Shallow

I'm not a big Oscar guy. Haven't been for awhile.

I mean, I love movies. Even though I don't see nearly enough of them these days. I have a wheelhouse of knowledge that is far exceeded by others but still puts me in the game when discussions arise on, say, movies that came out between 1960 and 2005 or so. I love great films, I love guilty pleasure films, I love those comedies that are still funny after 15 viewings, I love thrillers that sometimes keep you guessing and sometimes don't, I even love good horror films. And of course, I love this!

And I love music. I mean hell, despite my noticeable absence from this space in recent weeks...okay, in recent months...Scott and I created this little blog to showcase our love of great musics, good musics, so-so musics, silly musics and even, sometimes, stuff we can't stand.

But the Academy Awards show itself, despite often spotlighting not only the best in film but also some damn fine and lasting music too, just doesn't tend to do it for me. I guess awards shows in general don't. Maybe it's the self-congratulatory nature of it all. Maybe it's that for way too long it's been, um, a little less than diverse? Or maybe it's just that the show is so, so long.

So I tend not to watch. But last night, just as I finished watching a DVR'd program, I flipped by to see where in the show the Oscars were. And I got there just in time, literally, to see this:



And I really do have to say, it was one of those moments that left me breathless. And so damn grateful that I saw it happen in real time.

For starters, this is a great freaking song. Emotionally churning and bleeding with the pathos and grandeur that all pop songs long to have yet so few are able to obtain. The muted beginning. Cooper's ragged but perfectly tuned voice. Gaga's vibrato-free performance that runs from soft and almost lilting to overpoweringly glorious. The wordless climax that so flawlessly brings us to one last, gorgeous chorus before a shockingly quick ending. "Shallow" has it all in just around three minutes. That is great pop.

Then there is the performance. Look how humble and quiet Cooper seems as he starts. Check out the stare he gives to Gaga, and the one she returns to him. Unbreakable. When she takes to the piano and begins to devour the song like a praying mantis (and I mean that in a very, very good way), the stage and the world belong to her. But when we next see Cooper again he has this unworldly smile on his face, like he can't believe his good fortune to be watching what he is watching, let alone be a part of this. And when he makes his way over to the piano to sit with her for the finale, watch the look they give each other after a mike-share that is so close they almost become the same person. They are smiling and draw and worn and content, and that final look shows us how much this moment just meant to them.

And then there is the camera work. So many times the direction of these shows is overblown and over-complicated and you just want to smack the director and yell, "Would you please just relax?!"

But not here. From the moment the guitar starts and the camera moves from backstage to  front, it is all one single tracking shot for the next four minutes or so. Think about that. It's all one shot.

The choice to show Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga rising from their front row seats and walking hand in hand to the stage, the audience in full view behind them, is such a beautiful one that it's hard to get my arms fully around it. And just the idea of doing it all with one single camera, uninterrupted, moving tastefully back and forth between two of the biggest stars and talents in the world? I don't know how someone thought to do this or, quite frankly, how it was pulled off with such precision that it seemed effortless. But it was spectacular.

So I'm still not really an "Oscars" guy. But you give me more moments like this? We'll talk.

One Man's Journey Through the Peaks and Valleys of Human Relationship: My Theory on Tunnel of Love

I've made so secret, ever, of my love for Bruce Springsteen's 8th album, 1987's Tunnel of Love.

Many times on this blog, like here and here, I have stated my belief (and Scott largely has stated he agrees with me) that the album is a true masterwork, the most challenging record of his career after Born to Run, (BtR being the desperate act of a man in danger of being dropped by his label). But Tunnel of Love was an almost equally difficult in that it unenviably followed the album that made him a global superstar, Born in the U.S.A. And many wondered what he would ever be able to do to follow it up, let alone top it. But with Tunnel of Love, Bruce Springsteen amazingly did both.

The album is a letter-perfect encapsulation of what it means to be part of an adult relationship (or relationships, if you will), and as my brilliant co-blogger put it, "It was an album written by an adult for adults." The wistful romanticism of the first few albums, the defiant insouciance of the late 1970s, even the bitter political scars of the early 80s, they were all gone now. And what was left was a bare, plaintive examination of the darkest chambers of the hearts and the minds of men and women who were all grown up, yet filled with the traps and perils that came with it. Very few rock-n-roll albums in history have given us a picture of the adult coming to terms with being an adult. Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks did it in 1975. So did Tunnel of Love a dozen years later. Bravo.

And now, after the umpteenth listening I've given to it in the past couple of years, I have a theory. A new theory, if you will, on why Tunnel of Love is the album it is. So please. Indulge.

Here are the 12 songs.

1. Ain't Got You
2. Tougher Than the Rest
3. All That Heaven Will Allow
4. Spare Parts
5. Cautious Man
6. Walk Like a Man
7. Tunnel of Love
8. Two Faces
9. Brilliant Disguise
10. One Step Up
11. When You're Alone
12. Valentine's Day

OK. So we have 12 songs that all have a very similar theme running through them. All are about love, in some form or another. Unrequited love, obsessive love, joyful love, fractured love, lost love.  That is the contextual thread that runs throughout Tunnel of Love, and it's fairly obvious, right? I mean, the L-O-V-E word is right there in the title.

But recently, I saw more, and I heard more. I heard each of these songs as 12 chapters in the same book, and written/recorded in exact order. So in effect Tunnel of Love becomes one person's story, from the opening Bo Diddley-strain of "Ain't Got You" to the weary, winsome waltz of "Valentine's Day." Bruce has effectively written a book here, tracing one person's rather dark journey through the beginning, middle and end of a relationship.

Does that sound too far-fetched?

Let's examine.  Here's how I hear the story play out.

At the center we have a narrator who wants, needs to love and be loved. The narrator is a successful man, maybe absurdly successful, but he is missing something he never had. A true love. And he wants it. This is where our story begins.

Our narrator has everything he could ever want,  but is sad and alone, and therefore his life feels empty (“Ain’t Got You”).

But I'm still the biggest fool, honey, any man ever knew,
'Cause the only thing I ain't go? Baby, I ain't got you.

But then, just as he had hoped,  he falls head over heels in love with a woman, and even though he barely knows her, it feels like what he's always wanted. And he's ready to face all of love's challenges with her (“Tougher Than the Rest”).

Well the road is dark, but it's a thin thin line,
And I want you to know I'll walk it for you anytime.
Maybe your other boyfriends couldn't pass the test,
But if you're rough and ready for love, honey I'm tougher than the rest.

After this, life is sweet when this new love blooms, and (although this is not written, but certainly implied) the plans for marriage arise (“All That Heaven Will Allow”).

Rain, sun and dark skies, now they don't mean a thing,
If you got a girl who loves you and wants to wear your ring.

Not long before he’s to be married, the narrator begins to have traumatic dreams, rooted in this seemingly irreversible step he is about to take. One of these dreams is of a man who runs off and leaves his pregnant bride-to-be at the altar, unable to bear the responsibility of marriage and parenthood ("Spare Parts").

Now Janie walked that baby 'cross the floor night after night,
But she was a young girl and she missed the party lights.
Meanwhile in south Texas in a dirty oil patch,
Bobby heard about his son being born and swore he wasn't ever going back.

The other dream is about a troubled man who stays with his wife, despite so many demons that haunt him, difficulties and all (“Cautious Man”).

Billy was an honest man who wanted to do what was right.
He worked hard to fill their lives with happy days and loving nights.
Alone on his knees in the darkness for steadiness he's pray,
For he know in a restless heart the seed of betrayal lay.

The dreams pass and his wedding day arrives. He is proud and terrified; proud to be getting married but terrified of what's to come. ("Walk Like a Man").

Would they ever look so happy again, the handsome groom and his bride,
As they stepped into that long, black limousine for their mystery ride?

As the marriage begins both the narrator and his wife learn that with the joys come the hardships, and they both realize how hard this can be (“Tunnel of Love”).

When the lights go out it's just the three of us,
You, me and all that stuff we're so scared of.

Before too long apathy and coldness sets in, and distance begins to separate the narrator from his wife (“Two Faces”).

I met a girl and we ran away, I swore I'd make her happy every day.
But how I made her cry.

Apathy and coldness gives way to pure mistrust and resentment as the marriage now takes a darker turn  (“Brilliant Disguise”).

Now you play the loving woman, I play the faithful man,
But just don't look too close into the palm of my hand.
We stood at the altar, the gypsy swore our future was bright,
But come the wee wee hours, maybe, baby the gypsy lied?

And inevitably, this gives way to betrayal and infidelity, as the narrator (and perhaps the wife too) goes exploring for something else ("One Step Up").

There's a girl across the bar, I get the message she's sending.
She ain't looking too married, and me, honey, I'm pretending.

Ultimately the marriage ends and they wish each other well, but it is no doubt final in his eyes. He even rebuffs a chance at reconciliation (“When You’re Alone”).

Now I knew someday your running would be through and you'd think back on me and you,
And your love would be strong.
You'd forget all of the bad and think only of the laughs that we had, and you'd want to come home.
Now it ain't hard feelings or nothing, sugar - that ain't what's got me singing this song.
It's just nobody knows, honey, where love goes, but when it goes, it's gone, gone.

But then one night, Valentine’s Day night, to be exact, he thinks of her again and decides it's time to give it another try. Leaving our story with an uncertain but perhaps hopeful ending (“Valentine’s Day”).

So hold me close and say you're forever mine,
And tell me that you'll be my lonely valentine.

Makes a little sense?

There is, of course, a different ending that could be just as possible, one that tracks much closer to Bruce's life at the time, when he and his wife Julianne Phillips split up thanks to his carrying on with eventual (and still) wife Patti Scialfa. That ending reads, of course, that the narrator doesn't go back to his wife in "Valentine's Day," but instead to the woman he cheated with in "One Step Up." And considering Patti's ominous appearance 2/3 of the way through the latter song...it is indeed possible.

Either way it ends, I still hear the form holding true. One man, one story filled with the hopes, doubts, joy and pain that comes with being an adult in an adult relationship.

All told through one masterpiece of a rock-n-roll album, Tunnel of Love.

Valentine

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Well, you wish upon a star that turns into a plane
And I guess that's right on par
Who's left to blame?

If you were a pill
I'd take a handful at my will
And I'd knock you back with something sweet and strong
Plenty of times you wake up in February make-up
Like the moon and the morning star you're gone

Tonight makes love to all your kind
Tomorrow's makin' valentines 

Hey, you pop up in this old place
So sick and so refined
Are you strung out on some face?
Well, I know it ain't mine

If you were a pill, I'd take a handful at my will
And I'd knock you back with something sweet and strong
Trouble keeping your head up when you're hungry and you're fed up
Like a moon and a lone star you're gone

Tonight makes love to all your kind
Tomorrow's makin' valentines

If you were a pill, I'd take a handful at my will
And I'd knock you back with something sweet as wine
Yesterday was theirs to say, this is their world and their time
Well, if tonight belongs to you, tomorrow's mine

Tonight makes love to all your kind
Tomorrow's makin' valentines

The Million Dollar Quartet

So this past weekend six friends and I made a journey (some may even call it a pilgrimage) to Memphis. It was the first visit there for maybe half of us. Ostensibly we traveled there on annual

weekend trek to see a college basketball game in a new location (we are all University of Connecticut fans and graduates, and each year we try and hit a cool new city and watch a game there). So that was our official reason.

But our real reason was, well, Memphis. This was a city we needed to see. Either for the first time or very eagerly once again.

We needed to see the Lorraine Motel and the Civil Rights Museum, which is breathtakingly and heartbreakingly awesome. In the truest sense of that word.

We needed to see Graceland. Because, well, just because.

We needed to see the bright lights of Beale Street and walk in the tracks of BB and Junior and the Wolf and so many others.

We needed to get some great damn southern cooking.

And we needed to see this place. Which, you know, holds as strong an ownership claim on the title of "The Birthplace of Rock-n-Roll" as any place could or should:

So we did. And just basically kinda lapped up the all-too-brief but so, SO good 50-minute tour that very comprehensively covered the history of Sun Studio.  And culminated in us standing in the actual studio itself. 

You know, the studio. The place where a few people got their start. Like Jackie Brenston and his  Delta Cats with "Rocket 88" in 1951, which to some rock-n-roll authorities is THE first rock-n-roll song in history. And B.B. King. And Rufus Thomas. And the Howlin' Wolf. And a few others people/legends/icons whose names you may recognize.

Which brings me to this photo. Which I stood three feet away from as our tour wrapped up in the middle of that iconic studio.

That right there is the "Million Dollar Quartet," as it came to be known. Playing an impromptu jam session on December 4, 1956. And filling out what has to be on any short list of the Coolest Photos in Music History.

Let's take a quick look, shall we?

There at the left is the baby of the bunch, 21-year-old Jerry Lee Lewis, still quite a few months away from making it huge at Sun Studio with "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" and, later, "Great Balls of Fire." Both of which would be recorded in this room.

Next to him at right is Carl Perkins, who was all of 24 in this photo and was actually in the studio that day to record a rather iconic "Matchbox." Oh yeah, and who gave Sun its first Number 1 hit with "Blue Suede Shoes" a year earlier.

On the far right and decidedly NOT dressed in black is the oldest of the bunch, a 24-year-old Johnny Cash, who had indeed had some success at that point, including "I Walk The Line," which was recorded (again) in this studio six months earlier.

And oh. Seated at the piano, there is Mr. Elvis Presley. A month shy of his 22nd birthday and already the biggest star Sun Studio (and, yeah, the world) would ever produce.

Four guys. Jamming quite by chance one day. The Million Dollar Quartet.

And just look at that photo! Look at how young they all are!

Look at how attentive and how, believe it or not, humble Jerry Lee looks. As he was the only one who at the time of this photo hadn't hit it huge yet. (Soon enough, for better and for worse, he would develop a confidence he would never, ever lose).

Look at how steady and confident Carl looks. Despite his fellow royalty around him.

Look at how focused Johnny is, and how almost shy he seems. Yet still exuding a cool that very few artists ever could.

And look at Elvis. Man. That is a look of reverence he is giving to Mr. Perkins, and there is also some serious joy in his face. Perhaps the joy of making music with the best of the best of the best? Even though it's only for one magical day?

Could any of them have possibly known of what was to come? Even Elvis, who was at that point a worldwide star? The four men around that piano did not total a collective 100 years of age at the time of that photo, yet the influence they would have on rock-n-roll and music in general and culture and on America itself is literally immeasurable. Could they have known? Is there anything in this picture that indicates they may have known? Elvis' look? Johnny's cool detachment? Carl's knowing pose? Jerry Lee's attentiveness? Any of it? All of it?

Who knows. All we do know is this happened. On December 4, 1956 at Sun Studio on Union Avenue in Memphis, Tennessee. And maybe that's enough.

Because 62 years later and counting, it still lives and breathes. At Sun Studio, and in the all the music it would inspire for decades to come. 

Make It With You

I know what you're thinking. You, like us, were thinking, "say, is there anything Dusty Springfield couldn't turn into sheer gold?" And the answer, so far, seems to be, "no. No, there surely isn't."

Stuck On You

Stereogum's been running an amazing series for months now, reviewing every single Billboard number one single since the beginning of the chart. It's been a delightful journey, revisiting old favorites, often learning new things about songs I've known for decades, and to my surprise and pleasure, occasionally discovering new songs from artists I (thought I) already knew well. (How on earth are there #1 hits by the Supremes I'd never even heard of, much less known?)

I'm a fan of the writer, Tom Breihan, who has done an amazing job, although he doesn't have nearly the proper reverence for the Beatles. And when"Stuck by You" came up on my morning playlist today, it reminded me of the relatively slating this little gem received.

There’s no urgency in “Stuck On You,” the first single that Presley released after his time in the military. Instead, the Elvis of “Stuck On You” sounds like an Elvis impersonator, leaning hard on his gasps and hiccups and little baritone voice-drops. You can almost hear finger-gun winking.

Don't get me wrong, this is far from the great song the King ever recorded, nor is it his greatest performance. But where Breihan hears laziness, I hear complete and total command of one's god-like gifts. I think it's confidence but if there's a character flaw to be had, it's in the arrogance of the all-conquering hero who'd come from nothing and through sheer force of will, hard work and gobs of talent—and, of course, excellent luck and timing—had demolished all in his path. So is he trying here the way he did on "That's All Right, Mama"? Of course not; he doesn't have to—only once more in his entire life will he ever have to and when he does it'll be spectacular and justifiably legendardy—and the song doesn't call for it anyway. Instead, he's murmuring sweet nothings to the latest objection of affection, both of them fully aware that he doesn't need to, and probably doesn't mean it, which actually almost makes it a lovely gesture.

But then you get to the "a team of wild horses couldn't tear us apart" line and for one brief moment Presley lets loose, and it's like seeing Wilt Chamberlain playing one-on-one with a talented 7th grader and taking it easy on him, just playing around and having fun...until he suddenly decides to dunk on the kid as though going up against Bill Russell and it's awesome.

I Want You Back

I'm a big fan of the slowed down, acoustic, soulful covers of upbeat pop, rock and hip-hop songs, while acknowledging that it's an approach which had become overdone well past the point of cliché many years ago.

The unbelievably talented Janelle Monae indeed slows down this unassailably ebullient Jackson 5 hit, but rather than simply go the delightful if well-trod twee route, she takes it in a jazz direction without actually adding any swing rhythms—and yet embuing it with an incredible amount of swing. And the results are simply magical: ethereal and yet thoroughly earthy at the same time.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

It's been fascinating to watch the rise and fall and perhaps rise again of this sorta kinda holiday standard. I don't think I'd ever even heard it until well into this century, nearly this decade. And since I think the first version I ever heard was the version J.D. and Turk from Scrubs put out, the impact was a bit different than it was for many. It was only later that I heard a more traditional version and realized how crazy creepy the song is.

Or is it? I've read several pieces arguing that, taking the era in which it was composed into account, it's actually just the opposite: a female somewhat flaunting conventions in a maybe kinda sorta subtle yet definite way.

There's definitely something to the case. And yet it's hard to shake the (nearly) original predatory feel I had (nearly) originally. Rapey? Transgressive? I haven't decided yet.

But what I have decided is that listening to two of the main voices from Schoolhouse Rock covering the song is incredibly wonderful, as despite her toydoll-like vocal stylings, I can't help but feel that Blossom Dearie did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

Election Day Bob Dylan Listening

'Tis that time of year. More specifically 'tis that DAY of the year. Vote. For real. Do it. Today.

As I have stated numerous times in this space, my Election Day listenings always go to Bob Dylan. Why? Probably has something to do with his being the most enduring American voice of the last half-century and more. A voice more often than not for freedom, for empathy and for understanding.

So that's why, I think. And today (Have we done this before? Seriously, I am asking - I've spotlit a lot of Dylan songs here and can't recall if I've done this one yet...oh well. I'm doing it anyway) I choose one of his most perfectly written songs. A song that remembers the forgotten, pities the afflicted, speaks for the voiceless and lifts up the persecuted. It is such a magnificent piece of writing that it's almost a shame that he had to put it to music.

Almost.

Read these lyrics. And go vote. And keep them chimes of freedom flashing.

Far between sundown's finish an' midnight's broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight
And for each an' every underdog soldier in the night
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

Through the city's melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden as the walls were tightening
As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin' rain
Dissolved into the bells of the lightning
Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake
Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned an' forsakened
Tolling for the outcast, burnin' constantly at stake
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind
And the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

In the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms of no position
Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted situations
Tolling for the deaf an' blind, tolling for the mute
For the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute
For the misdemeanor outlaw, chained an' cheated by pursuit
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

Even though a cloud's white curtain in a far-off corner flared
An' the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
And for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

Starry-eyed an' laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an' we watched with one last look
Spellbound an' swallowed 'til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an' worse
And for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

Love Is Blue (and a bit blind)

I can't tell you how many times I've heard someone say something along the lines of "music used to be so much better." I've heard old people say it, I've heard young people say it. I remember hearing it back in the 80s, for pete's sake, and music was pretty freakin' spectacular in the 1980s.

Don't get me wrong, I love the old stuff too. And, yeah, it's hard to argue that the 1960s weren't an insanely fertile time for music. That pretty much goes without saying but, hey, we'll say it anyway. And if the shadow it's cast over subsequent decades is somewhat unfair and obscures the fact that the 1970s and 1980s each have solid claims to be at least as good, in terms of output, as 60s, well, that doesn't change how great the 60s really were.

But if you want to rebut the whole "things were better back in ye olden days," take a look at 1967.

So 1967 was, by pretty much any measure, a darn good year for music. Here are just a small handful of the fine songs from that fine year:

“Respect,” “Light My Fire,” “Sunshine of Your Love,” “Purple Haze,” “Waterloo Sunset,” “Somebody to Love,” “Soul Man,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Nights in White Satin,” “The Letter,” “Waterloo Sunset,” “I Can See for Miles,” “My Back Pages,” “White Rabbit,” “Dance to the Music,” “Brown Eyed Girl,” “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” “Happy Together,” “Tears of a Clown,” “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher,” “Penny Lane,” “The Dark End of the Street,” “I Second That Emotion,” “You Keep Me Hangin' On,” “Cold Sweat,” “Get Together,” “Different Drum,” “Chain of Fools,” “I Never Loved a Man,” “Sweet Soul Music,” “All You Need Is Love,” “The Letter,” “I'm A Believer,” “Ain't No Mountain High Enough,” “I Can See for Miles,” Let's Live for Today,” “Soul Man,” “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” “Happy Together ,” “Hello Goodbye,” “Pleasant Valley Sunday,” “Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You,” “Carrie-Anne,” “Ruby Tuesday,” and even a little song called “A Day in the Life.”

And there are at least a handful of other songs from most of those artists which could just as easily have made the list.

And yet. Know what the second-best selling single of the entire year was? Thanks to Tom Breihan's The Number Ones, his amazing column exploring every #1 single, I now know it  was this gem:

Don't get me, that's a very likable tune. I've always been fond of it and can hardly imagine getting tired of it. But...I mean...not exactly "Waterloo Sunset" or "Purple Haze" or “Strawberry Fields Forever” or "I'm Waiting for the Man," now is it? And yet it not only went to #1, it stayed there for five weeks. "Ruby Tuesday"? One week. "Penny Lane?" One week. "Respect?" Two weeks. "All You Need Is Love?" One week. "Love Is Blue?" Five weeks. Five damn weeks.

So, yeah, the good old days could be awfully good. But not always, and that part gets overlooked far too often.

Shostakovich Prelude and Fugue no. 17 in A-flat Major

I am gobsmacked and beyond delighted to find one of my favorite YouTube channels, the utterly delightful smalin, has a new video out—its first to feature not only the greatest of Soviet composers, Dmitri Shostakovich, but a piece from my absolute favorite work of his, 24 Preludes and Fugues, op 87, performed by the greatest of Soviet pianists, the brilliant Sviatoslav Richter.

96 Tears

Of the oh so many amazing things about Aretha Frankin, one of the most astonishing is that it took nearly six years of making records before she really hit the big-time. Six years and 10 albums before the world at large took notice of the Queen of Soul. And the incredible thing about it is that all the record companies really had to do was get the hell out of the way and let her do her thing—rather than try to shoehorn her into some updated version of Judy Garland, simply let Aretha be Aretha.

As though any proof of her greatness is needed, her she is taking that garage band proto-punk classic, "96 Tears" by ? and the Mysterians and indelibly stamping it with her own genius.

Obviously, having the likes of Spooner Oldham and Roger Hawkins behind you doesn't exactly hurt. But while the bass of the great Tommy Cogbill can only help, in the end—and the beginning and the middle—it's all about Lady Soul.

Favorite Song Friday: My Life

So I was reading this recent interview with the late Sir William Joel of Long Islandington. And a few things hit me.

One was the understated badassness of this bit:

I remember the show at the Garden after the Charlottesville riot when you wore a Star of David. How do you decide when you want to make your beliefs known?  

Wearing the Star of DavidAt his show on August 21, 2017, Joel sported a Star of David on his jacket. At the same concert, Joel had images of Trump officials like Anthony Scaramucci and Sean Spicer — as well as James Comey and Sally Yates — projected behind him as he and guest Patty Smyth performed Scandal’s “Goodbye to You.” wasn’t about politics. To me, what happened in Charlottesville was like war. When Trump said there were good people on both sides — there are no good Nazis. There are no good Ku Klux Klan people. Don’t equivocate that shit. I think about my old man: Most of his family was murdered in Auschwitz.The story of the Joel family’s experience with Nazi Germany is told in full in the 2001 German documentary The Joel Files.The story of the Joel family’s experience with Nazi Germany is told in full in the 2001 German documentary The Joel Files. He was able to get out but then got drafted and went in the U.S. Army. He risked his life in Europe to defeat Nazism. A lot of men from his generation did the same thing. So when those guys see punks walking around with swastikas, how do they keep from taking a baseball bat and bashing those crypto-Nazis over the head? Those creeps are going to march through the streets of my country? Uh-uh. I was personally offended. That’s why I wore that yellow star. I had to do something, and I didn’t think speaking about it was going to be as impactful.

The other was how very much criticism has taken its toll on him over the years. He denies it...again and again and again. He has to, because he very noticeably keeps bringing it up again and again and again. And that sucks. Because someone who's accomplished as much as the late Sir William Joel of Long Islandington has should really be delighted with their life.

As one of the guys who's sometimes publicly mocked him ever so gently and lovingly, allow me to take a moment to talk about one of the many Billy Joel songs I really truly love and the thing about it which never ceases to impress me, no matter how many times I've heard it.

"My Life" is quintessential Billy Joel, with a lyric that aims for John Lennon, with perhaps some of Chuck Berry's braggadocio, but falls short (mainly in the second verse, which starts great but fizzles into empty albeit rhyming platitudes). Meanwhile, musically, it's a composition of which Paul McCartney himself could be proud, insanely melodic and with a plethora of hooks, including a few which are strictly instrumental and never actually translate to the vocal line.

It's got a compelling (and not entirely dissimilar to "Silly Love Songs") intro that starts quietly and builds until the whole band kicks in and delivers the first hook, just before the second hook is introduced—and again it's only this second hook which will actually turn into a vocal line and even there only as a faint vocal in the outro. Who does that? A guy who can produce the kind of melodies that the late Sir William Joel of Long Islandington can, that's who.

So the song is pretty standard, from a structural point of view. With one exception, but it's a pretty big one, and that's what always strikes me about this one. It's not that the verses and the chorus share the same chord changes and melody, although that is kinda interesting, especially given that the intro and outro—which normally would share either the verse or chorus changes—are different. It's the placement of the bridge and the treatment of the second chorus, as well as the way he repeatedly goes to the intro/outro music, using it almost as a substitute for a guitar or keyboard solo.

The song goes:

• intro
• first verse
• intro/break
• first chorus
• first bridge
• second verse
• intro/break
• second chorus
• second bridge
• intro/break
• third chorus
• outro

For the second chorus, though, he has Liberty DeVitto bring the drums down to half-time, lending (or trying to) gravitas, to the first two lines. Then things kick back in and we go to the break section. Then back to the chorus for a third and final time...but only half of it. And then we're into the extended outro, which is just the intro/break section, but with vocals this time, singing the keyboard hook from the original intro.

It's an odd construction. There are only two verses, he keeps going back to the intro music, and the song gets heaviest almost right before it closes it out—and then once it does get ready to close out, it hangs around for a surprisingly (and pleasantly) long time. It's...weird. It feels like a standard 8-bar pop song, structurally, but it's really not. It's slightly, or maybe even more than slightly, askew, but you don't really notice the first few dozen times you hear it, as you're just caught up by Joel's phenomenally catchy melodies and compelling lyrics.

But he's the late Sir William Joel of Long Islandington, a guy who's a master of songcraft, so he undoubtedly knows what he's doing. Which makes it even more perplexing and, for me, at least, appealing.

Well done, good sir. Well done indeed.

Mrs. Robinson

This is one of the greatest things I've ever seen.

I have to believe that Lulu was in on the joke, that she's well aware of how she's completely trampling—in an ever so delicate and effervescent and utterly funk-free way, of course—the point of the lyric.

The way she euphorically sings "any way you look at it you lose" as though she's singing "and flowers make me ever so happy." The way she spins and whirls, so carefree, as she coos about the bleak state of the union, the marital discord and infidelity, the titular character perhaps being locked away in a psychiatric institution.  It's all so gloriously wrongheaded that I have to believe she believes she's representing poor Mrs. Robinson herself, or perhaps Mrs. Robinson's psyche, drugged out of her gourd and beyond reason.

Any way you look at it, it's sublime.

Ramble On

Restraint. Knowing when to lay out. Knowing what not to play. As Miles Davis famously advised John Coltrane, sometimes it’s best to just “take the horn out of your mouth.”

Which brings us to, incongruously, John Bonham.

Bonzo. Led Zeppelin’s monster drummer. The man who, more than any other, raised the bar on what it meant to be a rock and roll drummer. Of his peers and predecessors, only Keith Moon was as influential (although his stock has dropped precipitously since his death, while Bonham’s has, if anything, continued to rise) and only Ginger Baker as technically advanced.  Bonham’s technique, his style, his sheer overwhelming volume and speed and most of all power, were mindblowing at the time and, perhaps because of his remarkable influence continuing to this day, don’t sound dated.

From the first very, he amazed. Literally: the first track off their first album has Bonham doing things with the bass drum never before heard in rock and roll. Check out the bass drum triplets he starts playing about five seconds in here—since you’re probably listening on little computer speakers it might be a bit hard to pick up, but for drummers at the time, what he was doing with the bass drum was astonishing.


              "Good Times, Bad Times" outro

Later he, more than any other drummer, would go on to popularize that bane of 70s concert going experiences, the interminable drum solo. Sure, he was a star and a stud…but really? 30 minutes for a drum solo? That’s how long the entire Beatles concert at Shea Stadium was. Even the great Bonzo couldn’t make a solo of that length transcendent.

But when you have a drummer as powerful and inventive and plain musical as Bonham, you overlook such trivialities. (Also, you head for the beer stands.) I mean, you could go through any Led Zeppelin album and find who knows how many amazing Bonham moments. The way he takes songs like “Misty Mountain Hop” or “The Song Remains the Same” or “Trampled Under Foot” or “Kashmir” or “Achilles Last Stand” which are already moving forward like a crazed elephant and somehow manages to shove things up a few notches is just unsurpassed. But just check out these intros:


              "Rock and Roll" intro


              "The Crunge" intro


              "D'yer Mak'er" intro


              "When the Levee Breaks" intro

There's little there that's terribly difficult—but that's one of the points. Simplicity is often best and usually more difficult. And play any or all of those for any serious rock fan who grew up in the 70s or 80s and probably even later and they’ll be able to tell you the name of the song those come from, sing the riff that’s just about to kick in and likely even pinpoint where each song belongs on each album. How many other good drummers have that many signature moments in their careers? ‘cuz those four examples? Are just from two albums. Crazy.

Which brings us, in my meandering way, to “Ramble On.” Off their second album, the song’s notable for several things: it’s perhaps the earliest rock and roll song with Tolkien allusions—especially ironical, given that making Lord of the Ring references is shorthand for mocking geeky prog rock groups, while Led Zeppelin is generally the coolest of the cool when it comes to rock bands, and yet they’re by far the most prominent offenders. It’s good to be the king.

Then there’s lovely bass playing by Led Zeppelin’s secret weapon, John Paul Jones, contributing the most melodic, catchiest element of the music, as well as the odd percussive sound during the verses, Bonham tapping on something which has never been conclusively identified.

And finally we have the point of all this, which is Bonham’s playing. Check it:


                           "Ramble On" 

Notice how tasteful and tasty his playing is? That five note drum riff he plays each time his drums enter? The way he plays half a measure, then pulls his snare out for the next half measure, filling the space with a quartet of syncopated bass drum kicks, and then comes back in on the snare double time for a measure. And then he does the whole pattern again. Chorus over, he again lays out for the verses.

When it comes to the brief instrumental solo section he plays it straight, with a nice smattering of syncopated semi-ghosted notes on the snare before a tiny fill leads into him dropping out for the final verse. Another few runs through the chorus and we’re out.

See what he did there? Or rather what he didn’t do? Four and a half minutes and the world’s greatest rock and roll drummer, the spiritual (if not literal) inspiration for the muppet drummer Animal, the most notorious wildman in the most notorious rock and roll band of wildmen, doesn’t even really play a single drum fill. Instead he simply sticks (no pun intended) to his pre-composed drum part. That is, to quote Luke Skywalker, improbable. And yet there 'tis.

It’s this side of Bonham which often gets overlooked in the justly deserved praise for his power. It’s the fact that Bonham wasn’t just an insanely powerful drummer—although he most certainly was that. But he was also a monster musician sharing an unlikely philosophy with the likes of Steve Cropper, Paul McCartney and Miles Davis: just because you can play something, it doesn’t mean you should.

American Girl

If the slowed down, stripped down cover of an uptempo classic has become more than a little clichéd, well, it's for a reason: it works.

This isn't going to cause anyone to forget the Tom Petty original but it's (almost) always nice to hear one major artist paying tribute to another major artist and putting their own stamp on things.

Nirvana + Vanessa Carlton = unbelievable

This really is, to quote one of the songs, unbelievable.

RIP Aretha Franklin

The greatest American singer of our lifetime? The greatest female singer of our lifetime? Or simply the greatest singer of our lifetime? Pace Frank Sinatra, Sam Cooke, Elvis Presley, Marvin Gaye, John Lennon and Prince, it's pretty damn hard to argue that the Queen of Soul wasn't just the first two but all three—certainly until yesterday she was the greatest living pop singer in the world.

But she was also a brilliant artist, who knew how to make the most of her spectacular instrument, turning in mind-blowing performance after mind-blowing performance. Taking "Respect," a song already done fantastically by its writer, Otis Redding, and blowing his version away by adding a bridge and her pipes and transforming it into a feminist anthem should not have been possible. And for the Queen, it was a day's work, and a life's triumph.

And if that was all she had done, her place in history would have been assured. But of course that's just the tip of the iceberg.  "Chain of Fools," "(You Make Me Feel Like a) Natural Woman," "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)," "Think," "Do Right Woman - Do Right Man," "Rock Steady" and dozens of others don't even begin to scratch the surface of her contribution to popular music. And that's without even getting into her importance to the civil rights movement.

For many of us suburban white kids, her incendiary performance in The Blues Brothers was our first conscious introduction to Aretha, although of course her music had been in the air since we'd had ears.

I was deep in my hard rock Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith phase the first time I saw the film, and this kind of soul music was not in my wheelhouse. And yet I remember being utterly transfixed from the moment she began singing, barely breathing until the song was over. I've probably watched it two dozen times since then and it's never lost one bit of its power.

Steven Hyden wrote about her performance at Montreux:

If you’re like me, it’s impossible not to compare what she’s doing to what Art Garfunkel did. In the Simon & Garfunkel version, the part when Garfunkel sings “…and pain is all around” always chokes me up. He’s a friend offering solace, but you can tell he’s not exactly in the best way, either. He’s trying to be strong, but he can’t help but expose his inner pain.
Aretha does not sound weak. She is not praying to God for deliverance. She is the voice of God.
When Simon & Garfunkel perform “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” the final “sail on silver girl” verse seems superfluous after that “pain is all around” verse — the song’s emotional peak has already been reached. But when Aretha does it, that last verse feels like a legitimate climax. As a listener, you feel yourself ascending toward the divine. She’s reaching out, extending herself to give all of humanity a big bear-hug. “Your time has come to shine / all your dreams are on their way,” she sings, and you believe her, because her voice has automatic authority when it comes to such matters. She sounds immortal, and this is a relief, because what is immortal can’t ever die.

Damn skippy.

That performance, obviously, also features some sweet damn piano playing from Ms Franklin—if your band was auditioning for a new pianist, and she walked in and started playing the way she does here, you'd sign her up after about three bars...and that's without even hearing her sing.

For further proof, let's turn to her takeover of Elton John's "Border Song."

Again, that fantastic piano is courtesy the Queen herself, a reminder that had she wanted to go in that direction, she absolutely could have beaten the likes of Elton or Billy at their own games—hell, she could have been a leading studio pianist without even ever opening her mouth. And while I've never actually heard him say it, I like to think Elton John (an avowed fan) had the same reaction to hearing her cover of his song as Otis Redding did (with admiration) when he heard her version of "Respect": "that woman stole my song." I mean, from literally the first line, when she's barely singing above a murmur, she's in complete and utter command—of both her voice and the song. And, of course, being Aretha, she just builds from there.

And yet the recording I keep finding myself going back to is this, for reasons which I suppose are pretty obvious.

As with the recent losses of Prince and David Bowie and B.B. King, there's a gaping hole in the soul left by their absence. But those holes are only there because those brilliant artists made room in the soul, stretching and pulling and pushing and enlarging, through their art in the first place. And for that we should be eternally grateful.

Rest in peace, Queen. And thank you.

Time Song

I'm trying to wrap my head around having this song, this recording, in your vault and thinking, "nah...not quite good enough."

As if anyone required further proof of just how great the Kinks were...

Five Days in July

So I heard this at our local pizza joint the other day. I've been listening to a lot of Neil Young recently, so the opening harmonica immediately grabbed my attention, sounding as it does like an amalgamation of several different NY tunes, most especially "I Am a Child" and "Comes a Time," but shifted into the minor.

I couldn't hear very well, but enough to grok that it wasn't ol' Neil on vocals, and then some of the harmonic movement made it clear that if the song was written by Mr Young, it wasn't one I knew.

But then came the solo at the end I thought, damn, if these boys don't have the Neil Young aesthetic down pretty cold.

I've embedded this oh so pretty version of the song rather than the official video because the official video is about half the length and doesn't have the guitar searage.

Turns out Blue Rodeo was founded in the early 1980s and I'm only listening to them now. Seems about par for the course.