Child is Father to the Man

From perhaps the rarest of all surf music/pop culture documentaries (One Man's Challenge, 1962) here are the aforementioned Beach Boys and the aforementioned "Surfin' Safari." You'll note that's David Marks on guitar, toiling then as he is now on the reunion tour. Now there's a guy with an interesting and largely unheralded life story.

For Starters, At Least Their Lawyers Aren't On-Stage With Them

Well, the first reviews are in and it looks like that Beach Boys reunion tour isn't quite the pathetic spectacle I'd feared.

From the Arizona Republic:

Beach Boys tour with Brian Wilson: Strong Tucson launch

by Ed Masley - Apr. 25, 2012 03:31 AM

A 50th Anniversary tour could be seen as a fairly historic occasion. In the Beach Boys' case, the anniversary feels more like a footnote to the real news.

The great Brian Wilson is back on the road with his long-estranged bandmates for a full-scale tour that launched on Tuesday, April 24, in Tucson. This year's Grammys marked his first performance with the group since 1996. And he'd made very few appearances with them since 1989.

But there he was, Tuesday night, sharing the AVA Amphitheater stage at Casino Del Sol with Al Jardine, Mike Love, Bruce Johnston and guitarist David Marks, whose original stint in the Beach Boys was less than two years but included the recording of the first four albums.

And it wasn't just historic. It was great, with 10 additional musicians fleshing out the Wall of Sound, some drawn from Brian Wilson's touring band, the others drawn from Mike Love's latest version of the Beach Boys, with John Cowsill -- of the Cowsills! -- pounding out the beat with the enthusiasm beats like that deserve.

Some would argue that those other guys were propping up the principals, especially Jeff Foskett, who handled almost all the key falsetto parts, including what would have been Wilson's entire lead vocal on "Don't Worry Baby."

But that would be missing the point.

This was a fully integrated ensemble performance of the Beach Boys' music that managed to capture the magic of those classic songs while allowing the principal members of the group to shine thanks to the musical direction of sax man Paul Von Mertens and guitarist Scott Totten. With all those extra people singing, they could duplicate the stacks of vocals and the individual components of that Wall of Sound, from flute and sax to jingle bells, harmonica and that weird little whistle on "Heroes and Villains."

After setting the tone with a recording of "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" by Wilson's heroes, the Four Freshmen, Cowsill kicked things off with the unmistakable intro of "Do It Again" as the other members of the Beach Boys took the stage. It was the perfect way to start the show: "Well, I've been thinkin' 'bout all the places we've surfed and danced and all the faces we've missed so let's get back together and do it again."

They played 43 songs in two sets with a brief intermission and a three-song encore. After following "Do It Again" with "Catch a Wave," they threw the first of many curve balls, "Don't Back Down." And then it was back to the crowd-pleasing staples with "Surfin' Safari," their breakthrough single, and "Surfer Girl," which featured Brian Wilson's first lead vocal of the night, with Foskett taking the falsetto parts.

There were plenty of hits (and songs that felt like hits because of their inclusion on that "Endless Summer" album ) in the first set, from "The Little Girl I Once Knew" and "Wendy" to "When I Grow Up (To Be A Man)" and a set-closing medley of car songs ("Little Deuce Coupe," "409," "Shut Down" and "I Get Around"). That left plenty of time for such lesser-known gems as Wilson's wistful "This Whole World," Johnston's bittersweet "Disney Girls," which gets better with age, and a breathtaking "Please Let Me Wonder" with a gorgeous wall of harmonies supporting Wilson's aching lead.

Jardine took his turn on lead vocals for "Then I Kissed Her" and "Cottonfields," the second of which earned a standing ovation.

Marks didn't sing any lead but his scrappy guitar work stole the show on more than one occasion, perfectly recapturing the post-Chuck Berry essence of those early Beach Boys solos.

Wilson seemed uncomfortable at times behind his white piano but he tended to rise to the challenge on his few turns in the vocal spotlight. "This Whole World" and "You're So Good To Me" weren't flawless but they were distinctly Brian Wilson.

As for Love, his lead vocals were just what they needed to be, relying more on personality to put a song across, which is exactly what those parts require. And he still works the crowd more than his bandmates. Introducing "Be True to Your School," he said the song they were about to do was "probably the most patriotic song ever written and recorded," going on to explain that "the song in question is about people in uniform and, in particular women in uniform."

Cheerleading uniforms, of course.

And then before the song began, he added, "We should have our heads examined trying to do some of these songs after 50 years."

If Brian seemed withdrawn at times in the first set, he came back from intermission looser, snapping his fingers while singing the opening verse of "Sloop John B" and then gesturing like he was shoveling food into his mouth when he got to the verse about the cook who got the fits and threw away all his grits.

Another nicely executed "Pet Sounds" classic, "Wouldn't It Be Nice," was followed by a touching tribute to the late great Dennis Wilson, Brian's brother, who died in 1983. They rolled video footage of Dennis singing one of his originals, "Forever," while the Beach Boys sang and played along. It struck just the right tone and may have been the emotional highlight of the show.

Before the second set was through, they did the same from Brian's other brother, Carl, who died in 1998, accompanying footage of him singing lead on yet another "Pet Sounds" song, "God Only Knows."

Other highlights of the second set included "Sail On Sailor," the "SMiLE" arrangement of "Heroes and Villains," a gorgeous "In My Room," which featured one of Brian's most effective vocals of the night, and the truly obscure "All This is That."

They gave fans a taste of an upcoming single called "That's Why God Made the Radio," hopefully singing about a new generation of radio listeners. And they finished big with a steady succession of crowd-pleasers, starting with "California Girls" and making their way through such obvious highlights as "Dance, Dance, Dance," "All Summer Long," "Help Me, Rhonda," "Barbara Ann" and "Surfin' U.S.A."

That still left three huge songs to fill the encore -- '80s comeback single "Kokomo," a rousing "Good Vibrations" and "Fun, Fun, Fun," which featured Cowsill and percussionist Nelson Bragg going nuts on the ending, effectively bringing the night to a celebratory finish.

After the show, Love said he thought it was a spectacular start to the 50th anniversary tour.

"It was special," he said of being back on stage with his old bandmates, "especially with Dennis and Carl being represented."

For Marks, who left the band in 1963, it was a very special night.

"When we get together, we revert back to the old days," he said after the show. "It's like the '60s again. We're all in disbelief. We're just so grateful that it came about and we're able to play like this after such a long period of time. I think the Beach Boys are truly blessed to be able to do this."

And although it can be hard to tell at times, that spirit seemed to carry over to their enigmatic leader. As Von Mertens said after the show, "I think vocally, Brian sounded really, really strong. And I think being with his childhood pals really kind of sparked him and inspired him to sing harder and really nail it. He was belting."

Set List:

"Do It Again" "Catch a Wave" "Don't Back Down" "Surfin' Safari" "Surfer Girl" "The Little Girl I Once Knew" "Wendy" "Then I Kissed Her" "This Whole World" "Why Do Fools Fall In Love" "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)" "You're So Good To Me" "Cottonfields" "Be True To Your School" "Disney Girls" "Please Let Me Wonder" "Don't Worry Baby" "Little Honda" "Little Deuce Coupe" "409" "Shut Down" "I Get Around" Intermission "Sloop John B" "Wouldn't It Be Nice" "Forever" "Sail On Sailor" "Heroes and Villains" "In My Room" "All This Is That" "God Only Knows" "That's Why God Made the Radio" "California Dreamin'" "California Girls" "Dance, Dance, Dance" "All Summer Long" "Help Me, Rhonda" "Rock and Roll Music" "Do You Wanna Dance?" "Barbara Ann" "Surfin' U.S.A." Encore "Kokomo" "Good Vibrations" "Fun, Fun, Fun"

Well. Let me stipulate that set list is giving me chills just looking at it. And I'll bet there isn't a dry eye in the house when those Carl and Dennis videos play, and justifiably.

On the other hand, I'm not completely sorry I ultimately decided against getting a ticket for the upcoming show in New York City. After all, Mike Love remains a dick.

[h/t Gummo, who provided that "Surfin' Safari clip, from a show in Texas a few days after Tuscon]

Casual Fridays Slacker Pop Quiz

Question: Has there ever been a snazzier dressed and generally just cool-looking rock band than The Byrds, circa 1965-66?

If for no other reason than Mike Clarke's suede jean jacket. And that tie. And that haircut.

Discuss.

Let's Get Small!!!!

Hadn't perused MOJO (the magazine) in quite a while, but the current (May) issue is pretty interesting, starting with an excellent cover story/profile of the late great Steve Marriott. Beginning with this cool-beyond-belief 1966 group photo (hitherto unknown to me) of Marriott with The Small Faces.

Let's just say that THAT is what a rock band is supposed to look like, in my humble opinion. Also: I would kill for that shirt (or sweater?) that Marriott's wearing. Not to mention those white sneakers.

As is their wont, MOJO includes a bonus CD with the issue; those things are invariably uneven, and this one is no exception, but it does feature this minor mind-blower: Marriott's pre-Small Faces band The Moments (from 1964) with "Money, Money."

Jeebus Christ -- Marriott was sixteen when he sang that.

And I would be remiss if I didn't share two other items in the issue that caught my eye and made me laugh out loud:

From a review of Hype & Soul: Behind the Scenes at Motown, a memoir by wunderkind promo director Al Abrams (a teenage Jewish kid who apparently got the gig almost by accident):

Hype and Soul is Abrams' story, which tells how he was banned from quality control meetings after suggesting that Marvin Gaye's "Ain't That Peculiar" was grammatically incorrect and should be retitled "Isn't That Peculiar."

There's also a preview of a recently rediscovered, previously unreleased comedy album, from 1975, featuring Who drummer Keith Moon and John Peel's radio show producer John Walter (who wrote the sketches). Among the bits are an interview with a soul singer named Otis X. Watermelon (heh) and an interview in which a Brit music journalist fires off inane questions to delusional rock star Harry Krishna (!), lead singer of The Starving Millions (!!).

Compare and Contrast: Portrait of the Artist as The Luckiest SOB on the Planet

From 1992, please enjoy Ric Ocasek (pictured here with his ridiculously gorgeous internationally famous model wife Paulina, who he clearly does not deserve)...

...and an absolutely wonderful unplugged solo acoustic version of his Cars hit "Just What I Needed."

But first his spoken introduction.

Okay -- and NOW the song.

And from 1972, here's Ocasek (with future Cars-mate Ben Orr and some other guy with really awful hair)...

...doing business as Milkwood (an acoustic guitars and harmony outfit so wimpy they make America sound like Rammstein) with With You With Me, the lead track from their absolutely awful album How's the Weather.

Boy, after hearing that last, I really wish I could do Dan Akroyd's Leonard Pinth-Garnell voice.

The Blues Came Down From Belmont Avenue

And speaking as we were the other day of the ridiculously great Dion DiMucci...

From 1965, during the period when his hits had dried up, please enjoy his (not released until the 90s) utterly astounding and atmospheric white boy take on Willie Dixon's about-to-be-a-blues-classic "Spoonful."

Let's just say that nobody else comparable -- not The Stones, not Paul Butterfield, not The Yardbirds, not anybody except perhaps the equally unheralded Rising Sons, with Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal -- was doing stuff this authentic at the time.

I should also add that just two years earlier, Dion was recording the most gorgeous doo-wop street corner r&b -- as in "Can't We Be Sweethearts" -- ever heard by sentient mammalian ears.

Words fail me, frankly.

Annals of Pop Culture Illiteracy

So the other day I was luxuriating, as is my wont from time to time, in the great comforting warm bath that is the New York Times Arts and Leisure section, when I chanced upon the following, by World's Most Irksome Rock Critic™ Jon Caramanica:

Pick your poison: the simp or the cad. Being held through the night or getting a high five on the way out the door. Warm and fuzzy or cold and brusque. Pretty lies or ugly truth.

Jason Mraz, well, he would never hurt you. That’s been clear for years, but never more so than on his 2008 hit “I’m Yours,” a live show trifle that ended up becoming one of the most indelible pop songs of the last decade [emphasis mine]...[a song that] indicated the continuing vitality — if not originality — of soft rock, a genre maligned to the bones but stubborn.

Here's the song in question, BTW.

In any case, I bring this up for a couple of reasons. Number One: I was sort of vaguely aware that Jason Mraz is some kind of a pop star, but I was of course deeply relieved to learn that he's also the kind of sensitive Alan Alda-ish guy who would never hurt you. Kudos, Jason; obviously you're a credit to your generation, especially compared to that cad John Mayer.

Number Two: Swear to god, I had never heard that particular song before just now. Thus proving that not only am I completely out of it in terms of current popular music, but that I'm completely out of it in terms of current popular music that isn't even remotely cutting edge. Heh.

Everything You Know is Wrong

Ladies and germs, post-folk/rock-grunge weisenheimer Todd Snider explains it all to you -- by which I mean every stupid zombie lie that you've had to endure since you were a kid, plus the actual Meaning of Life (and Rock 'N' Roll) itself -- with his incomparable "Ballad of the Kingsmen."

And yes, that's The Kingsmen as in "Louie Louie."




I'm serious -- if there was ever a song that exemplified the great Bruce Springsteen line -- "I swear I found the key to the universe/in the engine of an old parked car" -- this is it.

It's the feel good hit of this endless summer
It gets these kids out of control
Singin' along to that star spangled bummer
Hail, hail rock and roll

Except without the optimism.

[h/t Eric C. Boardman]

Let Us Now Praise Famous Arkansans

From Esquire's incomparable politics blog, here's Charles Pierce on Levon Helm, and why he matters.

It was a hot summer night very long ago, when my career in this racket was brand-new and distinctly alternative. I was in a beneath-the-sidewalk joint in Harvard Square called Jonathan Swift's, and I was listening to Levon Helm play with the Cate Brothers, who were formidable players in their own right, and old friends of Levon's from Arkansas. We were all deep into the howl of the evening when it occurred to my friend and I that we were enjoying the show so much that we really ought to buy Levon a beer. So we ordered one up, and the waitress brought it out to the stage and Levon took a long pull, looked down at the two of us, touched his drumstick to his forehead and said, "Thank you, neighbor."

It was what they were all about, Levon and the rest of The Band, in 1968, when the country was coming apart at the seams. Nothing was holding, least of all Mr. Yeats's center. There were tanks in Prague and there was blood on a balcony in Memphis, Tennessee. The traditional American values of home and family and neighborhood were being fashioned into cheap weapons to use against the people who saw the death and gore as the deepest kind of betrayal of the ideals that made those values worth a damn in the first place. The music was disparate and fragmented; the Beatles were producing masterpieces that they couldn't or wouldn't take on the road. Brian Wilson was long gone, spelunking through the canyons of what was left of his mind. Jim Morrison, that tinpot fraud, was mixing bullshit politics with kindergarten Freudian mumbo-jumbo and his band didn't even have a damn bass player. Elsewhere, there was torpid, silly psychedelia. The British were sort of holding it together, but, in America, even soul was coming apart. Nothing seemed rooted. Nothing abided. Nothing seemed to come from anything else. The whole country was bleeding from wounds nobody could find...

Oh hell, just go read the rest of it here.

And in case you've never heard it, here's Levon (with the 1996 incarnation of The Band) with a hilariously sly and lascivious take on En Vogue's "Free Your Mind." A cover version choice that I can pretty much guarantee wouldn't have occurred to many other musicians of his generation.



I should also add that in the otherwise preposterous and forgettable 2007 Mark Wahlberg action thriller Shooter, Levon can be seen in a small but crucial scene -- looking like death warmed over but clearly having the time of his life -- as a renegade intelligence agent who knows where all the bodies are buried.



It is perhaps also worth noting, since Charles Pierce didn't, that there was and is a certain irony in the fact that the true voice of America came to our attention in a band in which he was surrounded by a gaggle of Canadians.

Dick Clark 1929 -- 2012

If truth be told, I'm just slightly too young to really have had Clark as one of my childhood icons -- although I have an aunt who actually was a genuine Philadelphia Bandstand girl -- but I will always be grateful to the guy for this.



Seriously -- that's the first time I saw The Bangles. And it changed my life.

Thanks, Dick.