The Stands - “I Need You”

From the album All Years Leaving (2004)

Since the dawn of the rock age, there have been certain cities across the world that have become inextricably linked to the music they have helped birth. Mention Memphis, TN and people automatically think of Elvis. Mention Macon, GA and people tend to think of the Allman Brothers. Mention Seattle, WA, and people tend to think of Nirvana. Mention Liverpool, England, and people automatically think of The Stands.

….or maybe not?

Ok, so Liverpool is inextricably linked to the Beatles.  Fair enough. But they weren’t the only musicians to have grown up and out of the famous seaport, and the 1960s wasn’t the only era in which good musicians were floating around the city. The Beatles were certainly the most famous of the musicians to have graced Liverpool’s streets, though, and their melodies and influence have echoed down through the decades. The band absolutely influenced the likes of Oasis in the 1990s (a Manchester band, if we’re keeping score), whose guitarist/songwriter Noel Gallagher would later befriend and occasionally gig with Liverpudlian musician Howie Payne. 

Payne had a degree of success - more-so in the UK than in the US - circa 2004 when his band, the Stands, released their criminally under-the-radar All Things Leaving. I honestly cannot recall how I came across this; if I were a betting man, I’d say I likely read about them in Mojo. In any case, I was blown away from the first time I heard this disc. The sturdy, contemporary folk-rock tracks had a crisp, warm production, the songs were at once retro and fresh-sounding, and the overall impression was that this music was the Next Great Link in a chain of classics like After the Gold Rush and Sweetheart of the Rodeo. “I Need You,” in fact, always sounded to me like the Son of “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” as performed by the Byrds. Never like a rip-off, and more like a loving homage.

After hearing how fantastic this album was, and passing along to my friends, I could never understand how this wasn’t a monster on the charts. I just couldn’t make sense of the fact that this barely made a ripple in the music world, the same year as acts like Britney Spears and the Black Eyed Peas were all over the radio and the media. I just don’t get it.

In any case, the Stands went on to make one more album before calling it a day, and then Payne went on to release Bright Light Ballads, his strongest offering to date, in 2009. I can’t wait to see what this guy has in store for us next….

The Flying Burrito Brothers - “Do Right Woman”

From The Guilded Palace of Sin (1969)

The first time I remember hearing the name Gram Parsons was way back when I was in high school, and I had just come across a copy of Stanley Booth’s classic The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones in the local library. I didn’t know who Booth was, and I didn’t really know who Gram Parsons was; but I was going through that magical first brush with the Stones, getting to sink my teeth into the music (the music beyond just hearing “Satisfaction” and “Start Me Up”, that is) for the very first time. I must’ve been about 15 or 16, and hearing songs like “Midnight Rambler” and “Gimme Shelter” just opened up a whole new world for me. It was exciting. The sounds just had so much more life to them than anything I was then hearing on the radio. 

Naturally, I wanted to read about the people behind the music, so I devoured as many books and articles about the Stones as I could get my hands on; if there had been much of an Internet to speak of back then, I’m sure I would’ve been online researching the band all hours of the day and night there, as well (this was just before the world went digital, though, so how much information could I really have found on a dial-up connection??)… 

This quest for reading material on the Stones ultimately led me to Booth’s book, which chronicled the band’s American tour in 1969. That was the tour that infamously ended in horrific violence; it was also the tour where the band spent a fair amount of time hanging out with country-rock musician (and one-time Byrds member) Gram Parsons. At the time, Parsons was launching his new band, the Flying Burrito Brothers, with fellow ex-Byrd Chris Hillman, and they were flying high with their now-classic debut album, The Guilded Palace of Sin. Throughout the book, whenever Booth writes about the band playing, he paints this picture of soulful, pristine country sounds cutting straight through the filth, sleaze, and muck of the times or the circumstances, almost like beams of sunshine escaping through dark grey storm clouds. Yet I must admit that, not being a big fan of country music, I was not initially inclined to check this band out. 

But as I read and re-read (and re-read some more) the book over the years, and as I constantly absorbed Stanley Booth’s high praise of the Burritos, I finally had to check them out. I believe the first track I ever heard that really hooked me was their version of “Do Right Woman.” I’d heard and loved the original gospel-flavored version released by Aretha Franklin in ‘67 - classic soul with that unbeatable Muscle Shoals sound - but the Burritos slowed the song down, gave it a hazy, Southern feel (for some reason, I always picture acoustic guitars being lazily played on a front porch on a hot summer’s day), and infused it with a completely different, equally satisfying vibe. It’s rare when I can hear a cover of a song that I love as much as the original, but this was one of those times.   

The ache in Parsons’ vocals, the close harmonies on the chorus, and the way Parsons slowly, passionately drawls out the “They say that it’s a man’s world/But you can’t prove that by me/ So as long as we’re together baby/You better show some respect for me” line just hits that sweet spot. Ever since I heard this song for the first time, I’ve been a fan. And now, with the hot weather of summer coming back, this song has been making a comeback to my playlists in a big way…. 

I just heard that one of my favorite singers, Sharon Jones, has been diagnosed with cancer. Terrible, terrible news, but I’m hoping modern medicine and her fighting spirit come out on top. More to come….

A 30th birthday shout-out to our friend over at Shoes of New York, with a pair of discarded sneakers taken earlier today in South Boston. When you care enough to send birthday wishes, say it with shoes….

The Yardbirds - “I Ain’t Done Wrong” 

From the album For Your Love (1965)

Circa 1998 or ‘99, a friend and I were grabbing a coffee at a watering hole in Allston, rambling on about whatever we were rambling on about. The contents of what we were talking about are completely lost in time. The only reason I remember that day at all is because the music playing on the boombox behind the counter was piercing through our conversation - it was this raw, primal, raving punk rock that sounded like the most exciting bootleg I’d never heard of. Since this particular friend and I did (and do) consider ourselves musical aficionados in the finest sense, we’re both always on the lookout for new sounds and musical discoveries, and this had suddenly nabbed our attention. 

“Hey, what’s that you’ve got playing back there?” I finally asked the scraggly-haired barista, who was just then cleaning some mugs and chatting with one of his coworkers.

“That’s the Yardbirds,” he answered, and suddenly I felt silly for asking. How could we not have recognized the Yardbirds?? At the time, though, my knowledge of the band was pretty limited to the hits like “For Your Love” and “Heart Full Of Soul.” I hadn’t ever really explored deep into their catalogue, and I had yet to hear of “Five Live Yardbirds,” which was what the barista was playing. The specific track that grabbed me and compelled me to ask about the music was the long, pilled-up version of “Here Tis,” which absolutely knocked me off my feet.

So that day was the day, the moment really, that I was initiated into Yardbirds fandom - and I was rewarded with tracks like “I Ain’t Done Wrong,” this heavy, thundering, lumbering sound from the For Your Love album. It has this sweaty, aggressive, dirty sound, like it was recorded in the middle of a packed, exciting nightclub. The guitar chords stab out against Jeff Beck’s stinging leads, the wailing harmonica plays off against those crackling, blistering drum fills, the music switches into machine-gun like staccato instrumental breaks in the middle, speeding up and growing more threatening and aggressive, all before getting pulled back in the final minute of the song. It’s tension-release-tension blues rock at its most menacing, and nobody did it better than the Yardbirds in the mid-60s…or since. 

RIP Ray Manzarek. A very interesting person, a creative musician, and someone I’ve consistently (if sometimes for the wrong reasons) been entertained by. 

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’ve always enjoyed the Doors’ singles, and part of what makes those so appealing has always been the spooky, jazzy organ or electric piano runs that Manzarek laid down. He was certainly a good, solid musician, and as a kid, I remember liking the fact that he didn’t quite look like a rock star. Whereas Jim Morrison had the leather pants and the swagger of the front man, Ray Manzarek kind of looked like old pictures of my dad from the mid-60s: sideswept hair, glasses, and muttonchops. Which made him seem sort of more like just a musician, just a guy, and not so removed from everyday life. 

Of course, I was also bemused, in more recent years, by how he seemed to react to his past. I spent some time earlier today trying, in vain, to track down an old article (I swear it was in the Boston Globe, but perhaps not?) from the late 90s which reviewed a local, solo show Manzarek performed here. Apparently he was doing a Q&A after his set, but instead of taking questions, he would riff by saying “So, many people might want to ask me about X, Y, and Z. Well, in answer to this rhetorical question I just posed to myself…” and people never actually got to ask him the questions they’d gone there to ask! Between that, and comparing his old frontman to Dionysus about as often as Ringo Starr mutters “Peace and Love,” I sort of got the impression that poor Manzarek was maybe a little too  tethered to some of the old myths from his youth. 

My questionable bemusement aside, I’ll always have a soft spot for the body of work the guy left. So have a listen to “Light My Fire” and enjoy the music. 

Creedence Clearwater Revival - “Green River”

From the album Green River (1969)

I recall once reading that you can really tell a classic song if it’s recognizable within just the first few notes or the first few bars. I can’t remember who wrote this, but they pointed to tracks like the Stones’ “Gimme Shelter” and Marvin Gaye’s “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” as examples of this argument. Here were songs that are so instantly good, so instantly catchy, and so instantly recognizable that it only takes a second or two for their greatness to register. If that’s true, then CCR’s “Green River” definitely belongs on that list. 

This is one of those songs that I loved from the moment I first heard it, which was probably a good 20 - 25 years ago (this is one time where oldies radio as a kid paid off), and which has never lost its power. Everything about this track just works: the opening twangy guitar riff, the way the guitars weave in and out of each other, the way the drums come pounding in but still leave enough room for every instrument to breath, the echo caressing John Fogerty’s faux-Southern twang, the way the whole ensemble comes together and jumps out of the speakers - it’s just the perfect roots-rock track. And it’s always sounded particularly good when I’ve played it in my car with the windows rolled down and the volume turned up high. 

I’ve always looked on this one as evidence that a rock song (or a pop song) doesn’t have to be about love, about saving the world, about lust, or about anything particularly heavy - and at the same time, it doesn’t have to be lightweight and completely disposable, either. A well-crafted rock song, which Fogerty had a gift for producing in the late 60s/early 70s, could merely evoke a feeling and be a terrific listen. This is one song that sounds fresh and vital, even decades after being released. Fantastic tune…

holysoul:

propers to nprmusic:

Listen to Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings’ explosive new single “Retreat.”

The new album Give The People What They Want will be released August 6 via Daptone.

THIS

Elliott Smith - “Can’t Make A Sound”
 
From the album Figure 8 (2000)
 
During my first year at college, umpteen years ago, it really did seem like the world suddenly went from Black & White to technicolor. After feeling stymied in my home town, I was unleashed into this whole new social scene, surrounded by friendly, open-minded folks that were all enjoyable to be around and wanting to expand our horizons. Which, more often than not, often involved trading CDs back and forth as we all sussed each other out. Meaning: I was getting exposed to an avalanche of amazing music that I’d either never given a chance before, or had never heard of before. Just walking down the hall of my dorm, I’d routinely be inundated with new sounds wafting out of peoples’ stereos, and I’d feel compelled to pop my head in - whether I knew the occupants or not - and ask them “WHO is that??”
 
I ended up making many new friends that way - and discovering some terrific new music, to boot.
 
It hadn’t been all that long, at that time, since I’d even discovered that there WAS new music worth checking out. I’d only just started listening to Oasis a year or so earlier, having previously listened mostly to the Beatles and the Stones. Now, as I entered my 19th year, I discovered that there was a whole new music scene, heavy with guitars and retro sounds that were contemporary and fresh, just waiting for me to dig in. It was….intoxicating.
 
And one of the most intoxicating new musicians I came across was Elliott Smith, who was just coming to national prominence with his work on the soundtrack to “Good Will Hunting.” At times soft and folky, at times bursting with layered amplified instrumentation and lyrics wrapped inside meticulous metaphors, Smith was a revelation. Here was a contemporary musician drawing on the sounds of the past, putting his own spin on a multitude of influences, and creating something fresh, new, and captivating with it. Just as exciting, for me, was the fact that he was still at the height of his powers and actively touring and recording, unlike so many of the earlier musicians I’d taken to (for example - I loved and continue to love the Stones. Always will. But even when I was first listening to ‘em, back in the early ’90s, I knew they were far from their peak).

 
In the late 1990s, though, Smith was still a young guy, seemingly with a whole career still ahead of him. By the time he produced Figure 8, I was just gearing up to graduate from college and had been a fan of his for quite awhile. I remember counting down the weeks until this album hit the streets; when it finally came out, I raced down to the Newbury Comics in Amherst center, picked it up, and then raced to my car to put it in. What I heard was a dense, tuneful, overstuffed album that immediately grabbed my attention with the brisk, piano-based Son of Sam. And while that song’s overtly Beatles-esque feel has always been a favorite, the disc is forever enhanced for me by the album’s penultimate number, “Can’t Make A Sound.”  It starts off slowly, built on this tense, melodic set of chord changes that slowly rise heavenward before getting pulled back into a minor key. Smith’s gentle, delicate vocals weave around the clean strumming of an electric guitar, the string section gradually fading in to flesh out the tune, followed by the full rock ensemble sliding in, growing louder and more aggressive - until the great climactic ending, Smith repeatedly singing, “Why should you want any other/ when you’re a world within a world?” over and over again against this tremendous wall of sound.

It’s Elliott Smith in top form, as able to perfectly marry mood to lyrics to melody to production as Wilson or McCartney were in their prime -  and he was never again to get such a crisp, monstrous, emotionally satisfying production to match it. The fact that he was able to reproduce this on stage is all the more amazing…. 

Sean Lennon - “Wait For Me”

From the album Friendly Fire (2006)

Ever since Friendly Fire was released in 2006, I’ve held tight to the theory that Sean Lennon would’ve had a more acclaimed career if he wasn’t the offspring of a Beatle. It’s got to be hard living in the shadow of probably the most celebrated musician in one of the most celebrated rock bands. Just ask Julian (or James McCartney, or Dhani Harrison, or Zak Starkey, for that matter); after all, he physically resembles his father, his voice has echoes of that familiar Liverpudlian delivery, and he’s got the last name - a last name that has opened doors while simultaneously setting unrealistic expectations. His father helped reshape and redefine a popular musical genre. How the hell could Sean Lennon compete with that legacy….?

The simple answer is that he shouldn’t have to, any more than any one of us should have to compete with our parents. Yes, Sean Lennon has that famous last name. But like many people born in the 70s, he grew up listening to rock, and like many people, he got turned on to the Beatles. And that last name certainly opened doors for him if he wanted to make music, which turned out to be the case. After those doors opened, though?

Friendly Fire was his second full-length release, coming several years after Into The Sun, and I must admit that I was prepared to pre-judge it, unfairly, based on my knowledge of Julian Lennon’s output, which left me cold. I really wasn’t expecting much, but a friend told me she’d heard a couple of tracks that had echoes of Elliott Smith, and that definitely got my interest. I picked up the disc, and I was amazed at how strong it was. Once I was able to get past Lennon’s occasionally thin, high vocal style, I really started to dig the melodic, chamber-pop atmosphere he’d crafted.

There were also a couple of standouts on the album, like “Wait For Me,” a mid-paced shuffle that doesn’t shy away from sounding out its influences (the backwards guitars, double-tracked vocals, and catchy, tuneful melodies wouldn’t sound out of place on Revolver) and instead gives them a full-on embrace. This is perhaps the strongest, most straight-forward song on a truly strong, enjoyable album, and I maintain that if this disc were released by some random singer-songwriter in NYC rather than by “John Lennon’s son,” the praise would’ve been flowing without reservation. But even among my friends, the praise for this was tempered with a sense of “….but he’s clearly getting breaks because of who his dad was.”

Unquestionably, the Lennon name opened doors and got this disc to people who otherwise mightn’t have otherwise heard of it (such as all those slightly creepy Baby Boomers that showed up to the Paradise in Boston in ‘07, all wearing John Lennon t-shirts). But it also has burdened him with the weight of expectations he can’t possibly meet, or the comparison against his father that he can’t possibly meet. Judge him on his own merits, just as a musician putting out solid, well-crafted pop-rock with a retro feel to it, though? Judge it as that, and it’s a really good piece of work. 

Not too old to live it up on a school night - caught my friends Satellite Sound at their inaugural gig. Good show!

Well thank you, Anonymous! (Wait, this isn’t the Anonymous, is it? If so, please do not hack :  )

As you’ve maybe noticed from the frequency of my posts, or lack thereof, sometimes the heavy workload prevents me from being prolific. But doing this is just a nice extension of what I’ve always done with friends, which is share whatever’s in heavy rotation for me. Happy that you’re enjoying…!

Weezer - “Across The Sea”

From the album Pinkerton (1996)

During the opening weeks of my sophomore year at college, my circle of friends expanded to include this guy named Chris. He fit in well with my crew, and I was fond of his sarcastic streak and dark humor. So, whenever he’d show up to hang out while wearing his Navy green Weezer shirt - which was often - I just sort of assumed it was an extension of his sarcastic humor. 

“Funny,” I thought, “that someone would wear a t-shirt for a one-hit wonder.” Like many people, I knew of Weezer primarily because of their hit “Buddy Holly,” the one where the video had them infiltrating the world of Happy Days. It was a fun video, a catchy song, and the band was pretty unavoidable in 1994. But after the band had that major hit, they seemed to fall off the radar, and I hadn’t really given them a thought until I saw Chris wearing the t-shirt. But hey - he had an odd sense of humor, so why *not* wear a t-shirt proclaiming his love of a one-hit wonder…?

I didn’t give it much thought again until a group of us were hanging out again one random night, and he slipped Pinkerton in the CD player. It immediately caught my ear, and I asked who this was. “Weezer” was his answer, and suddenly it hit me: “Oooooooh - he’s not being ironic. He just likes Weezer.” Duh. 

Once I was introduced to Pinkerton, I realized that Weezer was no one-hit wonder, that they actually had some depth to them, and I immediately went out and bought Pinkerton and fell in love. This new disc offered an at times aggressive, at times abrasive, and at times melancholic sonic landscape that was just completely captivating. The lyrics were often funny, weird, and depressing all at once, and Rivers Cuomo’s shaky vocals were endearing when set against these loud, crunching guitars. Nowhere does this all come together better, I think, than in “Across the Sea.”  From the opening trinkling of the piano keys, to the full band storming in several bars later, to the all-out power-pop instrumental break in mid-song, the track is an exciting, electrifying, hyper-dramatic tension-and-release modern classic. It’s an intelligent piece of writing that’s also just a fantastic showcase for a rock band at the height of its powers. 

I’m not sure that Weezer has ever creatively matched what they pulled off with Pinkerton, and it seems as if Cuomo isn’t necessarily sure how to feel about the album’s legacy, or the shadow it has cast over his career. In some ways, this album always struck me as his version of Pete Townshend’s Lifehouse. Weezer has gone on, of course, to have other albums and other hit songs. But there’s been nothing quite on the level of Pinkerton…..

Marvin Gaye - “What’s Going On”

From the album What’s Going On (1971) 

Another day, another senseless act of violence going on somewhere in the world (today, it just happens to be in my backyard). It’s sad how Marvin Gaye’s track from 1971 - which questioned all the violence, brutality, and misunderstanding in the world - is just as relevant today as it was over 40 years ago, as the Vietnam War was raging and race riots continued to grip America’s cities. On the other hand, it’s every bit as soothing as it was back then, so it seems like appropriate listening today… 

Stay strong, Boston….