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(07/29/04 4:00am)
Singer-songwriter Bill Morrissey might be a folkie, but he's also craggily, fierce and sometimes prone to intense, biting sarcasm.\nTake, for instance, his appearance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1985, when the presence of several huge yachts anchored in the Newport harbor signaled the tragic quasi-death of the type of '60s idealism that once saturated the festival. "Look at all those yachts out there," Morrissey said on stage as the delighted yacht owners tooted their horns. Then bang: "All that money, and they're too fucking cheap to buy a ticket to a folk festival." Silence from the harbor. Roars from the audience.\nThat story, related in the liner notes to this 20-song collection of his best Rounder material, symbolizes the type of devilish wit that often punctuates Morrissey's work. While his tales of small-town schlubs and blue-collar stiffs are frequently grim and downhearted, they also tend to have a silver lining, one made from a wry sense of humor.\nIn the angelic paradise described in "Letter from Heaven," Mama Cass has slimmed down, Charlie Parker has kicked heroin and James Dean has taken driving lessons. The heavenly narrator, who's currently dating Patsy Cline, buys Robert Johnson a beer. "Yeah, I know," Morrissey sings, "everybody's always surprised to find him here."\nSometimes wistful, sometimes sardonic, yet always enlightening, Morrissey's droll depictions of everyday life make for a must-have collection.
(07/22/04 4:00am)
Obsessive music lovers have few goals in life: spending money they don't have on music, listening to said music while wondering how to pay the credit card bill and occasionally taking their minds off the credit card bill by unearthing an overlooked gem of an album.\nHey, it doesn't take much to please us. We also like nagging other people about buying the albums we like: "Oh man, you GOTTA listen to Engelbert Humperdinck Live in Reykjavik." DISCLAIMER: Mr. Whirty does not endorse Engelbert Humperdinck.\nBut here are 10 albums you've never heard that I do recommend:
(07/14/04 4:00am)
What? A woman who claims Professor Longhair as an influence? A woman? A white woman?\nBelieve it. Kelley Hunt, a blues shouter who's been compared to Susan Tedeschi, tries to channel the sound and soul of the N'Awlins boogie-woogie patriarch (among other influences) on her second studio CD, New Shade of Blue.\nAnd, to a large extent, she succeeds. The Lawrence, Kan., resident moves from the mid-tempo leadoff song, "Waking Up Slow," to the boisterous "Deal with It" (a duet with Delbert McClinton) to the aching album-closer "Would You Still Be There" with relative ease, infusing the gut-bucket R&B with a foot-stomping touch of honky tonk. (And why not? She also cites pioneering rockabilly legend Wanda Jackson as an influence.) The CD weaves a diverse tapestry of styles and emotions, and it's also a whole lotta fun.\nBut is that enough to distinguish Hunt from the blues/roots pack? That's a little tougher to discern. She's got the chops, both as a singer and a songwriter, but it's too early to say that she's headed for blues greatness. Perhaps New Shade will lead to a Tedeschi-like breakthrough. But Hunt might have to pay her dues and strive to further refine her already unique sound for a little longer before the blues world appreciates her talent fully.
(07/01/04 4:00am)
To say the 1950s -- 1954-'59 in particular -- were a crucial period in American musical and cultural history is, quite simply, a massive understatement. Within those five years, the slate was wiped clean and all bets were suddenly off.\nAfter years, even decades of steady simmering, the boiling phenomenon that was rock 'n' roll erupted over the edges of the pot and drenched the entire country. What was old was now … old, replaced by a new sound and a new style that was anchored in the country's youth culture, a culture populated by millions of teenagers who suddenly possessed large amounts of time, money and curiosity.\nIt was that curiosity that spurred America's young adults to tune into Alan "Moondog" Freed's broadcasts from Cleveland and then New York, programs that sent the formerly sinful sounds of black America to a generation of white kids who were hungry for something with feeling, something with power, something with … danger.\nThe 1950s changed America, and the artists who flourished during those years laid the groundwork for a half-century (and counting) of music. Here's a (regretfully short) primer for fans interested in exploring the sound that started it all.
(06/17/04 4:00am)
My reaction to both morsels of bad news was the same: "Oh, crap."\nIt's what I blurted out when my friend told me a few weeks ago that All Ears music store was closing. It's also what I blurted out last week when I logged onto the Internet and found out that Ray Charles had died.\nThat's because both are losses that will remove something vital from my life, something that reminds me that the world is an OK place, that life isn't really all that bad.\nMusic in many ways and at many times has been my lifeline, the life preserver that keeps me from drowning in turbulent waters or the rope that prevents me from tumbling over the rocky cliff. Music is perhaps my most important therapy.\nI listen to Wilson Pickett when I'm depressed (which, regrettably, is often), and I feel better. I listen to the Misfits when I'm angry, and my anger is purged. And I listen to Son House and Hank Williams when I want -- and need -- to cry.\nAnd, in the course of my life, I learned very quickly that Ray Charles and his music contained the power to cheer people up, including me. How can you listen to "What'd I Say" or Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music and not feel good about yourself and about life? And if you're not inspired by the fact that a poor, blind African American who grew up under the indignities of Jim Crow could become one of the most important musicians of the 20th century and a national hero, then I feel very, very sorry for you.\nJust knowing that Ray Charles was in the world -- that he was still making music after more than 50 years in the business -- was always comforting to me. He was a constant in my life -- and the lives of millions around the world. It's as if we thought he would always be there, always making us smile -- and making us shake our tailfeathers.\nBut now he's gone. We don't have him anymore. I don't have him anymore. And my life is a bit emptier.\nWhat I have left is his music -- and music in general. And for the last three years, the place I've gone to buy my music is All Ears, a cozy little record store at the corner of 10th and Grant streets owned and managed by a guy named Charlie Titche.\nWhile All Ears had a pretty good selection of new and used CDs, it couldn't compare to the massive stocks at chain stores like Tracks and Best Buy. What made All Ears so great and so unique -- and what kept me (and countless other customers) coming back month after month -- was the awesome amount of vinyl Charlie had.\nVinyl LP collectors like me are dorks, and we'll admit it. We're throwbacks who seriously need to get out of the '70s and buy an iPod. We're goofballs who tweak when we find an original Slade or Brothers Johnson LP. We haunt record stores so much that we develop a permanent layer of dust on our fingertips from flipping through piles of LPs for hours.\nAnd Charlie is, in his own words, "a record store geek." He's also one of the coolest people I've ever met. He greets everyone who comes into his store with a genuinely warm and enthusiastic greeting: "Hey fellas, happy Tuesday to you."\nLooking for some old Wanda Jackson on vinyl? He'll dig it out for you. Jonesing for a particular Black Flag CD? He'll order it for you. Wanna spend an hour leisurely perusing piles of $1.50 LPs? He'll point the way.\nOne of Charlie's employees told me that, unequivocally, Charlie was the best boss he ever had. I can vouch for that -- I worked at All Ears for a few months, and it was frickin' awesome. I loved being around that store, whether as an employee or as a customer. I thought about asking Charlie if I could bring in a pup tent and a Coleman stove and just camp there for a few weeks.\nFor me, All Ears was just like music itself -- it was therapeutic. Over the past three years I've pulled myself out of many a depressive funk by shopping for vinyl at All Ears. Some depressed people run to drugs or alcohol, some head for a half-gallon of ice cream. I made a beeline for All Ears.\nSure, I probably spent too much money there. I frequently bought records when I should have bought, I don't know, food. But I don't regret it at all.\nBecause so many times All Ears gave me a reason to be happy when I desperately needed one. Instead of doing something stupid I went to All Ears, flipped through some vinyl, bought some LPs and ended up with a smile on my face. And I need to smile more.\nThat's why I'll miss Charlie Titche and All Ears, and that's why I'll miss Ray Charles. They're two of the things that make life worth living, that make it worth sticking out the rough periods and pressing on for a sunnier day. \nSo thanks Ray, and thanks Charlie. I'll miss you.
(06/10/04 4:00am)
Bluegrass is perhaps one of the few genres of American music that hasn't been able to grow and develop as the years roll on. Or at least that's the case in the eyes of countless music fans, who view bluegrass (very inaccurately) as old-fogey music, a quaint form of Americana practiced by fat white guys in overalls.\nKing Wilkie aims to change that perception. Self-styled as a breath of fresh air for bluegrass, the Charlottesville, Va.-based group of 20-somethings wants to infuse bluegrass with new blood and new bite while remaining loyal to the legends who came before (by, for example, naming themselves after Bill Monroe's favorite horse).\n Thus King Wilkie -- which performs Friday, June 18 at the 38th annual Bean Blossom Bluegrass Festival in Bean Blossom, Ind. -- issues Broke, its first CD for famous bluegrass label Rebel Records. The disc features souped-up renditions of standards by Ralph Lewis, Jimmie Rodgers and the Monroe Brothers, among others, along with several original cuts.\nEschewing self-indulgent instrumental flashiness for grit and vivacity, the six-man band succeeds, at least somewhat, in making bluegrass attractive to newer generations without selling out to the modern pop-music mainstream. There is integrity, and there is energy, and while King Wilkie isn't the Next Big Thing for bluegrass (at least, not yet), the band proves that bluegrass isn't just for old fogeys anymore.
(06/03/04 4:00am)
Lately, on the nights when I come home feeling depressed and forlorn (and they are many), I seem to be listening to the same song over and over again. In the last few weeks, when I feel yet again that I'm ready to explode in a blast of anger, frustration and self-hate, I've been listening to Warren Zevon's "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner." And I've been feeling much better.\nWarren Zevon has quickly become one of my heroes, one of the people I look to for inspiration, meaning and a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Of course, Warren's dead now. He died Sept. 7, 2003, more than a year after he had been diagnosed with untreatable lung cancer. Two weeks before his death, his final album, The Wind, was released. The last song on the CD was "Keep Me in Your Heart." "These wheels keep turning," he wrote in that song, "but they're running out of steam." It's still hard for me to think of him and not cry.\nBut before he died, Warren carved out his own unique and tiny niche in the world of music -- and in the worlds of countless people whose own lives were marked by the contradictory mix of jaded pessimism and idealized romanticism. Warren, Bruce Springsteen once said, was "a moralist in cynic's clothing." His fans -- his true fans, not the ones who think "Werewolves of London" is "pretty cool" -- adored him, not because his songs were pretty (although many of them were), but because he could take life's ugliness, and twist it and turn it to produce something that radiated truth and verity, something that revealed the inner workings of his own heart -- and the hearts of everyone who listened.\nThus, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" came to exist. The second track on Warren's 1978 album, Excitable Boy, "Roland," tells the tale of a Norwegian mercenary whose specialty was the trademark submachine gun. He signs on to fight for the Congolese in the Biafran War, but, thanks to his unsurpassed skill, is soon marked for death by the CIA. One of his colleagues, Van Owen, then unceremoniously blows off Roland's head. Roland stalks through the night, searching for his killer, eventually finding him in a Mombassa bar: "Roland aimed his Thompson gun -- he didn't say a word / But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg."\nAs I sit at home and listen to the song, I envy Roland -- not because he got his head blown off, of course, but because he found revenge, because he defeated that which had at first defeated him. In my darkest hours, I silently dream about blowing away that which defeats me. I want to avenge all my lost years, the time that was wasted at the hands of self-hatred and unrestrained, self-imposed anguish. Listening to "Roland" becomes, quite simply, a catharsis for me, a way of sublimating my innermost desires into a metaphor for my frustration and hatred and paralyzing sadness. And my Van Owen -- that which defeats me -- is myself, myself and my mind.\nOf course, on its face the song is much more ambiguous, especially with the ending:
(05/27/04 4:00am)
The blues has always been a largely male domain. Sure, we've had a slew of great vocalists, from Bessie Smith to Billie Holiday to Dinah Washington to Etta James to Koko Taylor. However, when it comes down to grabbing a guitar, plugging in and tearing up the joint, there have been very few women (Memphis Minnie, Rory Block and Bonnie Raitt, to name a select trio) who've been able -- or even willing -- to take on Muddy, Buddy, John Lee and Stevie on their own turf.\nBut for the last decade, there's been Deborah Coleman, whose vocals and guitar work have made her a much-respected, if less-than-famous, figure on the blues circuit. What About Love?, her first disc for Telarc, features her deep, sultry voice, biting riffs and sharp solos soaking through 11 solid tracks.\nCuts like the disc-opening "Bad Boy" and "Lie No Better" reveal a singer/guitarist who possesses both maturity and heartfelt soul. Her cover of the Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved?" and the steamy "A Woman in Love" are also durable.\nUnfortunately, What About Love? features no tracks that jump off the CD and help place Coleman among the blues elite. She is indeed one of the shining lights and best hopes for female blues, but she still hasn't made the jump to the top tier of the genre.
(05/27/04 4:00am)
James Cotton's career reads like a travelogue along the blues highway. At the age of 9 -- 9! -- the native of Tunica, Miss., was taken under wing by the legendary Sonny Boy Williamson, whose harp-playing the young Cotton listened to faithfully on the King Biscuit Hour out of Helena, Ark., just across the river.\nCotton then formed his own band when he was still in his teens and promptly set about recording for the equally legendary Sam Phillips at Sun Records in Memphis. After that, Cotton, at the ripe old age of 18, hooked up with the -- you know the word -- legendary Muddy Waters, for whom Cotton played harp for 12 years.\nBy 1966, Cotton was ready to launch his own stellar career, which continues with the release of Baby, Don't You Tear My Clothes, a CD filled with top-notch guest appearances by Bobby Rush, Dave Alvin, Marcia Ball, C.J. Chenier, Rory Block and Odetta, among others.\nCotton and Co. cover a lot of ground, with modern interpretations of Lightnin' Hopkins, Robert Johnson, Jimmie Rodgers, Big Bill Broonzy, Sam Cooke and Slim Harpo. The album also includes three solid Cotton originals, all laced with Cotton's sweet, addictive harmonica. It's hard to go wrong with James Cotton -- after all, he's got the pedigree for greatness.
(05/20/04 4:00am)
Ever since Loretta Lynn released her first single 44 years ago, her heart and soul have remained intimately tied to her childhood as a coal miner's daughter in rural Kentucky. She's never forgotten who she is and where she came from, never left behind the life lessons she learned growing up in Butcher's Hollow and watching her father toil in the nearby Van Lear mine.\nAnd, fortunately for us, her latest release lets us know that right from the start. Van Lear Rose begins with the title track, a song that could very well be about her parents, or even Lynn and her husband, Oliver "Doo" Lynn, themselves: a father tells his daughter about the Van Lear Rose, a beautiful woman who teased the coal miners but whose heart was eventually won by a poor boy who supposedly had no chance with the much-pursued Rose.\nThat boy, it turns out, is the singer's father, and the listener is instantly captivated, just like the Van Lear Rose was captivated with her poor-boy suitor. The entire CD, like much of Lynn's stuff from her heyday in the 1960s and '70s, is direct, honest and powerful, so much so that we can almost see what she sees, feel what she feels, live what she lived.\nSome of the credit must be given to producer Jack White, who took a break from the White Stripes to help create a passionate statement by an American legend. The CD's sound is full and rich without being cluttered and confusing. He also contributes gritty electric guitar on fiery tracks like the almost-jazzy "Have Mercy" and the mournful "Women's Prison" and affecting vocals on the album's duet, "Portland Oregon."\nBut while White and others fashion a rich backdrop for her, the CD is Loretta's and Loretta's alone. Her gutsy vocals have faded little since she belted out groundbreaking feminist anthems four decades ago. She displays her versatility by showing subtle anguish on "Miss Being Mrs." (which could very well be dedicated to Doo, who passed in 1996) and raucous rave-up on "Mrs. Leroy Brown."\nUp to this point, Loretta Lynn has produced 52 Top 10 hits and 16 No. 1s. Whether Van Lear Rose adds to those totals really doesn't matter. What does matter, however, is whether modern country fans give Lynn the immense respect she deserves. Perhaps more than any artist in country-music history, she's been able to both rise above and remember her humble beginnings, and Van Lear Rose is a triumphant statement by a woman who in many ways has no peer.
(05/20/04 4:00am)
I always knew that night nearly 20 years ago would come back to bite me in the ass.\n I was 12 or 13. It was my first rock concert. (In the interest of full and preemptive disclosure, my first concert of any genre came when I was maybe six. My dad took me to see John Denver. Hey, so I liked "Sunshine on My Shoulders." A reminder: I was six.)\nMy mother and I stood under the shell at the Finger Lakes Community College amphitheater, the rain pelting the unfortunate hundreds who bought lawn seats. On stage a visibly aged Grace Slick was belting out "White Rabbit," and I was getting bored. I turned to my mom, who was enjoying the flash from the past. "What the heck is this?," I asked her. "I wanna hear 'We Built This City.' Now."\nStarship did, in fact, end up playing "We Built This City" that night. How could they not? It was a huge hit for a band that had completely morphed from counter-culture pioneer to corporate sell-out par excellence. But in my youth, I had no way of knowing that Starship fandom was decidedly un-cool.\nOf course, I am now well aware of that today. And, thanks to Blender, I was recently and painfully reminded of it when the magazine placed "We Built This City" at the top of its list of the 50 Most Awesomely Bad Songs … Ever. And thus am I now swimming in musical guilt: I was a Starship fan. It is my albatross. Forever will I be branded a weiner.\nBut the truth is that I have always been burdened by guilt. That's because I persist in liking stuff I know full well I shouldn't. I outgrew Starship, but there are other equally tacky acts that I still cling to with an unnerving persistence. As you read on, I beg you to bestow on me pity:\nRick Springfield -- May I be forgiven on Judgment Day, but I love Working Class Dog. I love "Jessie's Girl." I love "I've Done Everything for You." I love that cute little dog in the shirt and tie on the cover. And if I was gay, Rick would be near the top of the list.\nTwisted Sister -- In seventh grade, the video for "We're Not Gonna Take It" was somewhat of a turning point in my young life. I was instantly captivated by the hard-rock riffs and Dee Snider's howling vocals, and for the next five years I would be a dedicated metalhead. (Well, I was more like a dork trying to be a metalhead -- I wore the black T-shirts and untied high-tops but was scared shitless of the true headbangers who smoked in the bathroom, wore smelly jean jackets with Corrosion of Conformity back patches and had hair down to their asses.) These days I have come back to TS's Stay Hungry, which, despite (or perhaps because of) its cheesiness, remains a classic. The power of camp cannot be underestimated. \nThriller -- It's unclear at this point whether we can still like Michael Jackson without going to Hell. \n"Sugar, Sugar" -- In 1967 and '68, media mogul Don Kirshner, the "mastermind" behind the Monkees, brought together a group of unknown studio musicians to put voice and instrument to a TV cartoon based on the popular Archie comic books. In 1969, this "band," dubbed (surprise!) the Archies, hit No. 1 for four weeks with "Sugar, Sugar," which went on to become Billboard's top single of the year. No, not the Beatles, not the Temptations, not the Stones … the frickin' Archies. The song was pure bubblegum-pop dreck. And it was totally awesome.\nEmerson, Lake and Palmer -- In high school, I was a huge fan of prog, as in progressive rock, as in boring, 20-minute songs replete with keyboard solos and needlessly cryptic lyrics, as in the unholy union of classical music and hard rock, perpetrated largely by nerdy British men with bell-bottoms and bad teeth. Perhaps the guiltiest of the bunch was ELP, a trio that produced bombastic, pretentious sludge for decades: "Welcome back my friends to the album that never ends." But even today, I still love ELP, even though I'm not even sure why (although I suspect it has something to do with a blow to the head).\nScreamin' Jay Hawkins -- I'm not embarrassed by the fact that I like "I Put a Spell on You." I'm embarrassed by the fact that I cannot stop listening to it. I play it an average of three times a day. It's become a routine part of my life, like eating ravioli right out of the can and picking my navel. I'm sure such an addiction to the true originator of shock rock is unhealthy, if not immoral.\nI have unburdened my soul. I urge you to do the same: take stock of your musical guilty pleasures and come to terms with them. If that process requires intensive psychotherapy (as it did with me), then bite the bullet and plunge ahead. You'll feel better. I swear.
(05/13/04 4:00am)
In hindsight, it's perhaps quite unfortunate that Los Lobos' version of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba" (recorded for the 1987 movie of the same name) was a No. 1 hit; for many casual listeners, it's probably the only way they've heard much of the band.\nQuite unfortunate indeed, because Los Lobos, over its three-decade career, has become arguably the greatest Latino band in history (profuse apologies to Mr. Santana, and no, Menudo doesn't count). The group's ability to blend traditional Latino musical traditions with more mainstream rock and pop styles has made them very durable and very dependable. The band has never really made a bad record.\nRecently, though, there's been a problem: while the band's releases have all been good, they also haven't really stood out as much as, say, the brilliant Will the Wolf Survive? from 1984. Los Lobos had, it seems, fallen into a rut.\nThe Ride could perhaps be seen as the group's effort at breaking out of that rut. With top-notch contributions from such luminaries as Bobby Womack, Dave Alvin, Garth Hudson, Mavis Staples, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits and Richard Thompson, The Ride definitely has a fresh sound and perhaps even crossover appeal. Will it be able to overcome the unfortunate shadow cast by "La Bamba?" Probably not. Does it mark an innovative and creative departure from the ordinary? Absolutely.
(04/29/04 4:00am)
For some poor schlep who, say, stayed up all night revising an article which was due two months ago, Funeral for a Friend is a relief.\nWait. No. More than that. The latest CD from the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, the current standard-bearer of traditional N'Awlins jazz, is a reprieve from the drudgery of toil and the dreariness of everyday life. It's a massive blast of fresh air which sweeps the listener back a century to the swirling cultural concoction that yielded jazz and, at the same time, blows away so much of the vapid pop drivel which contributes to the aforementioned drudgery and dreariness.\nHyperbole? Whatever.\nWith Funeral, DDBB -- which for a quarter-century has produced its own stuff while guesting on albums by Miles Davis to Dave Matthews to Elvis Costello to Modest Mouse -- mines the rich tradition of African-American religious music with bluesy interpretations of spirituals like "Just a Closer Walk with Thee," "John the Revelator," "Down by the Riverside" and, of course, "Amazing Grace."\nAnd may God's grace shine on us indeed! The grind of life has made us weary, but lo! There is music. There is jazz. There is the Dirty Dozen Brass Band.\nHyperbole? If you say so.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
Pretty African-American woman dresses sexily, sings cloyingly and releases albums filled with all-star collaboration and syrupy, over-produced pop R&B.\nAren't we tired of this formula by now?\nWith her third CD (and second for Elektra), Tamia continues to plow the ground already leeched dry by such massively promoted by marginally talented R&B "divas" as Brandy, Monica, Jennifer Lopez, Faith Evans and any number of other overhyped female singers. There's absolutely nothing new here; even with help from Jermaine Dupri, Babyface, R. Kelly, Mario Winans and other artists, More shows little reason to be optimistic about the future of modern R&B.\nEven supposedly breakout tracks like "Questions" and "Officially Missing You" straddle the line between gaggingly sucrose and numbingly boring. Apparently we have to wait for India.Arie's or Lauryn Hill's next disc until we hear new R&B which isn't formulaic, uncreative and monotonous.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
In 1995, Peter Blackstock and Grant Alden started publishing No Depression, a bi-monthly magazine devoted to alternative country music, a genre which can trace its roots back to Gram Parsons' hugely influential albums of the early 1970s (or even earlier, to late-'60s Byrds stuff) but remains decidedly indefinable.\n"Indeed, the definition is elusive precisely because, as with all true art, this music pays no mind to strictures or bounds," write Blackstock and Alden in the liner notes to No Depression: What It Sounds Like (Vol. 1), a representative alt-country collection. "And yet, somewhere, somehow, there is a commonality, a harmonizing chord struck between the cracks of the styles and genres which blend together amid the artists portrayed in our paper."\nThe compilation features tracks by some of alt-country's luminaries, including Alejandro Escovedo ("Five Hearts Breaking"), Doug Sahm ("Cowboy Peyton Place") and Allison Moorer ("Is Heaven Good Enough for You"). It also includes songs by more mainstream artists like Whiskeytown, Robbie Fulks and Kasey Chambers, all of whom help make the CD extremely accessible to alt-country newcomers.\nPerhaps fittingly, the CD is bookended by artists who have infinitely inspired the alt-country scene: Johnny Cash at the beginning and the Carter Family at the end. Their music -- and that of their disciples -- might be hard to define, but it's also easy to enjoy, respect and appreciate.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
Virtually every musician who has ever strummed a guitar or banged on some drums started out playing other people's music. The biggest names of every type of American popular music -- blues, jazz, country, R&B, rock 'n' roll, soul, funk, metal, hip-hop -- formed their own sound by covering the music which inspired them.\nThe cover has thus always been a crucial part of the rock tradition, literally from the very start -- rock 'n' roll began when Elvis Presley, Scotty Moore and Bill Black ripped into Big Boy Crudup's "That's All Right" in 1954.\nThe Beatles cut their teeth playing Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins in seedy Hamburg nightclubs in 1962, and George Clinton burned through countless James Brown cuts as he slowly formed what would become Parliament-Funkadelic.\nHence, an accounting of the best covers of all time:\nThe Beatles, "Dizzie Miss Lizzie" -- The Beatles were the greatest cover band in history, and some of their more popular covers -- "Twist & Shout," "Rock & Roll Music," "You Really Got a Hold on Me" -- have, for better or for worse, matched the popularity of the originals. But their version of this Larry Williams hit is their best, closing out 1965's Help! with a bang.\nWilson Pickett, "Hey Jude" -- While we're on a Beatles riff … The Wicked Pickett showed a lot of chutzpah covering the Fab Four's beloved 1968 hit just a year after it was released. Well, guess what? Pickett's version actually tops the original (blasphemy!), thanks in large part to a fiery guitar solo from Duane Allman.\nRay Charles, Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music -- This 1962 album shattered the wall between black R&B and white country music. Hugely influential, unquestionably brilliant.\nThe Pretenders, "Stop Your Sobbing" -- This cover of the Kinks' classic appeared on the Pretenders' self-titled debut album in 1980 and helped establish Chrissie Hynde as one of the leaders of the post-punk movement.\nNirvana, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" -- In what turned out to be Kurt Cobain's final artistic flourish, he pours his soul into the aching lyrics of Leadbelly's haunting blues. Nirvana's MTV Unplugged in New York would have been a good CD without this. With the song, the 1994 disc is one of the best live albums in rock history.\nFugees, "Killing Me Softly" and "No Woman, No Cry" -- Lauryn Hill, Wyclef Jean and Pras anchored 1996's brilliant The Score with these covers of Roberta Flack and Bob Marley, respectively.\nNew York Dolls, "Pills" -- These glam/pre-punk kings released their explosive debut album in 1973, and this cover of a Bo Diddley classic was certainly a highlight. The Dolls de-emphasized the Bo Diddley beat and injected it with a weird type of sexual paranoia.\nAlejandro Escovedo, "Pale Blue Eyes" -- This Texas roots rocker recorded a moving, elegiac version of the Velvet Underground standard for his 1999 CD, Bourbonitis Blues.\nGeorge Thorogood and the Destroyers, "I'm a Steady Rollin' Man" -- Many have tried to cover Robert Johnson. Most have failed miserably. Found on a 1992 best-of compilation, this is the best of the better attempts -- it's got the standard Thorogood sneer and pulsing beat.\nThe Who, "Summertime Blues" -- The most famous version of this cover appears on 1970s' combustible Live at Leeds. With this song, the Who reveals exactly how much it was inspired by Eddie Cochran's power chords.\nThe Kingsmen, "Louie, Louie" -- One of the touchstones of garage rock, the Kingsmen took Richard Berry's regional Northwest hit and turned it into a rock 'n' roll anthem in 1963.\nJimi Hendrix, "All Along the Watchtower" -- This Dylan cover, found on 1968's Electric Ladyland, was simply Hendrix's finest moment.\nStevie Ray Vaughan, "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)" -- On that note, the late Stevie Ray paid passionate tribute to one of his heroes with this Hendrix cover on 1984's Couldn't Stand the Weather.\nTalking Heads, "Take Me to the River" -- How can a geeky white post-punk band cover Al Green, one of the masters of soul? As it turns out, pretty well. This is on 1978's More Songs about Buildings and Food.\nEmmylou Harris, "Wrecking Ball" -- A gorgeous rendering of the lovely Neil Young song, it's found on Harris' 1995 CD of the same name.\nMarvin Gaye, "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" -- In 1968 the incomparable Gaye took the Gladys Knight and the Pips original, slowed it down and made it his own.\nBefore this column wraps up, let's just touch on the subject of bad covers. Rock history is unfortunately rife with them, starting with Pat Boone's whitewashes of Little Richard and Fats Domino and running through, say, country bimbo Terri Clark's destruction of Warren Zevon's "Poor Poor Pitiful Me" and crap-metal Limp Bizkit's sacrilegious cover of the Who's "Behind Blue Eyes."\nBut without a doubt, the single worst cover ever is Whitney Houston's destruction of Dolly Parton's beautiful "I Will Always Love You." The original had a lilting softness to it that was wiped away by Houston, who mistakes volume for power and throttles the lyrics to death with schmaltzy sap.\nOn that thoroughly depressing note, this column will end. Next time: Gary Glitter's favorite prison workout songs.
(04/08/04 4:00am)
Some blues purists are tired of hearing Eric Clapton claim to be a bluesman, then releasing maudlin pop sludge like "Tears in Heaven" and "My Father's Eyes." So there might be some skepticism when one of these said blues purists pick up a copy of Me and Mr. Johnson, Clapton's tribute to the legendary Robert Johnson.\nAfter all, it's cool that Clapton -- and countless other blues disciples -- are allegedly influenced by Johnson, Son House, Skip James and any number of other early bluesmen.\nBut it's a different story entirely when it comes time to walk the walk; over his 40-year career, Clapton has repeatedly betrayed the same forefathers whom he claims to revere, starting with Cream's acid-propelled manglings of Johnson's "Cross Road Blues" and James' "I'm So Glad" and moving into his various attempts at approximating the blues in the 1990s and beyond.\nSuch apprehension is perhaps heightened when looking at the painted cover for Me and Mr. Johnson: Clapton sits in a chair, dressed in a dark suit, with legs crossed, holding an acoustic guitar. The pangs of dread shoot through you -- it looks like the CD will contain just him and his guitar in an attempt to exactly imitate Johnson's music, which would be a recipe for utter disaster, because no one can match Johnson's eerie power and riveting repertoire.\nBut that's not what happens at all. Clapton recruited an all-star lineup for his backing band: Steve Gadd on drums, Nathan East on bass, Billy Preston on organ and piano and Andy Fairweather Low and Doyle Bramhall II on second guitars. Imitation is not what Clapton is after here; instead, he wants to put his own modern spin on Johnson's music while keeping a cutting, bluesy edge.\nAnd, in general, he succeeds; Johnson classics like "32-20 Blues," "Love in Vain," "Hell Hound on My Trail" and "Traveling Riverside Blues" pulsate with a fresh new feel but stay firmly in the modern blues milieu. These aren't rock songs pretending to be blues. These are honest-to-God blues songs. Johnson hasn't been revamped this well since George Thorogood's fiery cover of "I'm a Steady Rollin' Man" 12 years ago.\nIn fact, it just might be authentic enough to melt the heart of even the most stubborn cynic.
(04/08/04 4:00am)
The first disc of Animal Serenade begins with Lou Reed strumming the famous chords of "Sweet Jane," a song Reed first recorded with the hugely influential Velvet Underground roughly 35 years ago, causing the crowd at The Wiltern in L.A. to roar its approval.\nBut after about 15 seconds the devilish Reed stops suddenly, and the crowd, wise to Reed's quirky sense of humor, erupts in laughter. "I thought I would explain to you how you make a career out of three chords," Reed says slyly. But, he adds, "You thought it was three, but it's really four."\nAt that point Reed demonstrates that there are, in fact, four chords to the famous song, emphasizing the last of the four. "As in most things in life," he says gleefully, "it's that little hop at the end …"\nIt's that kind of eccentricity, playfulness and self-deprecation on which Reed has truly built his career, and this live double CD reflects that. It includes subdued versions of other VU classics like "How Do You Think It Feels," "Candy Says" and "Heroin," as well as solo gems like "Street Hassle," "Dirty Blvd." and "Set the Twilight Reeling." (Sorry folks, no "Walk on the Wild Side." Try the nearest crappy classic rock station for that.)\nAnd through all of it, Reed's singing is surprisingly sublime and powerful, perhaps the best he's sounded in the last 20 years, if not ever. While some of the VU material lacks the sheer power of the original studio versions, Animal Serenade features a musical pioneer settling in for the long haul.
(03/25/04 5:00am)
Head north and east until you reach North Sydney, Nova Scotia nestled at the very edge of continental North America.\nAt that point hop aboard the ferry for 280 nautical miles, out into the frigid North Atlantic. (Of course, you can only take the 14-hour ride in the summer, thanks to all the icebergs the rest of the year.) You'll land at Argentia, Newfoundland, arriving (after more than 2,000 miles) on The Rock, the Canadian province that is both jaw-droppingly beautiful and chillingly forbidding.\nIt's also the home of Bob Hallett, a multi-talented instrumentalist and founding member of Great Big Sea, a band which, over the last dozen or so years, has melted the divisions between Newfie folk, Celtic punk rock and American pop music.\nAnd Hallett, like the other two original band members -- Alan Doyle and Sean McCann -- is fiercely devoted to the enignmatic island and the culture which continues to nurture the band, both artistically and spiritually. By touring the rest of Canada and into the United States, Hallett says Great Big Sea hopes to change people's impressions of their beloved home.\n"For most people in America, their experience with Newfoundland is 'The Shipping News,'" he says. "That's a pretty fucked-up way to look at Newfoundland."\nIn many ways, the recent life of the band has served as a metaphor for existence in Newfoundland, an economically depressed province caught between the slow death of the cod-fishing industry and the uncertainty of new development ventures.\nAfter the departure of original bassist Darrell Power last year, the remaining trio was forced to evaluate where they stood and where they were headed. Years of carefree, full-throttle concert tours had taken their toll on the boys, and they were left wondering if they should even go on at all.\nBut they regrouped and, drawing inspiration from the rich tradition of reels, jigs and sea chanties which are crucial to Newfoundland's cultural history, they each started writing. The result is Something Beautiful, a CD chocked with 10 original tunes. Of course, there's three rollicking reworkings of traditional songs as well.\nBut perhaps even more important to the band's development was the addition of an actual rhythm section -- new bassist Murray Foster (formerly of Moxy Früvous) and drummer Kris MacFarlane. With their presence, Great Big Sea has produced -- dare we say it? -- a rock 'n' roll album.\n"We were trying to break out of our own box," Hallett says. "We had established a pattern of making albums that were half folk, half pop. This time we had songs and we wanted to record them any way they worked. We tried not to walk that tightrope between folk and pop."\nA prime example of the band's newfound (no pun intended) zeal and embrace of the rock sound is the Hallett-penned "Helmethead," a rowdy, raucous ode to a womanizing hockey player. By the end of the song the band almost sounds like the Pogues or even, say, Flogging Molly. Hallett credits that propulsive feel to newcomers Foster and MacFarlane.\n"That's something we never had before," Hallett says of the rhythm section. He adds that while Foster and MacFarlane "had sympathy for the music" of traditional Newfoundland, they also brought a heady, groove-focused attitude, and, Hallett says, "It's great that we had a section that looked at the music that way."\nThe CD has been released to generally positive reviews; Lynn Saxberg of the Ottawa Citizen called Something Beautiful "the best Great Big Sea disc yet."\nBut for all the masterwork the band produces in the studio, Great Big Sea is best known for its adrenaline-fueled live shows. The Halifax (Nova Scotia) Daily News' Sandy MacDonald posed, "Is there a happier crowd anywhere than the folks who follow Great Big Sea?," while Seamus O'Regan, host of Canada Television's "Canada AM," asserted that "you haven't lived life until you've heard Great Big Sea live." Saxberg was equally bold: "The fact is that Great Big Sea can outplay, outsing and outrock any indie-rock garage band out there."\nThe band brings its show to The Patio, in Indianapolis, on March 30 -- it will be the group's first visit to Indy -- and Hallett says it'll be a typically rousing experience.\n"We want to make our shows very entertaining, so we want to include the audience as much as possible," Hallett says. "We want our shows to be more about doing something and not just seeing something."\nThe throngs of Great Big Sea fans at the band's shows are often a close-knit bunch, many of them attracted just as much by Newfoundland culture as the group itself. Hallett says that at all times, whether on the road or in the studio, the band tries to fill people in about laid-back, affable Newfoundland life. He says that compared to what he calls the "suburban wastelands" of the rest of Canada and the United States, The Rock offers people authenticity and warmth.\n"When someone comes to Newfoundland they're treated like visitors, not like people walking around with wallets," he says.\nIt's that attitude, that ambiance, that outlook on life that drives Great Big Sea to bring its music to the rest of the world.\n"It's special to us," Hallett says. "For us, it's a privilege to go out and play Newfoundland music for people"
(03/25/04 5:00am)
With Something Beautiful, Great Big Sea pretty much completes its transformation from a Celtic combo into a full-fledged rock band, a metamorphosis which might, somewhat understandably, concern the Newfoundland group's hard-core fans.\nGreat Big Sea first broke into the American musical consciousness by producing inspiring -- dare we say beautiful? -- modern versions of traditional Celtic classics like "General Taylor," "Jack Hinks," "The Night Pat Murphy Died" and "Rant and Roar," and giving them a distinctive Newfie spin. The band repeatedly proved its adeptness at recreating the sound and feel of a sea chanty filling the smoky air of a crowded St. John's bar in the wee hours of a snowy winter morning.\nBut with their eighth album (and third for Rounder Records), original members Alan Doyle, Sean McCann and Bob Hallett veer a little bit from that tried and true course, largely by adding bassist Murray Foster (who came from Moxy Früvous to replace the departed Darrell Power) and drummer -- yeah, a drummer! -- Kris McFarlane, and by penning 10 original songs to go along with only three traditional interpretations.\nAnd it's a gamble which largely pays off. Something Beautiful is filled with full-tilt rockers ("Helmethead," "Chafe's Ceilidh") and pretty ballads ("Sally Ann," the title track) which dare the listener to discern which are original songs and which are traditional tunes.\nSure, some listeners (including this one) would have liked to hear more brilliant cover songs. But those listeners also have to realize that Great Big Sea is growing, and so must we.