Archives for category: Music

A gent named Channing Kennedy recently wrote a piece called Face It, Live Music Kinda Sucks for Talking Points Memo in which he went to great lengths to discuss how the live music experience falls short of expectations. I shared it because my wife and I don’t see eye to eye about going to gigs. For her the hassle of getting to a gig even for a band she really loves and standing up for several hours is not generally outweighed by the joy of listening to musicians who really love what they’re doing do it well.

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Kennedy puts forth his bona fides: ran a small record label, played in a few bands, and has been to a lot of gigs. On my part: I’ve bought a lot of music from small labels and I’ve been to a lot of gigs. From my first, Donna Summer at the Hollywood Bowl in (I think) 1980 to my most recent, Kraftwerk in Amsterdam two weeks ago.
He then asserts that “musicians you don’t know will bore you to death.” Could be. I saw Mr. Mister in 1984 (an opening slot for Adam Ant), just a couple years before their hits. I wished I’d known to watch the drummer. He has manned the sticks with King Crimson since the mid-90s and is mind-blowing. Was he in ’84 (or even in ’87 when you couldn’t escape Broken Wings and Kyrie)? Not sure. I’ve seen plenty of acts whose music I didn’t know, but whose work I happily purchased after the gig. A couple years ago I saw an EBM crew called Covenant because a friend played keyboards for the opening act. Bloody brilliant. A few years ago I saw  Sunn O))) for (what I hope is) the first time. I’d heard their shows were quite intense and decided not to listen to anything they’d done before the gig. Mindbending. Allow yourself the whole experience.
Consider the jazz made in the late 40s and early 50s. Even if you’d heard recordings by Miles or Dizzy before seeing them, what you heard on any given night bore little resemblance to those sides. The same is true of music with any improvisational aspect today.
What distinguishes your experience of musicians you know vs. musicians you don’t is your openness to what the person on stage is doing. Close yourself and it’s dull; open yourself and oh gracious, what a beautiful thing that guy just did with his voice.
Kennedy’s next point is that “the musicians you love will disappoint you.” Live performance is a risk. Musicians have off nights; audiences are capricious; venue policies can spoil even the most well-conceived evening. He describes one of his first gigs: They Might Be Giants, who were just two middle-aged guys playing clever music. The complaint: The show didn’t resemble Van Halen’s Jump video. Did he not notice David Lee Roth’s multiple costume changes in the course of one 3-minute pop song? TMBG disappointed because the writer wasn’t up for the experience of the evening. (Note also the writer’s admission that he attended with a girl he’d just broken up with. That’d put a wet blanket on any gig. I saw David Bowie and Nine Inch Nails with my wife (previous) and a guy she was having an affair with. It was a fantastic show, but I was not the ideal audience. Next time Bowie came to town, I went alone.) The artists you love offer you nothing more than the opportunity to see and hear them perform (depending on your place in the venue). Adjust your expectations accordingly and you won’t be disappointed. If you’re grown up enough to do so.
The writer’s comments about TMBG and Van Halen, however, come from  his  next supporting argument: Live music, as a medium, is structurally flawed. His assertion here is that the tension between an audience wanting to hear exactly what’s on the album goes head to head with their desire to hear something new in the music and the artist’s desire/lack thereof to actually perform. In the 80s, Bruce Springsteen released a slow, mournful arrangement of Born To Run which he used briefly in his live sets. Artistic freedom, yes, but I was also relieved that the version he played when I saw him the following year was closer to that on the album. Springsteen might be an exceptional  case because of his sheer showmanship. Few young artists can dredge up the experience Bruce’s thousands of road hours provide him. Again, there’s got to be a trust between performer and audience that the experience is not one way.
Kennedy then goes after the nature of the booking system. Acts get booked based on a lot of factors that aren’t talent or entertainment value. Fair enough, but that has little to do with live music as a whole being lousy. What it means is that, especially at the low-budget end of the live music spectrum, there will be surprises no matter the gig. And that’s part of the experience. To be fair, he talked about hustling for gigs and getting cut slack because his band were “two white males with college-town cultural fluency”. That doesn’t speak well for him or his band, but one clapping to him for acknowledging his privilege.
His concluding advice to bands, venues, and audiences is an effort to make live music kinda suck less and points up that he’s not so much against all  live music but against the aspects of it that have become unbearable. I’m with him on that.
And Neil Young’s Union Man, from which we get the line “Live Music Is Better Bumper Stickers Should Be Issued”.

I gotta say, I had forgotten how good Dramarama’s Cinema VeriteShe's so subliminal was. I bought it in ’86 or so after seeing them open for the Psychedelic Furs at the Warfield. They were the epitome of the absolute cool the 19 year old me could not hope to achieve. Bought the album, taped it, and played it loads. I know I got sick of how much Anything, Anything got overplayed, to the exclusion of so much other good stuff they produced both on this and on subsequent albums. Not having heard it in a few years (possibly only once or twice in the last 12 years – it doesn’t get airplay on NL on CZ radio, as far as I can tell), listening to it again tonight, I hear the brilliance in it. “I got wasted, she got mad, called me names and she called her dad,” captures the immaturity associated with love and desire and how it’s all wrapped up with possession and that desperate ned to hold on to someone captured in the refrain “I’ll give you candy, give you pills, anything you want, hundred dollar bills.”

They married some of the lowlife dinginess of the Velvet Underground’s third album to a sparkling 70s power pop aesthetic.And while Anything, Anything got the airplay, it’s not the only perfect pop song on the album. The pounding tom-toms that open Visiting the Zoo introduce a song of fuzztone guitar artistry that Cheap Trick would have been proud to own.

At a time when the VU were still in legend status – in the mid-80s Lou Reed was still growing up in public and hadn’t made the elder statement of New York – Dramarama closed side A with Femme Fatale, imbuing it with a combination of sadness and bemusement, perhaps at the gap between the warnings to a suburbanite dropped in mid-60s New York and the harder first-person experiences of the originals on the album. (Note that Cinema Verite‘s cover sports Edie Sedgwick, about whom Femme Fatale was written.)

The album’s other cover, David Bowie’s Candidate (an album cut from 1974’s Diamond Dogs) opens the more varied side B. It’s an odd choice, but helps the band lay claim to the glam sensibility that dominates the second half of the album. The piano introduction to Some Crazy Dame reflects that, though the song is squarely in the seedy downtown category, as its subject seems to be a porn starlet (“She’s on camera she’s an actress now / Such charisma on the mattress now”).

When I say the second side has a glam sensibility, I might mean that stylistically, the second side wanders somewhat. Etc’s cryptic lyrics (“30 biscuits on 30 plates / Different colors cause they were made on different dates”) supported by a lead bass line are followed by the almost folk of Transformation, the introduction for which wouldn’t have been out of place on a 70s era Styx or Andrew Gold album, ditto for its guitar solo. All I Want is nearly a proper punk song, whereas the solo acoustic closer Emerald City almost feels like a folk song. The drugged haze of lyrics such as “I’m lost in a sweet dream / I’m living on chocolate ice cream / I’m letting off my steam” indicates that all is still not well

Nearly thirty years later, I still give it four stars. While Cinema Verite, and follow-up, Box Office Bomb are available on iTunes, only the subsequent studio albums are available on Spotify.

You can enjoy all of CV on youtube, however: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x59-cFofXu8

On this day in 2004, Jhon Balance of the band Coil fell off a balcony in his home to his death at the age of 42.

A flatmate introduced me to the music of Coil by way of their album Scatology in 1990. Scatology contains a frighteningly beautiful, slow, dark version of Tainted Love along with songs that more obviously betray the industrial origins of the band, given that the other core member of Coil was Peter Christopherson of Throbbing Gristle. Balance and Christopherson were lovers and were already examining the toll of the AIDS crisis in their music and their graphics. (In other circles, Christopherson, who died in 2010, was a member of the Hipgnosis graphic design collective.)

Balance and Christopherson were both members of Psychic TV before splitting off to form Coil in 1984.

Around the time I started listening to Coil, they released the acid house-inspired Love’s Secret Domain which went into heavy rotation on my CD player for quite a while. And is still one of my favourite albums.

Coil went into hibernation for much of the nineties – I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that Balance spent a good portion of the decade fighting various addictions, but started releasing new music again in 1998 with the Solstice and Equinox singles, Astral Disasters, and Moon’s Milk in Four Phases, among several others preceding their return to live performance in 2000 or so. The last several years of Balance’s life were astoundingly prolific. There are studio albums and live performances and collaborations and plans.

Not only were Coil prolific, their music spanned a wide range of styles. As noted, Love’s Secret Domain has an acid house component; early work like that found on Scatology and 1984’s Horse Rotorvator are perhaps gothic, but not in a romantic sense. Related bands like Current 93 often get the label Neo-folk. That could apply, I suppose. Moon’s Milk and Astral Disaster tend towards dark ambient. (And, again, talking about music is like dancing about architecture. Coil resisted musical categorisation to such an extent that they once issued the sticker above.)

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=H2uACKqBzgE

About two years before his death Coil performed in Prague at Palac Akropolis. I’d been prepared to go to Vienna for a gig that occurred two days later but was announced about a month earlier, but happily they came to the town I lived in at the time. Songs from both performances make up the 2003 Live Four release. My friend Chris and I went to the show together. You might guess by the way I write about their styles and their albums, that I did a very poor job of convincing friends what a great show it would be. (I still suffer this.) Chris, however knew some of their music well, and neither of us were disappointed.

The show was nearly sold out and was one of the most compelling shows I’d ever seen, between the visuals, the musical performance and the attendant stage performance of Plastic Spider Thing (described by performers Massimo and Pierce as “a highly moral, yet sexually explicit exploration into the relationship between the spider and the fly”). I feared during the performance that the band, and Balance in particular, wasn’t actually connecting with the audience. It may have been my own projection, but it was not shared by Balance himself.

After the show, I purchased a CD at the merch counter (which Balance and Christopherson autographed), and had another beer. In a moment when Balance wasn’t chatting with someone else, Chris went up to him and asked about a sample used on Love’s Secret Domain. ‘Oh, he said, that’s from Nicholas Roeg’s Performance.’ The two of them talked about Roeg’s films for a few minutes and to break a silence, I piped up how much I had enjoyed the show. He replied that the best shows were those in which he could play off the energy of the audience and that he really felt it that night. Oh, okay then. I then mentioned having enjoyed Derek Jarman’s The Angelic Conversation, a movie for which Coil had performed the music. (It’s also notable for Judi Dench’s readings of several of Shakespeare’s sonnets.) He became quite wistful in that moment. That movie, an examination of (among other things) homoerotic desire, he told us, had been a love letter of sorts. Jarman himself had succumbed to AIDS a couple of years before, and I have little doubt that he wasn’t the only person involved who had already died. I know we spoke for the better part of an hour and I was tempted to ask him to come home with me. I didn’t necessarily want him, but he obviously needed to be held. Alas, I lived well outside the centre of town at the time, and wouldn’t have known how to explain the poet I’d brought home to my flatmates. So I lost that chance.

His death shocked people who followed the band because he’d been suddenly so productive. Three completed Coil studio albums (Black Antlers, The Ape of Naples, and The New Backwards) were released after his death. I’m not a believer in such things, but not long after he died, someone produced an extensive horoscope on Balance in which he drew the conclusion that few if any people of note had been born under the same convergence of astrological phenomena, and that perhaps meeting Christopherson had provided him opportunities the stars had not.

More Origins – Sam Philips, Leonard Chess, and the early labels

Remember what I said in the first rock and roll lesson about it being all about cars and girls? The first is why Hot Rod Race and Rocket 88 are important. Rocket 88 is also the first hit appearance by a bloke named Ike Turner. The history books (not to mention Ike’s ex-wife Tina Turner) tell us that Ike was a right bastard. He was, however, instrumental in a number of hits, primarily with Tina.

As Muddy Waters sang, The blues, they had a baby, and they called it rock and roll. We’ve already looked at the proto-rock and roll of the late 40s and early 50s. By the time the 50s really got going, there was the blues-based stuff coming out of Chicago and country-based stuff coming out of Memphis – cities we’re already well familiar with from the birth of Jazz.

Note: Not all of the tracks on the playlist get mention here, but give them all a listen because versions of them show up later in rock history. Start listening here with Boogie in the Park.

Hank Ballard and the MidnightersImportant goodies here are the Dominoes’ Sixty Minute Man and Hank Ballard’s Work With Me Annie because, to be blunt, they’re among the first popular songs to be about sex without masking the matter or making any apologies for it. The Dominoes (whose vocalist Clyde McPhatter later founded the Drifters) and Hank Ballard and the Midnighters recorded for the Syd Nathan’s King label out of Cincinnati. James Brown recorded for King or one of its subsidiaries from 1956 until 1971. (I’ve done a little bouncing around the internet for info on Mr. Nathan. With a name like that, he was probably tribe. This is supported by the notation that he’s buried in Judah Touro, a Reform cemetery in Cincinnati.

The first records released in what became the King group of labels were country and hillbilly records popular with transplants from Appalachia and R&B records sold to blacks who’d moved up from the South. The label was racially integrated, but this seems to be because there were two markets for music product and Nathan was willing to sell to both. I’ve included a couple of Bull Moose Jackson tracks as examples of early hits on the King label. Good Blues Tonight is an interesting take on Wynonie Harris’ 1948 Good Rockin’ Tonight. Big Ten Inch Record will come up again when we look at the hard rock of the 1970s and how much that was influenced by old blues.

Sam Philips had a similar idea to Nathan’s. As I’ve mentioned before, the pop industry has a habit of taking songs by black artists and having white artists perform them. This probably started early in the jazz era, but Sam Philips, the founder of Sun Records (and also the guy who recorded Rocket 88) is also credited with the line “If I could find a white man who had the Negro sound and the Negro feel, I could make a billion dollars.” Theory is, he found that man in Elvis Presley. Alas, a couple of years after signing Elvis, he sold the contract to RCA for 35 grand, and never did so well again. Elvis recorded for RCA for over 20 years, until his death in 1977. And while RCA may not have made a billion off of Elvis while Elvis was alive, over the last 55 years, they might very well have done so.

Sun Records of Memphis Tennessee calls itself the place “Where Rock and Roll was Born,” and there’s something to be said for that. Elvis got his start there. So did Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Roy Orbison. Orbison left early on because songs like Ooby Dooby weren’t what he wanted to base his career on.

With those names, Philips should have done much better for himself, but lacked, it seems, a certain business acumen.

Big Mama Thornton’s Hound Dog and Junior Parker’s Mystery Train are the original hits performed by black artists that were later early hits for Elvis Presley. Big Joe Turner’s Shake Rattle and Roll was later a hit for Bill Haley.

Another Sun artist, Little Milton, left for Chess records. Based in Chicago, the Chess group (Chess, Checker, Cadet, Argo and one or two others) specialised in blues, R&B and early rock and roll. Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, Chuck Berry, and Bo Diddley all recorded for Chess. Dixon also wrote a lot of the hits for other Chess artists including Muddy’s You Shook Me and Howlin’ Wolf’s Little Red Rooster.

The Chess brothers were Jewish immigrants from Poland who settled in Chicago in the late 1920s, and like Nathan, had no trouble making and selling records of all kinds to all audiences willing to buy. That said, Chess, as you might gather from the bit above, was the home of the blues in the early 50s. Bo Diddley, however, was one of the main progenitors of rock and roll. In recent years, many have referred to ‘the Bo Diddley beat’ that he made popular in songs such as Hey Bo Diddley and that has been used to great effect in rock and roll ever since. One could also argue that Say Man is one of the first hip-hop songs. Its use of the dozens predates the insults traded by rap artists in the 1980s by three decades.

Specialty Records, founded in 1946 out of Los Angeles wasn’t a large label, but a few more cornerstones of rock and roll are found there. Among other folks, Little Richard recorded his first hits there (before his first retirement from rock and roll in 1958 or so).

Founded by Arthur Rupe, another nice Jewish boy (this time from the suburbs of Pittsburgh), Specialty’s releases reflected Rupe’s love for R&B and gospel. Jimmy Liggins recorded Drunk and Cadillac Boogie in the late 40s and you can hear that jump style that Louis Jordan and Louis Prima popularized. Liggins’ brother Joe Liggins also had hits in the late 40s, notably with The Honeydripper. Larry Williams and Lloyd Price had hits for Specialty that were later recorded by the early British Invasion bands including Lawdy Miss Clawdy by the Beatles. I’ve included Price’s #1 hit version of Stagger Lee as one of literally hundreds of versions of this story of gambling, sex, and murder. (Published in 1911, the earliest recorded version is from 1923.)

(Sidenote: Hound Dog was a Leiber/Stoller composition – Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller were two young white (and Jewish) guys, Leiber from Long Island, Stoller from LA who wrote a number of hits in the 50s. When the label they started was bought by Atlantic Records, the two were hired to continue writing. Hits they had there include Ben E. King’s Stand By Me, The Coasters’ Charlie Brown, and the Drifters’ On Broadway.)

In the vain hope of convincing some colleagues to join tonight’s Swans adventure at the Paradiso in Amsterdam, I sent the following around.

I was unsuccessful, but perhaps a reader or two will be turned on to the unmitigated brilliance…

A good intro to what Swans are doing now *might be* this one:

  •  Avatar A slightly muddy live version from 2012’s The Seer. (Note the skinny tattooed guitarist in the white t-shirt)
  • No Words / No Thoughts Originally on the 2010 album My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Stars
  • Oxygen Appears on the latest album To Be Kind.
  • The Apostate From 2012’s The Seer.
  • A bit of history: New Mind, from 1987’s Children of God. (I didn’t realize the label had given the band a music video budget. This is about two years before they covered Love Will Tear Us Apart, and just as Jarboe (the female singer/keyboardist who isn’t part of the latest incarnation) joined the band. The skinny shirtless guitarist walking behind Gira is the same guy I pointed out in the Avatar video. I think he’s the only current member of the band whose participation goes back to the 80s.)
  • For a serious sonic adventure, dig Public Castration is a Good Idea, a live document from 1986 that captures their early intensity really well. (They brought Coward (track 5) into the set list for the 2010/2011 tour. (This video is indexed – you can click on the times in the track list.)
  • Blind Love from the 1987 tour document Feel Good Now always gives me the shivers. The evolution they made in just that one year is astounding.

The Jarboe (’87-’97) period produced some really brilliant stuff, but it’s not as representative of what they’re doing now. The final album of that period, Soundtracks for the Blind had some gorgeous creepy stuff. The Beautiful Days, Her Mouth is Filled With Honey, and Blood Section are recommended, but it’s an album to experience in its entirety.