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."

Daybreak

Congratulations to one of my favorite ever musical artists.

We Don't Talk Anymore

This is one of two Cliff Richard songs that I loved when I was a kid, yet only discovered was by Sir Cliff some time within the past few years, decades after I'd first learned of the British Elvis.

Great tune. But boy howdy that spinning dance at the end, followed by the lumbering side to side shuffle is...not Elvis-like.

Follow You, Follow Me

I was reading a discussion the other day about who the greatest prog keyboardist of the 70s was: Keith Emerson or Rick Wakeman? And what about Patrick Moraz? Where does he fit in?

I don't nearly enough about keyboards or Emerson to have any kind of an educated opinion. I know I certain prefer both Wakeman's and Moraz's playing, given that Close to the Edge is absolutely one of my favorite albums ever, and Fragile's not far behind, and for that matter, I have recently come to appreciate Relayer despite the fact that Bill Bruford doesn't play on it, but he didn't play on the two albums he made with Moraz and I like those too. Meanwhile, I've never had much desire to hear any ELP beyond what was frequently on the radio and didn't even enjoy that handful of tunes all that much.

Still, there's no question that when it comes to technique, Wakeman, Emerson and Moraz stand head and shoulders above the other most famous prog keyboardists, Tony Banks and Rick Wright, and that's assuming you even consider Pink Floyd a prog band. (You should.) Both are certainly fine players, but neither come close to the kind of technical excellence so freely displayed by Wakeman and Emerson.

And yet. For all their unquestioned chops, and for all I adore Close to the Edge and it and Fragile have enriched my life, I have never heard Rick Wakeman play anything as lovely, as melodious, as absolutely perfect for its setting as the solo Banks plays from 2:49-3:10, never mind Keith Emerson.

And we haven't even touched about the stuff he wrote with Genesis—which is to say, most of Genesis' output. (That's at least a slight exaggeration. Sometimes he only co-wrote stuff.) But, I mean, "Cinema Show"? "Apocalypse in 9/8"? "After the Ordeal"? I mean.

So. Best keyboardist? By most criteria, Banks isn't even close to being in the running. But I would surely pick just about anything he ever wrote with Genesis over not only just about anything ever written by Wakeman or Emerson, I'd pick just about anything he's ever written over just about everything written by those guys.

(Full disclosure: Rick Wakeman seems like he's been pretty much one of the coolest guys on the planet since at least Hunky Dory.)

I Write the Songs

Oh, 70s. You sweet, sweet, naïve decade. When a guy who looks like this jamoke can become a megastar with a song like this...that he didn't even write.

My guess is that Beach Boy Bruce Johnston had absolutely no problem with few people knowing he wrote the song claiming he writes the songs, and even fewer problems cashing the many enormous checks.

You know, I've never understood the main criticism that song seemed to get, which is the absurd arrogance of my man Bears claiming he invented music, when it's crystal clear that the song's narrator is, in fact, God, or at least some omnipotent being. Which, yes, Barry Manilow is damn close to being, but even he's not quite all the way there.

Lady

Look, I am an unironic, unabashed fan of 70s pop. Is it cheesy, trite, sometimes cringe-worthy? Of course. But then again, so are DT and I.

Which is to say I absolutely love this damn song. Even as I fully recognize that it's terrible.

I mean...terrible. 

And I love you best
You're not like the rest
You're there when I need you
You're there when I need
I'm gonna need you

A long time ago
I had a lady to love
She made me think of things
I never thought of
Now she's gone and I'm on my own
A love song has come into my mind
A love song
It was there all the time

So lady
Let me take a look at you now
You're there on the dance floor
Making me want you somehow
Oh lady
I think it's only fair
I should say to you
Don't be thinkin' that I don't want you

'Cause maybe I do

See what I mean? Do I lie? That's... listen, I don't need my pop songs to have lyrics worthy of Dylan. Sure, it's nice when they do, but you know what else works just as damn well? "A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-wop-bam-boom." "Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-tee-da.""De-do-do-do-de-da-da-da." Certainly "Mmmbop, ba duba dop, ba du bop, ba duba dop, ba du bop, ba duba dop, ba du, yeah yeah." Actually, come to think of it, those are all Dylan-worthy.

So he loves her best, she's there when he needs her, but she's gone and he's alone, and he's clumsily macking on a dancer he's been ogling and what? When's this taking place? Do we have three separate timelines going on at the same time in some sort of time is an infinite loop and all times are now?

Of course now. What we have is an embarrassing mishmash and none of it really matters much 'cuz melody and tasty harmonies, not to mention some truly sweet bass work and an almost contrapuntal guitar solo. Oh my goodness all so good. (Seriously.)

Now. Having said that, in 2016, it's a bit hard to listen to songs like this and not feel at least a bit SJW and wonder if maybe the guy should take a step or two back, play it several degrees cooler and, most of all, be quite confident she should be keeping a close eye on her drink.

Finally, this line?

You're there on the dance floor making me want you somehow

"Somehow"? I think Erin Brockovich said it best.

Not rocket science, friend. So don't be a creep and act like she doesn't know exactly what it is that's making you want her. (And, I mean..."somehow"? Dude, come on.)

On the other hand: melody and tasty harmonies.

Seasons in the Sun

It's easy to look at this as a popular rock band sneering at the saccharine pop of an earlier era. But even without knowing that a young Kurt Cobain had actually loved the song, you can tell, and not just because the adult Kurt smiles a few times. Because while this is more than a little reminiscent of the way The Replacements would butcher a song live, Nirvana took up studio time, rather than drunkenly stumbling into it on stage and, more importantly, they don't just do a verse or two or half a chorus or part of a riff—they do the entire song, largely get the lyrics correct (sorta), and despite swapping instruments, even navigate the key change (something you can see pleases Dave Grohl).

Jesus, what an artist. What a band. What a loss.

Hey Deanie

If I recall correctly, Dave Marsh once gave Shaun Cassidy a not entirely blistering overview for one of the Rolling Stone guides, saying the singer was a notch better than the other teen idols of his era. I remember thinking at the time that Marsh, one of my favorite writers, had really missed the ball on this one, and that for his Lovin' Spoonful and Crystals covers, if nothing else, Cassidy deserved all the scorn one could heap.

Yeah, as usual, Dave knew better. This is a pretty great damn pop song. And I was trying to figure out what it was reminding me of, in a good way, when I discovered it was written by Eric Carmen, writer of the incredible "Go All the Way" (and, yes, "Hungry Eyes") and shares the same guitars.

On the other hand, the added crowd noise at the end, when he couldn't possibly be more alone in a studio, is ridiculous, as is the amount of eye shadow he's wearing. But I admit that could just be my extreme jealousy over the fabulousness of his "what would Dorothy Hamill's hair look like if she grew it out?" hair, which is fabulous.

Crazy Horses

Okay. So it's easy (and largely justified) to laugh at the Osmonds. A very white version of the Jackson 5, with amazing teeth and less good songs (and dance moves).

It's also easy to single out "Crazy Horses" as one of the exceptions, given its critical re-establishment this century, due to (perhaps initially ironical) covers by younger bands.

But it also stands up. This is one badass jam.

The brothers wrote and played everything on this album themselves, in a bid for critical respect. It didn't seem to work much at the time, but history has proved kinder. And props to the boys for being pro-environmental, whether trendy or not. As my imaginary friend Chris said:

It really tries to be be "of the time" while also having a very dorm-room-at-3am vibe -- "Man, did you ever notice that cars are, like, really just a kind of crazy horse?"

The reason you don't see a drummer in this video is that they're lip-syncing to the studio version, and the drums you're hearing are really being played by lead singer Alan. Which, given that drummers are usually, you know, behind the drums, might explain his what-if-Joe-Cocker-were-in-great-shape-but-still-tripping-balls dance moves...except that Alan was also the band's (and The Donny and Marie Show's) choreographer.

Wayne, on lead guitar, looks remarkably like Jimmy Page. And if he's not got Pagey's chops—no sin, by any means—his solo is actually pretty cool. Not exactly a masterclass in technique, it's interesting in how catchy, yet slightly raunchy, it is, while not echoing any melody heard elsewhere in the song, but rather providing some sort of basic counterpoint. Not bad.

And then there's Merrill, playing the bass and singing the lines right before the chorus. Okay, sure, his teeth might be beyond perfect—boy, howdy, they sure look like they are, even by Osmond standards (which, apparently, are still considered The Gold Standard in dental school)—but homeboy sells this damn song, with range and grit. And check out the bit after the solo, where he repeated "what they've done" line: he sings that not four times, and not eight, but seven, holding on the final, a nice bit of asymmetry that works to build the tension for the final chorus.

The keyboard horse effect does get pretty old, though. But we'll put up with it, if that's the price to be paid for a guitar riff that awesome.

Warszawa

I could watching a thousand hours of this and never get tired. I wish this guy'd do one for every track.

I never cared for Low as much as for Heroes, which I know casts some suspicion on my status as a Bowie fan. But I did always love this song.

It Better End Soon

Oh my God.

I just [re]read Lester Bang's review of Chicago's fourth LP, At Carnegie Hall.

- in 'It Better End Soon - Second Movement' Walter Parazaider takes of on a long and wildly eclectic flute solo, starting with 'Morning Song' from Grieg's 'Peer Gynt Suite', shifting abruptly into 'Dixie' to cheers from the audience, and thence to 'Battle Hymn Of The Republic' complete with martial drum rolls.

I thought it was satire. I didn't believe there could possibly really be a song called "It Better End Soon," much less that there would be multiple movements, much less one entire five minute flute solo, much less one with that many disparate quotes.

Oh my God.



More horrifying, of course, is the fact that upon listening I realize I actually recognize this.

Oh, 70s. So much to answer for.

All Right Now

Not so much.

I grew up on classic rock. AOR was a mainstay. Despite owning all the Beatles LPs, for instance, whenever one of the local rock radio stations would hold one of their "all Beatles all the time" holiday weekends, playing every Fabs song in alphabetical order, I'd leave the radio on for the duration. Aerosmith, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Doors, Black Sabbath, the Eagles, Deep Purple, Styx, these were my lifeblood in junior high and high school.

Even at the time I had more sophisticated tastes as well. In addition to the Beatles, there were the Rolling Stones and the Who, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen and David Bowie and Jackson Browne and Pink Floyd. There was also a fair amount of prog, which, hey: the heart wants what the heart wants. Later, I got into jazz and punk and post-punk and alternative and classical and so on and so forth.

I was a music fanatic pretty much since I can remember. Sousa music in the park on the Fourth? I'm there. Cocktail pianist at someone's wedding reception? I'll just sit and watch. And yet for the first few years after I graduated college, I more or less did without music, as my stereo and CDs and LPs were down in Greensboro, North Carolina and I was up in New York City. So I had a walkman and a few dozen tapes, but that was about it. And this when grunge was just starting to explode, so there was some mighty interesting stuff happening, and I missed much of it.

A few years later, I got back into music again for a few years, from around 1993-1995. But then life intruded once more and I pretty much had to duck back out. And when I resurfaced, in the late 90s, I found myself consumed by jazz, listening to almost nothing but for a few years. After that, it was classical, which was almost all I listened to for several more. (Oh, Shostakovich, you are the seductive one.)

And then it was the mid-Naughts and rock and roll pulled me back. I caught up on a lot of the stuff I'd missed and more: thanks to a pair of books (1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die and 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die), I got invested in really investigating some major artists I'd only had collections of before (Aretha Franklin, the Byrds) or artists about whom I'd heard for literally decades but never listened to before (Nick Drake and Elliott Smith, both of which...WOW. Hawkwind and Tim Buckley, which...not so much).

But I also made a point out of seeking out current artists. So I fell deeply in like to love with the Decemberists and the Wrens and Bon Iver and Iron & Wine and Smith Westerns and Kathleen Edwards and Japandrois and Low and Janelle Monáe and Tennis and Real Estate and Camera Obscura and Kanye West and so on and so forth. There is so damn much damn good music coming out these days. I decided that, no hard feelings, Steve Miller Band, but I really don't need to ever hear you ever again; I listened to you for literally hundreds of hours growing up, and that was good enough. If I ever need to hear "Fly Like an Eagle" again, I can almost certainly "hear" the entire thing from beginning to end with my mind's ear.

But after a few years the excitement of discovering started to wear off just a bit, and I had to realize there was one problem with most of today's best artists, or at least, the ones I'd discovered: almost none of them...welll...rocked. They were often exquisite, gorgeous, sophisticated, warm and inviting...but sometimes you just really wanna hear someone kick out the jams, you know? Sometimes you wanna hear "That's the Way" and sometimes you need to hear "Achilles Last Stand." And give 'em their due: classic rock often did just that. It rocked.

So much as I didn't particularly want to listen to Bad Company again (cf. Steve Miller Band), I had to admit my appreciation for their rockitude, for Paul Rodgers' killer voice, for the great (so great!) drumming of Simon Kirke, for the killer riffs of Mick Ralphs. So when "All Right Now," by Bad Company's predecssor, Free, came on the other day, I kinda smiled. It's got that great voice, that great (so great!) drumming, and the absolutely fantastic guitar riff by Paul Kossoff.

And then I listened to the lyrics.

There she stood in the street
Smilin' from her head to her feet;
I said, "Hey, what is this?
Now maybe, baby,
Maybe she's in need of a kiss."

I said, "Hey, what's your name?
Maybe we can see things the same.
"Now don't you wait, or hesitate.
Let's move before they raise the parking rate."

All right now, baby, it's a-all right now.
All right now, baby, it's a-all right now.

I took her home to my place,
Watchin' every move on her face;
She said, "Look, what's your game?
Are you tryin' to put me to shame?"
I said "Slow, don't go so fast, don't you think that love can last?"
She said, "Love, Lord above,
Now you're tryin' to trick me in love."

All right now, baby, it's a-all right now.
All right now, baby, it's a-all right now

Maybe it's because I've got a bunch of daughters. Maybe it's because the world has changed. Maybe it's because I have. But these lyrics are just so damn rapey. And I don't think it's an either-or proposition, not in a million years. But if it is? If I have to choose between rock that rocks but is rapey or rock that doesn't rock but isn't? I'll go with today's more laid-back artists, in a heartbeat. 'cuz no matter how great the voice or riff or drumming, this is just gross.

Rock Show

There are several things that can be definitively stated as fact after watching this clip.

1) Joe English was one hell of a drummer. I'd love to know whether Dave Grohl realizes he was influenced by English, since his fills seem a clear precursor to the stuff Grohl did with Nirvana.

2) Jimmy McCulloch was one smooth-lookin' dude, apparently influencing the look of Tony Manero.

3) bouncy, happy arena-rock-era Paul McCartney, sporting an absolutely fabulous mullet is, no kidding, awesome. Someone playing bass that well is amazing. Someone singing that well is almost unbelievable. Someone doing both at the same time, having also written these complex pop songs, and conveying an unreal sense of unbridled joy all the while, is just...

Oi. 

Two Sides of Peter Banks

Oh, 1970s—I do love you so.

Reason #293788: please to consider Two Sides of Peter Banks, a 1973 solo album by the late Peter Banks, the original guitarist for Yes, before he was booted aside in favor of Steve Howe. It's a lovely instrumental collection, with contributions from the like of Phil Collins and Steve Hackett, then both of Genesis, and John Wetton, then of King Crimson. Check out this, "The White Horse Vale: On the Hill/Lord of the Dragon," the LP's second track: note the Ye Olde Englishe track name and subtitles. Check the lute-like guitaring. It's pretty and engaging...and then 0:49 rolls around.

Fonky! Even Merrie Olde Englande couldn't escape the inexorable pull of the wah-wah in the early 1970s. It rears its funked-out head, like a badass pastoral Putin in a gritty urban environment, then drops back, but its presence is never fully forgotten, its magnetism too damn strong.

But we're not done! Wait until 2:57! Why, if that ain't a powerfully familiar damn riff—a riff Banks always claimed he himself had written. And the accompanying guitar cries, the volume fading up and down—a hallmark of his successor—shows that he may have gotten passed over by the band he helped create, but he wasn't going quiet.

Moonlight Feels Right

Indeed it does.

I make no apologies for my unfettered love of cheesy 70s Top 40. I was a kid, so there's the sentimental element, and surely (hopefully) that's the strongest pull, but I'm also, at heart, mainly about melody, and that's something that, for better or worse, it pretty much all had in spades. And lyrics have never been my primary concern, which is very, very important when listening to 70s Top 40. What's more, a surprisingly large bit of it was surprisingly funky and, I mean, come on: melody and funk? I'm so there.

This is many things but funky is not one of them—not unless you're talking about the fashion sense.



Oh 70s. 70s 70s 70s. Just...no. No. No.

GOD. Those little laughs at the very end of each verse is so stalker who wants to get caught...but not. quite. yet.

Never mind the smooshing of the word "Chesapeake" into two syllables.

Never mind the line

I finally made a tricky french connection
You winked and gave me your ok

Never mind the line

The eastern moon looks ready for a wet kiss to make the tide rise again

You could even never mind the line

I guess you know I'm givin' you a warnin' 'cause me and moon are itchin' to play

Although the cumulative effect of all that greasy sleaze is to make the guy seem slightly less like a low-grade stalker and slightly more like an actual active serial killer at work.

But just as much so...the look. That just was not a good look, mister singer man. It's not shocking, when viewing this, that the band didn't go on to another dozen smash hits.

On the other hand, the singer's look is certainly way better than the marimba player who solos at 1:47—I think I caught something from merely watching him. I mean, what are the odds he didn't drive a van with an airbrushed painting on the side, shag carpet inside, and a sign saying "If the van's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'!"?

Having said that, he really does rock that marimba pretty hard, I must admit. But I think I counted three keyboard players in the band, in addition to the marimba master, and I must say, that seems like maybe just the eensiest bit of overkill, considering what other bands, such as, say, The Band, were able to do with a mere two.