So they just released the trailer for the forthcoming Bob Dylan bio-pic with that teenage heartthrob Chalamet kid as the Voice of a Generation.
I'll reserve judgement till I see it (and I have hopes for Edward Norton as Pete Seeger) but for my money this does not look promising. And for a very simple reason.
The teenage hearththrob comes across as way -- and I mean WAY -- too goyische to be a convincing Mr. Zimmerman.
(And yeah, I know the teenage heartthrob is actually half-Jewish in real life. Sorry, but he just doesn't read Red Sea Pedestrian.)
That said -- and flame away, if you're of a mind to -- but that leads us to the real business at hand. To wit:
...and your favorite (or least favorite) biographical film based on the life of a post-Elvis solo artist or group in the popular music field is...?
No arbitrary rules, but I did say post-Elvis, so don't nominate that abominable Baz Luhrmann flick, and I also said popular music field, so don't give me any of that Bradley CooperMaestro shit, because I don't want to hear it.
If you're wondering, my favorite remains this, which for some reason has pretty much faded from memory.
The short version: The Captain has been toiling on a series about his fave recent artists for a while now, and I thought -- hey, let the kid rock 'n' roll. I mean -- a boy needs a hobby, as well I know.
So, today, please enjoy part I of said series.
I should add that future installments will appear here on a semi-regular basis. Or (more honestly) whenever I'm hard up for a subject.
In any case, without further ado -- take it way, you old sea doggie!!!
"WELCOME TO THE 21st CENTURY, CAPTAIN AL!!!"
Unlike most of you guys and gals who read this blog, I can’t put together in my head a top 10 best of the year list each year. I just don’t listen to and absorb enough new music in a year to have any sort of comprehensive list. I feel I can’t even create a decade list. So to share and promote my favorite “newish” music I have created a Best of the 21st Century listing.
That being the case, here are the Captain’s favorite new musical artists of the current century. The century I was not born in nor am I quite sure if I belong in.
Also, to make this even more interesting to you and me, I have found myself seriously favoring female music creators. So my favorite new acts are all women! They are a damn fine, talented group!. And we don't even have to bring up that presidential candidate lady.
So -- here's my Best of the 21st Century Part I.
To begin with I am already breaking one of my criteria for this list, as the first musician I'm touting started releasing her music in 1999! And this won’t be the last time I twist things to fit the story I am trying to tell. (To quote Bugs Bunny -- “Ain’t I a stinker?”).
Number 1- FEIST!
The video of “1-2-3-4” was my first exposure to Feist. You can call me a sap but I think it’s a wonderful ear worm of a song and a terrific visual representation of it.
Hell I love the Sesame Street version.
Don’t like it? Fuck You!😎
Really. Perhaps you need to have a child and/or grandchild to help you develop a sense that not every musical creation has to be a major statement, that it can simply give you a lot of joy.
Anyway, the moment that I went all in on Feist was the Metals album. For whatever reason it's my favorite of this century. With so many of my last century musical favorites (the ones still alive) running down, creativitely, as we rolled into the new Millenium, Metals just stands out for its musical creativity without being a ‘mope fest,’ ‘post rock serious pretension’ or totally devoid of a rock-and-roll feeling. Metals is playful, mysterious, and adventurous, but without going off the deep end. Feist has not died for our sins nor sold out her soul to succeed.
Here is one of the many wonderful videos created around the album.
Finally, you should dig around for the many other great tracks on her albums The Reminder,Pleasure and Multitudes. Although those three are a little uneven, their best stuff is, once again, great 21st century music.
Thanks for letting me attempt this!
Well. And who can argue with that?
Seriously, I think Feist is pretty great, too.
Your thoughts?
And thanks a lot for the tirade, Capt. Al! See you next time with your ode to your next favorite modern babe!
I received the following message via the e-mail a few days ago. I'm sure you'll never guess what my reaction was.
Hi Steve:
Allow me to introduce you to my Mediocre Friends. We're a band of four NJ high school buddies who started making music together as teenagers...Then stopped...And 30 years later started again for this project. We each contributed a song for this EP and while I wish I could say it was all love and harmony, the reality was...We fought like we were back in high school again, over really stupid shit and right up to the very end! I guess all bands fight, the young and old alike, the great bands or the mediocre ones...That said, with the music finally released, we've all settled down and we've replaced all (most) of the bickering and negativity, with pride for our accomplishment...Us four old dudes actually got up off the couch and did something really cool! If by chance you've heard of my previous band Readymade Breakup [Yes, I have -- S.S.] I'd say TMF is in line with those powerpop types of sensibilities (Fountains of Wayne, Superdrag). Any help you could give in spreading the word would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your time and consideration!
Most Sincerely,
Gay Elvis
Seriously, considering that I've been playing rock-and-roll with a bunch of high school friends from New Jersey off and on since I was a teenager too, I was predisposed to like these guys. Plus, when I hear the words Fountains of Wayne...well, you know.
Also -- Gay Elvis. I mean, I was a goner.
Anyway, as it turned out I actually genuinely dug these guys' music, which is great melodic/rockin' stuff that definitely lives up to their influences. And I think you'll dig them too.
Here's my favorite track...
...and you can read their complete and very amusing bio, listen to the rest of the EP, and download all of it over HERE.
Pretty inspirational, no?
Sniffle. Have I mentioned that some days I really love my phony-baloney job?
The brilliant and innovative lead guitarist of Moby Grape has passed. Damn.
I should add that the version of Miller's long-time showpiece above thoroughly pales by comparison with the unadorned (no horns or keyboards) live version I heard the Grape do in 1967, some several months before the album came out. (Grape afficianados, of which I number myself, have never forgiven producer David Rubinson for over-arranging just about everything on that record -- Wow -- in what one can only assume was a misguided attempt to follow in the footsteps of Sgt. Pepper.)
In any event, you can at least get an idea of Miller's astounding fret-work from the track. No wonder Led Zeppelin ripped them off -- from the same album -- so blatantly. (Hey, it's a legal thing -- I'm too depressed to tell the story, but just google Zep's "Since I've Been Loving You" and the Grape's "Never").
POSTSCRIPT: I should add that the pre-Grape Miller not only toiled in Bobby Fuller's touring band, but he played on the original pre-hit/demo version of "I Fought the Law."
And cooler than that it does not get, rock history-wise.
Kurt Cobain covers a beloved ballad by The Beatles?
I must admit, I hadn't ever heard that version until last weekend (on the sound system at my local Forest Hills watering hole).
But wow. That's clearly the work of a guy who's not in the best possible mood.
I mean, I don't want to say Cobain had a gift in that regard, per se. But it's pretty remarkable that he could make his own personal depression seem so utterly contagious. 😎
[I originally posted versions of this back in 2010(!) and 2019, but I'm re-upping it now because of its obvious relevance to recent events in Pennsylvania and Milwaukee.
I have also done a shitload of rewriting, and swapped in five new songs, just to demonstrate my Taylor Swift-ish work ethic. Enjoy! -- S.S.]
Well, well. It's the weekend, and you know what that means.
Yes, my Oriental manual catharsis manager girl Friday Fah Lo Suee and I will be travelling to...well, at this point, as long-time readers are doubtless aware, I was going to insert the traditional sort of lame topical political gag here, but it occurs to me I've already done it. And to be honest, the naked racism and misogyny being spewed by the substitute teacherJ.D. Vance wing of the Republican party in the last few days has been so utterly loathsome that my heart's just not in the job. Sorry.
In any case, posting by moi will be sporadic for a few days.
So on a hopefully much lighter note, in my absence, here's a fun project for you all to contemplate:
...BEST OR WORST POST-ELVIS POP/ROCK/SOUL/COUNTRY/HIP-HOP SONGS OR RECORDS THAT REFERENCE FIREARMS IN EITHER THE TITLE OR THE LYRIC!!!
Self-explanatory, so no arbitrary rules, but by firearms I mean the obvious, i.e. handguns, rifles, etc. In other words, if you try to sneak in something like Bruce Cockburn's otherwise quite splendid "If I Had a Rocket Launcher" I'll come to your house and make merciless fun of you.
And my totally top of my head Top Eight is/are:
8. KISS -- Love Gun
An embarassingly crappy song by an embarrassingly crappy band from an embarrassingly crappy album. And let's not even get into the fact that these mooks thought they were making a witty parody of the Sex Pistols.
Okay, it's a generation gap thing, I'll grant you. And, in fact, my Gen X colleague/friend Doug Brod has written a brilliant recent book actually making a plausible case for KISS being an actually important band. Let's just say that while I recommend you read it, I disagree with it on several profound levels.
7. Mission of Burmaa-- That's When I Reach for My Revolver
Yeah, it's a great song. Still, and I forgot who said it, but there comes a time in everybody's life when they look at their CD collection and realize that those three Mission of Burma discs are basically just taking up space.
6. Hackamore Brick -- Zip Gun Woman
From their 1971 cult album. These guys are supposed to be some kind of proto-something -- punk, powerpop, I don't know what -- and people whose opinions I respect actually like the record. All I know is, I pull it out once every year or two to see if it makes sense to me yet, and it never does.
5. Mike Daly and the Planets -- Kill a Clown (No, Not Really)
He's only kidding, folks. Heh.
4. Aerosmith -- Janie's Got a Gun
It may surprise you to learn that I think that this record's a fucking masterpiece on every level. I should also add that yes, I'm aware that people who came of age during those guys original 70s heyday prefer that incarnation of the band, but I think it's pretty obvious that the earlier Aerosomith couldn't possibly have written and performed anything as good as the above.
3. Eminem -- Darkness
I always thought he was kind of a putz, but jeebus -- apart from the over the top melodramatic gun shit, self-pitying much?
2. The Sevens -- Seven
Apocalyptic garage rock from the Rolling Stones of Switzerland. Actual gun shots -- a starter pistol, more specifically -- fired in real time in the studio, courtesy of producer Giorgio Moroder (in his pre-disco days, obviously).
And the Numero Uno ode to the joys of blowing stuff up real good simply has to be...
1. The Floor Models -- A Shot in the Dark
Okay, I'm aware there's no actual reference to guns in the lyric, but what a great freaking song anyway. And c'mon -- you just knew that was gonna be the one, right?
So okay, today -- once again -- we're going to celebrate brand new music by one of the greatest roots rock/punk/powerpop bands you might never have heard of. (Well, as I keep saying, if you were a sentient college kid down South in the 80s, you heard of them. And also if you're a longtime reader.)
In any event, I refer to the aforementioned up top (aux francais) White Animals, seen here today in an absolutely fab new group photo.
I mean seriously -- those bastids have aged better than anybody in their line of work has any right to. Wow.
But okay, let's bring things further up to date.
The short version: I've been a fan of these guys since I first saw them in 1978 -- as an acoustic duo doing Sixties classics at some low dive in Nashville -- while I was interviewing the great Marshall Chapman for the Magazine Formerly Known as Stereo Review. Later, as a four-piece, they went on to pretty much rule the 80s college rock party circuit down South, and as I've mentioned on numerous occasions, they were a ferocious live act (any band that shared a stage with them did so at their peril -- me and The Floor Models gave it a go on our home NYC ground, so I know what I'm talking about!) and true musical visionaries, whose ahead of its time mix of garage-punk energy, British Invasion song structures, and dub reggae soundscapes by way of Lee Perry(!) still sounds utterly fresh and contemporary. I should add that they were the first indie band to get their videos on MTV, which was a hugely amazing accomplishment at the time. Here's one of the clips in question (which should give you an idea of both their coolness quotient and their songwriting and performing chops). I should also add that they had the single most enormous live sound of any band I've ever witnessed anywhere at any time period.
Okay, cut to the present: These guys, who have reunited on several occasions since their New Wave heyday, went into the studio recently, and they exited with an absolutely world class new album -- the appropriately titled Star Time -- that not only does justice to their legacy but actually breaks some new artistic ground.
Here are my two favorite tracks, with commentary by the band's frontman, Dr.(!) Kevin Gray. First, the hilarious "In a Post-Apocalyptic World (Would You Be My Girl?)"...
Sometimes I write songs when I’m not trying to write a song. When pandemic era real estate prices were at their zenith, my wife and I sold our Nashville home and bought our dream house in Thomasville, GA, with a big yard and a pool. I was working in the back, pulling vines out of the tall Japanese Cheesewood hedge. I had that “this is too good to be true feeling”, and in my head I’m singing, ‘Have you heard the news today? Troubles are here, and more is on the way’. I yanked at more vines. ‘In a post-apocalyptic world, would you be my girl?’. I tugged at a really tough vine, and my shoulder was starting to hurt. ‘Love will matter more than ever’. I went inside and put the song down.
...and then the drop dead amazing "Man of Constant Dread," which takes a venerable American folk song and gives it the dub treatment I referred to above. Wow.
I suspect, of course, it was [the band's brilliant bassist Steve Boyd] who pushed for us to do this traditional song live. Originally titled “Farewell Song” it is over 100 years old, and lent itself perfectly to our Dread Beat swirl of psychedelic swamp guts, pounding drums [courtesy of Ray Crabtree], angel harmonies, and guitars, guitars, guitars. In my mind, it is the Rich Parks [the bands' guitarist] dream showcase, as he laid down multiple tracks that display his incredible virtuosity and taste, including a tribute track to the late Andy Gill [axe man for Gang of Four], the greatest guitarist who people too often forget about. Steve and I spent hours layering his guitars and other elements of this track and it is simply the best musical creation I’ve ever been a direct part of… so far!
Okay, that's as much of a teaser as I'm gonna give you. You can find out a little more about the Animals history and the circumstances behind the genesis of the new album over HERE.
More important, you can listen to the rest of the record and purchase the thing itself -- and WTF are you poltroons waiting for? -- over at the official website HERE!!!
From 2022, and the soundtrack to (season I episode 3 of) The Afterparty, please enjoy Ben Schwartz as annoying Millenial musical careerist Yasper and the melodically infectious and lyrically hilarious "Yeah Sure Whatever." ."
In case you haven't seen the show (and a certain Shady Dame of my acquaintance turned me on to it just last week) TAP is a sort of black comedy murder mystery set at a high school reunion (class of 2015) in Marin County. Each episode has a different character arc and a different visual and dramatic style (to my knowledge, the episode from whence the above song derives is the only one with a big musical number).
In any event, it's quite brilliantly written and often fall off your couch funny (it's worth seeing for the first episode Hall and Oates gag alone), although I should add that if -- like me -- you're not particularly nostalgic for your high school years, you may also find it a bit creepy and uncomfortably close to the bone.
In any event, "Yeah Sure Whatever" has had me singing it in the shower for several days now; if it isn't a fab gear example of contemporary power pop I don't know what is.
Oh, and the series is on Apple TV, for those who have.
"They'll make a sequel to A Star Is Born starring me!"
So the other day, to my utter astonishment, I happened to chance across (via the invaluable Internet Archive, which is the 21st century equivalent of the Library at Alexandria) a whole bunch of back issues of Video Review magazine.
The short version: VR was the second greatest consumer magazine ever (the first was, as longtime readers are doubtless aware, Stereo Review) that I was lucky enough to work for in the fullness of my youth. It was published from sometime in the late '70s till the early '90s; I was the managing editor for two years in the late '80s, a job I was manifestly unqualified for. But that's a story for another day.
Anyway, I hadn't seen any of the stuff I wrote for VR since forever, and I thought it might be fun to share a brief piece that's relevant on some level to the theme of this here blog.
So -- from the April 1990 issue, please enjoy my thoughts on...
By any reasonable standard, this is an exemplary career documentary on what is now the longest-lived successful band in rock history -- well-balanced, musically rich and visually fabulous. Of course, there’s no question the band deserves this kind of hagiographic treatment; nobody in rock ’n’ roll has a more impressive body of work. So, with one major (very major) caveat, 25 X 5 has to rate as the best archival rock program anybody’s come up with since The Compleat Beatles back in 1981.
Granted, the format here -— talking heads and performance clips -— is not exactly innovative. Individual band members and assorted associates are glimpsed reminiscing as footage of the band from 1964 to the present flashes by (most of the songs, alas, are truncated). Much of the footage, put together with apparently unlimited access to the band’s archives, will be unfamiliar even to hardcore fans, but it's usually so good and so unerringly chosen that you hardly notice. It’s all -— and I mean all — here, from long-unseen excerpts from the band’s performance on TV’s old Hollywood Palace (yes, the show on which Dean Martin famously made fun of them) to the Rock ’n’ Roll Circus special (Mick claims they never aired it because his performance was substandard and the clip bears him out), and even a legendary and actionable tour film (a/ka Cocksucker Blues).
As a bonus, the new interview segments are often a hoot. Charlie Watts, predictably, comes off as the sanest of the bunch, and the problematic points in the band’s history -- their relationship with manager Andrew Oldham and the drug problems of cofounder Brian Jones -- are dealt with unflinchingly, while the soundtrack audio, even when the source material is TV mono, is pretty great. From a technical and conceptual standpoint, then, 25 x 5 could hardly be bettered.
So what is the aforementioned caveat? Frankly, it’s that the band’s story gets less interesting at the same time as their music does. In other words, however admirable their 1978 Some Girls comeback songs or their recent live performances may be, still only an acolyte or revisionist historian could argue honestly that the Stones’ most vital days are not behind them, that the recent ‘‘A Rock and a Hard Place" (which closes the tape) is as epochal as a ’60s classic such as "The Last Time.” That is, admittedly, an unfair complaint, although it’s not as unfair as what most critics wish had happened -— that the Stones had gone down in a plane crash around 1972 and become unassailable legends, like Charlie Parker or Buddy Holly.
Still, this is a very long tape and while your interest may flag in its later segments, there’s guaranteed to be at least one moment here that will have you emitting a Mick Jaggeresque ‘‘Whoo!”. So it seems ultimately churlish to carp -- face it: you or I should be so cool after 25 years.
Not a bad piece, I think, and yes, a lot of stuff has changed since it was written.
And Hole E. Shit -- here's the documentary film in question, completely complete and in a VERY high quality transfer. I had no freaking idea.
So from just the other day, please enjoy my friend and guitar god Benny Landa (with the Papa Dukes band) and a freaking great cover of The Hollies' classic "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress."
I've known (and worked occasionally with) Benny since the last century (here we are at some outdoor gig in Queens in 1994)...
...and he just contributed fabulous guitar to the A-side of my forthcoming single (a cover of The Replacements' "I'll Be You," if you can believe it. I mean really -- just what the world needs, right? A recording of a 76 year old nasal voiced Jewish guy performing Paul Westerberg. But that's a story I'll catch you up with in a few days,)
Anyway, that leads us to the business at hand. To wit:
...and your favorite (or least favorite) post-Elvis pop/rock/soul/folk/country/hip-hop song referencing a specific color in its artists' name/title/lyrics is...???
No arbitrary rules whatsoever, except if you nominate something involving the Blues (as in the music genre) I will come to your house and smack you silly.
Discuss.
And in case you're wondering what both my favorite AND least favorite is...
I'm not particularly a Black Flag fan, and I haven't really followed their legal/personnel problems over the years, but the above is freaking hilarious just in the abstract.
I mean -- if for no other reason than the inclusion of Al Jardine.
BTW, if you can't read it, just click and enlarge.
Thank you Lily Tomlin for the title of today's post.
Anyway, I bring it up because I have just learned the answer to a question that has plagued me since the fabled Summer of Love, i.e. 1967.
Specifically -- why the hell did Moby Grape (and songwriter Skip Spence) title the killer hit tune (from their eponymous masterpiece debut album) "Omaha"...
...given that the lyrics...
Listen, my friends!
Listen, my friends!
Listen, my friends!
You thought never but
I'm your's forever
Won't leave you ever
Now my friends
What's gone down behind
No more rain
From where we came
Get under the covers, yeah!
All of your lovin'
Beneath and above ya
Bein' in love!
...do not mention/have-absolutely-nothing-whatsoever-to-do with the titular city.
Or, for that matter, any geographical location whatsoever.
Seriously, and I suspect I'm not alone in this, but every time I've heard that song since it originally came out I've found myself going "What the fuck? Omaha? Say what?"
Okay, I won't keep you in suspense any longer -- here's the answer as I just learned it.
It's a hippie drug joke.
It's not Omaha, the place.
It's somebody meditating and suddenly achieving enlightment.
To wit -- "Om...Aha!!!!"
Get it?
Hey, I guess you had to be there.
Anyway, all this is by way of introducing my new favorite indie band (Australians, BTW, and apparently a legendarily hard working live act who've been around for 14 years) who I have no doubt would appreciate the Grape's joke, and whose psychedelic three guitar attack probably would have probably gone over really well with the San Francisco crowd back in the day.
Ladies and germs, please enjoy the wonderfully monikered King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, and their totally rockin' ode to the reptilian joys of a "Rattlesnake."
Coincidentally, I just discovered these guys over the weekend -- no kidding, I was totally unaware of them previously -- and I think they're a riot, which is the highest praise in my personal critical vocabulary. Your mileage may vary.
I should add that KG&TLW are playing, literally around the corner from my digs in the Paris of the North East, i.e. at Forest Hills Stadium, later in August. I gotta tell you -- I'm almost tempted to brave the heat and go see them.
Anyway, I found myself thinking gee -- it's too bad that Steve Earle never had a go at the song, but then I remembered he'd actually done a great version of another favorite Stones song of mine, and that you guys might not have heard it.
So -- without further ado, from a 1997 indie EP with Arizona cowpunks The Supersuckers, here's Earle and the song I think you'll agree he was born to cover.
And speaking as we were the other day of new music by artists that has crossed my desk unbidden recently, here's without doubt my favorite of the month so far -- American monsters of metal The D.O.O.D. (short for The Distinguished Order of Disobedience)...
...and a cut from their forthcoming (Sept. 17) album Dissonance, the catchily toe-tapping guitar fest that is "2000 Miles."
Not -- obviously -- to be confused with The Pretenders song of the same name.
These guys are apparently world famous in their South Florida home base, and with good reason, obviously. Equally obviously, long time readers will be aware that The D.O.O.D. is not -- musically/stylistically speaking -- particularly my usual cup of tea, but it won't surprise said readers that I nonetheless find the band's general attitude kind of hilarious and wonderful. Which is kind of more important, at least on some occasions.
Also, the red-headed siren second from right in the group photo -- a/ka/ Jonzey the bass player -- could obviously have me if she played her cards right. Heh.
Anyway, you can find out more about them -- including where to hear/purchase more of their music -- over at their official website HERE.
[PS: The followup to Friday's White Animals post had to be delayed due to technical problems. It will go up later this week, promise! -- S.S.]
So okay -- today we're going to celebrate brand new music by one of the greatest roots rock/punk/powerpop bands you might never have heard of. (Well, if you were a sentient college kid down South in the 80s, you heard of them. And also if you're a longtime reader. But let's move on.)
In any event, I refer to the aforementioned up top (aux francais) White Animals (seen here today).
And who were/are those guys, you ask?
Here's a short version, adapted from a post I did about them here back in 2000.
The White Animals are the great lost American rock band of the 80s -- a ferocious live act (any band that shared a stage with them did so at their peril) and true musical visionaries whose ahead of its time mix of 60s garage-punk energy, British Invasion song structures, and dub reggae soundscapes by way of Lee Perry still sounds utterly fresh and contemporary.
I first met these guys -- who basically ruled the alt-rock/frat party scene down South in their heyday -- in the late 70s while interviewing the redoubtable Marshall Chapman (scroll down to page 86 after clicking on the link HERE). Years later, The Floor Models had the great pleasure of opening for them on one of the Animals infrequent trips to NYC. I should add -- as I suggested in the blurb -- that they blew us off the stage. In the nicest and most supportive way possible.
Oh, and here's a video -- from Nashville TV in 1982 -- that just slays me and should give you an idea of their total coolness.
But let us return to the present. When I am delighted to report that these guys -- who among other things, were the first indie band to get a video on MTV, which was an amazing accomplishment -- have reunited and just released a new album...
...that's an instant classic in what we refer to as the rock-and-roll field.
I'm gonna leave you with that teaser, and trust me -- you'll thank me.
But in other words, we will continue our tribute to the WA's on Monday, when I will be singing their praises in more detail and sharing some of their brilliant new songs with you guys.
But in the meantime, on to the weekend's thematically pertinent business.
To wit:
...and your favorite post-Elvis pop/rock/soul/folk song or band whose lyrics or name reference some sort of animal -- mammal, reptile, insect, whatever -- is...???
No arbitrary rules whatsoever.
And...discuss.
Oh, and in case you were wondering -- and most long-time readers will have already guessed -- here's my favorite.
Heh.
Okay, like I said, Part Deux of my WA's encomium will appear on Monday.
Meanwhile -- have a great holiday weekend, everybody!!!
And in its honor -- a PowerPop tradition since 2018 -- please enjoy Bill Pullman, the greatest president of the United States who was never president of the United States...
Okay, sorry about the dumb joke.
What I meant to say was please behold the late great Ben E. King and his gorgeous cover of Bruce Springsteen's "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)."
As I've noted on previous occasions, the existence of that clip -- in the immortal words of Cristina Applegate on Married With Children -- makes the mind wobble.
I mean -- can you imagine how cool for Bruce it must have been to learn that one of the singers he idolized back in his youth had actually beautifully interpreted a song he had written?
I think the word is wow.
Meanwhile, enjoy -- if that is the appropriate word in the disturbing times we live in at the moment -- the rest of your 4th, everybody!!!
And yes -- a way cool new Weekend Essay question will appear on the morrow.
So one of the perks of doing what I do -- a big one, actually, especially given that no money is ever involved -- is that every couple of days I get unsolicited music and stuff over the proverbial transom. From people and artists I've never heard of, and hailing from (quite often) exotic geographical locations that I've never been to (and, alas, probably never will).
And, more relevantly, it's amazing how good the stuff often is.
Case in point: the following aural delight that arrived unbidden in my mailbox over last weekend.
Ladies and germs, from far away in one of the lands down under, please enjoy the quite amazing Silk Cut!!!
Or as they described themselves and their music:
Silk Cut is a four-piece rock band based in Tāmaki Makaurau, New Zealand.
The lead-off power-pop single "Turning The Whole World On" is from their new self-titled album [releasing today -- i.e., July 3, 2024].
Two guitars, bass and drums - the classic rock configuration. “The plan was to try and get some weaving of parts done - think Television, Swervedriver, Big Star and Ride. And, of course, when you get two guitarists with something to prove in the room, there’s going to be some sparks”
Okay, sparks for sure -- i.e., that track is pretty darned great. An instant classic, actually. Play it again slightly louder, won't you? Otherwise you'll miss that fabulous chiming riffage and the world-class harmonies.
I should add that the song is from Silk Cut's second full-length effort, and that they have been known to share stages with antipodean bands including Hoodoo Gurus, which makes them automatically cool in my book.
In any event, you can (and should) find out more about those guys, and download/order the entire album (which is equally as swell as the song above) over at their official website HERE.
Okay, there are days I think this is the funniest thing I ever wrote. From The Magazine Formerly Known as Stereo Review in June 1990.
SONGSTYLES OF THE RICH & FAMOUS
Consider the compact disc. A marvel of modern technology, it's the result of hundreds of thousands of scientific manpower hours and countless dollars for research and development. Truly a monument to man's ingenuinity and genius, it represents on every level -- intellectual, aesthetic, whatever -- the finest, most noble impulses and accomplishments of the human species.
Well, yeah. Which is why it's such a thrill to hail the CD release of Rhino's Golden Throats: The Great Celebrity Sing-Off. Because in this one gleaming five-inch package science, art and commerce have come together in a transcendent collision of the ridiculous and the sublime. It proves, whether by accident or design, that even in the latter half of the Twentieth Century (once described by Isaac Bashevis Singer as "on balance, a complete flop"), the ideal of the Renaissance Man is alive and well.
Yes, Renaissance men (and women, to be sure) are the very raison d'etre of Golden Throats. For you can find -- whence, as Alan Funt would say, you least expect it -- greart thespian talents, artists who've enriched our lives with their portrayals of Gomer Pyle, Sgt. Joe Friday, and Family Affair's Mr. French, artitists who refuse to rest on their hard-earned laurels. Here, making much -- not for crass commercial gain, but because they must -- they bring their skill and inspiration to bear on the Muse of Song.
For these selfless offerings, of course, mere mortals can only give thanks before listening, awestruck, to the recorded results. Breathes there a music lover who will not thrill to the very idea, let alone the reality, of Joel Grey (father of Dirty Dancing's Jennifer Grey) negotiating the haunting chord changes of Cream's "White Room," and in a big-band arrangement to boot? Is there out there a sentient mammalian so soulless as to be unresponsive to the Byronic nonchalance of Sebastian Cabot's virtuoso recitative of Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe?" Could even the stoniest-hearted among us audition Jack Webb's "This is the city"-styled performance of "Try a Little Tenderness" without shedding a silent, solitary teardrop? Like, get real, dude.
There will be, sad to say, those whoe decry Golden Throats in the sure and certain knowledge that Allan (The Closing of the American Mind) Bloom was right, and Western civilization is doomed to the dustbin of history. Lonely, loveless, and probably physically unattractive, these bitter dweebs will note Mae West's "Twist and Shout" (superior, even, to the Rodney Dangerfield version), Eddie Albert's "Blowin' in the Wind" (featuring the very same band that backed Dylan on Blonde on Blonde) or Leonard Nimoy's virile baritone rendering of John Fogerty's "Proud Mary" and, if pressed, respond only with a scornful "Huh?!" Such people, it goes without saying, are to be avoided, for they will someday borrow money from you that they have no intention of repaying.
But that's another story. So, returning to the CD at hand, let us close by praising Rhino's usual superb rematering, by offering our condolences to my friend Greg, who nearly had a religious experience and drove his car off the side of I-95 on hearing Golden Throat Shatner assailing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," and by thanking whatever gods we recognize that such a digital experience is available at better record stores at popular prices. And let us contemplate the myriad wonders awaiting us when the visionaries at Rhino offer us an ever greater celebrity anthology, one sure to include excerpts from the Robert Mitchum Calypso Album, the Brady Bunch Kids' "American Pie," and (oh joy!) Ted Knights' "Hi Guys!".
And people say that life is not worth living.
I also can't believe my notoriously strait-laced and humorless editors let me get away with it. But we'll tell you that tale on another occasion.
PS: Here's what the above looked like in the mag.
If you're having trouble reading it, just click to enlarge.
Music lovers and professional musicians at Power Pop are sure to enjoy a new movie, The Sales Girl, that's a terrific contemporary combination of comedy and drama.
And that's because of the way that rock 'n roll compliments the movie's unusual plot.
The main storyline of the 123-minute flick focuses on the relationship between first year college student Saruul and 40-ish Katya, the owner of a sex shop in an unnamed city in Mongolia (most likely Ulaanbaatar, the capitol).
Saruul was offered the sales job by a classmate whose street injury -- shown in a very funny opening scene -- has incapacitated her for the time being.
Both characters, Saruul and Katya, will stay in your memory, long after the movie ends.
Rock songs accompany -- by my count -- 10 scenes in the movie. Most of the scenes are shot on location, so, in effect, The Sales Girl also promotes the city as a great travel destination.
Short version: Check out The Sales Girl, available from Film Movement, with English sub-titles on DVD or streaming, over at Amazon HERE.
-- Drew Simels
Thanks, Drew -- looks like a hoot!!!
But which, thematically, leads us to this weekend's business. To wit.
...and your favorite (or least favorite) post-Elvis pop/rock/folk/soul/blues/country/hip-hop song referencing -- blatantly or obliquely -- what my mom used to refer to as "X-E-S spelled backwards" in its title or lyrics is...?
Discuss.
And in case you're wondering, here's my candidate.
Swear to god, there are some days I think that may be the last great rock-and-roll record ever made.
What can I tell you -- so far, the summer here in Forest Hills, a/k/a the Paris of the East Coast, has totally sucked.
Which may be why I'm so taken with "Outside Place," the brand new promo film masterpiece by veteran West Coast power pop/punk band LA DRUGZ -- by comparison, Los Angeles looks like a little bit of heaven.
I must confess I was unfamiliar with these guys until a day or two ago, but I am informed that the song itself, which as you can hear totally rocks, is ten years old. Hey, I slept through the 'teens.
In any event, as you can also plainly see, the new vid is a sly homage to the greatest film of all time, the Mike Nesmith(!)-produced cult classic Repo Man.
And as I hinted up top, I'm a total sucker for all cinematic evocations of the L.A. River -- giant ants or no.
In the meantime, you can find out more about those guys (who come off above as both natural born comedians and a kick-ass band) and order the cool original (2013) EP from whence the song derives over at the website of Hovercraft Records HERE.
And I should add that a fab gear Weekend Essay Question will be up tomorrow, and it's a little smutty.
[Okay, you younger folks (if you're out there) -- I really need you to give me the proverbial hand. Read on and you'll understand why. -- S.S.]
So. As is not exactly a secret, when I'm not hanging out here, I'm often lurking/posting over at a certain left-wing political blog whose name I won't mention, but whose initials are Eschaton.
I've been a regular there going back to the 'aughts, and in fact, it's where I first encountered the original proprietor of this here blog, NYMary. I've also made several other long-lasting off-line/real world friendships at said location and, if truth be told, it's actually where I met and fell in love with a certain Shady Dame who's been mentioned here from time to time.
In any event, as you can gather, it's been a big part of my life for quite a while, and I owe its head honcho -- nom du blog Atrios -- more than I can put into words.
That said, the aforementioned Atrios is also semi-legendary for his utterly appalling taste in music. It's been a running gag over there for as long as I can remember, starting with the old days when he would put up videos by what I used to refer to as "whey-faced Brit prog-rockers".
Hey -- if you like those kinda bands, god bless, but I had fun taking cheap shots at him and them.
But of late -- starting this year, if memory serves -- he's been foisting clips on us by even whiter bands, and it's beginning to get really creepy.
I mean, all of them sound exactly alike, and when they don't just bore me to scowling fidgets, they actually make me physically ill. To wit.
I'm not kidding -- the above makes me slightly nauseous, which is a reaction I've never had to any music of any kind at any time in my life.
And those guys aren't even the worst. Gimme a minute and I'll find you a more egregious example.
As you can hear, this shit is about as formulaic and twee as can be. Everything has insanely lame drumming (usually beginning with somebody playing with brushes), annoyingly simple arpeggiated guitar licks (sometimes executed on mandolin or uke), cutesy/affectless little girl vocals (sometimes, but not always, nasally harmonized) and pretentious/gobbledeegook lyrics that inevitably recall some sensitive teenager who has underlined verses in a thin volume of poetry and written "how true!" in the margins.
Also, one of the singers usually plays one-finger keyboards with sampled violin sounds or something similar half way through the song. Oh, and there are occasional very serious string, sax and flute players lurking about, and nobody in any of the bands seems to have the slightest interest in acknowledging the audience.
Have I mentioned that on top of everything else, the music is utterly and frighteningly sexless?
In any event, the end product just makes me, in the immortal words of Dorothy Parker about Winnie the Pooh, want to fwow up.
And I mean that literally. Which, as I said, is something that has never previously happened to me when listening to music.
Okay -- to finally get to the point: can somebody out there please -- PUHLEEZE -- tell me what this shit is called?
By which I mean -- what genre? What syle? There's gotta be a name for it, given how many bands are playing it.
In other words: Exactly how the fuck do the youngs -- who I assume are the audience (Atrios notwithstanding) for whatever it is -- describe it to the rest of us suffering mortals?
I await your replies with breathless anticipation.
From 2020, please enjoy the great Carla Olson, assisted by Peter Noone -- yes, the guy from Herman's Hermits -- and a killer and heretofore unknown to me remake of The Searchers' 1965 English hit "Goodbye My Love."
I think we can agree that's quite fabulous, but since I love you all more than food, here's the original in a new stereo mix.
Well. That was pretty fabulous also, you're welcome very much.
BTW, the song was co-written by legendary Searchers drummer Chris Curtis and Petula Clark's auteur Tony Hatch. Both of which/whom are interesting stories I'll get to one of these days.
[h/t Jonathan Lea, who plays the cool 12-string on the Olson track]
And speaking as we were the other day about wonderful but unjustly forgotten Sixties NYC psych-folk rockers Autosalvage...my friend and Boston-based rock crit Brett Milano turned me onto this quite astonishing footage yesterday.
The aforementioned Autosalvage -- including all four original members -- rehearsing for a reunion gig they did at SXSW in 2012.
Way cool on a lot of levels, and what I wouldn't have given to attend the actual show.
Which leads us, as I'm sure you've guessed, to the business at hand (and apologies if I've done something like this before). To wit:
...and your favorite post-Elvis band (or solo artist) in any genre that you never got to see and it has bugged you ever since is...???
Oh, and in case you're wondering -- my choice is a tie. Between these guys...
I actually had tickets for a Springfield show in, if memory serves, 1968, but at the last minute I got sick and couldn't go.
Boy, was I pissed. Although I was more pissed in 2011 when that rat bastard Neil Young pulled the plug on the Springfield reunion tour before it got to NYC. Fuck you, Neil, and your highly overrated work ethic.
...and these younger guys.
I totally flipped over the GBs when their breakthrough album (the classic New Miserable Experience) came out in 1992 -- I might as well have been genetically programmed to dig their combination of wistful romanticism, punk and jangle -- and courtesy of A&M Records I was on the guest list for a weeknight show they were doing at CBGBs in support of it. But I figured -- rightly, as it turned out -- that they wouldn't hit the stage until the witching hour (when it would be fashionable), and at the point I was already too old for such an exertion and stayed home.
From their eponymous 1968 waxing, please enjoy shoulda-been-contenders NYC folk/rock/psychedelic/proto-New Wave band Autosalvage and their astoundingly prescient and fabulously jangly "Land of Their Dreams."
Attentive readers will recall me singing (heh) the praises of these guys several times over the years, but never specifically this song, whose aural mismash of symphonic strings, bluegrass influenced guitars, Dylanesque vocals and kick-ass rhythm section has confounded me (in a good way) ever since I stole a vinyl copy of it from my college radio station shortly after its original release.
Seriously, it's one of my forever faves, a haunting and stunningly abstract piece of jangle-rock that has always seemed (to me) to be utterly outside of time. I mean, for years, before and after it finally got reissued on CD in the late 90s, I used to play it for people and ask them to guess when and where it was recorded.
Invariably, the answer would come "Athens, Georgia, mid-to-late 80s?"
Heh.
Anyway, the short background version: Despite Autosalvage being a big deal on the local NYC scene back in the day, their sole LP never sold much, and the concensus has always been that they missed out by not moving to San Francisco in time for the Summer of Love, when their mix of psychedelic jam stuff and tight concise song structures would probably have gone down a storm.
They were also an interesting couple of guys. Guitarist Rick Turner, who I interviewed once, was a charming dude who went on to a hugely successful career as a luthier on the West Coast; he used to write a column for Guitar Player magazine, and he made and maintained all of Lindsey Buckingham's custom instruments for ages. Bassist Skip Boone was the brother of Lovin' Spoonful bassist Steve Boone, and went on to be a seminal figure, as a producer and recording engineer, in the Baltimore alt-rock music scene. And the band's rhythm guitarist Darius Davenport was the son of one of the founders of The New York Pro Musica, among the first and best original instrument groups performing medieval and early baroque classical stuff. (His dad is on the album somewhere, actually.)
But I mean seriously -- what I wouldn't have given to have heard these guys cover a Wilson Pickett song with backing by a crumhorn section.
Anyway, the even shorter version: If the song above doesn't remind you of Television (the band) you're just not paying attention. Which is the larger point this post is about, duh.
...I discovered this over the weekend and it just blew my tiny mind.
That's the Grape's classic "Sittin' By the Window," written by Peter Lewis, and performed by -- hole. e. shit -- his daughter Arwen.
The short version: that's from an entire album of Grape covers Ms. Lewis did in 2015, which apparently none of you bastards ever bothered to tell me about; I have been listening to it obsessively since Sunday, and I just can't get over how wonderful it is, both in execution and conceptually.
I should add that I love that her name on the guitar case is in the same typeface as the old Grape logo. Oh, and John Sebastian (yes, him) is on another track from the record; remind me and I'll post it later in the week.
[The following is a true story. I first posted it here in 2008(!), but I've just tweaked it for inclusion in my forthcoming Greatest Hits book, and in case you missed it back in the day, I hope you get a kick out of it. --S.S.]
So...Back in the dim dark past (by which I mean the Hyborian Age, when Conan the Barbarian actually walked the earth) I got a gig (life-changing, as it turned out) as the rock critic at my college (C.W.Post) newspaper. I got it not out of any special qualifications, of which I had none; in fact, if truth be told, the reason I got it was that nobody else had bothered to ask for the job. I, on the other hand, had correctly reasoned that the major record labels were then in the process of dispensing vast largesse on anybody with a byline anywhere, and thus -- dreams of free LPs dancing in my head -- I petitioned the paper's powers that be (who were doing massive quantities of drugs, if memory serves) and was given a weekly column to do with as I pleased.
Anyway, sometime in the spring of 1970 I received a large package from Warner Bros./Reprise Records. I don't recall everything that was in it -- I'm thinking an early T-Rex album, although I can't be sure -- but one LP in particular stood out -- No BS, by a then obscure Detroit band called Brownsville Station. And by stood out, I mean it REALLY stood out.
Like, it sported perhaps The Worst Album Cover of All Time.
I mean, really, embarrassingly, horrendously bad. So bad, in fact, that I didn't bother to sell it for beer-and-cigs change, as was my wont with most of the free promo LPs I knew I was never going to listen to, but rather kept it around, still shrink-wrapped, as a cautionary exemplar of esthetic hideousness. (I later learned that before Warners picked up No BS for distribution, it had been a D.I.Y. effort self-released on the band's own label, mostly to sell at gigs, which in some ways excused the cover's awful amateurism. But still, I thought -- dudes, you're on a major label now; hire somebody who can actually draw.)
Anyway, like I said, the album -- which I showed, with much guffawing, to everybody I knew for a few weeks -- eventually went into my collection in the milk crate with the rest of the B's (I was one of those geeks who alphabetized his albums) and I got on with my life.
Cut to: a party in early 1973. I found myself chatting with an absolutely adorable young woman (long dark hair and bangs, and I was a goner) who, as it turned out, had grown up in Detroit and knew everybody in the rock music community there. She told me some amazing stories -- at 13, she had painted Bob Seger's psychedelic van -- and she thought I was fairly cool because I knew who (local Detroit faves) The Rationals were. After many drinks, we adjourned to a local Greenwich Village watering hole (it was run by legendary Max's Kansas City restauranteur Mickey Ruskin, who said hello to her when we walked in, impressing me mightily) and I proceeded to fall completely head over heels. And then -- around midnight, I recall -- she mentioned that she really wanted to do album covers when she got out of art school. I asked if she'd ever done one, and, somewhat ruefully, she mentioned Brownsville Station.
Yup -- the object of my affections was the woman behind The Worst Album Cover of All Time. And in in case you're wondering if I told her I knew it, let alone that I thought it was TWACOAT, I'm going to assume you know absolutely nothing about guys.
Anyway, the story has a sort of happy ending. The woman in question and I proceeded to have a long and mostly delightful run as the Nick and Nora Charles of 70s Manhattan, and we're still friends to this day. Carol Bokuniewicz (that's her name) went on to do some much better album covers -- you might remember this one --
-- and eventually achieved, deservedly, lasting fame when she co-founded the hugely influential design firm M&Co. You can find out more about her...
...and her most recent work over at her official website HERE.
Incidentally, a few years after Carol and I became an item, I interviewed the guys in Brownsville Station, who were then riding high on their hit "Smoking in the Boys Room." All went well until I mentioned that I was living with the woman who had done their first album cover, at which point I was nearly ejected from their hotel room.
When I asked what was wrong, band leader Cub Koda would only say "Shit, man...that's the worst album cover of all time."
So I was saddened to hear that Gallic chantoosie/major babe Francoise Hardy passed away last Tuesday at age 80.
Attentive readers are aware that I have a particular fondness for all those existential French popstar gals of the late Fifties and Sixties (where have you gone, Juliette Greco?)...
...and Hardy was one of my particular favorites. For obvious reasons.
I mean, if you had to be as good looking as Brian Jones to even have a chance with her...
That said, in all honesty, Hardy's music...
...was no better or worse than the rest of the commercial French pop purveyed by her ye-ye contemporaries, which is to say there's a reason none of that stuff ever made it to the Anglo charts (with the exception of Jane Birkin and the overtly smutty "Je T'Aime," which was essentially a novelty record). But I loved her anyway.
Which brings us, as you may have suspected, to the weekend's business. To wit:
...and your favorite (or least favorite) post-Beatles English-language rock/pop/country/soul/folk gal singer is...???
No arbitrary rules, but by post-Beatles we mean, obviously, someone who came to public prominence AFTER the release of the hit recording "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and the invention of the blow dryer.
Discuss.
Oh, and my choices (one of which I suspect may surprise you -- hell, it surprised me!) for favorite are...a tie!!!
Beginning wth...
Chrissie Hynde, of The Pretenders!!!
Who, as you can hear in the above clip, has the uncanny ability to call to mind ALL the greatest diverse Sixties girl singers who preceded her -- from the wistfully teenage Claudine Clark lamenting that she can't go see the "Party Lights" to the imperiously regal Sandy Denny as she bemoans the fate of the murdered adulterous "Matty Groves" -- in just about about every rock/pop genre imaginable.
And then, of course...there's the late Rachel Nagy of The Detroit Cobras!!!
And why?
Silly mortals...because SHE HAS THE MOST F**KABLE VOICE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY!!!
Seriously, as I said when I first posted that video in 2007, "is there another woman on the planet who can make the three syllable phrase 'cha-cha-cha' absolutely drip with lust?"
I think not.
Anyway, those are my nominees. What would YOURS be?
From his accurately titled new album Let 'Er Rip, (which drops, as the kids say, tomorrow) please enjoy Mark Ward and his absolutely killer first single "I've Been Around."
Which, as it turns out, is also accurately titled.
MARK WARD is an Alaska-raised singer-songwriter/guitarist and former member of bands Last Train and Ryebender, whose albums have garnered national airplay and critical acclaim. As a multi genre artist, Mark writes about what moves him, giving voice to his passions through heartfelt lyrics set to power pop, rock, Americana and roots-based music.
Anyway, the whole album is terrific -- you can (and should) listen, stream and download it over at Bandcamp HERE.
I am also informed that actual physical CDs will be available soon via our friends at KOOL KAT MUSIK -- I'll keep you posted as things develop over there.
I should add, and for the record (as it were), that "I've Been Around" is one of my absolute favorite things so far this year. I love everything about it -- the wise-ass snotty vocal, the classic chiming lead guitar riff/hook, and just the whole sound. Man, what I wouldn't give to have a chance to cover it live with a band, and higher praise than that I can not bestow.
Hey -- if you had told me back in the day that some time in the future I'd be walking around in a promo shirt (decorated front and back with album covers) for a band I was once in, let's just say I would have chortled in your general direction. 😎
I should add that Phil gifted similar shirts to both Brian and Michael D'Addario, better known these days as The Lemon Twigs (who actually got onstage with the Flo Mos during our 2019 reunion gig), and I am informed they too have been known to be seen in them in public.
Wear 'em in good health, everybody, and bless you Phil -- you're a real mensch.
An idiosyncratic blog dedicated to the precursors, the practioners, and the descendants of power pop.
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