Apparently some people are copping all sorts of attitude because Bruce Springsteen did a Jeep commercial that aired at some sports event last weekend.
To those people, let me simply say -- Jeebus H. Christ on a piece of burnt challah toast.
Seriously, as the invaluable Roy Edroso makes the point -- far more amusingly than I could -- any putative liberal who's professing to be upset about this nonsense is playing into rightwing assholes hands BIG TIME.
And they should cut it the fuck out.
In any case, I'm venting about all this because I recently learned that there is an official -- with vastly improved sound -- CD release of the legendary Springsteen Live at the Roxy in 1975 bootleg (which I had on vinyl back in the day)...
...and it's even better than I remembered, i.e. absolutely transcendent and life affirming. You know -- the way art is supposed to be.
And if you don't believe me, check out this version of "Thunder Road"...
...and this cover of a Searchers classic.
You can order the whole thing over HERE, or you can just nicely ask me to burn a copy for you.
End of rant -- except why didn't I get the memo about the album previously? Sheesh.
Okay, I realize this has nothing to do with the theme of this here blog, but it's utterly amazing and you have to see it.
Say what you will about Youtube, but it has demonstrated that animals are capable of far, far more than most of us ever understood or believed.
And I should add -- as cheap a shot as this is -- that the turtle helping his buddy above is a better human being than any of the murderous schmucks whose video footage was part of yesterday's impeachment hearing.
The short version: Today marks a year since the passing of my pal (and The Floor Models drummer for over four decades) Glen Robert Allen.
Glen enriched my life in so many ways I couldn't begin to enumerate them, but I will say that I still really haven't come to terms with the fact that he's gone. Truth is, these days when I go into the recording studio, I inevitably look to the back of the room and expect to see him sitting on the couch yelling at me about tempos.
In any event, here's a story about Glen that I haven't previously shared, for reasons that escape me, but the time is obviously right, so here goes.
Again, the short version: The hospital in NYC where Glenn was being treated toward the end had (unbeknownst to me) a musical therapy program, which I think you'll have to admit is pretty cool. And in the late summer of 2019, he wrote a song (with the woman who ran the program), and then went into the studio to record it; Glen played drums, and the rest of the track featured our friends (and frequent collaborators) Susan Hall and Ronnie D'Addario. In case you're keeping score, they're the parents of The Lemon Twigs.
I should add that I had no idea Glen had been working on the song until he played it on a boom box in his hospital room on February 7 of last year.
Here's that performance, and if you can listen to it without getting a little choked up I really don't want to know from you.
Cut to late last summer, when our friend Phil Cheesbrough (who met Glen at the Flo Mos 2019 reunion show) told me that indie rock/country singer Jenn Bostic was going to do a cover of the song with an accompanying video. This thrilled me, as you can imagine (I've written about Jenn under happier circumstances) and it also was a mitzvah for Glen's beloved wife Eddy Coston, who knew from Jenn and her work as a Christian music celebrity.
Here's Jenn's cover, which I think you'll agree is pretty darned transcendent.
To which I can only add -- thank you thank you thank you, Jenn, from the bottom of my rapidly aging rock-and-roll heart. God bless you for doing it.
I should also add that Eddy is in the process of establishing a charitable foundation in Glen's name, and when that happens I'll be posting about it.
In the meantime, rest in peace, Glen. You made a difference to more people than you guessed.
And I'll tell you why I think so, from an admittedly personal perspective.
To begin with, attentive readers should be aware that I have been working on (and am close to completing) a Byrds tribute album by my band The Floor Models (along with special guests.)
And here's the most recent track -- my old colleague/lead singer Gerry Devine and his gorgeous solo version of "Chimes of Freedom."
I had not, originally, planned to include the song -- written by Bob Dylan, obviously, and covered by The Byrds on their life-changing (to me) debut album -- but a couple of weeks ago it occurred to me that it was even more relevant to the world in 2021 than it had been back in the day. In that regard, I give you the lyrics, which should make the point.
Far between sundown's finish and midnight's broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight
And for each and every underdog soldier in the night
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Even though a clouds's white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
And the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
And for each unharmfull, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Starry-eyed and laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time and we watched with one last look
Spellbound and swallowed 'til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones and worse
And for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashin
And in case you didn't get it, those lines about unarmed refugees/innocent people in jails are even MORE applicable to contemporary culture than they were when Dylan wrote them.
The larger meaning being -- if Dylan had never published anything but the above, which is the very definition of "gorgeously poetic", he would have been entitled to that award from the Swedes.
From that late 90s Del Amitri album -- Some Other Sucker's Parade -- I've been bugging you about recently, please enjoy the pride of Glasgow's gorgeous title song.
And what a lyric.
I must've had a million damn unlucky days
But there ain't no cloud that a bottle can't chase away
And I've done my deal of living, ran from place to place
But when the roof comes in I don't wanna take it straight
They say with faith any soul can make it
But hell, why should I wait
Till the clouds go rain on some other sucker's parade
I've had my share of heartaches, let-downs and tricks
But the everyday blues is the one thing I can't fix
And I've heard those holy brethren muttering my name
But it ain't no sin to drink when you're suffering
Patience, they say, is a saintly virtue
But hell, why should I wait
Till the clouds go rain on some other sucker's parade
When every heavy skyline just empties on your fate
Sometimes keeping dry's something to celebrate
So if the road of sin is the one I'm taking
I ain't gonna stray
Till the clouds go rain on some other sucker's parade
Have I mentioned wow?
I had no idea that the Scots were even more clinically depressed than the Irish.
...that's the most brilliant thing ever written about what used to be called the Generation Gap.
"Annus Mirabilis"
Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty-three
(which was rather late for me) -
Between the end of the "Chatterley" ban/And the Beatles' first LP.
Up to then there'd only been/A sort of bargaining,
A wrangle for the ring,
A shame that started at sixteen/And spread to everything.
Then all at once the quarrel sank/Everyone felt the same,
And every life became
A brilliant breaking of the bank/A quite unlosable game.
So life was never better than/In nineteen sixty-three
(Though just too late for me) -
Between the end of the "Chatterley" ban/And the Beatles' first LP.
The cream of the jest, of course, is that Edroso is quoting this to make fun of the odious Rich Lowry (a white power prick over at that other white power prick William F. Buckley's National Review) and his, shall we say, moronically specious argument that Joe Biden is the most left-wing Democratic president in the history of the good old USA. But hey -- we already know Conservatives don't know shit about shit, and especially pop culture.
BTW, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but not only was I unfamiliar with the poem in question, I knew next to nothing about its author. Although I learned earlier today that, apparently, he had a fondness for soft-core porn and misogyny, and was no fan of modernism.
In any case, let's just say that I intend to make Larkin a subject for future research.
Here's another live one I somehow missed at the time (1997). From their incredibly great Some Other Sucker's Parade album, please enjoy Scottish band Del Amitri and their utterly goosebump inducing "Not Where It's At" on the old Conan O'Brien show.
True story: at the time the song first appeared, the conventional wisdom was that the girl in question doesn't go for the singer because of her, er, sexual orientation, if I may use that phrase.
I, on the other hand, was convinced that it wasn't anything so specific, and that the salient line in the lyric is actually...
"I don't have my finger on the pulse of my generation/
I just got my hand on my heart, I know no better location."
...rather than the more frequently cited...
"But the one girl that I want/
she wants that one bit of geography I lack."
That said, I hadn't heard the song in ages, and when I chanced upon that video the other day, all I could do is smack my forehead and scream "What was I thinking?"
I mean, OF COURSE, it's about her sexuality.
In any case, what a great freaking song and performance.
But seriously, I chanced across this on YouTube the other day, and it absolutely blows my mind.
A surprisingly old -- but still annoyingly handsome -- Jackson Browne covering Petty's most overly Byrds-ish song, "The Waiting." And quite gorgeously.
I've probably told this story before, but it behooves repeating.
Obviously, there have been a lot of rock star deaths that have saddened me over the years, but I remain surprised by my reaction to this one.
Short version: I was home in Hackensack (taking care of my late mother) in the end of October 2017 when the word of Tom's passing suddenly showed up on my computer.
I was actually listening to his debut album at the time.
In any case,I wept out loud.
For ten minutes. Non-stop.
I mean, I didn't do that when John freaking Lennon was assassinated.
From 1986, please enjoy singer/drummer Luis Cardenas and his beyond transplendent video for a remake of Del Shannon's classic (and obviously timeless) "Runaway."
With stop-motion dinosaurs.
Apparently, I'm the only person on the planet who hadn't seen this before, but I swear to god I was unaware of it until last night.
In any case, apart from the whole thing being hysterically funny -- AND a very nice version of the song -- it was really nice to see Del as the cop at the very end.
Hmm...I think I'll repost about Del's posthumous farewell album tomorrow. Which in case you haven't heard it, is a genuine pop masterpiece.
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