtle Soup for the Turtles. While there, he helped broker a deal with the musicians union that would allow the Kinks to play live in America again.
Things were looking up.
"Victoria" could very well be the quintessential Kinks song. Setting up the listener for the things that the main character sees as an ideal, now lost, the tune itself sees Davies, in a rather dichotomous fashion, aping the stylings of American group Canned Heat, while singing the praises of the British monarch for whom an era was named.
In devising his paean to long gone traditions, Davies almost comes off as Evelyn Waugh in reverse. Waugh wrote one of my favorite novels, "A Handful of Dust" and was known for his dark, satiric take on landed gentry. (Tony Last, the main character in the book is a man out of time, preoccupied with the upkeep of Hetton Abbey, a sprawling, Victorian Gothic dwelling. Things quickly degenerate for the hapless protagonist, though who am I to ruin a good story.)
The point here is that, through Arthur's eyes, we look wistfully at an England that was, without any dark punchlines attached. "Victoria" is the sum total of everything that Davies had been writing about in the years leading up to its release. Driving the rhythm section with a pumping bass line was new recruit, John Dalton. He had stood in with the group briefly in 1966, when Quaife took leave due to an accident (and an intention to bail for good, though he came back). Dalton and drummer Mick Avory gel quite well on each track, leaving the Davies brothers a solid foundation upon which to layer guitars. Brass arrangements also add a regal touch to the mix.
Arthur represents an extremely beneficial leap forward in terms of engineering and the final mixes. Despite the brilliance of Ray's songs, the finished product had always left little to be desired when it came to balance of sound. It seemed, at times, that certain basics were not adhered to in getting instrumental parts to tape. No such issues are present with this disc.
Drawing the listener so deftly into another world that you almost breathe in time with the characters presented, every line is thoughtfully integrated into the bigger picture, though the songs stand on their own outside of the concept. "Shangri-La" is the best example of this, another outstanding creation whose theme transcends the era in which it was constructed. In class-conscious England, climbing beyond your social standing, sitting contentedly in relative comfort is given an edgy lyrical treatment
The little man who gets the train, got a mortgage hanging over his head
But he's too scared to complain, cause he's conditioned that way
Time goes by and he pays off his debts
Got a TV set and a radio, for seven shillings a week
Shangri-la
It is by far the best song on the record.
Elsewhere, there are a couple of clumsy moments. On "Australia" they shift into "jam band" mode toward the end and fail spectacularly due to lack of structure. Similarly, the reading of Winston Churchill's speeches ("Mr. Churchill Said") drives home the point in a less than subtle fashion. Davies usual flair for cloaking his messages smartly eludes him here, though as an integral part of the "plot" it remains. He also picks his own pocket for the main melody on "Drivin'", cribbing a bit from Village Green's "Picture Book". The chord structure is phenomenal, though it went nowhere when issued as a single.
"Brainwashed" marks the return of Dave Davies' patented distorted guitar, which had been muted somewhat over the course of recent albums and sees Ray hurling invective at the masses, calling them out for their complacency.
The aristocrats and bureaucrats
Are dirty rats
For making you what you are
They're up there and you re down here
You're on the ground and they're up with the stars
All your life they've kicked you around and pushed you around
Till you can't take any more
To them you're just a speck of dirt
But you don't want to get up off the floor
Mister you're just brainwashed
"She's Bought a Hat Like Princess Marina" may be one of the album's saddest pieces, once again illustrating the tendency of the poorer classes to emulate those in the upper crust. Redolent of the music hall stylings that would soon become a trademark of the Kinks' sound in the early to mid seventies, it is another display of the versatility that made it tough for the trendy taste-makers to pin down and define from a marketing perspective. Overall, this is work that simply needs to be heard. The playing is superb, with all of the elements that made them great firmly in place. All that was missing was a receptive audience. Sadly, the massive success of the Who's Tommy relegated this disc to the cut-out bins before it even had a chance to be evaluated.
Without the massive support that was thrown behind their contemporaries, the greatest crime to befall any band of this calibre saw little or no chart action for Arthur (# 105 was its highest placement) and weak sales. It is with conviction that I would urge anyone who has an appreciation for music to investigate this great lost treasure. Conceptually, Arthur does not grab the would-be listener, forcefully, demanding immediate attention. Rather, it charms with melody, ease of expression and takes you on a journey through the mental landscape of one of the greatest song writers of our time.
Presenting the Rolling Stones on their much documented 1969 US tour.
They came, packed venues and laid a somewhat dubious claim to the title of "World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band". ( The Who, anyone?) This is not to say that they played poorly or were doing show tunes, though there were other groups that were firing on liquid hydrogen compared to Mick and his crew at that time.
Maybe they had the World's Greatest PR Firm on their side.
Arguments about branding aside, this is definitely an extremely worthwhile disc in many respects. Captured in excellent form in New York's hallowed Madison Square Garden over two nights, the Stones played with renewed fire thanks to their newest member, guitarist Mick Taylor. Brian Jones had been elbowed from the fold earlier that year and died under mysterious circumstances not long after. Taylor's public initiation with the band could have scarcely been more unnerving, as he found himself playing to 500,000 people in London's Hyde Park in July, just two days after Jones' passing.
Though you (regrettably) don't see him execute the brilliant slide solo that he lays down here on their reworking of Robert Johnson's "Love In Vain", you definitely hear and feel it. Panache wins the day.
Fast forward to the fall gigs in the States.
Working their way across North America, with new technology (monitors) that afforded everyone the luxury of hearing themselves on stage for the first time, they also had the means to project their sound to larger audiences. People now expected value for their concert dollar, had grown with their favorite artists and were now coming to the gigs to actually listen.
Imagine that.
Having been away from the US touring circuit for three years, the pressure was on to bring a monumental spectacle to each city. To their credit, the Stones delivered. Kicking off with a trippy collage of overlapping introductions, the album opens with "Jumping Jack Flash".
Jagger, resplendent in his Uncle Sam top hat, cape and stage uniform emblazoned with the Omega symbol provides the ultimate lesson in how to front a band with aplomb. Charlie and Bill hold down the rhythm expertly, leaving Keith and Mick Taylor a solid foundation over which they weave their six-string magic. There is a certain energy that emanates from this record that you feel across all of the forty years that have elapsed since they played these shows. Dirtier than the toilet on the cover of Beggars Banquet, there is no doubt that they tapped into a fantastic vibe, amplifying it considerably. "Sympathy For the Devil" finds them particularly inspired and deep in their own groove.
Here is something to ponder as you pound the tabletop in time with Charlie Watts' impeccable playing. Why is it that kids in the early 80s were not rushing out to buy Glenn Miller records on the fortieth anniversary of his passing? Surely, live recordings of "In the Mood" should have been repackaged and had people clamoring to get their hands on them?
The same amount of water has drifted under the bridge since these performances and the expanded, 40th anniversary edition of "Ya Ya's" is available, with legions of fans going out of pocket to possess it. The reissue contains five extra tunes, plus a bonus disc featuring the opening sets by both B B King AND Ike and Tina Turner. You also get the DVD, vinyl copy and a small vial of the special serum that has allowed Keith Richards to avoid many scheduled lunch dates with the Grim Reaper since 1966.
"Prodigal Son" is a highlight amongst the extras.
Personally, I have a soft spot for this disc. It sits proudly in my collection (vinyl copy), gets dusted off every so often and cranked. Fixed up with some post production work, mainly to correct vocals, it remains a great testament to the tight-knit, live powerhouse that the Rolling Stones became as the calendar page turned to close out the tumultuous sixties. The material on the official release was culled from their most recent LPs at that time (Beggars Banquet and Let it Bleed) with two Chuck Berry covers ("Carol" and "Little Queenie") and the aforementioned "Love In Vain". I can't ever listen to them doing "Carol" without thinking of Berry giving Keith shit about the opening bend in the riff while they were rehearsing for the concert that ends Taylor Hackford's brilliant film, "Hail.Hail Rock and Roll".
"Midnight Rambler" is a high watermark in showcasing the live blues tightrope that they walked so well, complete with dark subject matter and dynamite, gritty harp playing from Jagger. "Stray Cat Blues" is literally attacked in performance, put across beautifully with a different arrangement than the album version. There is a great sense of purpose in this endeavor, almost as if to let people know that they were still vital, sharp and not about to relinquish their position in the commercial arena. Quite funny to think about now, when you consider that they were all still quite young, though, to be fair, so was rock music and a year away from the scene meant that you ran the risk of ending up as yesterday's news.
Bootleg recordings of their 1969 shows started circulating following the tour, not a penny of which was making its way back to the group. "Live'r Than You'll Ever Be" was an audience recording of a gig in Oakland (in fairly decent fidelity) that had record executives nervous and was even treated to a review in the music papers of that era. The official release was far superior, yet there is a treasure trove of live recordings to be found from this period, if you are a collector.
The final word belongs to Keith Richards.
You've got the sun, you've got the moon, and you've got the Rolling Stones.
