Happy 50th birthday to Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, one of the all-time great double albums, one of the all-time great guitar bands, and the artistic highpoint of Eric Clapton's career.
It's been interesting to watch as this album, which was so acclaimed when Greatest Albums Ever lists first became a thing in the 80s to nearly forgotten here, outside of aging boomers and Dad Rock adherents. And it's a shame, because while classic rock radio is a dustily mild abomination, this album truly is a five-star classic gem. It's got one of the all-time great rhythm sections in Carl Radle and the phenomenal Jim Gordon, Bobby Whitlock was a killer second vocalist, and Duane Allman kicked Clapton's ass up one side and down the other...and rather than resenting it, Slowhand absolutely loved it, recognizing that it was exactly what he needed and that the results were better than anything he'd ever done (or, sadly, would ever do again). So damn good.
“My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.”
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people By the relief office I seen my people As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking Is this land made for you and me? Nobody living can ever stop me As I go walking that freedom highway Nobody living can ever make me turn back This land was made for you and me
When the summer turns to fall and the school year begins, even though I haven't been a student of any kind since 1990, I think of The Replacements. And during those "back to college" times that follow, meaning the fall, I tend to think about R.E.M. Likely because I became such a fanatic of both bands in college.
In the summer it's Bruce Springsteen for all occasions, as it should be, And on vacation it's often healthy doses of escapist music like the Allman Brothers, Van Morrison, Miles Davis. In the deep throws of winter it's the darker stuff that tends to seep in, such as Warren Zevon and Leonard Cohen. And there is never, ever any time of year when it's a good idea to listen to these guys.
But my birthday? It's always about the Beatles.
A couple of years ago I set out to listen to their entire catalog start to finish in chronological order over the course of my birthday weekend. And I liked it so much I do it each year, a little Beatles marathon (10-12 hours of Beatles music, that is to say) starting with "I Saw Her Standing There" and ending with "You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)." So that's where I am now. Thinking about and listening to the Beatles. Because it's my birthday and probably because the Beatles have always been my "birthday band,," dating back to when I was 12 and first started receiving Beatles records for my birthday.
And today I want to write about my absolute favorite Beatles song of all time. Not their greatest song, mind you, but my favorite. "For No One." Located right smack in the center of Revolver, only the greatest album ever released by the greatest band ever to walk the earth.
(Although to clarify—this is one of their greatest songs, and in fact when Scott and I were putting together our Top 50 Beatles list a few years ago, we both agreed "For No One" should place way up there on any list).
Simply put, they never recorded a more beautiful song, never wrote a more poignant song, never sang a song more perfectly. Did some Beatles songs equal it in those capacities? Of course. But it is this 48-year-old man's opinion they never did it better.
It's everything about the song. The words are some of the most plaintive and mature Paul McCartney ever wrote. He wasn't known for writing about sadness necessarily, at least not as much as John was, but look at these verses and tell me they couldn't be mistaken for the finest tear-duct onslaughts of Roy Orbison, or the saddest of Leonard Cohen's tales.
The day breaks Your mind aches You find that all the words of kindness linger on When she no longer needs you She wakes up She makes up She takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurry She no longer needs you And in her eyes you see nothing No sign of love behind the tears Cried for no one A love that should have lasted years You want her You need her And yet you don't believe her when she says Her love is dead You think she needs you You stay home She goes out She says that long ago she knew someone But now he's gone She doesn't need you The day breaks Your minds aches There will be times when all the things she said Will fill your head You won't forget her And in her eyes you see nothing No sign of love behind the tears Cried for no one A love that should have lasted years
Those are as gorgeous and they are heartbreaking. Through all of the myriad accolades Macca has deservedly received over the years, I'm still not sure he ever gets his due credit as a first-rate songwriter. But his ability to convey pure loss and sadness without ever slipping into sap or self-pity is staggering. The unconventional phrasing, the intermittent rhyme scheme, the way Paul seems to shape each syllable around his peerless, perfect voice. It's all there. It's genuine anguish Paul writes and sings about, but he does it with such sweetness and intricacy that it's impossible not to feel every word and every note. And see the beauty behind it,
The music is as breathtaking as Paul's words and voice are, even though John Lennon and George Harrison are nowhere to be found. No guitar either. Just Paul on bass, piano and clavichord, and of course Ringo Starr keeping flawless pace with a timekeeping roll that sounds like a slow march. But then there is one more added trump card; Alan Civil with a french horn solo in the middle (and accompaniment at the final verse) that takes the song to somewhere very different and very high and very special, soaring above all and...and I can't believe I am writing thhis...almost upstaging the work of the Beatles themselves with his masterful little run up and down the scale. Paul sounds like defeat and regret when he sings. But Civil's playing makes the hurt feel even sharper, the pain even deeper. And in a sad love song, that's pretty amazing.
Last and by no means least, in a tribute to the power of brevity, "For No One" clocks in at 1:59. That's all they needed to create this piece of timeless musical art. Don't get me wrong—"Free Bird" and "Hey Jude" and "Stairway to Heaven" and "Visions of Johanna" and others all have their well-earned longplay place in the realms of musical royalty. But sometimes, you don't need more than two minutes to get it done. That's "For No One." And that's my little explanation as to why neither the Beatles, nor anyone else, ever did it better.
I love this song. (Even if Cali gets a tiny bit shortchanged.)
It's a part of the act The fifty states Pack up your bags It's never too late
From Alabama to Arkansas Follow Alaska, say what you saw Swim in the ocean, Maryland, Maine Then Massachusetts, what a great place Go to New Hampshire, Missouri too It's not Virgina but it will do
Take a drive to Ohio We went running through the oil And my favourite avenue I tried it all my favourite choose
There's Mississippi, Kentucky blue Rhode Island rage And a Tennessee too See Oklahoma or Michigan There's a Nevada, see Washington win Or Arizona, Colorado Connecticut Yankee, love Ohio Louisiana, Delaware who Go Minnesota, we're thinking of you
When we came to Washington We went running through the rain In my favourite city park In my favourite time of day
Oh California, Wyoming too Go to Wisconsin, New Jersey loves you Fly in to Georgia, Idaho Bay Or Indiana, they all seem the same Flordia voting, Montana chew Visit Nebrasksa, there's nothing to do North Carolina, Oregon arms Illinois people, Illinois farms
If I lived in Rhode Island Or if I lived in Michigan Or if I lived to be a man Will you comfort me again?
There's West Virgina, gold in Vermont Visit Hawaii or New Mexico Iowa, Texas, take it all in The Mormans in Utah, the money in gin There's Pennsylvania, driving at night South Carolina, what a delight Dakotas and Kansas Piggy and pork Jump on a train, head back to New York
It's a part of the act The fifty states Pack up your bags, it's never too late
God bless America Land that I love God bless America Land that I love
But something tells me today, even on his 70th birthday, Bob could still belt this out without missing a note. A little bit older, but no less bolder.
Because he sure as hell had it when last we checked a few months ago. And here he is from 2013, when he was just shy of 68. He's still got it, Potsie!
And while the title of this leadoff track from perhaps his finest album ever (Night Moves in 1976) may suggest some kind of macho-strut rock-n-roll FOREVER posturing, it's so much more than that. It's one of the most honest and spot-on songs ever recorded about getting older in a genre originally built for the young.
Well, now sweet sixteen's turned thirty-one
Feel a little tired, feeling under the gun
Well, all Chuck's children are out there playing his licks
Come back, baby, rock -n- roll never forgets
Happy birthday to one of the most powerful and most enduring voices in rock-n-roll. Sing on, Bobby.
The McNicholas, the Posalski's, the Smiths, Zerillis, too The Blacks, the Irish, Italians, the Germans and the Jews Come across the water a thousand miles from home With nothin in their bellies but the fire down below
They died building the railroads worked to bones and skin They died in the fields and factories names scattered in the wind They died to get here a hundred years ago they're still dyin now The hands that built the country we're always trying to keep down
It was thirty years ago, on June 4, 1984, that Born in the U.S.A., the album that made Bruce Springsteen a global superduperstar, was released.
Listening to the title cut now, it seems incomprehensible that it was ever misunderstood, that it was possible to be misunderstood. What part of
Born down in a dead man's town The first kick I took was when I hit the ground End up like a dog that's been beat too much 'til you spend half your life just covering up
is ambiguous in any way? How is that not crystal clear? And those are the very first words he sings on the record.
Looking at video from that massive tour, it's more than a little embarrassing, how close to a parody of himself he already seems...and yet.
The deadly seriousness. The energy. The passion. Other than Howlin' Wolf, James Brown or maybe Iggy Pop, what popular singer had ever bared his soul on stage quite like that, looked so nearly possessed? Sure, with his bandana and bulging biceps and painted-on jeans he may have looked like Rambo with a Tele, but when he moans "oh my god no" at the end, how did anyone convince himself this song was a commercial for blind flag-waving?
[Also, as DT pointed out, thirty years earlier...Elvis Presley was still a month away from recording "That's All Right, Mama."]
Happy Birthday, Maybellene! You're 59 years old today.
And just like on May 21, 1955 when the great Chuck Berry birthed you, we're all still wondering, "Why cain't you be true?"
Few have had, or ever will have, more of an impact on this great expansive world we call rock-n-roll as Charles Edward Anderson Berry. From his signature guitar riffs to his coolest-guy-in-the-room terminology to his uncanny ability to blend rhythm and melody into something so thoroughly irresistible, Chuck has duck-walked his way through history as the living, breathing embodiment of the genre, and in doing so has put his stamp not only on rock but on country, funk, dance and even rap. And today, at 87 years old being one of the few seminal rockers to make it to old age, Chuck Berry continues to, in his own inimitable lingo, "motorvate" along.
And it all started in earnest today, 59 years ago in a studio in Chicago, when after inking his epochal deal with Chess Records he introduced us to "Maybellene," that Cadillac-riding trollop who loved driving fast and stepping out on her man, only to be caught, again and again, at "the top of the hill."
Let's fall in love with her all over again, from the very beginning when that jagged, distorted guitar sets the pace.
And then remember what Rolling Stone magazine said of Chuck's brilliant opening shot at history: "Rock-n-roll guitar starts here."
No. That really is not a shameless attempt to solicit "Aw, that's great! Happy birthday!" Seriously. I had little to do with my being born, other than, y'know, being there when it happened. But I am saying it strictly for mercenary reasons. I am writing a post about it. Sort of.
The Beatles were the first rock-n-roll band I ever got into in a big way. Way back when I was 11 in the summer of 1980 and discovered the one Beatles record in my dad's collection, The Blue Album. Before then it had been all teeny pop stuff and movie soundtracks and, well, music just wasn't that big a thing to me. That all changed when I learned, within a few hours, the existence of "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "A Day in the Life" and "Revolution" and, most important to me in my early years, "Come Together" (which was my first ever "favorite" Beatles song.)
A few weeks later I bought The Red Album and by the time the fall rolled around, I was a full-fledged Beatlemaniac. That birthday that year, my 12th, was the first one for which I ever received Beatles albums as gifts. They were American releases and LPs, of course, so I got Beatles '65 and Magical Mystery Tour. Later that year I got four more albums for Christmas—Meet the Beatles, Abbey Road and two compilations (Hey Jude and Love Songs)—and really, was there anything better for a young music fan in the pre-CD era than seeing that distinctive shape of an LP gift-wrapped and waiting under the tree? I think not.
(That also was the year, lest I forget, John Lennon was killed. So within about six months of my newfound superfandom, even before that magical Chirstmas morning where all those perfect squares laid waiting for me under the tree, I knew for certain that there would never be any hope of a Beatles reunion. Which really bummed me out.)
But for me, because of those first initial gifts that came 33 years ago tomorrow, I always think of the Beatles on my birthday. It's another birthday entirely, really—the birth of my musical tastes.
So today and through the weekend I set out with one goal in mind, musically—to listen to every Beatles album, in order, by the time Sunday night gets here. It's a daunting task—by my best estimation it's right around 10 hours of music, stretched out over 210 songs (if I listen to the 27 songs from Past Masters that don't appear in some form on any other releases, which I plan to do. At the end).
So far I've made barely any headway—I am only up to Paul's rather stunning vocal take of The Music Man's "'Til There Was You," six songs into their second album, With The Beatles. It'll be what I listen to in the car and at home. I have (checking clock) about 60 hours to get this done. But I wish to do it. Because it's my birthday, after all. A time for wishes!
So. From this:
(And wow - how discordant and downright subversive is George's guitar solo, huh?)
