Side A: Europa Live It Up Here’s Looking at You The Tide Is High Angels on the Balcony Go Through It
Side B: Do the Dark Rapture Faces T-Birds Walk Like Me Follow Me
Autoamerican is probably my favourite Blondie album. I certainly played it the most, and I didn’t really keep up with them after. It’s my favourite despite the two inescapable singles. While The Tide is High and Rapture did boffo business (both hit #1 in the US), at least three other songs would have done well as singles (IMHO), T-Birds, Do the Dark, and Live It Up. (The previous two albums, Eat to the Beat and Parallel Lines had 10 singles released between them.) The crazy thing about Autoamerican is that it shouldn’t work, at all.
From the atmospherics of opener Europa, through some disco, some new wave, the reggae and hip hop of the two singles to Lerner and Lowe’s Follow Me (from Camelot), there’s nothing holding the damn thing together.
Live It Up is almost punk in its lyrics, but closer to disco in execution. Here’s looking at you is closer to jazz. The Tide Is High started life as a reggae song. Angels on the Balcony is a ghost story with a pop interlude. And side one closes with Go Through It, which is almost country. Those rolling drum fills are gorgeous.
Do the Dark is sort of a disco rock thing. Rapture is the song we all know and love – first hip hop (ya don’t stop, go out to the parking lot) song played on MTV. Of course it was white folks doing it because it would be several more years before Yo! MTV Raps hit the scene. Faces is a slow beautiful strangeness about the underclass on the Bowery (the neighborhood where CBGB was located), a tribute to the folks living on the street there.
T-Birds, about roller derby of all things, is still (45 years later) my favourite song on the album. It’s rock and roll (with an amusing spoken interlude) that simply works. Walk Like Me continues the rock and roll – its hard edge makes it possibly the one song on the album that wouldn’t have been out of place on Eat to the Beat (or Plastic Letters).
And then the whole thing drops into a little echo chamber with their take on the Lady of the Lake’s song, Follow Me, from Camelot. It closes the album out beautifully.
As I said, it shouldn’t work – but it manages with panache.
When I lived in that commune in Marin back in the 70s, we had a deck where we did aerobics. My clearest musical memory of that deck is of running in place and listening to the soundtrack to Tommy which we had on a reel-to-reel tape, for some reason. I don’t recall that we had any other tapes to play on that machine. (I also recall that that tape broke and someone spliced it.) My clearest song memories are of Elton John’s Pinball Wizard and Tina Turner’s Acid Queen. Oddly not Clapton’s recording of Eyesight to the Blind (the album’s only cover, though other Mose Allison songs were in the running, according to the Pinball Wizard episode (part 1 of 2, here, though the investigation of Tommy itself is in part 2) of A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs – the impetus for this blog entry) or several other memorable tracks. I’m sure Cousin Kevin and Uncle Ernie affected me given my own experience of abuse at Synanon and were worthwhile things to excise from my brain until later.
The key thing is that here was one of my formative experiences of rock and roll. We listened to a lot of music in the commune, but my other memories are of the MOR stylings of San Francisco’s KFRC, the only good station we could get in that far north. Silly Love Songs, Boz Scaggs’ Lowdown and Lido Shuffle, Love Will Keep Us Together, Knowing Me Knowing You, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart were all in heavy rotation in the year before I left in the Fall of ‘77. None of these had the sheer force of The Who’s music, even in the weird forms it took on the film soundtrack. I’d have the LP later on, and the original Who album as well. The original rock opera never grabbed me in the same way, though Daltrey’s rendition of Acid Queen certainly made its own impression.
I’m sure I’ve seen the movie all the way through at least once, maybe twice. All Ken Russell movies are strange, but the 70s stuff is out of this world. (Noting that his Altered States [1980] is one of my all time faves.) That said, watching a few clips on YouTube is enough to assure me I don’t really need to watch it again. In addition there are a dozen or so recordings of The Who performing Tommy in its entirety – this started no longer after their LP was released and continued through most of their subsequent tours, it seems. In general, I’m more interested in how they handle their other songs live than these. There was also a stage musical that I’ve never checked out either. That said, I’m now downloading the soundtrack and the original album.
Weirdly, my current book club reading is Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union which has an interesting plot point about a possible messiah that speaks in an odd way to Tommy’s own messianic aspect.
Last night’s adventure was the first date on Italian progressives The Watch’s ambitious tour alternating performances of Genesis classics The Lamb Lies Down On Broadwayand Foxtrot/Selling England by the Pound. And they pulled it off admirably, save for the occasional opening night glitch. The tour also celebrates the 50th anniversary of the release of The Lamb.
The Watch currently consists of Simone Rossetti (lead vocals, flute, keyboards, synthesisers), Valerio De Vittorio (keyboards, synthesisers, guitars, vocals), Mattia Rossetti (bass, guitars, vocals), Francesco Vaccarezza (drums, percussion, vocals) and Andrea Giustiniani (lead guitars). My friend Cheryl and I were stood right at the front of a mostly sold-out venue (Boerderij in Zoetermeer, a pretty friendly room that hosts a lot of prog/tribute acts) just to the right of Rossetti with Vittorio and Vaccarezza in clear sight.
Now, I listened to The Lamb a lot as a kid, though mostly the first two sides of this double-album set. I read the notes and lyrics assiduously, and the way Cheryl tells it, she listened a lot as well. It’s a daunting, musically ambitious album that had a lot of appeal to me for the crazy storyline (found in small print across the inside of the gatefold; if you only had the CD, it was impossible to read) and weird theatricality. For those unfamiliar with the plot, Rael, a small-time Brooklyn hood, finds himself trapped in a weird fantasy world, one step ahead of or behind his brother John. Each experience is told more than shown, but that’s fine, it’s prog rock. At certain points of the show, a voiceover gave the audience occasional snippets of that text.
The whole show was an admirable recreation of the album with no effects, save for lighting and a backdrop reminiscent of the album’s cover.
The sound mix from my perspective was good, but Giustiniani’s recreation of Steve Hackett’s intricate guitar work was too low. This may have had something to do with how close to the stage I was. Simone’s vocals took a little while to get up to the task – this might also have had to do with mixing, but he was also, I think a little nervous. After the third or fourth song, he was in full Peter Gabriel form. Extra shout-outs for backing vocals from Mattia and especially Francesco from behind the drum kit. Simone, as an Italian performing for a Dutch audience, didn’t do much of the between song banter that Genesis-era Peter Gabriel was known for. The exception was the introduction to Counting Out Time, a tale of teenage pre-sexual experience angst, solved with the help of a book on the the erogenous zones. This he read out from a sheet with admirable Dutch pronunciation. (This, however, was also an opening night glitch – he read it before Back in NYC, the song that precedes Counting Out Time. Whatever. He still gets points.)
The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway is an attempt at a rock opera (released not that long after Tommy and Quadrophenia), and makes attempts at theatricality in its bombast. The Watch held our attention from an otherwise bare stage for the duration. While the story might bog down a bit in the second half, the recreation was fantastic. And this music (prog, after all) is not easy. I spent much of the show watching Francesco’s drumming. There was a moment during The Waiting Room which brought me joy – he was concentrating on a pretty complex figure and when he completed it, his face had a huge smile. Whatever the phrase ‘nailed it’ is in Italian, he did.
After a fair amount of musical meandering, Rael emerges into daylight and the main show concludes with the pure 4/4 rock and roll joy of IT.
For the main set (broken by a short intermission), Mattia only played one instrument, a double neck bass/12-string (and several effects pedals). However, there were two more guitars on stage. What else are they going to play. After another short break, the band came back and Simone looked confused for a second, then tapped the tablet on his music stand before saying something like ‘ah, that’s the encore.’ Yes, he had a tablet and a couple of notes at his side, but barely looked at them through the whole show. Not that I blame any singer with a massive piece of music to sing the crutch of the occasional lyric sheet. The band kicked into The Musical Box, a multi-part epic from 1971’s Nursery Cryme (and possibly my favourite Genesis song, though there are other candidates) which they hit out of the park. (Here’s The Watch performing it at Boerderij two years ago.)
I left the venue with a massive grin on my face – Seeing this formative soundtrack of my adolescence performed in full by stunningly talented musicians who obviously also have a love for it was definitely one off the bucket list.
The other night I had the time to finally watch Marco Porsio’s 2019 Swans documentary Where Does a Body End. First off: Five stars. Well done. Rock docs follow a certain pattern that this didn’t really deviate from – interview the principals, interview their comrades present and past. In this case the principal is Michael Gira, who founded Swans in 1981 or so and has been the only consistent member across 40-plus years. He was generous with his time and his own assessments of his strengths and faults. I was excited early on that there was a clip of Einsturzende Neubauten’s Blixa Bargeld expressing some praise. Alas, he only gets the camera once more near the end. Other key interviewees included Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth (who toured with Swans at the beginnings of both bands’ histories), and Jarboe. Jarboe drove up to NYC from Atlanta in ‘85 or so having written a fan letter (shared in the doc) to the band after hearing an early recording on college radio. She joined as keyboardist and occasional vocalist appearing first on the 1986 releases Greed, Holy Money, and Time is Money (Bastard). We learn from the doc that she and Gira were partners from that period until Gira disbanded Swans in 1997. (He would reignite Swans in 2010 without Jarboe. An impetus for the film was Gira’s announcement that the newer incarnation of the group would halt after four albums and the accompanying 2017 tour. Last year, a new lineup released an album and are touring – I’ve seen them twice this time out.) Her participation in the documentary is generous and alone worth the price of admission if you’re interested in how bands work.
Thurston Moore’s memories of their bands’ tours together is poignant in the descriptions of just how difficult life on the road was/is for independent acts. In his thoughts on the re-invigorated version of Swans, he admits to a little jealous that Gira’s band was still going, ‘He’s got Swans. I don’t have Sonic Youth.’ (This is a little disingenuous – Moore and SY’s bassist Kim Gordon had been a couple/married for 27 years until Moore fathered a child with their nanny. That put paid to SY.)
One of the most interesting thing about how the film is constructed is the wealth of live footage of the band, both their earlier incarnations and the more recent tours. I was amused of a clip from their 2011 appearance at the All Tomorrow’s Parties festival in London because I was there. Not that I could have picked myself out in the audience. My favourite clip (which I hope to find online) was Jarboe joining the new lineup in 2016 or so to perform Blood On Yr Hands (a highlight of the ‘95/‘97 tours.)
And of course I can write paragraphs and paragraphs about the interviews and the clips and so forth, but as always, it’s a case of dancing about architecture. Swans have always been about the intensity of the musical experience and their music isn’t for the faint of heart. I think Screen Shot is representative.
I tell a story about my sister having two tickets for Talking Heads at the Pantages in Hollywood in December of 1983. She was already in college and her boyfriend begged off the show she’d bought tickets for. She asked me if I wanted to go. Of course I did, but those gigs were a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and the hard fast rule for me was no gigs on school nights. Our parents were out of town, and there was no way they’d find out. But I went to Hollywood with my sister and watched her sell the tickets around the corner from the show. How many of you have regrets that have lasted for four decades?
Eight or nine months later, that series of gigs was immortalized on film as Stop Making Sense. I went to see it in the theatre three or four times in its initial run (once with friends who were flying on LSD – I didn’t partake of that either) and I’ve seen it at least three or four more times in the intervening decades. And I’ve listened to the album hundreds of times. I’ve had it on tape, CD, and download.
So ever since that teaser of David Byrne picking up his big suit from the dry cleaner came out, I’ve been keen to see it again on the big screen. And I finally did this week with my friend Cheryl (who hadn’t seen it since that initial run). From that beautiful moment when Byrne walks out on a bare stage with an acoustic guitar and a boom box and says “I have a tape I want to play for you” and we hear the backing of Psycho Killer, we know we’re in for something special.
With each of the next several songs, another band member comes on: Tina Weymouth to play bass on Heaven, Chris Franz to play drums (the drum riser rolled out by crew all in black) on Thank You For Sending Me An Angel, and then guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison on Found A Job. Two backup singers, Lynn Mabry and Edna Holt, percussionist Steve Scales, and guitarist Alex Weir join the action for Slippery People. Finally keyboardist Bernie Worrell joins on Burning Down the House.
On seeing it in 1984, everything was very new to me in terms of how rock and roll was put on film. The first surprise, having been far more familiar with the music than the visuals, is that there are two capable singers on stage for the song Heaven, but Tina Weymouth doesn’t have a mic. Lynn Mabry sings harmony from offstage. (Later in the film, Byrne leaves the stage to Weymouth and Franz, aka Tom Tom Club, to perform their hit Genius of Love, on which Weymouth sings lead. It’s not as though she couldn’t have harmonized on Heaven, as she was already on stage.)
As the film moves forward, there’s wonder in how long the cameras linger on Byrne, and occasionally on the other musicians. There’s none of the jump-cut editing that so annoys me on Strictly Come Dancing (and, to be honest, most movies these days), which is nice. On the other hand, there are nine really capable musicians on stage for most of the performance and the joy of a good performance film is being able to see them interact in the context of their art. The most egregious example of the hyper-focus on Byrne is the song Once In a Lifetime. The camera doesn’t move for five of the song’s 5 1/2 minutes, and when it does, we see Holt and Mabry out of focus doing interesting dance moves that Demme didn’t think we’d be interested in, somehow. (Then there’s this Siskel and Ebert review in which all they talk about is Byrne.)
There are other places in Stop Making Sense where we get wider camera angles and see the interplay of the performers, most notably in the gorgeous Naive Melody.
In ‘83, Talking Heads were touring their fifth album, the damn near flawless Speaking In Tongues, which provides six of the film’s 16 tracks. The sound on all of the songs (especially from the third song onward) is fuller and deeper than on the studio albums (and even the versions found on earlier live compilation The Name of this Band Is Talking Heads. When you can see the other members of the band, you can tell they’re firing on all cylinders, having performed as quartet for several years before expanding in ‘80 and ‘81 to a much larger touring act.
Even in ‘83 there was animosity between Byrne and the other Talking Heads, and they continued for three more very interesting albums (Little Creatures, True Stories, and Naked), but they never toured again. While the music on Stop Making Sense is obviously a collaboration of brilliant and capable musicians, one can only wish that the band and film makers had seen fit to share more of that collaboration with the audience.
Joe Jots 