The Beach Boys stopped by “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” last night to make their first TV appearances of their 50th anniversary reunion tour. Brian Wilson and Mike Love sat down with Fallon to discuss The Beach Boys’ signature harmonies. Even, Fallon joined on an impromptu version of “Barbara Ann” with Wilson and Love. The band also played three songs on the show, “In My Room,” “Wouldn’t it be Nice” and the group’s new single, “That’s Why God Made the Radio.”
Nicki Bluhm - “Carousel”
From the album Driftwood (2011)
One of the reasons I am so in love with music is because it seems to be drawn from a bottomless well; just when it feels like I’ve heard all the sounds I’m ever going to dig, something new and unexpected will inevitably come out of nowhere, grab my attention, and become a favorite new part of my rotation. In a matter of seconds, a song that I’d never heard of before suddenly becomes something that I can’t imagine having ever not existed. It’s pretty amazing how something so simple like that can lift my mood, perk me up, keep me going, and so on and so forth. I think it’s that way for so many music fanatics, actually.
So a hat tip to one of those fellow fanatics (thanks, buddy) for recently hipping me to Nicki Bluhm. Bluhm apparently has been a fixture on the West Coast music scene for the past few years, working the same crowds as Derek Trucks, the Black Crowes, and some of the jam band crowd. In more recent months, though, Bluhm has made some waves by posting a series of delightful Youtube clips of her and her band covering some of their favorite singalongs. The catch? The clips have all been captured on an iPhone while the band has been en route from gig to gig, filmed in their touring van. It’s smart, simple, charming, and brilliant marketing for up-and-comers who are looking to pull some ears and eyeballs their way. It’s certainly worked on me, and it got me curious about Bluhm’s original material.
That led me to check out her 2011 disc, Driftwood. I must admit that this disc is a bit of a grower, and they’ve put the absolute best cut right up front and center. But it’s a helluva first song. “Carousel” is a fantastic slice of countrified AM-70’s style pop, and it’s the kind of song I can imagine a young Linda Ronstadt sinking her teeth into and making a hit 35 years ago. It’s a solidly constructed song, it’s got a laidback, rootsy vibe, and a decent hook, and I’ve been throwing it on every mix I’ve made in the past month or so. I can’t say the rest of the disc lives up to the bar this track sets, but overall, it’s definitely been growing on me. Have a listen and judge from yourself (and then check out those van sessions. It’s all good stuff…!)
Sigh….this has got to stop happening. Another one goes way too soon. Growing up in the 1980s, you couldn’t not like the Beastie Boys. They were one of the few rap/hip-hop acts I’ve always had a soft spot for, I saw ‘em in concert in Worcester, MA back in 1998, and it was a fantastic time. I knew the guy was ill (with cancer), but I was under the impression it was one of the more treatable types. Goes to show, you just never know. Here’s hoping he has found some peace, at least. Seriously, though, such sad news.
The Beach Boys - That’s Why God Made The Radio (Preview)
A preview of the lead single from The Beach Boys’ new album has appeared online. The band (Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Al Jardine, Bruce Johnston and David Marks) have recently kicked off their 50th anniversary tour of the US and will release the new record on June 5.
And don’t forget to check out MOJO’s Beach Boys extravaganza in the new issue of the magazine - on sale now (you can see our very own Barney Hoskyns interviewing the band in the clip above).
Michael Kiwanuka & Dan Auerbach - “Lasan”
Streaming here and here (2012)
In the last few months, I’ve been playing the bejeezus outta two discs in particular, both of which have cropped up on this blog: Home Again by Michael Kiwanuka, and El Camino by the Black Keys. Kiwanuka is a relatively new find, having just released his first disc, which has echoes of soul giants like Donny Hathaway and Al Green, and even a bit of classic Traffic. The Black Keys are more established, of course, but they’ve been progressing and building musical strength over the past decade or so, and I’m far from the only one out there who thinks their latest album is also their best.
Since these two discs are some of my latest raves, it’s a happy coincidence to discover that Dan Auerbach, the Keys’ guitarist, recently teamed up with Kiwanuka to record the slow, soulful ballad, “Lasan.” It’s a track that would fit right in on Kiwanuka’s debut, which features some heavily reverbed singers serving as a backdrop to Kiwanuka’s silky crooning on the stately, simple ballad. On the whole, this isn’t quite a pure 50/50 balance of styles - it’s definitely a Michael Kiwanuka affair, as opposed to a true amalgamation of the two acts, but it’s a beautiful listen, all the same.
Incidentally, it seems like Auerbach has been looking to stretch out and flex his musical chops more and more these days. I’ve been meaning to write up a post on his recent work producing Dr. John’s latest album, which is fantastic. Now if we could only lock this guy in the studio with the Stones for a few weeks…!
Sigh…proving once again that you can run, you can hide, but you can only evade the Man in Black for so long, it looks like Levon Helm of the Band is gonna be leaving us fairly soon. Which isn’t terribly surprising, considering he’s been in poor health for several years. Still, it’s always sad to see the good guys take another loss.
Not much you can do in times like this except be thankful for the music he gave - and he’s given us some great music - and hope that his journey is as painless as possible. When I heard the news today, my first thought went to this song off his 2009 album in which he preps the world for his date with destiny. Considering the subject matter, it’s pretty damn upbeat, and puts the best possible face on the whole thing. Have a listen, and send out some love for Levon.
(UPDATE: Since we’ve got the power to peak into the past, why not remember Levon from when he was at the top of his game and had decades ahead of him? Check out this classic clip from 1970).
Don’t get me wrong, I love Keith Moon as much as the next Who fan. The guy had unquestioned power, vitality, and inventiveness as a rock drummer. But I’d say his being dead since I was a baby probably precludes his participating in the London Olympics later this year….
The Romantics - “Talking In Your Sleep”
Single release 1983 (available here)
Considering that I’ve just passed the one year mark since starting this blog, it seems only fitting to keep plowing ahead, even though I’d love to have the time to post more frequently (or should I file that under “be careful what you wish for”…?). Tonight, I figured I’d give a nod to the slightly unexpected - browse through the hundreds of entries here, and you won’t find a ton of music from the 1980s. Which is pretty much due to the fact that I just didn’t dig much of the clinical, clean productions from that era. Even longtime established acts like Paul McCartney and the Stones had some real clunkers during that era. It was just a rough era.
But a good song is a good song, a hook is a hook, and sometimes that can shine through even in dark musical eras. I’ve always dug “Talking In Your Sleep” by the Romantics. It’s not a deep song, by any means, but I always loved the jagged interplay of the guitars and bass, and the clean 80s sound actually works for this one. It’s just a solid band groove with some funky rhythmic guitar work, and sometimes that’s all you really need. The band is probably more well-remembered for their big hit “What I Like About You,” which bears little sonic resemblance to this track. Can’t say I’m a fan of that one, or even know that much about the rest of the band’s output.
But like I said, a good song is a good song. And sometimes, you just want a fun song to crank in the car, no?
Buffalo Springfield - “Everybody’s Wrong”
From the album Buffalo Springfield (1966)
I have made no secret of the fact that I had a love/hate relationship with the radio when I was growing up. Yes, there were some great songs in heavy rotation on the station I listened to - but it was like the same 15 songs, over and over and over. You’d think the Beatles never had a hit besides “Twist and Shout,” or the Stones never did anything other than “Satisfaction.” Or - you might think the Buffalo Springfield never had recorded anything other than “For What It’s Worth.”
For what it’s worth….(sorry, couldn’t resist)….the above mentioned single was their most well-known song during their brief, mid-60s run. But the band that would eventually splinter and launch Stephen Stills and Neil Young to greater heights had a whole handful of album cuts that, along with the music from their contemporaries, the Byrds (who, not coincidentally, would blend with some of the Springfield at the end of the 60s), laid the template for pretty much all classic folk-rock to come.
All of that is a long-winded prelude to my mentioning that it took me a long, long time to discover (no thanks to the radio) the deeper catalog of the Buffalo Springfield. And I’m so glad I did, because songs like “Everybody’s Wrong” - a driving, almost hypnotic rocker from their debut album - are just too cool a listen to have not discovered. The insistent singing from Stills, the jangle of Neil Young’s guitar lines, the slight Indian influence on the melody, and the pounding drum beat are all very much of their time, but it’s garage rock that’s also very timeless. The whole debut album is actually really great, but this song, in particular, has been sticking with me lately. Have a listen.
I must admit that I’ve gotten my hands on an advance copy of the debut album by British soul singer Michael Kiwanuka (Home Again), and it is FANTASTIC. I have not been able to stop playing it over the past two days. He’s got a great, husky voice that reminds me slightly of James Carr, with a hint of Donny Hathaway, but with a much more lush, layered sound and a more expansive melodic palette on his records. If he never releases another album, Kiwanuka will still have made a fantastic contribution to the modern soul cannon.
I’d love to post a couple of tracks from the new album, but it’s not officially out yet and I don’t really want to risk getting sued. Happily, our friends across the pond at the Guardian are streaming the entire album right now. So go have a listen, and prepare yourself for a real treat!
Stevie Wonder - “As”
From the album Songs In The Key of Life (1976)
What can be said of Stevie Wonder’s output in the ’70s that hasn’t been said already? The guy was clearly on fire creatively, breaking out of the standard Motown machinery of the 60s (which, considering Motown’s track record, could’ve been seen as a bit of a risk) and following his own funkier, jazzier muse throughout the decade. His first steps towards creative independence led to treasures like “If You Really Love Me” at the dawn of the decade, but the album that was taken from (Where I’m Coming From) was really just the tip of the iceberg in terms of where his massive talent was going to take him as the 70s progressed.
Towards the close of 2011, I suffered a personal tragedy when my beloved iPod bit the dust - over the previous six years, that thing had been by my side, my constant travel companion, and we’d grown close. But the silver lining is that, as I was transferring all my music onto the new iPod, I had a chance to listen to some of the songs I’d maybe overlooked for the last couple of years, and for whatever reason, I honed in on my stock of Stevie Wonder tunes. “As,” as it turns out, was a standout that I hadn’t previously paid that much attention to. I’d always liked the song, sure, but it wasn’t something that was finding its way onto playlists. Suddenly, that all changed, as I gave it a new listen with fresh ears, and for the past three months, I have not been able to stop playing it.
It fits in perfectly with the rest of the songs on Songs In The Key of Life, with a slightly jazzy, laid-back vibe, Wonder tickling the electric piano around the edges of his lyrics, before the song suddenly perks up in tempo, the drums thrashing, the backup singers swelling up like a gospel choir during the chorus, before it all gives out to a fairly long fade out jam. It all just fits together perfectly, the melody being teased out of the funky-but-still-laid-back group dynamic…before Wonder starts straining on the vocals in the long fade. Sounds like he was really feeling it that day.
Of course, how we went from that to “I Just Called To Say I Love You,” I’ll never know. But I guess anyone’s capable of running out of steam, right…?
The Monkees - “Lady Jane”
From the album Changes (1970)
Today was one of those days that sort of brought the idea of mortality back to the fore. For many of us, I think there’s certain people that you almost feel will always be around, since they’ve worked their way into the national consciousness (well, for the most part. There’s always going to be a segment of society that seems willfully ignorant of anyone deemed “not of the moment.”). Davy Jones of the Monkees passed away unexpectedly today from what they say is a heart attack. At a time when the Rolling Stones are considering going out for one last go ‘round, and when Paul McCartney rocked the Grammys just a few months shy of his 70th (!) birthday, Jones’s passing at 66 reminds us that the generation of 60s musicians really are nearing the end of their journey. These kinds of unexpected headlines are going to become more frequent over the next decade, unfortunately.
Even if the Monkees were never a towering band, they put out some decent material - pop music, sure, but decent pop music. This track, “Lady Jane,” is from the last album they released before they officially split from their first run. It’s really not much more than just a funky little lick repeated over and over, but I always kind of dug it….
Just had a few thoughts kicking around, what with Paul McCartney releasing his latest disc, Kisses On The Bottom, this week - topping off a flurry of recent activity that will culminate with his appearance on the Grammy Awards this Sunday. It’s the same program that his old friend & competitor, Brian Wilson, will be appearing on with his old band, the Beach Boys.
Back in their 1960s heyday, when both men were at the top of their creative powers, Brian Wilson and Paul McCartney egged each other on as friendly rivals atop the charts, continually upping the ante and expanding the possibilities of what we could expect in popular music. In the mid-60s alone, they produced classic discs like Pet Sounds, Revolver, Sunflower, and the White Album. Heady stuff.
Each man has seen artistic peaks and valleys since their glory years, and each has proven, in their way, to be a durable survivor. As of 2012, both Wilson and McCartney are considered elder statesmen in the rock world, and while each has amazingly entered into an unexpected creative resurgence in recent years, it’s interesting that each man has dipped back to the Great American Songbook on recent albums. The question is, who does the better job of it?
Surprisingly, I’ve gotta give the nod to Brian Wilson. While McCartney has admirably stated that he hasn’t wanted to retread the same popular songs that Rod Stewart (among so many others) has been covering, and while McCartney has never had to overcome the drug and mental health issues that have haunted Wilson over the decades - his new disc is kind of dull. Backed by Diana Krall’s ace band, McCartney does a classy job of crooning these lesser-known songs, but he doesn’t do anything to place his own stamp on the material, or to elevate it beyond what we’ve come to expect. Beyond offering his voice, there’s nothing on the set that suggests McCartney’s musical signatures or personality, and it ultimately ends up sounding like a perfectly pleasant, perfectly blah affair. Nothing wrong with it, but it doesn’t add much to McCartney’s cannon. (Contrast this with his old bandmate Ringo’s similar disc from 1970, Sentimental Journey. It’s an endearing listen, and it definitely screams out, for better or worse, Ringo!)
Wilson, on the other hand, put out an unexpectedly strong album in 2010, which focused on one of the biggest names in that Great American Songbook, George Gershwin. Rather than hewing as close to the original tunes as possible, Wilson and his band worked to infuse Wilson’s signature sounds into the material, updating, revamping, and re-energizing songs that have been done thousands of times over, breathing new life into such chestnuts like “Someone To Watch Over Me.” The end result has echos of Wilson’s best work in the 60s, while his singing - something that has sadly decayed over the years - is strong and engaging. The production is tight and crisp, and the album is one of the strongest and most fun discs Brian Wilson has been involved in in decades. I can’t overstate how fantastic it is.
So Brian Wilson and Paul McCartney: two towering figures in the pop music world, two men who have reshaped the boundaries of rock, and two men who have reached far into the past for inspiration on their present. Despite the solid efforts of both, this round definitely goes to the once and future Beach Boy. Can’t wait to see what comes next….
Frank Sinatra - “Follow Me”
From the album Francis A. & Edward K. (1968)
In his delightful book recounting his early days as the Beatles’ recording engineer, Geoff Emerick takes a moment at one point to discuss how he internally “visualizes” music when he listens to it; bass notes are “seen” as deep blues, the higher end of the eq is given a different color, and so on and so forth. It sounds trippy (and it’s similar to how Pete Townshend of the Who has discussed his visualization of music that he’s heard when listening to music while high), but it’s similar to how I’ve always kind of visualized music, as well.
To wit, this excellent, semi-obscure Frank Sinatra/Duke Ellington track from 1968, which features Ellington’s excellent big band, has always made me think of the horn parts, gently egging each other on in blocks and fits, weaving in and out of the melody, wrapping themselves around Sinatra’s vocals, at a time when he was at the top of his craft. At various points in the song, those horns just scream out, punctuating the rhythm with that big band swing and swagger, and with a rich, crisp production that has to be experienced with headphones to truly get the full effect. It’s magnificent stuff, and it’s a shame that this great album is sort of glossed over in the Sinatra cannon. I only just discovered it a couple of years back, when I started digging into Sinatra’s deep catalogue, and I was knocked out. Definitely recommended for even casual Sinatra fans.
Tom Jones - “Help The Poor”
From the album Praise & Blame (2010)
Tom Jones is one of those curious popular singers who has always had a powerful set of pipes, could hold his own with the likes of Janis Joplin and Aretha Franklin (!), and who always had tremendous potential to be taken more seriously than he has been. But when he first gained prominence in the mid-60s, wearing his smart tuxedo on the Ed Sullivan Show, he went down the more traditional “show business” path, rather than the hipper “rock” path. Think Ethel Merman as opposed to the Rolling Stones. So, despite those sterling pipes and the hip-shaking swagger, Tom Jones has always been considered something of a musical lightweight, fairly or not. And I suppose clips like this didn’t help him gain any serious street cred.
But there’s a funny thing about pop music, at least in America. Even if you’re perceived as a lightweight or a joke, there’s something to be said for durability. And some of those acts that have lasted for decades - I’m looking at you, Bee Gees! - somehow manage to win a grudging mass respect for their ability to keep at it, through good years and bad, through changing industry tastes and musical fads, and so on and so forth. And we’ll start to forgive these singers and musicians their sometimes questionable fashion choices and recognize that they are, after all, survivors, and we recognize that maybe they have some pretty amazing talent, after all. And then, after decades of not being cool, it is suddenly hip to embrace and celebrate these survivors. Such is the case of Tom Jones.
And with his advancing years, the stately graying of his goatee, and the calming down of those swiveling hips, Jones has been fortunate enough to hold on to his commanding voice, and to refocus attention on his ability to belt out a tune. As he nears age 70, the guy may finally be getting his due in more “serious circles,” and late-career efforts like Praise & Blame were clearly made with an eye toward that more serious legacy. Following the template laid down by Dylan with his Time Out Of Mind disc in ‘97 (i.e., start getting more purposeful and reflective on a bare-bones song cycle), Jones and producer Ethan Johns have crafted a sober, satisfying album full of low-key folk songs and slow building burners. There is a nod to Jones’s hard driving, raging r&b roots, though, with “Help The Poor,” a bare-bones rocker with a stinging guitar line and a moody organ anchoring the song. It’s a classic sounding slice of soulful rock, and it’s very easy to picture a young Tom Jones belting something just like it out at the clubs as an up-and-coming Welshman making the scene in the mid-60s. At any rate, it goes to show that there is more to Tom Jones than just the lightweight image we’ve had for so many years.
