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(03/25/04 5:00am)
In one episode of "The Simpsons," we see a shirtless Apu washing his Trans Am. As he hoses the car down, he sings along to Cheap Trick's "Dream Police." There's something inherently hilarious about a cartoon guy with a faux Indian accent crooning, "The dream police, they live inside of my head / the dream police, they come to me in my bed."\nAnd when Matt Groening successfully uses you to make people laugh, you know you are, in fact, a joke, a status Cheap Trick reached, oh, about the zillionth time any classic rock station played the live version of "I Want You to Want Me."\nLike their arena rock brethren in Boston, REO Speedwagon and Journey, the members of Cheap Trick in the '70s gouged their niche as a bombastic, guitar-drenched bar band which somehow got lucky enough to land a major-label deal. And like those other bands, Cheap Trick always lacked the deftness and subtlety which made Neil Young, David Bowie, the Clash and Parliament-Funkadelic true icons from the decade. Witness, for example, Cheap Trick's heavy-fisted mangling of the Fats Domino classic, "Ain't That a Shame." And, like Boston et al, Cheap Trick survived into the 1980's by churning out insufferable ballads like "The Flame."\nIt's true this two-disc compilation features the band dueting with Billy Corgan and Chrissie Hynde, which might seem to give Cheap Trick some credibility. But Corgan has always been weird, and maybe Hynde momentarily lost her grip on reality. Hey, maybe it was those lousy dream police again. I mean, they do live inside of my head…
(03/24/04 9:03pm)
In one episode of "The Simpsons," we see a shirtless Apu washing his Trans Am. As he hoses the car down, he sings along to Cheap Trick's "Dream Police." There's something inherently hilarious about a cartoon guy with a faux Indian accent crooning, "The dream police, they live inside of my head / the dream police, they come to me in my bed."\nAnd when Matt Groening successfully uses you to make people laugh, you know you are, in fact, a joke, a status Cheap Trick reached, oh, about the zillionth time any classic rock station played the live version of "I Want You to Want Me."\nLike their arena rock brethren in Boston, REO Speedwagon and Journey, the members of Cheap Trick in the '70s gouged their niche as a bombastic, guitar-drenched bar band which somehow got lucky enough to land a major-label deal. And like those other bands, Cheap Trick always lacked the deftness and subtlety which made Neil Young, David Bowie, the Clash and Parliament-Funkadelic true icons from the decade. Witness, for example, Cheap Trick's heavy-fisted mangling of the Fats Domino classic, "Ain't That a Shame." And, like Boston et al, Cheap Trick survived into the 1980's by churning out insufferable ballads like "The Flame."\nIt's true this two-disc compilation features the band dueting with Billy Corgan and Chrissie Hynde, which might seem to give Cheap Trick some credibility. But Corgan has always been weird, and maybe Hynde momentarily lost her grip on reality. Hey, maybe it was those lousy dream police again. I mean, they do live inside of my head…
(03/24/04 9:00pm)
Leroy Carr was only 30 when complications from chronic alcoholism put the blues vocalist and piano player six feet under. But while Carr might not have been around for very long, he was around long enough to become one of the most influential and significant artists in the history of the blues.\nWhen Carr, who lived in Indianapolis for the last 18 years of his life (well, not counting the stint he did in a state prison for bootlegging during Prohibition), formed a duo with guitarist Scrapper Blackwell and released the seminal "How Long, How Long Blues" in 1928, he irrevocably changed the course of American pop music.\nOver the next 12 years, Carr, with Blackwell by his side, became a key figure in the transition of the blues from a rural, Southern idiom to an urban, Northern style. Carr's smooth, even urbane style, both vocally and instrumentally, anchored recordings which were self-reflective, almost melancholy. Carr influenced untold numbers of blues musicians, but the most notable is probably Robert Johnson himself.\nPrison Bound Blues is part of a series of top-notch blues compilations produced by UK-based Snapper Music, and the Brits have done an excellent job of capturing the essence of an artistic talent which burned blindingly bright, but was snuffed out all too soon.
(03/24/04 8:57pm)
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.
(03/24/04 8:11pm)
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"
(02/26/04 5:00am)
Meb' Mo' (né Kevin Moore) grew up in Compton, Calif., the cradle of so-called gangsta rap. But unlike Ice Cube and Dr. Dre, Keb' Mo' was more interested in channeling Robert Johnson than sparking a hip-hop revolution.\nThe result of such ambitions, nurtured from the time his uncle began giving him guitar lessons when Moore was 12, is nearly 30 years of recording dependable, inspiring modern blues and traditional rhythm and blues. While his blues have generally lacked the blazing fire of, say, R.L. Burnside, Robert Belfour, T-Model Ford and other guys at Fat Possum Records, Keb' Mo' has been more able to cross over into the mainstream like one of his idols, B.B. King. (His two Grammys are evidence of such popularity and acceptance.)\nOn Keep It Simple, Keb' Mo' sounds like Mississippi John Hurt, a bluesman whose deceptively soft and melodic sound contrasts sharply with the raw, angry style of contemporaries like Son House. Like much of Hurt's output, many of the tracks on Keep It Simple are well-crafted, laidback songs that almost lull the listener into a bluesy serenity.\nBut, like Hurt's stuff, Keep It Simple, Keb' Mo's fifth album for Okeh and seventh overall (he also recorded an album as Kevin Moore in the early '80s), is passionate, emotional and deeply personal. Songs like "Closer" and "Shave Yo' Legs" explore the complexities of relationships with loved ones, sometimes with humor, sometimes with poignant sincerity. "Let Your Light Shine," the CD's first single, perfectly utilizes the talents of session man Jeff Paris on organ and mandolin to create a hoppin,' toe-tapping feeling that borders on infectious.\nThe album was recorded in L.A. and Nashville with a solid cast of session musicians, including bassists Nathan East and Reggie McBride, drummers Ricky Lawson and Steve Ferrone and organist and mandolin player Jeff Paris. Keb' Mo' (who's scheduled to play the Vogue in Indy on March 18) also rolls out some impressive guest appearances; blues prodigy Shannon Curfman supplies pretty backing vocals on "One Friend," while guitar studs Robert Cray and Robben Ford show up on "Riley B. King," the three men's tribute to the Blues Boy himself.\nHowever, although the 12 tracks (which were all written or co-written by Keb' Mo') wonderfully reflect his roots in gospel, jazz and straight blues, they're all a bit too polished. While Keb' Mo' has self-produced a relaxed, endearing album that will surely attract many hesitant listeners looking for an entrée into the blues, a more experienced blues fan is left wondering if and when he'll just throw down and cut loose.
(02/26/04 5:00am)
Since forming the poppy folk duo The Story with Jennifer Kimball, Jonatha Brooke has produced intimate and inspiring music which, in the tradition of great singer-songwriters, has connected on a very deep and personal level with her audience. Back in the Circus, her fifth solo release and third on her own Bad Dog label, continues that trend while at the same time displaying a woman who is both branching out and staying true to what made her popular.\nStandout cuts include the lead-off title track, with quiet accordion and cascading piano by Ryan Freeland; the thought-provoking sadness of "Sleeping with the Light On;" and the poignant "Less Than Love Is Nothing."\nThe most intriguing track, however, is her cover of James Taylor's "Fire and Rain;" she puts a soulful, even head-nodding spin on the classic. (Other inspired covers include the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" and the Alan Parsons Project's "Eye in the Sky.")\nIn general, Brooke's bold vocals and sweet songwriting combine to make an album that, while breaking no real new ground, sets her apart from the legion of other folk-pop singer-songwriters.
(02/26/04 3:54am)
Since forming the poppy folk duo The Story with Jennifer Kimball, Jonatha Brooke has produced intimate and inspiring music which, in the tradition of great singer-songwriters, has connected on a very deep and personal level with her audience. Back in the Circus, her fifth solo release and third on her own Bad Dog label, continues that trend while at the same time displaying a woman who is both branching out and staying true to what made her popular.\nStandout cuts include the lead-off title track, with quiet accordion and cascading piano by Ryan Freeland; the thought-provoking sadness of "Sleeping with the Light On;" and the poignant "Less Than Love Is Nothing."\nThe most intriguing track, however, is her cover of James Taylor's "Fire and Rain;" she puts a soulful, even head-nodding spin on the classic. (Other inspired covers include the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" and the Alan Parsons Project's "Eye in the Sky.")\nIn general, Brooke's bold vocals and sweet songwriting combine to make an album that, while breaking no real new ground, sets her apart from the legion of other folk-pop singer-songwriters.
(02/26/04 2:57am)
Meb' Mo' (né Kevin Moore) grew up in Compton, Calif., the cradle of so-called gangsta rap. But unlike Ice Cube and Dr. Dre, Keb' Mo' was more interested in channeling Robert Johnson than sparking a hip-hop revolution.\nThe result of such ambitions, nurtured from the time his uncle began giving him guitar lessons when Moore was 12, is nearly 30 years of recording dependable, inspiring modern blues and traditional rhythm and blues. While his blues have generally lacked the blazing fire of, say, R.L. Burnside, Robert Belfour, T-Model Ford and other guys at Fat Possum Records, Keb' Mo' has been more able to cross over into the mainstream like one of his idols, B.B. King. (His two Grammys are evidence of such popularity and acceptance.)\nOn Keep It Simple, Keb' Mo' sounds like Mississippi John Hurt, a bluesman whose deceptively soft and melodic sound contrasts sharply with the raw, angry style of contemporaries like Son House. Like much of Hurt's output, many of the tracks on Keep It Simple are well-crafted, laidback songs that almost lull the listener into a bluesy serenity.\nBut, like Hurt's stuff, Keep It Simple, Keb' Mo's fifth album for Okeh and seventh overall (he also recorded an album as Kevin Moore in the early '80s), is passionate, emotional and deeply personal. Songs like "Closer" and "Shave Yo' Legs" explore the complexities of relationships with loved ones, sometimes with humor, sometimes with poignant sincerity. "Let Your Light Shine," the CD's first single, perfectly utilizes the talents of session man Jeff Paris on organ and mandolin to create a hoppin,' toe-tapping feeling that borders on infectious.\nThe album was recorded in L.A. and Nashville with a solid cast of session musicians, including bassists Nathan East and Reggie McBride, drummers Ricky Lawson and Steve Ferrone and organist and mandolin player Jeff Paris. Keb' Mo' (who's scheduled to play the Vogue in Indy on March 18) also rolls out some impressive guest appearances; blues prodigy Shannon Curfman supplies pretty backing vocals on "One Friend," while guitar studs Robert Cray and Robben Ford show up on "Riley B. King," the three men's tribute to the Blues Boy himself.\nHowever, although the 12 tracks (which were all written or co-written by Keb' Mo') wonderfully reflect his roots in gospel, jazz and straight blues, they're all a bit too polished. While Keb' Mo' has self-produced a relaxed, endearing album that will surely attract many hesitant listeners looking for an entrée into the blues, a more experienced blues fan is left wondering if and when he'll just throw down and cut loose.
(02/12/04 5:00am)
Elvis Presley the King of Rock and Roll?\nBullshit.\nSaying Elvis is the King of Rock and Roll is like saying Ronald Reagan was the greatest president of the 20th century or that Babe Ruth is the greatest baseball player ever -- a lot of people believe it, but it just ain't true.\nLike Ronnie and the Babe, Elvis was -- and is -- more style than substance, more hype than genuine importance. American society crowned Elvis with a title he doesn't deserve and never will precisely because Americans are easily duped by swiveling hips and shiny gold lamé suits -- and because American society is saturated with a latent racism that prevents the real founders of rock and roll from receiving their just due.\nThe facts are simple: Elvis didn't play any instruments (at least not like Fats Domino or Chuck Berry or Carl Perkins did), and he wrote little of the music he performed.\nElvis was a supreme musical mooch, borrowing (I'd almost use the word stealing) almost everything he sang. "Hound Dog?" That was Big Mama Thornton's. "Blue Suede Shoes?" That was written and originally performed by Perkins. "That's All Right?" Belonged to Big Boy Crudup. And many of Elvis' biggest hits were written by Otis Blackwell or the team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller.\nIn short, Elvis' musical success was driven not by himself, but by other, more musically talented artists. But for the last 50 years, the media have perpetuated the lie that Elvis was some sort of musical god, a guy who radically altered pop music forever.\nThat's because the media -- and the vast amounts of Americans who consume the media -- are not willing to admit that rock and roll is, at its foundation, an African-American musical form. Thanks to a persistent, if somewhat hidden, racial bias, American society refuses to acknowledge that artists like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Billy Ward and Dominoes and Professor Longhair made a much larger and more significant impact on the music we now listen to.\nWhen it comes right down to it, Elvis' musical legacy pales in comparison to those of any number of his contemporaries. Chuck Berry's songs and guitar playing laid the basic framework for rock and roll. Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis made the piano a rock instrument and breathed passion and fire into the music. Carl Perkins defined rockabilly. By the time they died, Buddy Holly was taking rock and roll in unheard of directions and Ritchie Valens was literally inventing garage rock.\nTrue, Elvis provided the look, the sneer and the attitude for a new form of music. His scandalous dance moves made teenage girls scream and sent parents into a panic. He caused a commotion on Ed Sullivan; he starred in "Jailhouse Rock" and "Love Me Tender;" he gave rock and roll its image.\nBut he did all those things largely because he was white and America at the time wasn't ready to accept a black man like Little Richard or Chuck Berry doing those same things.\nThat's almost beside the point. So Elvis was rock's image. But that's all he was -- image. By becoming as popular as he did, by being virtually deified by gullible white music fans, Elvis set a dangerous precedent and a phony standard of excellence. He made Michael Jackson, New Kids on the Block and Britney Spears possible by making it okay to achieve success with less talent than style and image.\nThat doesn't mean he didn't produce good music. That doesn't mean he wasn't important. That doesn't mean he made no impact at all.\nWhat it does mean is that Chuck Berry and Little Richard -- more talented and musically important artists who have gotten boned by history and American culture because they're black -- are being robbed of what is rightfully theirs: the title of Kings of Rock and Roll.
(02/11/04 9:19pm)
Elvis Presley the King of Rock and Roll?\nBullshit.\nSaying Elvis is the King of Rock and Roll is like saying Ronald Reagan was the greatest president of the 20th century or that Babe Ruth is the greatest baseball player ever -- a lot of people believe it, but it just ain't true.\nLike Ronnie and the Babe, Elvis was -- and is -- more style than substance, more hype than genuine importance. American society crowned Elvis with a title he doesn't deserve and never will precisely because Americans are easily duped by swiveling hips and shiny gold lamé suits -- and because American society is saturated with a latent racism that prevents the real founders of rock and roll from receiving their just due.\nThe facts are simple: Elvis didn't play any instruments (at least not like Fats Domino or Chuck Berry or Carl Perkins did), and he wrote little of the music he performed.\nElvis was a supreme musical mooch, borrowing (I'd almost use the word stealing) almost everything he sang. "Hound Dog?" That was Big Mama Thornton's. "Blue Suede Shoes?" That was written and originally performed by Perkins. "That's All Right?" Belonged to Big Boy Crudup. And many of Elvis' biggest hits were written by Otis Blackwell or the team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller.\nIn short, Elvis' musical success was driven not by himself, but by other, more musically talented artists. But for the last 50 years, the media have perpetuated the lie that Elvis was some sort of musical god, a guy who radically altered pop music forever.\nThat's because the media -- and the vast amounts of Americans who consume the media -- are not willing to admit that rock and roll is, at its foundation, an African-American musical form. Thanks to a persistent, if somewhat hidden, racial bias, American society refuses to acknowledge that artists like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Billy Ward and Dominoes and Professor Longhair made a much larger and more significant impact on the music we now listen to.\nWhen it comes right down to it, Elvis' musical legacy pales in comparison to those of any number of his contemporaries. Chuck Berry's songs and guitar playing laid the basic framework for rock and roll. Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis made the piano a rock instrument and breathed passion and fire into the music. Carl Perkins defined rockabilly. By the time they died, Buddy Holly was taking rock and roll in unheard of directions and Ritchie Valens was literally inventing garage rock.\nTrue, Elvis provided the look, the sneer and the attitude for a new form of music. His scandalous dance moves made teenage girls scream and sent parents into a panic. He caused a commotion on Ed Sullivan; he starred in "Jailhouse Rock" and "Love Me Tender;" he gave rock and roll its image.\nBut he did all those things largely because he was white and America at the time wasn't ready to accept a black man like Little Richard or Chuck Berry doing those same things.\nThat's almost beside the point. So Elvis was rock's image. But that's all he was -- image. By becoming as popular as he did, by being virtually deified by gullible white music fans, Elvis set a dangerous precedent and a phony standard of excellence. He made Michael Jackson, New Kids on the Block and Britney Spears possible by making it okay to achieve success with less talent than style and image.\nThat doesn't mean he didn't produce good music. That doesn't mean he wasn't important. That doesn't mean he made no impact at all.\nWhat it does mean is that Chuck Berry and Little Richard -- more talented and musically important artists who have gotten boned by history and American culture because they're black -- are being robbed of what is rightfully theirs: the title of Kings of Rock and Roll.
(01/29/04 5:00am)
It's almost unfathomable that three guys could cover Jimmy Reed, Collective Soul, Bob Marley, Jim Reeves and Gillian Welch and not make fools of themselves at some point.\nBut guitarist Wendell Holmes, bassist Sherman Holmes and drummer Poppy Dixon have not only avoided looking foolish, they've given all the cuts on Simple Truths, their second album for Alligator, a brilliant, soulful shine that almost by default will put even the most grumpy listener in a pretty damn good mood.\nThis is what soulful blues is all about, with echoes of B.B. King, Clarence Carter, Muddy Waters and R.L. Burnside on the disc. The group's cover of Hank Williams' classic "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" resonates with a grungy guitar growl and thudding drum beat, while the band even manages to turn Bruce Channel's '60s pop standard "Hey Baby" into the musical equivalent of a cool dip in the river on a hot Delta afternoon.\nSimple Truths is the kind of record that makes one wonder why the blues isn't more popular than it is. But that's okay -- those who miss out on this will be the foolish ones.
(01/28/04 11:19pm)
It's almost unfathomable that three guys could cover Jimmy Reed, Collective Soul, Bob Marley, Jim Reeves and Gillian Welch and not make fools of themselves at some point.\nBut guitarist Wendell Holmes, bassist Sherman Holmes and drummer Poppy Dixon have not only avoided looking foolish, they've given all the cuts on Simple Truths, their second album for Alligator, a brilliant, soulful shine that almost by default will put even the most grumpy listener in a pretty damn good mood.\nThis is what soulful blues is all about, with echoes of B.B. King, Clarence Carter, Muddy Waters and R.L. Burnside on the disc. The group's cover of Hank Williams' classic "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" resonates with a grungy guitar growl and thudding drum beat, while the band even manages to turn Bruce Channel's '60s pop standard "Hey Baby" into the musical equivalent of a cool dip in the river on a hot Delta afternoon.\nSimple Truths is the kind of record that makes one wonder why the blues isn't more popular than it is. But that's okay -- those who miss out on this will be the foolish ones.
(01/22/04 5:00am)
At its inception, the blues was usually about the individual. Whether it was Blind Lemon Jefferson with his guitar or Ma Rainey in the Harlem spotlight, the blues, at least in the beginning, was a solo effort.\nHowever, although the blues was and is frequently performed by a lone individual, the emotional and spiritual power of the music has the ability to be universal, to tap into the hearts and souls of every listener. Son House and Billie Holiday might have been singing on their own, but their music has impacted the lives of millions of dedicated fans.\nHence comes Sisters & Brothers, a collaboration between three modern-day blues artists that tries to put into words and sounds the feeling of family that they believe runs through the blues community.\nAnd it's an admirable and heartfelt effort. Rory Block shows her guitar mastery on "Rock Daniel" and "Maggie Campbell," Maria Muldaur channels the spirit of Bessie Smith on "Bessie's Advice," and Eric Bibb breathes new life into Dylan's "Gotta Serve Somebody," and shines on the self-penned "Give a Little More."\nBut despite the earnest and honest efforts of the trio, Sisters & Brothers, taken as a whole, feels somewhat hokey. What's more, in their attempt to create a lovey-dovey vibe, Bibb, Block and Muldaur forget that historically, the blues frequently was not about love. Instead, it was about broken hearts and gaining revenge. Contrary to what this trio asserts, the blues is more about anger and sadness than peace and love.
(01/22/04 5:00am)
Sweat stung my eyes as I stood at Albert King's grave. The summer heat in Edmondson, Ark., was starting to take its toll on me. After criss-crossing Paradise Gardens Cemetery for nearly an hour in the stifling Delta humidity, my face and brain were baking. I needed something to drink.\nI looked down one last time at the final resting place of one of the greatest bluesmen of the 20th century. Albert King was a key figure in the late '60s and early '70s blending of traditional blues and more contemporary soul music. Issuing classics like "Born Under a Bad Sign" and "I'll Play the Blues for You" (a statement fittingly inscribed on his grave), King became a legend.\nAnd I was paying my respects.\nI glanced across the road and spied a little corner store sitting next to the cemetery. Hoping the store had what I wanted -- something wet and cold -- I crossed the road and walked inside. I eyed a cooler in the back corner and picked out a bottle of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.\nAs I paid for the drink, I chatted with the clerk, an older white woman, who told me that I was not alone in my desire to see King's grave. "They come from all over the world," she said.\nShe directed me to the entrance, where Bob Hurt, the owner of the establishment, was hauling stock into the store. I told him where I was from and what I was doing, and he offered a few comments similar to his employee's. Lots of Northerners come to take pictures of the grave and see it for themselves, he said. His next statement rattled me.\n"But," he said, "most of 'em are white, not black."\nHis words shook me, not because they were a surprise, but because they vocalized a painful truth -- that the blues have been all but abandoned by newer generations of African Americans while being lovingly embraced by legions of white fans. The reality is that the average 30-year-old white guy like me is more likely to know about and enjoy Albert King -- or any other blues legend -- than my black contemporaries.\nThat reality is a result of consistent and wholesale white appropriation of African-American music. For the last century, whites have taken black music -- from jazz to blues to rock and roll to hip hop -- and hijacked and whitewashed it.\nThe blues offer perhaps the most telling example. Thanks to the popularity of artists like Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin and Stevie Ray Vaughan -- all of whom earnestly loved the blues and wanted only to honor their black heroes and spread the blues gospel -- the blues is now, essentially, a white form of music.\n"The black guys are the ones that started it, but the other people took it over," Texas bluesman Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown told National Public Radio last year.\nAnd in his masterful book "Deep Blues," late music critic Robert Palmer, while trying to stay optimistic about the future of the blues, acknowledged that things have changed, perhaps forever.\n"Blues has lost a lot," he wrote. "It's lost the sense of in-group solidarity that once tied it so closely to its core audience, its crucial context of blackness."\nBut why?\nMany of the young African-Americans I talk to say the blues is simply old-fashioned and unhip. What's more, many young African-Americans identify the blues with a time in America when civil rights were non-existent and lynchings took place on a regular basis.\nAnd, thanks to white appropriation, blues artists are viewed almost as Uncle Toms who grinned and shuffled for white people. Many young blacks think (quite erroneously) that the blues and the people who played it did nothing to protest the African-American condition and failed to advocate for change. The harder, more outspoken tone of first soul, then funk and now hip hop, they feel, is true black music with a social conscience.\nWhile such attitudes are misguided, uninformed and unappreciative of what blues artists did, they are fairly common.\n"It's that whole aspect of how blacks create the beginnings of the music, and then we toss it away," rap great Chuck D told Rolling Stone's Anthony DeCurtis last year. "And then it doesn't mean anything until somebody else goes to the gutter and picks it up and shines it off. … Who the hell is Muddy Waters to the average black kid? But I can go to a 25-year-old white kid, and they might know Waters or Howlin' Wolf."\nSuch thoughts were on my mind in Edmondson, Ark. After chugging my Gatorade and gathering up my energy, I got in my truck and headed out of town, on to the grave of Sonny Boy Williamson, another legendary Delta bluesman.\nBut as I was leaving I spotted a young African-American boy sitting on the railing of a bridge spanning a muddy creek. He was slowly peeling an orange and soaking up the heat, his blue bike propped against the bridge wall.\nI stopped to talk to 15-year-old Bryant Brown, a local resident sporting cornrows, a red shirt and shorts.\n"Do you know who Albert King is?" I asked.\nThe shy teen looked at his shoes and continued to peel the orange.\n"No sir," he said.\n"Do you like the blues?"\n"Some of it," he said quietly. "But I really like rap and R&B."\n"Do you think people around here know the blues?" I asked.\n"Some might forget it,' he said, "and some do."\nI thanked Bryant for his time and help. His comments, like that of Hurt, were depressing but far from surprising. Bryant is one of millions of African Americans who have left the blues and its powerful legacy behind, while I'm one of millions of whites who, for better or worse, have taken their place.
(01/21/04 10:03pm)
Sweat stung my eyes as I stood at Albert King's grave. The summer heat in Edmondson, Ark., was starting to take its toll on me. After criss-crossing Paradise Gardens Cemetery for nearly an hour in the stifling Delta humidity, my face and brain were baking. I needed something to drink.\nI looked down one last time at the final resting place of one of the greatest bluesmen of the 20th century. Albert King was a key figure in the late '60s and early '70s blending of traditional blues and more contemporary soul music. Issuing classics like "Born Under a Bad Sign" and "I'll Play the Blues for You" (a statement fittingly inscribed on his grave), King became a legend.\nAnd I was paying my respects.\nI glanced across the road and spied a little corner store sitting next to the cemetery. Hoping the store had what I wanted -- something wet and cold -- I crossed the road and walked inside. I eyed a cooler in the back corner and picked out a bottle of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.\nAs I paid for the drink, I chatted with the clerk, an older white woman, who told me that I was not alone in my desire to see King's grave. "They come from all over the world," she said.\nShe directed me to the entrance, where Bob Hurt, the owner of the establishment, was hauling stock into the store. I told him where I was from and what I was doing, and he offered a few comments similar to his employee's. Lots of Northerners come to take pictures of the grave and see it for themselves, he said. His next statement rattled me.\n"But," he said, "most of 'em are white, not black."\nHis words shook me, not because they were a surprise, but because they vocalized a painful truth -- that the blues have been all but abandoned by newer generations of African Americans while being lovingly embraced by legions of white fans. The reality is that the average 30-year-old white guy like me is more likely to know about and enjoy Albert King -- or any other blues legend -- than my black contemporaries.\nThat reality is a result of consistent and wholesale white appropriation of African-American music. For the last century, whites have taken black music -- from jazz to blues to rock and roll to hip hop -- and hijacked and whitewashed it.\nThe blues offer perhaps the most telling example. Thanks to the popularity of artists like Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin and Stevie Ray Vaughan -- all of whom earnestly loved the blues and wanted only to honor their black heroes and spread the blues gospel -- the blues is now, essentially, a white form of music.\n"The black guys are the ones that started it, but the other people took it over," Texas bluesman Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown told National Public Radio last year.\nAnd in his masterful book "Deep Blues," late music critic Robert Palmer, while trying to stay optimistic about the future of the blues, acknowledged that things have changed, perhaps forever.\n"Blues has lost a lot," he wrote. "It's lost the sense of in-group solidarity that once tied it so closely to its core audience, its crucial context of blackness."\nBut why?\nMany of the young African-Americans I talk to say the blues is simply old-fashioned and unhip. What's more, many young African-Americans identify the blues with a time in America when civil rights were non-existent and lynchings took place on a regular basis.\nAnd, thanks to white appropriation, blues artists are viewed almost as Uncle Toms who grinned and shuffled for white people. Many young blacks think (quite erroneously) that the blues and the people who played it did nothing to protest the African-American condition and failed to advocate for change. The harder, more outspoken tone of first soul, then funk and now hip hop, they feel, is true black music with a social conscience.\nWhile such attitudes are misguided, uninformed and unappreciative of what blues artists did, they are fairly common.\n"It's that whole aspect of how blacks create the beginnings of the music, and then we toss it away," rap great Chuck D told Rolling Stone's Anthony DeCurtis last year. "And then it doesn't mean anything until somebody else goes to the gutter and picks it up and shines it off. … Who the hell is Muddy Waters to the average black kid? But I can go to a 25-year-old white kid, and they might know Waters or Howlin' Wolf."\nSuch thoughts were on my mind in Edmondson, Ark. After chugging my Gatorade and gathering up my energy, I got in my truck and headed out of town, on to the grave of Sonny Boy Williamson, another legendary Delta bluesman.\nBut as I was leaving I spotted a young African-American boy sitting on the railing of a bridge spanning a muddy creek. He was slowly peeling an orange and soaking up the heat, his blue bike propped against the bridge wall.\nI stopped to talk to 15-year-old Bryant Brown, a local resident sporting cornrows, a red shirt and shorts.\n"Do you know who Albert King is?" I asked.\nThe shy teen looked at his shoes and continued to peel the orange.\n"No sir," he said.\n"Do you like the blues?"\n"Some of it," he said quietly. "But I really like rap and R&B."\n"Do you think people around here know the blues?" I asked.\n"Some might forget it,' he said, "and some do."\nI thanked Bryant for his time and help. His comments, like that of Hurt, were depressing but far from surprising. Bryant is one of millions of African Americans who have left the blues and its powerful legacy behind, while I'm one of millions of whites who, for better or worse, have taken their place.
(01/21/04 9:44pm)
At its inception, the blues was usually about the individual. Whether it was Blind Lemon Jefferson with his guitar or Ma Rainey in the Harlem spotlight, the blues, at least in the beginning, was a solo effort.\nHowever, although the blues was and is frequently performed by a lone individual, the emotional and spiritual power of the music has the ability to be universal, to tap into the hearts and souls of every listener. Son House and Billie Holiday might have been singing on their own, but their music has impacted the lives of millions of dedicated fans.\nHence comes Sisters & Brothers, a collaboration between three modern-day blues artists that tries to put into words and sounds the feeling of family that they believe runs through the blues community.\nAnd it's an admirable and heartfelt effort. Rory Block shows her guitar mastery on "Rock Daniel" and "Maggie Campbell," Maria Muldaur channels the spirit of Bessie Smith on "Bessie's Advice," and Eric Bibb breathes new life into Dylan's "Gotta Serve Somebody," and shines on the self-penned "Give a Little More."\nBut despite the earnest and honest efforts of the trio, Sisters & Brothers, taken as a whole, feels somewhat hokey. What's more, in their attempt to create a lovey-dovey vibe, Bibb, Block and Muldaur forget that historically, the blues frequently was not about love. Instead, it was about broken hearts and gaining revenge. Contrary to what this trio asserts, the blues is more about anger and sadness than peace and love.
(01/15/04 5:00am)
Starting with its switch from indie fave Epitaph Records to mega-corporate Columbia in 1996, the Offspring has been fighting to retain its street cred as a hard-driving, honest band that plays a somewhat unique mélange of punk and metal.\nUnfortunately for the band, the massive success of 1998's Americana hinged on the runaway popularity of two singles -- "Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)" and "Why Don't You Get a Job?" -- that amounted to little more than punk-inspired novelty hits. That, for many listeners and critics, was proof that the once-hardcore quartet had gone hopelessly mainstream.\nAmericana, which sold more than 11 million copies, also overshadowed the Offspring's best effort, 1997's Ixnay on the Hombre, a shockingly mature album that featured such emotionally and intellectually developed cuts as "The Meaning of Life," "Gone Away" and "Change the World."\nHowever, the band rebounded from the shameful success of Americana with another solid, albeit less appreciated, album in 2000, Conspiracy of One, which proved that the guys weren't going to limit themselves to simple, straight-ahead punk or metal by showing an impressive ability to touch on many musical genres.\nSo where does that leave the group with its latest release, Splinter? It's hard to tell. In general, the CD is much harder and more focused than the previous three Columbia efforts; the songs are shorter (the 12 tracks add up to just more than 32 minutes), louder and faster. On solid cuts like "The Noose" and "Race Against Myself," vocalist Dexter Holland displays an intense, halfway-effective self-introspection, while "Spare Me the Details," about a cheating girlfriend, resonates with the type of weary resignation that is universal to all jilted lovers.\nHowever, the band still can't resist a little popular pandering; the album's lead single, "Hit That," features a corny, even annoying keyboard riff that makes the song sound, well, silly, while the ska-influenced "The Worst Hangover Ever" has all the maturity of the average IU frat boy. "When You're in Prison," meanwhile, is an admirable but failed attempt at parodying the classic crooners of the 1930s and '40s that falls victim to repeated and decidedly non-humorous references to, ahem, anal rape.\nThe Offspring deserves props for attempting to straddle the lines between punk credibility, artistic growth and popular success. Although the band doesn't always succeed at that, the guys sometimes get it right.
(01/15/04 3:28am)
Starting with its switch from indie fave Epitaph Records to mega-corporate Columbia in 1996, the Offspring has been fighting to retain its street cred as a hard-driving, honest band that plays a somewhat unique mélange of punk and metal.\nUnfortunately for the band, the massive success of 1998's Americana hinged on the runaway popularity of two singles -- "Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)" and "Why Don't You Get a Job?" -- that amounted to little more than punk-inspired novelty hits. That, for many listeners and critics, was proof that the once-hardcore quartet had gone hopelessly mainstream.\nAmericana, which sold more than 11 million copies, also overshadowed the Offspring's best effort, 1997's Ixnay on the Hombre, a shockingly mature album that featured such emotionally and intellectually developed cuts as "The Meaning of Life," "Gone Away" and "Change the World."\nHowever, the band rebounded from the shameful success of Americana with another solid, albeit less appreciated, album in 2000, Conspiracy of One, which proved that the guys weren't going to limit themselves to simple, straight-ahead punk or metal by showing an impressive ability to touch on many musical genres.\nSo where does that leave the group with its latest release, Splinter? It's hard to tell. In general, the CD is much harder and more focused than the previous three Columbia efforts; the songs are shorter (the 12 tracks add up to just more than 32 minutes), louder and faster. On solid cuts like "The Noose" and "Race Against Myself," vocalist Dexter Holland displays an intense, halfway-effective self-introspection, while "Spare Me the Details," about a cheating girlfriend, resonates with the type of weary resignation that is universal to all jilted lovers.\nHowever, the band still can't resist a little popular pandering; the album's lead single, "Hit That," features a corny, even annoying keyboard riff that makes the song sound, well, silly, while the ska-influenced "The Worst Hangover Ever" has all the maturity of the average IU frat boy. "When You're in Prison," meanwhile, is an admirable but failed attempt at parodying the classic crooners of the 1930s and '40s that falls victim to repeated and decidedly non-humorous references to, ahem, anal rape.\nThe Offspring deserves props for attempting to straddle the lines between punk credibility, artistic growth and popular success. Although the band doesn't always succeed at that, the guys sometimes get it right.
(06/19/03 4:00am)
Life is about choices. Life is about decisions. Life is about selecting our preferences, about identifying our preferences, about defining our opinions.\nFrequently these choices are dichotomous, between two things or beliefs or even people. We must, for example, choose between IU or that smelly hole in West Lafayette (as distinguished from that smelly hole in South Bend).\nOr we must decide whether we want soup or salad with dinner, then whether we want clam chowder or French onion soup. Wait, I'm sorry, freedom onion soup.\nOr we must choose between the beautiful blond and the ravishing brunette. Sad to say that, at this point, I am not confronted with this decision. I only have one choice, and there's no hair on it, despite the warnings our parents gave us when we were 12.\nHere, then, are some other crucial two-option decisions we might face in our lives:\nPaul songs or John songs -- Do we like "Help" or "Yesterday?" "Strawberry Fields Forever" or "Penny Lane?" "Happiness is a Warm Gun" or "Blackbird?" Essentially, this choice comes down to whether we prefer cutting, hard-edge rock 'n' roll or sappy, melodramatic pop pabulum.\nShelley Long or Kirstie Alley -- For me, this decision can be made by examining their careers outside of a Boston barroom. They both starred in their own painfully unfunny sitcoms. They both had woeful, aborted movie careers that involved inane comedies and their even more inane sequels. This could go either way. \nBrooklyn or Los Angeles -- Dem Bums epitomized brotherhood and social justice. Their West Coast descendents epitomized the closing of a golden era, the end of innocence, the triumph of the almighty dollar over community loyalty. You make the call.\nBon Scott or Brian Johnson -- Which nasally, screeching AC/DC lead singer do we want to hear? Since I would much rather listen to "Night Prowler" than the "You Shook Me All Night Long" for the 1,596,934th time, I'll take Bon.\nCatholicism or Protestantism -- This, as we know, is a historically volatile subject. However, there's really not too much difference between these two branches of Christianity. After all, both Catholics and Protestants believe everyone besides them are going to Hell. \nJay Leno or David Letterman -- On this one, I encourage you to write in Jon Stewart.\nMichigan or Ohio State -- Of course, this is like choosing between SARS or monkey pox, but we need to select the lesser of two evils. The question, then, becomes: which one clobbered IU by only four touchdowns as opposed to seven?\nHall or Oates -- This one's for the women (or, according to Alfred Kinsey, 10 percent of the men). Alternate questions could be "Loggins or Messina" or "Seals or Crofts."\nNASCAR or IROC -- Inbred rednecks driving around in circles or snooty Europeans driving around in circles.\nKirk or Picard -- This is a tough one, especially for socially stunted, reality-challenged misfits, otherwise known as Trekkies.\nClassic country or modern country -- We can go with earnest, gritty, heartfelt American heritage or soulless, corporate, cookie-cutter sludge.\nDemocrats or Republicans -- Which conniving, centrist, group- thinking bunch of spineless phonies beholden to corporate America do you feel best represents you?\nGillian Anderson or any other woman on the planet -- I think the choice is obvious.\nWile E. Coyote or Roadrunner -- That bird deserves to be a pot pie.\nElvis Presley or Chuck Berry -- A fat, drugged-out, racist cracker who ripped off everybody else's songs or the true King of Rock and Roll. You choose.\nOther crucial decisions include East Coast/West Coast, Daphne/Velma, Jon/Ponch, Marvel/DC, Peter Gabriel/Phil Collins, pudding/Jello, hamsters/gerbils (that one was suggested by Richard Gere), Jennifer Lopez/anyone with talent, North Dakota/South Dakota (for all you white separatists out there) and, finally, my column/Sominex.\nSo do not take these decisions lightly. Make sure to ponder them carefully, because you might always regret taking the wrong path -- like Darth Vader or Geraldo Rivera.