Rock Archives | Jeff Meshel's World: Recent Episodes
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"You can never tell why someone's gonna stick something in a song. You just gotta remember that the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts. You can't expect to understand everything in every song."--Bob Dylan
The post 322: A Complete Unknown/Bob Dylan, ‘I’ll Keep It with Mine’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Once upon a time, about 40 years ago, people thought sex was bad. At least they said they thought sex was bad.
The post 182: The Shirelles, ‘Will You Love Me Tomorrow’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Two remarkable voices from the same ‘hood, Smokey and Aretha, velvet and steel, a magical meeting in a magical song. It’s not chemistry, it’s alchemy. Watch it and say a little prayer of thanks for being present at the creation.
The post 160: Smokey Robinson & Aretha Franklin, ‘Ooh Baby, Baby’ (Live) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
In which Jeff indulges in gooey nostalgia, imbibes a few underage beers, ponders his life, and swills the unadulterated, luscious gush of emotion that is Smokey Robinson and the Miracles’ ‘Ooh Baby, Baby’.
The post 159: Smokey Robinson & The Miracles: ‘Ooh Baby, Baby’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
JD was deeply involved with Linda Ronstadt at her most flowerful, collaborated with James Taylor and kissed Hope Steadman. No one deserves that much luck in life.
The post 181: J.D. Souther & Linda Ronstadt, ‘Faithless Love’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Fellas, if this doesn't make your blood boil, you're probably dead.
The post 180: Tim Ries, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ (Flamenco) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A man's gotta do what a boy's gotta do.
The post 165: Paul Simon, ‘Jonah’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Jeff and the mud, Joni and the song.
The post 177: Joni Mitchell, ‘Woodstock’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
The unofficial anthem of the Civil Rights movement. Second in a series of three death-premonition songs.
The post 152: Sam Cooke, ‘A Change is Gonna Come’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Otis recorded this song two months before he died, aged 26. Post 1 of 3: "Spookily Existential Posthumous Hits".
The post 151: Otis Redding, ‘(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Do you know these obscure gems?
Can you tell them apart?
The post 122: George Harrison, ‘You Know What to Do’ b/w Buddy Holly, ‘You’re the One’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A rock star who spends his summers in his home village of 40 old people, in a bleak and remote grey landscape, planting trees during the day and collaborating on songs with his father during the long Icelandic evenings.
The post 279: Ásgeir, ‘Torrent’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Justin Vernon sure knows how to impale an earworm on a melodic hook. Even Taylor Swift thinks so.
The post 212: Bon Iver (Justin Vernon), ‘Towers’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
In which the head honcho on a slave ship gives his wards a motivational chat about the New World awaiting them:
The post 140: Randy Newman, ‘Sail Away’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
As intimate as lovers, as self-effacing as monks, as synchronized as guys who have been on the road together for six years.
The post 127: The Band, ‘Tears of Rage’ (“Music from Big Pink”) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Dylan's “King Lear”--a daughter's love denied.
The post 126: Bob Dylan, ‘Tears of Rage’ (The Basement Tapes) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Joni's second album. She knows where she stands.
The post 141: Joni Mitchell, ‘I Don’t Know Where I Stand’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Losing a sibling.
A pop song is just a pop song, and a life is a life. But in our real lives, the two are intertwined, each person with his own background music.
The post 132: James Taylor, ‘Enough To Be On Your Way’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Flat tops and Procyons.
The post 316a: Beatles Quiz–The Answers! appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Answer all 4, request a SoTW Beatles posting of your choice!
The post 316: Beatles Quiz appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Nilsson, Part II--the many gems he made in the short time before he embarked on self-destruction.
The post 157: Nilsson, ‘One’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
John called him his favorite American artist. Paul called him his favorite American group. You can’t do that.
The post 156: Nilsson, ‘Without Her’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
“Hi, I’m Peter, but I’m no saint.”
“Hi, I’m Paul, and I’m no saint.”
“Hi, I’m Mary, and I’m no virgin.”
The post 145: Peter, Paul & Mary, ‘Early Morning Rain’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A treasure chest of intelligent, tasteful ear candy.
The post 312: ‘Go Easy, Kid’–Monica Martin (“stories”) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Randy Newman's first album sold numerous dozens of copies--an unrecognized work of genius.
The post 085: Randy Newman: ‘I Think It’s Going to Rain Today’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
They can't kill our music.
The post 135: Kaveret, ‘Medina Ktana’ (Little Country) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
More than a pop paean to pimply passion.
The post 136: James Taylor, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel – ‘Wonderful World’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
In which we peek outside the synagogue for a little boost in spiritual fervor.
The post 203: Aretha Franklin & Ray Charles: ‘Spirit in the Dark’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Dylan just turned 82, and the dude shows no signs of slowing down. I wrote the following SoTW seven years ago, when he won the Nobel.
It’s my attempt to get to the heart of how I perceive Dylan as an artist.
The post 248: Bob Dylan, ‘You Ain’t Going Nowhere’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
You've never heard of the Norwegian singer Radka Toneff. Trust me, it's your loss.
Listen to her sing Jim Webb's 'The Moon's a Harsh Mistress'. Tell me you weren't moved.
The post 033: Radka Toneff, ‘The Moon’s a Harsh Mistress’ (Jimmy Webb) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
What her first album should have sounded like--
The unique, divine Laura Nyro.
The post 270: Laura Nyro, ‘Stoney End’ (Seattle Bootleg, 1971) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
It’s Israel’s 70th birthday today. We get pretty tired of seeing ourselves on the front page of the NY Times every day. On the other hand, we also see ourselves as the center of the universe. Go explain it. Well, this 1974 song does it best – our wry perception of our very existence, our precariousness, our homey patriotism – ‘Medina Ktana’ (‘Little Country’) by Kaveret (Beehive).
The post 135: Kaveret, ‘Medina Ktana’ (Little Country) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
So why did Joni's Gershwin award turn me off?
The post 163: Joni Mitchell, ‘For Free’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A jelly bread of a song, the rare meeting of psychedelia and reality, a most electric and eclectic homage to the ephemeral bliss of the carnal--Derek & The Dominos' rapturous recording of 'Little Wing'.
The post 095: Derek & The Dominos/Jimi Hendrix, ‘Little Wing’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
David Lindley, Jackson Browne’s wingman par excellence, passed over to that celestial studio this week. In his honor, we’re revisiting his unforgettable vocal hook on ‘Stay’.
The post 089: Jackson Browne/Maurice Williams, ‘The Load-Out/Stay’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Turns out 500,000,000 Amy Winehouse fans were right. Go figure.
The post 217: Amy Winehouse, ‘Back to Black’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
50,000,000 Amy Winehouse fans were right, after all.
The post 217: Amy Winehouse, ‘Back to Black’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Happy Valentine's Day?
Or maybe a domestic massacre?
The post 291: James Taylor, ‘Valentine’s Day’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Croz's swan song--the finest music he ever made.
The post 306: David Crosby, ‘Glory’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Randy shines. Paul shines. That's a lot of shining, and this is one darn good song!
The post 305: Randy Newman & Paul Simon, ‘The Blues’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Wordless.
The post 304: Luciana Souza/Paul Simon, ‘Amulet’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Jeff's Top Ten from the last fortnight--surprises, non-surprises, and Rachael Price going 'Ooh-ooh--ooh'.
The post 273: The Necks, ‘Sex’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Joni, skating on thin ice, on a river so long that our own feet can fly us away from this troubled world.
Peace on earth, goodwill towards men and women, everyone.
The post 222: Joni Mitchell, ‘River’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
What’s the difference between a lovely little song and a precious gem?
David Crosby’s harmony on Jackson Browne’s ‘Something Fine’.
The post 171: Jackson Browne with David Crosby, ‘Something Fine’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
"I’ve never heard anyone sing one of my songs like that, ever."--Sir Elton
The post 303: Sara Bareilles, ‘Yellow Brick Road’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Right up there with food and water--Those Special Pop Songs.
The post 302: Bonnie Raitt, ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
If you ever want to know what's new in music, check out what Jacob Collier's been doing for the previous couple of months.
The post 236: Jacob Collier, ‘Hideaway’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Pop pap? Glorious? Should I admit in public that I really, really like this song?
The post 107: The Association, ‘Everything That Touches You’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
(Boom!Boom!Boom!) Are you rea-dy???
The evolution of the first 4 seconds of Laura’s masterpiece.
The post 170: Laura Nyro, ‘Luckie’ (“Eli & the 13th Confession”) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
In which the daughter of Louis Armstrong's musical director, Julliard graduate and studio singer par excellence, sparkles up an old Grateful Dead tune backed by a mandoline, string bass and tambourine.
Jerry would have loved it. So would Satchmo.
The post 069: Catherine Russell, ‘New Speedway Boogie’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A Rosh HaShana gift – 15 bootleg covers that never appeared on Laura’s official albums.
The post 271: Laura Nyro, ‘Walk on By’ (Bootleg Collection) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Why Joni Mitchell isn’t relevant in a world of Millenial zombies.
The post 277: Joni Mitchell, ‘Electricity’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A song from Leon. A perfect love song.
The post 093: Leon Russell, ‘A Song for You’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
When dinosaurs roamed the earth...
An obscure Brian Wilson gem--impossibly brilliant, impossibly stupid, engraved in my 16-year old heart forever.
The post 269: Brian Wilson, ‘Sandy’/’Sherri She Needs Me’/’She Says That She Needs Me’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
The sweetest music you'll never hear.
The post SoTW 300: Decapede, ‘Creston Gold’/Buddy Holly, ‘Peggy Sue’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Aural sex.
The post SoTW 298: The Civil Wars, ‘Billie Jean’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A perfect love song.
The post 093: Leon Russell, ‘A Song for You’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
I got a Plan A, and I got a Plan B
And if it's absolutely necessary, we'll go to Plan C
The post 297: Lake Street Dive (Rachael Price), ‘Hypotheticals’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
When I’m “trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll”, trying to explain just how wise and sophisticated it can be, I often refer to 'Younger Generation', an expectant father's apprehensions about the daunting task awaiting him.
One of the best songs to come out of the world of rock.
The post 098: John Sebastian, ‘Younger Generation’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
1966--when Paul Simon mistook Jeff for Art and gave away that unforgettable, bouncy 'Red Rubber Ball'.
The post 090: The Cyrkle, ‘Red Rubber Ball’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
A fetching beauty with a catchy rock song in a first-rate jazz context. What more could one ask for?
Saxophonist Tim Ries toured extensively with The Stones, who sponsored his very fine, very varied Rolling Stones Project.
The post 080: Tim Ries w. Norah Jones, ‘Wild Horses’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Most of the little I understand of the female psyche I've learned from Joni Mitchell.
The post 106: Joni Mitchell, ‘Cactus Tree’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Who da daddy of rap?
Who da grandaddy?
The post 176: Chuck Berry, ‘Too Much Monkey Business’ (Bob Dylan, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Randy Newman's first album sold numerous dozens of copies and remains almost unheard of even today.
I'll tell you what I think of the album. I think it's one of the greatest works of art to arise from the 'rock' idiom.
The post 085: Randy Newman: ‘I Think It’s Going to Rain Today’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Yeah, yeah, I know, hippie-dippie, limpid, Dylan wannabe, yadda-yadda. They know not of what they speak. Donovan Leitch is one fine artist, with an admirably muscular aesthetic.
The post 074: Donovan, ‘House of Jansch’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Buddy Holly's great song and the night The Grateful Dead backed me singing it. Yeah, for real.
The post 070: Buddy Holly, ‘That’ll Be the Day’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Thinking that James Taylor is 'Fire and Rain' is like thinking that The Beatles are 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' or Dylan is 'Blowing in the Wind'.
There’s so, so much more.
The post 056: James Taylor, ‘Secret O’ Life’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Late one night after a recording session in which he accompanied his girlfriend Judy Collins, post-Buffalo Springfield/pre-CSN Stephen Stills gave the engineer a couple of hundred dollars, and said, "Just roll tape". The resulting recordings, acoustic demos of 13 new Stills songs, lay forgotten for 40 years.
The post 072: Stephen Stills, ‘Suite:Judy Blue Eyes’ (“Just Roll Tape”) appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
My memories of Janis--the interview, the kiss, and the TV performance where she brought plastic Tom to meltdown.
The post 064: Janis Joplin & Tom Jones, ‘Raise Your Hand’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
The Beatles, ‘In My Life’ (Official video)
I have a lot of trouble listening to The Beatles. I can’t begin to guess how many times I’ve heard each recording. Five hundred? A thousand? Two thousand? But I do know that my ears are inured to the music, rendered deaf by familiarity. There was a period when I’d try to listen obliquely—with headphones, volume cranked way up to hear every crinkle in the voice, one channel of the stereo version, leaning on my left shoulder listening to the bass. But for decades now, I listen to The Beatles infrequently.
Even the new remastered and remixed sets. I have listened to some, and yes, it really is remarkable, the cleanliness and clarity. But the intimate familiarity with the music is so much stronger than the new light shed that it’s not new enough for me to really hear it. Every note is hardwired into my brain. On occasion I’ll play a song in my brain, sort of like a portable jukebox. “Hey, how about ‘Not a Second Time’?” Press B13 in the temporal lobe, there it is. A 2:12 aural clip inside my head, just like on the record.
LtoR: Unknown girl, Cynthia Powell Lennon, Nigel Wally, Aunt Mimi, John Lennon, Pete Shotton
So all we can do most days is to take a step back. ‘In My Life’ is one of my favorite songs on one of my favorite albums (“Rubber Soul”, the American version). I’m not unique in this. Rolling Stone ranked it 23rd in its list of “The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time“. In a 2000 Mojo magazine poll it was voted the best song of all time by a panel of songwriters which included Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, Lamont Dozier, and Carole King.
The song was recorded on October 18, 1965. Lennon sings it, double-tracked. They left the middle part empty, and John asked George Martin to play a piano solo, suggesting “something Baroque-sounding”. Martin wrote a quasi-Bach line that he found he could not play at the song’s tempo. On 22 October, the solo was recorded at half-tempo (one octave lower) and tape speed was doubled for the final recording, solving the performance challenge and giving the piano solo a unique, harpsichord-like timbre.
Beatle Stu, Beatle John
According to John’s old pal and biographer Pete Shotton (see the picture above), the lines “Some are dead and some are living/In my life I’ve loved them all” referred to Beatle Stuart Sutcliffe (who died in 1962) and to Shotton himself. The song has become our go-to anthem of nostalgia, the emblem of wistful reminiscence. Ironically, though, John’s lyric rejects clinging to the past. What in fact matters is his new love, the lover addressed in the song, she who is real, alive and present. That may not be profound, but it sure is heartfelt and moving.
According to McCartney, it’s one of only two songs (along with ‘Eleanor Rigby’) whose authorship he and John disagreed about. John says he wrote it all (except for the piano solo), McCartney says he wrote most of the music.
But of course it’s John’s song, through and through. I’m not a big fan of any of Lennon’s solo music, and I don’t understand why people would play ‘Imagine’ or ‘Workingclass Hero’ on his yahrzeit. John’s music died when The Beatles broke up. (If you think that’s cruel or harsh, it was John who said, “Elvis died in the army”). ‘In My Life’ is quintessential John. It’s what he’s all about– melodic and passionate and naked.
Lest I wax soppy, let me add that I’ve always thought that The Beatles misinterpreted this song. One of two cases (the other being ‘Help’) where an introspective song was revved up (and cheapened) to be better suited for AM radio. The Beatles’ ‘In My Life’ is way too fast, too noisy, too choppy (Ringo at his worst with his boomachukka drums and intrusive cymbals).
Strange as it seems, I’ve always felt that this song was really nailed by a singer I don’t have too much admiration or respect for, Judy Collins. In 1966 she made an album called “In My Life”, which was quite groundbreaking at the time for the megahit version of gravelly newcomer Leonard Cohen’s ‘Suzanne‘, and for its terrific covers of Richard Farina’s ‘Hard Loving Loser‘, Dylan’s ‘Tom Thumb’s Blues‘, Donovan’s ‘Sunny Goodge Street‘, and especially the then-unknown Randy Newman’s ‘I Think It’s Going to Rain Today‘. Hard to realize today, but giving ‘pretty’ renditions to Dylan, to Cohen and to The Beatles wasn’t done. Her versions are very respectable, and hers was my first encounter with Randy Newman (way before his first album). But she was really on the mark with her ‘In My Life’. She captures perfectly the gentleness of Lennon’s composition, which the Beatles quite miss.
And years later, from the vantage of baldness, Beatle discoveree James Taylor visited the song. ‘In My Life’ is low-hanging fruit for James; he’s been singing the same song in a different guise since ‘Fire and Rain’. I’ve written about how James’ version of ‘Yesterday’ is so much more convincing than Sir Paul’s original.
But for ‘In My Life‘, our version of choice is that of John and his band. They’re the ones who created the soundtrack of our youth. And even when they’re a little off the mark, they are the monoliths.
None of ‘us’ can listen to the song, look at a picture of John Lennon, and not shed a tear inside. In Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Spring and Fall”, a ‘young child’ named Margaret is weeping at the sight of falling leaves, too young to understand the source of “sorrow’s springs”. Hopkins tells us, “It is Margaret you mourn for.” So when we weep at this song, we’re weeping for our losses, our irretrievable past.
But to do the song justice, we should focus on the ones we’re with, the ones we love here and now.
*There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends*
*I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all*
But of all these friends and lovers
*there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new.
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more.*
The post 053: The Beatles, ‘In My Life’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
‘What a Fool Believes’, The Doobie Brothers, from “No Nukes” (1979)
‘What a Fool Believes’, Neri Per Caso
Michael McDonald. Mr Cool.
I missed the 1970s. Musically, that is. While John Travolta was working up a Saturday night fever, I was building a new life in an obscure little Bolshevik Country Without Music, on the other side of the world from everything, where good radio meant The Tremeloes and Tom Jones. I pretty much missed Heavy Metal (an unmitigated blessing), Disco (a shame, but I shall survive), and Funk (the sacrifices one makes for one’s ideals). I did manage to smuggle across the border the Paul Simon, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell albums of those years, because they were worth risking one’s wellbeing for. I’ve gone back and done my homework on the important voices of the 70s, but the Billy Joels, Elton Johns, Bruce Springsteens, Mark Knopflers and even Stevie Wonders are not as deeply hardwired into my psyche as many minor luminaries of the preceding two decades.
Rosmary Butler. Sigh.
That’s a long-winded way of saying that The Doobie Brothers look pretty funny to me, with their sleeveless leopard-skin t-shirts. But they sound just fine. I missed them first time around, but have tried to do my homework. From 1971 to 1976 they had an impressive string of hits (‘Listen to the Music’, ‘Rockin’ Down the Highway’, ‘Long Train Running’, ‘Taking It to the Streets’), but those aren’t what I’m here to talk about. They’re roadhouse boogie/hippie-dippy fine, no objections there. But there’s one song of theirs in which they surpass themselves, a song which has given me a ridiculous amount of pleasure for these many years.
In 1976, Michael McDonald joined the band, having graduated from Steely Dan. Mr. McDonald is one of those singers whose chops are the most highly evolved organ above his shoulders. He’s no intellectual heavyweight, no great songwriter. But, my! that boy can sing! Some of my best friends are tenors, but let’s face it, they’re not known as a group for their manliness. They’re pretty wimpy types, on the whole. Michael McDonald is an exception–a really virile, muscular, sexy tenor. This guy can get away with wearing an Aloha shirt under a white suit with flared pants! That degree of cool still holds, 40something years later. How someone can sing so high and so strong is just beyond me. But it sure is fine. And nowhere finer than on ‘What a Fool Believes’.
Patrick Simmons in a sleeveless leopard-skin t-shirt
MM wrote the song together with Kenny Loggins (of Loggins and Messina), another simpy, country-rock pretty face from 1970s California, and they won the 1980 Grammy for Song of the Year! If you really need to hear Loggins and MM ruining their terrific song, you can listen to it here, but I recommend passing on the dubious pleasure.
The song describes an intriguing situation–not usually covered in pop songs, but admirably specific, and painfully true for many of us guys. He’s carried a torch for her for so many years that he’s invented a shared history. He tries to talk to her, and she’s polite, although she has no idea what he’s talking about. But his imagined memory is immune to reality. That never happened to me, but some friends of mine have attested that it’s a hard-wired bug in the male genome.
*He came from somewhere back in her long ago
The sentimental fool don’t see, trying hard to recreate
What had yet to be created – once in her life
She mustered a smile for his nostalgic tale,
Never coming near what he wanted to say,
Only to realize it never really was.
She had a place in his life; he never made her think twice.
As she rises to her apology, anybody else would surely know– he’s watching her go…
But what a fool believes, he sees.
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be is always better than nothing–
And nothing at all keeps sending him
Somewhere back in her long ago
Where he can still believe there’s a place in her life
Someday, somewhere, she will return.*
Technically, the lyrics are pretty rough. Cole Porter need not feel threatened. The melody, at least of the verse, is about as catchy as a Stravinsky line. But it’s got a hall-of-fame hook, and a great beat, I always dance to it, and I’ll always give it a 100. The song really isn’t even good. But it’s great.
The original recording is fine enough. But it’s this performance that gets me, from the film of the early Greenie benefit concert “No Nukes” from 1979, including Bonnie Raitt, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Mr James Taylor and Mrs Carly Simon, Jackson Browne, Jesse Colin Young, and Bruce Springsteen, with lots of fun music in it. But the one you take home is ‘What a Fool Believes‘. I’m embarrassed to tell you how often I’ve watched the video of this performance. It engages me, bounces me, makes me grin. Every single time.
The hopeless happiness of it all, the pure enjoyment of the participants. The sappy grin on the face of lead guitarist Patrick Simmons. The come-on smiles the wonderful backup singer Rosemary Butler keeps giving MM. The equally laden ‘Oh, I really am cool and hot and couldn’t be enjoying myself more’ look Michael McDonald returns at 3’28”. The mind-boggling, rhythmically illogical, off-the-beat smash of the cymbal on ‘Anybody else would sure-LY know’. The intertwining lines, the right hand of the piano, the left hand of the piano, the loopy little calliope adornment, the bass line, all six percussionists – every one perfectly enmeshing to form a tapestry of fun-k.
There’s a great a cappella version of this song by a very cool 6- voice Italian vocal group (what is about this song that enables people to surpass their talent?), Neri Per Caso, which means ‘black by chance’. Well, they don’t sound very black here, but they sure do sound good. Guest lead vocalist (the low growl) is one Mario Biondi. This cut goes a long way to explaining why I find contemporary a cappella so riveting when it’s at its best. It’s faithful to the original. In a way, it’s more faithful to the original than the original is. It distills the music. It extracts the music from all the irrelevancies of the instrumental context. Listen to the interweaving lines. To the harmonies. To the fun. To the magic. This 2008 Italian a cappella version is also magic, just like the “No Nukes” version from 1979. But different.
Who cares? They’re both magic. I guess there was enough of it back in those 1970s to have some left over, to still enchant us today.
The post 061: The Doobie Brothers, ‘What a Fool Believes’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
http://jmeshel.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Astral-Weeks.mp3 This week we’re back to the legendary summer of 1968, treating ourselves to one of the finest albums we’ve had the great honor and pleasure to embrace – Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks”.
I’ve written about Laura Nyro’s “Eli & the 13th Confession” as a desert island album of mine. I understand that that’s a personal choice, and a rather quirky one, even though “Eli” commands immense respect in certain circles (after I wrote about it I saw Elton John on Elvis Costello’s “Spectacle”, where they were singing the praises of “Eli” like they were Laura’s mothers, in almost embarrassing hyperbole). “Astral Weeks”, on the other hand, is universally recognized as a masterpiece. You can find the record on every single serious desert island (quite an image—an archipelago of babyboomer Bali Highs) and on every list of the peaks of popular music in the last half century. Whoops, threescore years (how time flies).
In my mind, “Astral Weeks” was always “Eli”‘s soul-brother–not the ‘blue-eyed soul’ of The Righteous Brothers and Mitch Ryder, but of serious white artists plumbing the blues roots of rock and roll, melding it with the Tin Pan Alley tradition, and forging a young, vibrant, breathtakingly transcendent idiom.
I shared an apartment with these two albums when they saw the light of day (hell, when they shed the light of day) in the heady days of 1968. Both albums clock in at an unusually long 46+ minutes, so they were back-to-back on a well-worn 100 minute cassette of mine in the 1970s and 1980s. And in the last 20 years, I have continued to revisit them frequently, perhaps more than any other aural scene from those years. I know them like I know the inside of my soul.
Remarkably, neither has changed much. Both are spiritual fountains of youthful vitality, their waters magically smoothing out the wrinkles. The record companies’ attempts to feed the market demand for new nostalgia has had little impact. They added a few solo demo tracks for “Eli”, which really were a bonus if you don’t confuse them with the real thing. And no bonus tracks for “Astral Weeks”. It was born perfect and complete, and the ravages of the decades haven’t diminished it a bit.
The only sacrilege performed on “Astral Weeks” was by the creator himself. Van Morrison decided, 40 years after the fact, to revisit the album–two performances at the Hollywood Bowl, the original guitarist, yadda yadda, the whole “The Unique Event, Part II” syndrome. I haven’t listened to it. I heard 10 seconds of it on the radio before I could tear my ears away from it, much like the morbid fascination with roadkill. “Astral Weeks: Live at the Hollywood Bowl” 2009 can only demean and diminish the original, and I’m not going to willingly sully my ears. Van himself said that he entered the project only because he never had a chance to perform the “Astral Weeks” song cycle. Well, that’s what he says, but he also said that “Madame George” isn’t about a transvestite (and that the British government are “fascist bullies disturbing our peace” in protest against safety measures taken to prevent the spread of Covid-19), so you want to be a little careful about his comments after the fact.
As opposed to what he sings, which should be embraced unguarded.
Van Morrison was born (1945) and raised in Belfast, Ireland, the scene of most of the songs on “Astral Weeks”. He grew up listening to American jazz and blues, his idol being the Louisianan bluesman Leadbelly (Huddie Ledbetter, d. 1949), convicted murderer, cohort of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, and lecturer/performer at Harvard and Yale in the 1930s. Here’s Van’s favorite Leadbelly cut, ‘Easy Rider‘.
In 1964, Van wrote and sang with the band Them the iconic garage band classic ‘Gloria‘ (replete with non-Ed Sullivan lyrics). Moving to New York, he was washed and tamed, and wrote the incomparably joyous ‘Brown-Eyed Girl‘, released on a lackluster album, “Blowin’ Your Mind”.
Then, in 1968, out of nowhere, “Astral Weeks”. It sold poorly, like “Pet Sounds” half a year earlier—a masterpiece but the poorest selling album of a major artist, too refined for the AM Top 40 market of the late 1960s. Then came the ebullient song and the LP “Moondance” (1970), perhaps his most popular album. It was the first of a wondrous series of albums including “His Band and the Street Choir” (1970), including ‘Domino’; “Tupelo Honey” (1971), including the magical title track (SoTW 116); “Saint Dominic’s Preview” (1972), including ‘Jackie Wilson Said’; “It’s Too Late to Stop Now” (1974), a respected double live album I’m less fond of; and “Veedon Fleece” (1974), a gem I just really got to know very recently and am totally enthralled with. Van’s still going strong today— new contexts, new styles, very much the same irrepressible Irish folk/soul poet. But that 1968-1974 run was his Golden Age.
What is unique about “Astral Weeks” is how unique it is. It’s one of those masterpieces that seems to come from no tradition and left no legacy. Stylistically, it stands absolutely alone. Spiritual blue-eyed Celtic soul acid acoustic jazz-rock. It’s gorgeous and sumptuous and moving and transcendent. No one else even tried to go there. It is literally inimitable.
Probably the closest album to it in its musical frame of reference is The Pentangle, their first, an album I quite admire. Listen to this, and you’ll hear how many light years beyond its contemporary surroundings “Astral Weeks” was. Its impact, if not its influence, has been indelible. Those of you who like homework assignments can check out the long Wikipedia entry.
“Astral Weeks” consists of 8 songs. They contain lots of autobiographical details blown up to mythic proportions as only the Irish can get away with. Each one is an odyssey and an oracle unto itself. The plaintive narratives of days past: ‘Beside You’, ‘Cyprus Avenue’, ‘Madame George’. The jazz-informed, upbeat title song, ‘Young Lovers Do’ (maybe my favorite–try counting the beat from within in the chaos), ‘Sweet Thing’. The love song ‘Ballerina’ (conjuring for me W.B. Yeats’ dancer). The ghostly ‘Slim Slow Slider’. They’re very simple musically—just a few basic chords, mostly in 6/8, evocative but amorphous lyrics, very little song structure to hold him back. It’s folk/rock jazz.
“Astral Weeks” is an acoustic album—Van on a very forward, present, insistent rhythm guitar providing the heartbeat of the cuts; a tasteful flute, vibraphone, an amazingly dynamic small string section (tacked on after the original recording, which I refuse to accept–it’s just too organic). And then there’s Jay Berliner (nylon-stringed guitar), a studio musician who has played with everyone from the Metropolitan Opera house orchestra to Debbie Boone, including along the way Charlie Mingus on “The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady”; and Connie Kay, the ultra-refined drummer of the Modern Jazz Quartet (not playing the shakers on our SoTW). And the other star of the album, the one who drives the magic carpet, Richard Davis, for my money one of the two finest acoustic bassists in jazz (alongside Ron Carter). Oh, yes, and the singer. Van Morrison.
We’re going to focus on the title track here. To tell you the truth, I looked at the lyrics for the first time just now. There were a number of phrases I’ve been transported by for 53 years without ever understanding–”immobile steel rims”, “talkin’ to Huddie Ledbetter”, “puttin’ on his little red shoes”. Those go alongside the images I did hear correctly: “If I ventured in the slipstream between the viaducts of your dream”, “standin’ with the look of avarice”. I don’t mind that I never caught some of the lyrics. They’re less important than “she come up to my room” in ‘Gloria’, believe me. They’re the paints that Van the Man uses to create this masterpiece. They’re just colors.
The song ‘Astral Weeks’ is over 7″ long, but has only 3 short verses (they start “If I ventured”; at 0:55 “From the far side”; and at 3:35 the first verse repeats.) Most of the song is embellishments on this structure following the second and third verses. Van’s rhythm guitar plays two chords over and over, I and IV. Richard Davis’s bass propels it all forward. And Van’s singing. I’m not even going to try to describe it. It’s a miracle. Just take a listen.
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116: Van Morrison, ‘Tupelo Honey’ The post 038: Van Morrison, ‘Astral Weeks’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
http://jmeshel.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/Summer-in-Your-Savage-Eyes.mp3 SoTW: Chrysalis, Summer in Your Savage Eyes
Forewarning This week’s SoTW is long, even by my shaggy dog standards. What can you do? It’s a long story, spanning over 50 years and two hemispheres, the stranger-than-fiction tale of an utterly obscure artist, his music, J. Spider Barbour and his band Chrysalis. The story as I tell it is full of detours, tangents, and irrelevencies, so don’t expect a “well-made” dramatic storyline here. Only a bizarre chain of events in which real life and fantasy intertwine in their ironic and inextricable way.
Chrysalis, the greatest band no one has ever heard of.
1966, the Midwest I was a very early devotee of Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention, in the days when that was a dubious distinction certain to evoke the concern of parents, the disgust of the respectable citizenry of Cincinnati, and the utter disdain of girls who bathed. Somewhere, probably in a microscopic footnote in a Mothers album liner notes, Zappa called Chrysalis “a group that has yet to destroy your mind”. That was enough to send yours truly scrounging through record bins in remote shopping centers till the LP was unearthed.
Chrysalis was formed in 1967, led by J. Spider Barbour, made one marvelous album and broke up. It sold many dozens of copies throughout the Western hemisphere, mostly to the band member’s families and friends (the close ones, anyway), and to me.
1967, the year of “Sgt Pepper”, “John Wesley Harding”, and Jeff is listening to Chrysalis’s “Definition”, an album filled with wit and passion and clever arrangements and indelible memories and stunningly sharp performances and just about any superlative I can think of. If we had to categorize it, it would be witty, melodic acid rock. I guess the closest thing would be The Zombies ‘Odessey & Oracle’ or Traffic’s ‘Mr Fantasy’. But Chrysalis has their own unique and unforgettable sound and vision. And they sold many dozens of records.
The very obscurity of the band elevated them to some sort of a symbol for me, though of what I’m not really sure. The curve which approaches the line but never intersects with it. The unattained and the unattainable. The Grail. That which is always slip-sliding away. ‘I opened (the door) for my beloved, but my beloved had slipped away; his speaking had taken my breath away–I sought him, but could not find him, I called him but he didn’t answer.’ (Song of Songs, 5:6, my translation).
I somehow convinced David H. and his girlfriend (the goofy rich one from NYC) to travel across state to some small college town to see them. He said they were really excellent, and that the Arab drummer, Daoud Shaar really was my doppleganger. I showed the album cover to my father, who really thought it was me.
I wrote music reviews for the university paper back then. I wrote an extensive, imaginary interview with Daoud, and published it. What was I thinking?
1986, the Middle East Then my life took me very far away from that scene, from all the great music, famous and obscure alike. At one point, I met a young man, OD, who at the time was in the 9th grade. He was a tall, emaciated, brilliant musician (composer, pianist), obnoxious, non-communicative, anti-social. His talent was widely praised, his personality widely scorned. He was doing some sort of project on the Beatles and was sent to me as a reputed expert. By the by, we discussed a little music. Over the next 10 years, I taught him all the music I knew. Not almost, but everything. We went through the entire repertoire, Buddy Holly to Van Dyke Parks. From the Association to the Zombies, from Eli & the 13th to Astral Weeks, from the Sounds of Silence to — well, Chrysalis. And you know what? Chrysalis sparkled. It still sounded that good, in comparison to all the great music of that era, both to my ears and to his.
We hung out some together, OD and I. Our conversations were something along the line of: “I listened to JWHarding and early Stones yesterday.” “Wow, weird day.” He internalized the entire repertoire. He would sit down and play the slow songs from Pet Sounds on the piano with the real harmonies. Off the cuff. And he started playing with his friend, ET, a guitarist. By this time OD was playing as much guitar as piano. And ET also osmosed all the music I grew up on, all the icons and legends as well. On occasion, he would come over and fondle the record sleeves of The Band or the JT Apple album or Randy Newman’s first. And they would play this music, the two of them, sometimes with friends. Including pretty much the entire Chrysalis album. They were very, very good.
After three years in the army, they went to NYC to try to make their fortune. Then they went to some town in Saskatchewan where grizzlies roamed the streets at night, to play in a bar. Then they split. OD came home, ET continued travelling around America on his own, guitar slung over his shoulder.
1996, The Letter, The Visit We’ll turn the microphone over to ET now to continue the narrative, via a letter he wrote to me in 1996 (my translation from Hebrew):
Dear Mesh,
…A few days ago I went to Woodstock. A few days earlier I got the idea of going to see Big Pink, after I read the book Across the Great Divide. The address was written there, so the lightbulb went on over my head. So I went there, and even though it’s gotten pretty establishment and yuppyized, the area is as beautiful as always, especially in the fall.
So, early in the morning I started to walk out to 2188 Stoll Rd. Map, walkman and harmonica in hand, I walked along a dirt road till I finally got there, deep in the Catskills forest (even saw a deer on the way). Excitedly, I knocked on the door of that legendary basement. But no one was home. So I played my harp for a while and took a long walk, and when I came back a bearded guy, about 50, answered. I told him my story, and that I was from Israel. He was very nice, to my great pleasure, but he had to go out. So I caught a ride with him to town (Saugerties) and he told me to come back the next day and ‘I’ll give you the regular tour’. I asked him how many people made the pilgrimage to this Mecca, if there were a lot of fans pestering him. He said, not too bad, one every 2-3 months… I went back anxiously the next morning, and I felt bad disturbing him in the middle of work (he’s a record collector), but he didn’t seem to mind. His company worked out of the basement, and he showed me where the recording equipment had been when The Band made the Basement Tapes with Dylan. Then we went upstairs, where he lived, and showed me the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms. On a visit to the house, Rick Danko had told him [details about who slept where, girls, parties].
When the visit was over, and he was showing me out, I suddenly remembered the key question which was usually the first thing I asked any record collector–if he’s heard of Chrysalis. I had done so several times before in Canada and the US, and they had all heard the name only because the album had some market value, but none of them had taken the trouble to pay attention to its content. But Leslie said he had not only heard it, but loved it, and was even opening a small record company which was making a record of dog songs with– Spider Barbour. He told me that Spider lived not too far away. Needless to say, I took the address and flew there, walking, a couple of rides, till I saw the house he had described.
There were a lot of old boxes and cartons outside. The porch was old and neglected. The whole house looked like it was going to fall apart. I stopped by the door for a few moments and just stood there, still.
LtR: ET, Spider
When I knocked on the door my hands started shaking. You have to understand that ever since I got to know the record through OD, who had known it for a long time through you, 8 years now, I had developed an overwhelming curiosity, maybe even an obsession about this mysterious band. Ever since, I’ve always dreamt about getting another piece of information about them, just a little something more, somehow to put together the pieces of the puzzle and to get the whole picture. The very little I knew was from you.
A while back, before Zappa died, OD and I thought about contacting him through the internet and asking him if he knew anything. But we never did, and when he died it was too late. After that, when we got to NY, one of the first things I did was to go to MGM, Chrysalis’ company, and ask them. They said that they deal only with films, and their archives were in LA. I so I reconciled myself to never knowing more about the Chrysalis mystery. Till yesterday.
So I knock on the door of this weird, haunted house. After a few moments the door opens. I hadn’t looked at the album cover for a long time, but I immediately recognized Spider. I was in total shock. I couldn’t start talking. Then when my voice returned, I told him everything and he invited me in. There was a very strong odor, suffocating would be putting it mildly. I realized that this house hadn’t seen any visitors, or light, for a very long time. Spooky, not to say creepy. And Spider himself was wearing a filthy training outfit that looked like it had been stolen off a homeless person. He looked like another aging hippie done in by drugs. I got very sad, and full of pity, seeing this. But then it became clear, that it’s not drugs or anything else, this guy is just like that naturally. Like he was at 24, when the album was released. He’s simply one of the weirdest, most disconnected people I’ve ever met. If you talk to him about anything other than insects or music, he just doesn’t tune in. So the first few minutes were very strange and hesitant, until his wife Anita came out of the shower and showed herself to be a charming, sociable, pleasant and generous hostess. This entire situation was no less strange and surprising for them than me—how many people come from Israel to the home of the Spider and introduced themselves as avid Chrysalis fans [30 years after the release of a flop album]? Even people from the area or even NY who said they were fans over the years were very few. His wife was so happy I’d come, and began asking me all kinds of questions, showing a lot of curiosity and interest. We sat there, in this mess and darkness, their two big black dogs lying there, and I began to ask all the questions I had ever had, and got more answers than I ever dreamed:
Spider (the J. is for James) was born in Ohio and got his nickname at a very early age. He was always crazy about insects and nature. He met the band members at college in Ithaca, NY. They were quickly signed by MGM and moved to Brooklyn. They appeared in the Northeast (farthest they ever got was Detroit), but mostly Woodstock and NYC. Spider also mentioned a few bands they warmed up for—the Who, Procol Harum, MC5 and others. It was then they met Zappa and the Mothers and became friends (Spider guests on Lumpy Gravy, and is mentioned on We’re Only In It). He lived for a while in Jimmy Carl Black’s house. Very quickly there were problems with the managers and the band broke up. In 1969 he married Anita, and they’ve been together, in Woodstock, ever since.
What happened to the others? Nancy Nairn is a Marine Biologist, living in Florida. Still beautiful, according to Anita. Ralph Kokov, the keyboardist, is a doctor of Art Therapy and still plays for fun. Dahud Shaar, the drummer, is the only one who ‘made it’ in Show Biz. As you know, he played with Van Morrison and then was the regular drummer on Saturday Night Live. He still makes his living from session drumming. He changed his name to David Shaw, because a lot of Americans had a hard time with the Lebanese name. The tragedies of the band – bassist Paul Album and guitarist Jon Sabin died. I was very sad to hear this. Paul was very young, about 27, when one night coming back from his new group, a drunk truck driver hit him. Jon died from cancer recently. He had been a teacher in Brooklyn. The other four are still in contact here and there. They’ll probably be really shocked when Spider and Anita tell them about their young fan from the Holy Land…
And what about Spider himself? The usual sad story of a very talented artist lacking the tools to succeed in doing what he wants in music. For years he and Anita have lived in poverty, living off pickup jobs. He still forms the occasional local band. But this story has a better continuation. Spider was always an expert on insects and nature, and Anita was an excellent photographer. They now have a column in the local paper and even published a book together. I saw it, and was amazed by her photographs. Spider lectures about insects at all sorts of institutions, including West Point. So even though the house looks like a dump, they’re doing better…
When Chrysalis finished recording their album, they had an argument with the manager, who was a real hothead. He took a pair of scissors and cut the master tape. That’s why Summer in Your Savage Eyes ends so abruptly.
Spider picked up his acoustic guitar and played What Will Become of the Morning the way he originally intended it. It was very different, of course, from the version we know, much slower. The Mediterranean rhythms were the idea of Shaar and Kotkov. Dr. Root is a real person, one of Spider’s high school teachers in Canton, Ohio.
But the best was when I asked Spider if I could play him something on his acoustic. I surprised him with the opening riff of April Grove. He joined in, and while he was lighting the oven we sang it together. Anita sat there, almost in tears from emotion. I had the feeling I was bringing them a little light after a long time…
Then I heard some newer songs Spider wrote. They’re as good as those of Chrysalis. He’s a great songwriter. Same beautiful, magic harmonies, same unique, weird lyrics. It was easy to see the disappointment and bitterness in Anita’s eyes when she told me about all the demos he had made and the attempts to sell them to the companies. They often seemed more like mother and child than husband and wife. They played some of the songs to Garth Hudson, but he didn’t like them. Anita seemed more hurt than Spider. He just sinks into his magical, child’s world of insects and music.
He recorded an EP with a band called Imago (a type of insect). Four songs, 1980. They gave me a copy as a present. They invited me for lunch, and Anita gave me a painting of hers of two apples.
We talked a lot about music, and it turns out that you (Mesh), he and I have very much the same tastes. He was amazed that a kid like me had that kind of knowledge. He and his wife are friends of Sebastian and his wife. The whole time I was there I kept mentioning you, and your connection to this whole thing. If you want, you can write to him (mention the connection with me):
Barbour J. Spider and Anita
3000 Fishcreek Rd
Saugerties NY 12477
The Music — “Definition”, Chrysalis I, of course, never wrote Spider. I would have no idea what to say to him. But I sure do like ET’s tale. And I suppose I can handle the safer, saner ground of a little stroll down my very personal, private Musical Memory Lane.
Like almost all 1967 LPs, ‘Definition’ contained 12 songs, a bizarre and charming hodgepodge of insects, love, and the weird old man next door:
Show me one song that expresses the aesthetic of the late 1960s better than this one:
- April Grove
Their signature pieces, first songs on Side A and Side B, baroque piano line, jagged joyous rhythms:
-
What Will Become of the Morning
-
Baby, Let Me Show You Where I Live
Dad and his day, the weird neighbor, the myths of living in the past:
-
Father’s Getting Old
-
30 Poplar
-
Fitzpatrick Swanson
-
Piece of Sun
-
Dr Root’s Garden
Love and life:
-
Lacewing
-
Cynthia Gerome – What a beautiful, aching melody. Cynthia Gerome, it works just for a while, dragging people home by the leash of your sweet smile. Ay.
-
Lake Hope
Lake Hope was calling me, October witnesses were there
So I took her with me, I knew just what would occur there.
That’s why I had to take her there.
So I called on our Michael, it was so far, and he was willing to drive us.
Gathered up her paintbrushes ran to the car. But for the squirrels it was quiet.
Lake Hope reality, seems so ethereal floating.
And the finality of her embrace left me groping–satisfied yes, but still groping…
For the secret of metaphysical joy there in her body’s caresses.
Love is but to play with a girl like a toy, yes but nobody confesses.
Lake Hope was calling me, I knew just what would occur there.
So I took her with me, only could do it with her there.
That’s why I couldn’t take you there.
- Summer in Your Savage Eyes
Our Song of The Week, and what a pleasure it is to share it with you. Anything I could say would just detract from its unique charm and beauty. If you’ve stuck with me all the way to here, please do me one small favor – when you listen to it, tip your hat to Spider, wherever he may be.
Windy afternoon stirs dust around us with a rusty spoon
Chasing after leaves and playing catch with raindrops.
Glancing about me your eyes begin to speak of what should be.
Telling me I’m here and suddenly the pain stops.
Seems like every time I ran away from home my new life makes me feel like being born
And then the way you follow me around tells me that I’ve found the rainbow.
Love embraced diverse, uncultivated children of the earth
And sunlight seems to dance across the skies, like summer in your savage eyes.
The Music –Rarities2 I originally published the above post in 2011. You can see in the heartwarming Comments that a number of Spider friends, family and fans bemoaned the unavailability of his music. We’re pleased as punch to fill the void.
Imago Cut 1
Cut 2
Cut 3
Cut 4
Spider Chillicothe Wind
Out of This World
Evening of the Wysteria
The Raging Stream
Crystal Baby
This Place I Love
Stranger Than Fiction? — Maybe Not I guess I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Spider’s story, including ET’s episode, festered and incubated in me for all these years, and hopefully will soon hatch in my own make-believe version of how things might have played out. For 3 years now I’ve been writing a novel in which the astute and bored may find some echoes of Spider’s story.
“We Are Decapede!” (get the insect echo?) is the story of a pick-up college band in Steubenville, Ohio, 1970. They enjoy a very short flash of fame, then implode in fisticuffs. In 2006, their song ‘Creston Gold’ becomes the first viral music clip on the then-nascent YouTube. Shelly, a 43-year old legal clerk stuck in a deep rut, is charged with finding the band and re-forming them. But can she reform them?
How does it turn out? Well, I sure ain’t gonna tell you. I will give you one hint: fiction can be stranger than a true story that is itself stranger than fiction. Hopefully someday soon you’ll be able to read the novel and find out for yourselves. But since you stuck with this shaggy-dog tail all the way to the end, I’ll leave you with a short teaser from the annals of Decapede.
Thanks for the music, Spider, and for the inspiration.
The post 049: Chrysalis (J. Spider Barbour), ‘Summer in Your Savage Eyes’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
https://www.jmeshel.com//wp-content/uploads/2010/06/Lovin-Spoonful-Girl-Beautiful-Girl.mp3 Girl, Beautiful Girl, The Lovin’ Spoonful
The road not taken. The missed opportunities. What was my Big Chance to escape a life of quiet desperation? I was almost a rich, wealthy, influential, famous music pundit in La-La, the culture [sic] capitol of the San Andreas Fault. Well, maybe. Here’s the true story, in all its whatmighthavebeen detail.
One weekend night in 1969 I was working the door at the Ludlow Garage, a rock emporium in Cincinnati, when a party of four hotshots approached. The cheesiest of them asked from behind his sunglasses, “This where Mountain is playing?”
And I answered, “Yeah”. That was me, always ready with a rapier comeback.
And he said, “We would like to bestow upon you the honor of inviting us in.”
“For free?”
“Of course.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because this,” he said, indicating one member of the group, “is Mr. ***.”
Mr. *** was a young and upcoming director of films from the state of California on the west coast of the United States. I don’t know who the hotshot was trying to impress by dropping that name, because it wouldn’t be recognized by anyone in Cincinnati other than a bored, film-obsessed 21-year old follower of young and obscure directors. Coincidentally, the guy working the door at that moment was a bored, film-obsessed 21-year old follower of young and obscure directors.
So I said over hotshit’s shoulder, directly to Mr. , “Mr , it would be our pleasure to host you this evening.” (I’m not quite sure from whence I drew the authority to make that decision, but I did.)
Just how obscure was Mr ***? Well, he at that time had two Hollywood films released. The first began as his MA thesis at UCLA film school, but became an $800,000-budget Hollywood release. It was a coming-of-age comic-drama starring a bunch of B- and C-list actors – Peter Kastner (who?) as Bernard, The Innocent; Karen Black (Nicholson’s waitress girlfriend in Five Easy Pieces) as The Good Girl; Elizabeth Hartman as The Bad Girl; Tony Bill as The Friend; and Method-school bluebloods Rip Torn (born Elmore Rual Torn, Jr., nicknamed “Rip” by his father) as The Father; and Geraldine Page (premier interpretress of Tennessee Williams’ heroines) as The Mother. Bernard’s film parents were married in real life as well (well, ‘real’ in Hollywoodian terms.) Their country estate was named Torn Page.
The story takes place at the boy’s place of employ, the labyrinth stacks of the NYC Public Library, which Bernard traverses on roller skates, shelving books and moaning about his lack of a sex life. His friend incites him to rebellion, drugs, and sex, the latter focused on Barbara Darling (Hartman).
But you have to remember that we’re talking 1966 here, and movies like that weren’t made. Establishment ‘youth’ films were still Frankie Avalon/Annette Funicello Beach Blanket Bingos. That’s why Richard Lester’s Beatles Hard Day’s Night and his The Knack (and How to Get It) were so mind-blowing for us. Later, in 1967, the The Graduate used the Mrs Robinson soundtrack precisely and evocatively, but it was background music.
That’s why Mr ’s You’re a Big Boy Now made such an impression on me, and on the other 2000 people who had seen it. It took rock music soundtrack seriously. Written and performed by The Lovin’ Spoonful, the music actually served as a cinematic tool, organically integrated in the goings-on on screen (even more than in Hard Day’s Night*.)
Apparently I wasn’t the only one impressed with the use of The Spoonful’s music in the film. The next year, Woody Allen hired them to provide the music to his film What’s Up, Tiger Lily?, in which he took a grade-Z Japanese spy movie and added his own soundtrack, which became the story of agent Phil Moskowitz’s deadly mission to secure the recipe for the world’s greatest egg salad.
You have to remember, this was 1966. The only American rock bands of significance were The Byrds from California, and The Lovin’ Spoonful from New York. By the time of You’re a Big Boy, The Spoonful already had under their collective belts “Do You Believe in Magic?,” “You Didn’t Have to Be So Nice,” “Daydream,” “Summer in the City,” and “Nashville Cats“. Not bad, huh? And lots of their lesser-known songs are just as good.
But I’m not going to deal thoroughly with The Lovin’ Spoonful here, because I’m such a giant John Sebastian fan. They’ll get their own SoTWs. Many of them, I hope, because so many of his songs are deeply engraved in my heart and soul and memory. Here we’ll just mention that the song has some pretty darn funky brass, and even strings, juxtaposed with the raucous rockous almost-song, with Sebastian’s knockout lyrics barely noticeable. (Check them out, down at the bottom here.) Sebastian’s lyrics here, as always, are witty, urbane, sly, goofy, charming, and full of surprising delights. The movie score also included the great ‘Darling, Be Home Soon’ (the video shows why Zal already had one foot outside the band) and the title song, later memorably rerecorded by Sebastian solo.
Anyway, after that movie Mr had gotten a hack job directing a real-budget Hollywood musical, ‘Finian’s Rainbow’, a rather embarrassing blurp in his filmography. And at the time he came to see Leslie West at The Garage, he had probably finished making his new film which had yet to be released, a way-before-its time road movie about a pregnant, angst-ridden housewife who just gets up and walks out, drives and drives, picks up along the way a hitchhiking former pro football player with mushed brains. They travel together, two lost souls, Shirley Knight and the young and unknown James Caan. But as I said, The Rain People* had yet to show in Cincinnati, and my respect and admiration for Mr was based solely on what I had seen in You’re a Big Boy Now*.
Meanwhile, back at the Garage, during a break, I went up to Mr *** to tell him that.
“Mr. ***,” I said, “I’m an admirer of yours.”
“Thank you,” he said.
An auspicious beginning.
“I think that You’re a Big Boy Now is the first movie ever to really use rock music seriously.” He looked at me.
“Like in the first scene. The gut-wrenchingly slow zoom in from the far side of the main reading room of the NY Public Library, so quiet you’re not sure the movie has really started until you hear a background cough, no activity other than the turning of pages. As still as a tomb. And then the camera ‘zooms’ (crawls, actually) into those big, staid double oak doors. Painfully slowly. And then, Boom! Zal’s slashing, grating guitar chords, as jarring as the opening chord of George’s in that Lester film, as the doors are thrown back, and Barbara Darling comes strutting in, all the movement and brashness and color and music in the world. I think that’s a really fine scene. Never seen anything like it. That’s the way to make a movie that rocks.”
And he looked at me, and said, “You from around here?”
And I said, “Yes.”
And he said, “Well, if you’re ever in California, come look me up.”
Three years later, Francis Ford Coppolla made The Godfather. And the year after that he produced George Lucas’s American Graffiti, which redefined the use of rock music in films.
But when Mr Coppolla was making those movies, I was already settled in Israel, with a wife, kid, mortgage and war on my head. And that has made all the difference.
*Well, you never can tell
But you’re looking so well
That I gotta stop and say “How do you do?”*
*I know it’s a long shot
But judging what she’s got
I’m hoping that my judgment is true*
Girl, beautiful girl, can I look at your insides?
Girl, wrapped up in fur, I’m just mad for your outsides!
Mmm, that’s what my inside says
If only I could walk up and tell her
But it seems so far from me to her
And the ground is so unfamiliar
Well I wish that I knew cause I’d be in a stew
If my little speech sounded like a phony line
I know that it’s doubtful cause she’s heard a mouthful
Of ‘come on up and see me sometime’.
Girl, beautiful girl, can I look at your insides?
Girl, wrapped up in fur, I’m just mad for your outsides!
The post 052: The Lovin’ Spoonful, ‘Girl, Beautiful Girl’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
http://jmeshel.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/Pretty-ballerina.mp3 I know I confused the universe by releasing a special Song Of the Mid-Week due to a confluence of events, but I wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of his/her/their/its Friday edition of Jeff rambling on about esoteric minutiae. So we’ll keep it short and focused. And lovely.
The Left Banke was a two-hit wonder – ‘Walk Away, Renee‘ and ‘Pretty Ballerina‘. But their two hits are indeed wonders, the most successful attempt to instill classical ingredients into art rock. In jazz, there was an entire movement in the 1950s, The Third Stream, producing quite a body of music that has held up over the years. In jazz this fusion was more serious, injecting a contemporary classical sensibility – Brubeck, the MJQ, George Russell. In rock for the most part, ‘baroque rock’, ‘Bach rock’, or (my favorite) ‘baroque & roll’ was rather pitiful and pompous, these two gems excepted.
These two songs employ baroque-ish mock-fugal lines, a quasi-harpsichord keyboard, a restrained little string section, and a light, breathy vocal. Kind of like a ‘kosher-style’ deli.
Judging by their history, The Left Banke (gee, nothing pretentious about the name, is there?) was a bunch of spoiled kids from New York. Their leader and songwriter, Michael Brown, was 16 when the group formed in 1965. They made a few recordings which the record companies enthusiastically ignored. After the band had recorded the basic track for ‘Walk Away, Renee’, composer Brown split for the coast. The band finished up the track without him, Smash Records picked it up, and in July, 1966, it hit #5 on the Billboard Hot 100 (‘Satisfaction’ was #1), followed by ‘Pretty Ballerina’ (#15) half a year later.
They recorded one quite respectable album on which the two hits appeared. I knew it well ‘back in the day’ and recently revisited it. It’s quite pleasant, but I don’t recommend walking out of your daughter’s wedding to go look for it. If you happen upon it, it won’t hurt you. And I even performed the service of listening to the second album, a death-bed flop squeezed out of a dying band by artificial inspiration. Don’t bother.
So we’re left with the two wonder hits. Which one gets to be SoTW? Well, here were the judges’ considerations:
‘Walk Away, Renee’ was a bigger hit, you can hum it, you can dance to it, and it’s had more cover versions (most notably The Four Tops, which I will not understand as long as I live).
So the winner, hands down, is ‘Pretty Ballerina‘, that precious, delicate flower from December, 1966. Thanks, guys.
*I had a date with a pretty ballerina
Her hair so brilliant that it hurt my eyes
I asked her for this dance
and then she obliged me
Was I surprised, yeah
Was I surprised,
No not at all*
*I called her yesterday,
it should have been tomorrow
I could not keep
the joy that was inside
I begged for her to tell me
if she really loved me
Somewhere a mountain is moving
Afraid it’s moving without me*
*And when I wake on a dreary Sunday morning
I open up my eyes to find there’s rain
And something strange within said,
go ahead and find her
Just close your eyes, yeah
Just close your eyes and she’ll be there
She’ll be there…*
The post 043: The Left Banke, ‘Pretty Ballerina’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.
Hamilton Camp — Pride of Man
Gordon Lightfoot — Pride of Man
Quicksilver Messenger Service — Pride of Man
The Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1563)
This week we’re going to talk about an obscure but fascinating song from 1964 by an obscure but fascinating songwriter which eerily presages 9/11 both graphically and conceptually: Hamilton Camp’s ‘Pride of Man’. We’re also going to indulge in a bit of pre-Yom Kippur introspection.
Flash of fire ten times brighter than the day…
I’m an old-school meat-and-potatoes kind of guy: if I can’t hold it or chew it, I don’t want to hear about it. I read no science fiction or fantasy. But what can I say? ‘Pride of Man’ (©1964 by Hamilton Camp) vividly describes the September 11 attacks (©2001 by al-Qaeda).
The song was a minor hit in 1966 for Gordon Lightfoot on his debut album, and in 1968 for Quicksilver Messenger Service (one of the leading early San Francisco bands together with Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead).
Hamilton Camp
Who is Hamilton Camp, you may ask. I admit I had only a foggy recollection of him from Back Then (but then most of my memories from BT are pretty foggy). It turns out Bob Camp (1934-2005) was evacuated from London during the Blitz and became a child actor in Hollywood. He played in a trillion movies and TV shows, including a messenger boy in the 1953 version of “Titanic”, the uncredited second clerk in “The Graduate” (although I looked and could only find Buck Henry at the desk) and in two episodes of “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine” as Leck, a Ferengi) and sang folk music with Bob Gibson and by himself.
He changed his name to Hamilton after joining the Subud spiritual movement, founded in the 1920s in Indonesia, now with 10,000 followers worldwide (including Jim>Roger McGuinn). “His soul had an argument with itself and the side that won decided to stop killing itself, to stop singing for release and to start singing for love.” Okay. I guess you can’t argue against singing for love. Hey, maybe I’ll change my name. How about, um, Yitzhak? Anyway, Ham’s most famous song was indeed ‘Pride of Man’:
Hamilton Leck
*Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Can’t you see that flash of fire ten times brighter than the day
And behold the mighty city broken in the dust again
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again*
It’s hard to not picture the firefighters trying to climb the stairs of the Twin Towers, the song admonishing them that their attempts to combat the explosion will be for naught.
*Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Babylon is laid to waste, Egypt’s buried in her shame
Their mighty men are beaten down, their kings have fallen in the ways
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again*
Our purpose here isn’t to quibble with the details of the song (the Egyptian pyramids are still standing, Egypt has never been associated with ‘shame’ in the Judeo-Christian tradition, the Egypt metaphor is just a one-time toss-off in this stanza). Bob/Hamilton is by all accounts a Minor Prophet. But let’s take a look at that Babylon metaphor.
Pride of Man
Genesis begins with three stories – the Creation, the Deluge, and the Tower of Babel. Why the flood? “And God saw the earth, and behold it was corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its ways on the earth.” Boom, reformat the global Hard Disk, let’s try again.
After the flood, Noah was pretty depressed (daunted I suppose by the major cleaning task facing him and Mrs Noah), so God saw fit to promise him that he would never again resort to such drastic measures, that the world would continue to revolve. But He just turned around, and lookee wa’ happen: at the beginning of Genesis 11, ‘the entire earth was of one language, and one speaking’. A whole bunch of Noah’s descendants started dwelling in close proximity (that gregarious, tribal tendency I suppose), real estate got scarce, and the engineers figured out how to make bricks. “And they said, let’s build us a city and a skyscraper with its top all the way up in the sky, and we’ll make a name for ourselves, so that we won’t scatter all over the earth.”
You know, on the face of things, that doesn’t sound so bad to me. But God came down to check out The Tower, and He took a different view: “Here, one people and one language for all of them, and this is what they start doing? Now nothing will stop them from all their scheming. Let’s go down and babble up their language, so they can’t understand one another’s language. And God scattered them all over the face of the earth, and they stopped building that city.”
Pride of Lions
As anyone who’s taken high school French knows, differences in language are indeed a giant barrier to worldwide cooperation, even with Google Translate. I don’t profess to understand the Babel story completely, but it’s clear to me that there is a dynamic here, a dialectic. My Pooh understanding of the story tells me that there’s nothing inherently wrong with Man’s ambition, nor with his drive to create cities. The problem isn’t with the action itself, it’s with Man’s character. God created those Babylonians, just like He created us, and He knows if we’re going to be bad or good. Let’s rephrase that–He knows we’re going to be bad. So he decides at the very beginning of Earth Ver. 2.1 to lead us not into temptation: no skyscrapers, guys, it’ll only get you into trouble.
*Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Terror is on every side, though the leaders are dismayed
Those who put their faith in fire, in fire their faith shall be repaid
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again.*
*Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Shout a warning to the nations that the sword of God is raised
On Babylon that mighty city, rich in treasure, wide in fame
It shall cause thy tower to fall and make it be a pyre of flame
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again.*
*Oh thou that dwell on many waters, rich in treasure, wide in fame
Bow unto a god of gold, thy pride of might shall be thy shame
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again.*
Whose side is Hamilton Camp on here? In his prophecy, is he saying that al- Qaeda is the arm of God, that the World Trade Center is the symbol of Man’s hubris, his challenge to the supremacy of God? That’s a pretty uncomfortable reading of the 1964 song, and a very troubling way of looking at the events that took place twenty years ago.
*And only God can lead the people back into the earth again
Thy holy mountain be restored, Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord.*
Reb Chaim of Brisk
Tonight begins Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. It’s a time for reflection, for each of us to perform חשבון נפש (spiritual accounting). That’s a very difficult task, making sense out of all this. For a helping hand I usually turn for perspective to the wisest man I’ve read, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, the grandson of Reb Chaim of Brisk (1853-1918), the founder of the modern Yeshiva approach to learning. ‘The Rav’ himself (1903-93) was born in a shtetl in what became Lithuania, earned his Ph.D. in philosophy in Germany in 1932, then moved to Boston where he became a community rabbi. In 1941 he succeeded his father as head of the yeshiva at Yeshiva University in New York, where he taught until his death. He ordained over 2000 rabbis, and is considered to be the seminal figure in Modern Orthodox Judaism (a camp with which I identify), which advocates a synthesis between strict observance to Jewish law, the study of Torah, secular scholarship, and involvement with the community at large.
Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, ‘The Rav’
In addition to his achievements as a community rabbi and Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Soloveitchik was a profound philosopher. Perhaps his most influential work has been “The Lonely Man of Faith”, a 110-page treatise reconciling the fragmented, existential modern perception of the world with religious faith. I find it brutally honest, painfully truthful, and a source of great consolation.
The Rav analyzes the two stories of The Creation (Genesis 1 and Genesis 2), the Adam of each. He probes the dichotomy, the seeming contradictions, between the two Adams.
Adam the first is created in the “image of God”, referring “to man’s inner charismatic endowment as a creative being. Man’s likeness to God expresses itself in man’s striving and ability to become a creator.” It is he who has the “mandate to subdue nature”. “Man acquires dignity through glory, through his majestic posture vis-à-vis his environment.”
“While Adam the first is dynamic and creative…, Adam the second is receptive and beholds the world in its original dimensions.” “ Adam the second perceives the world as it is created and asks not ‘how?’ but ‘why?’” “He wants to understand the living, ‘given’ world into which he has been cast.” “He asks: ‘What is the purpose of all this? What is the message that is embedded in organic and inorganic matter, and what does the great challenge reaching me from beyond the fringes of the universe as well as from the depths of my tormented soul mean?”
Our challenge in this world, The Rav argues, is synthesize these two paradigms in our lives. To build, and simultaneously to remember our insignificance. Pride leads to a fall, Hamilton Camp reminds us. What would God say about the al-Qaeda attacks? I’m not privy to that. I never thought of the WTC as a symbol of man’s pride, and I do think of al-Qaeda as a horrifying example of where self-righteousness can lead. But I do understand that we of the West are not the only inhabitants of this earth; and that this earth has become so small, and that we have overcome so many of the boundaries of speaking in 70 tongues, that we really do need to find ways to ensure that we accommodate all of God’s children. Our boundaries are no longer those of our town. We all have global responsibilities. What’s the נפקא מינה of that, the operative conclusion? I don’t know. My assumption is that תיקון עולם, Tikkun Olam, fixing the world, begins with fixing oneself. So when I praying during Yom Kippur, I try to give thought to my own human tendencies to excessive pride as an individual and as a citizen; and to my desires to make some kind of statement while I’m here; and how to best reconcile the two. I try to come up with a plan to make myself a better person in the year to come.
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SoTW 012: Arvo Pärt, ‘Cantate Domino’ SoTW 15: Tracy Nelson (Mother Earth), ‘Down So Long’ SoTW 084: Dmitri Shostakovich, Prelude & Fugue No 16 in B-flat Minor (Tatiana Nikolaeva) The post 146: Hamilton Camp, ‘Pride of Man’ appeared first on Jeff Meshel's World.