Yesterday

This is how I feel whenever Dan goes too long without posting.

I wish it had started to drizzle in the video.

doppelgänger

Despite rumors to the contrary, this is not us.

Girl From the North Country

Bruce Hornsby's a guy I've never given much thought to, and yet every time I actually listen to him, I enjoy the hell out of him, and he seems like a really cool guy. And this cover's just lovely.

Sadly, the song he talks about at the end doesn't seem to be on YouTube, which is a shame, since it's a fine version of his pal Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London," especially appropriate given that the show was recorded on Halloween.

I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock-n-Roll)

I love the polished studio version of this but boy howdy do they shred it live.

I never realized how much lead Billy Bremner played—I just assumed it was Dave Edmunds.

Lay Lady Lay

We know Bob Dylan loved what Elvis Presley and Jimi Hendrix had done to his songs. I've love to know what he thought of what this Isley Brothers cover.

I like Bob's version just fine—I used to love it, but the vocal style he tried out for a while just doesn't work for me any longer, and yes, I get the irony in preferring Bob Dylan's earlier and later vocals to his briefly used croon. But the Isleys just make this their own in a way very few artists could, only tweaking the arrangement and melody ever so slightly, yet throwing down the gauntlet to the singer-songwriters of the day, showing they were more than capable of playing on anyone's turf, and underling just what an amazing band they were, even after their initial heyday and before guitar whiz Ernie officially joined. It's a tiny bit longwinded, sure, but when the mood's this intoxicating, who's really going to complain?

RIP Scott Asheton

Well. No fun indeed. There are never enough drummers named Scott in this world, but this one's definitely a big loss.

Who on earth would ever have expected Iggy Pop to be the sole member of the original band to still be around?

Patience

These guys were the biggest band in the world for a while.

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

So very, very lovely.

And buried on a b-side. Incredible. 

Billie Jean

No. No. I will not dance on the floor in the round with oh all right fine. Dammit.

)

Southern Man

In which the amazing "Gimme Shelter" vocalist takes one of Neil Young's greatest songs, if possible, to an even higher height.

We all know the feud between Lynyrnd Skynyrd and ol' Neil wasn't real. Many haven't seemed to notice or grok the background singers in "Sweet Home Alabama"—including, yes, a certain Merry Clayton—catcalling "boo! boo! boo!" to the very mention of Alabama Governor George Wallace's name. "Sweet Home Alabama" is a far more nuanced song than generally acknowledged. Meanwhile, Mr. Young's song can be criticized as something of a carpetbagging attack on a culture of which he, as a Canadian living in California, couldn't really understand or have any sort of in-depth knowledge, even as he appropriated many of its artistic hallmarks. [And, yes, I know they were probably responding to "Alabama" and not "Southern Man."]

Even were any of that true, however, having an African-American gospel singer from Louisiana cover Neil Young's song blows any such criticisms into dust. If there's anything at all disappointing about this version, it's that it's not twice as long.

Follow Your Arrow

Generally speaking, I'm not a big fan of the Dear Alex and Annie pop song that doles out life advice. But when it's this good and this catchy and could be commercially risky for its dispenser? That I can get behind.

Nina Holds the Mirror

Actually Suzanne holds it. But my guess is she's willing to let Nina take charge of it any old time she wants to.

Nothing special to see here. Only one of the great songs of the past 50 years, made wholly unique by the great Nina Simone. Who herself knows just where to look among the garbage and the flowers.

Happy Boy

Today's the 25th anniversary of the first date I ever went on with the goddess that is now my good lady wife.

She was and is smarter, funnier, kinder, more attractive, more patient and more talented than I, and the fact that she was at all interested in me was then, as now, a subject of considerable confusion amongst those who know both of us. The truth is, it was one thing and one thing only that enabled me to win her heart:

My solo rendition of this sweetest of all songs.

Hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba.

Silver Joy

Maybe just because Morning Phase is on my mind, being brilliant and all—the album, not my mind—but boy this sounds like a stripped down version of something off Morning Phase, which of course sounds like a sequel to Sea Change which, of course, is a no kidding masterpiece of Blood on the Tracks, Tunnel of Love proportions. Which means this is something I'm very much predisposed to love. And perhaps consequently do.

Memphis, Tennessee

I can't say this is the best Chuck Berry tune, but it may just be my favorite. And it really is a masterpiece of narrative lyric writing. John Cale's version is more than a little ominous. Whereas Berry's—and most covers—slowly reveal the sad and all too common heartbreak at the core, Cale's arrangement and delivery seem to imply there might just be a good reason they've been separated, and it's not just spite on the part of his ex. Scary, amazing stuff.

[H/T: the great Cover Me Songs.]

Favorite Song Friday: No Such Thing

There are times, watching this video—as impeccable a union as can even be conceived between ravishing visuals and aural perfection—that it's easy to forget that John Mayer might possibly be the greatest guitarist, not just of his generation, but of the past 35 years. If he'll never threaten Jimi Hendrix's place, certainly since Jimmy Page abdicated the throne, he's a serious rival to the Edge and Johnny Marr and Nils Cline and Tom Morello, and most likely towers above them all.

His lyrics, obviously, are every bit the match of the transcendent music, with lines such as

I like to think the best of me is still hiding up my sleeve

since where else would one keep one's best but tucked away up one's sleeve like a parlor trick? It is the rare lyricist, indeed, who could come up with such a resting place, as most would think that an artist would prefer to show his best face, his best work, to the world. But John Mayer is not just any wordslinger.

This small but perfect gem opens with
"Welcome to the real world," she said to me condescendingly

which is juxtaposed against the later insightful query

And all of our parents, they're getting older
I wonder if they've wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies

Oh goodness. The way the question is unanswered—indeed, the entire thought wholly unfinished, as if the pressure of the impending chorus caused him to leave it hanging there like a tattered, wilted piece of mistletoe left bereft after Valentine's Day, so despondent it apparently never even occurred to ask the parents in question the question. The angst is unparalleled in rock and roll—only Drake or Smith or perhaps Donovan or Bieber could come close in scope and depth—and all the more anguished for it.

I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above

Voice of a Generation? No. Or, rather, yes, but that's not enough, that's not nearly enough. That's like suggesting Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had a little musical aptitude, or Steve Guttenberg possessed a modicum of comedic talent. So Voice of Our Generation? Sure. But Voice of All Generations is more like it. But most important of all is this: John Mayer is the Voice of My Soul. He says the things I feel but lack the talent, the courage, the words to say.

Take, for example, the concluding lines

And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all this time was for

with their luminously literate allusions to leaders such as Bonaparte, Churchill, Palin, Khan, Gingrich, Alexander, Caesar, and the unstated but indisputable conclusion that he and he alone, John Mayer, will be there, magnificent atop the formica tables in the cafeteria to lead his poor benighted catechumens, like a modern-day Zelda Rubinstein with the body and visage of Apollo, into the light, not via the pearls of wisdom falling from his mouth but merely by sheer dint of his awesomeness, as no words will be needed. No, not for the likes of John Mayer acolytes—and whom amongst us cannot modestly call ourselves one? No, all they, all we, will need to do is gaze upon him and enlightenment shall be theirs. It shall be ours, all of us. That's rock and roll.

And speaking of: then, as the coup de grâce, we have the video itself, meaning we are blesséd to be able to watch him move, observe as he takes those lofty, abstract yet concrete concepts and alchemizes them into physical manifestations of integrity as his body translates those wisps of genius into the visuals of a pop song. As much as his dancing here reminds one of Michael Jackson in its feline, aqueous grace, it's his heavy-lidded, slack-jawed yet burning intensity that draws the obvious comparisons to the King himself, Elvis Presley. And when he gets to the goosebump-inducing bridge and purrs, "I am invincible," who would argue the point? Is there any such argument to be made?



No. No such thing. No such thing indeed.

Nothing Compares 2 U

My wife's favorite song and my wife's favorite movie smooshed together? If I didn't know better, I'd think MORRISMCCLYMONT’s trying to make time with my best girl.

[HT: the great Cover Me Songs.]

Favorite Song Friday: No Such Thing

 (This post has been removed by a higher being due to its gross violation of every standard of human decency)

Try a Little Tenderness

I am emphatically not saying this is my favorite version of this song, especially given that the Queen of Soul already, as Otis Redding himself put it, stole one song from him. (Not that he's the original writer of this one.)

But listening to Franklin's substitutions on this, it really hits you just how fine a jazz singer she could have been, had she chosen to go that route, rather than demolishing all contenders to the soul throne.

kings o' teh search

That's right. We're #1 for "semi-ironic beach boys vocal pad."

(Which we really shouldn't be. Robbie Fulks obviously should be. But whoever said life was fair?