Lost But Not (Quite) Forgotten

I’ve often mused that for every great band out there that we love and listen to, there are probably three of equal value we’ve never heard and never will, but would certainly enjoy if we ever did. And I don’t mean the groups that never get signed or never make it out of a certain region, etc. I’m talking about those artists who put out records, get some exposure, maybe make a splash or two, but are still widely overlooked not only by mainstream attention, but the knowing “underground” scene as a whole. I mean lets face it, there’s only so much time to listen to so much music, everybody is going to overlook somebody and some of those somebodies seem to get overlooked by most everybody.

With that said, I give you the Harvest Ministers. Who? Exactly. So obscure are these guys that, while they have a website of their own, they don’t even have a little one line Wiki blurb. Sad, right? And yet at one time they toured with Everything but the Girl and Edwyn Collins, performed on high profile television spots, made records with hit making producers and received no small amount of critical praise – but outside of Ireland they’re pretty much unknown.

All I can tell you about this friendly little pop collective from Dublin is that they’re helmed by guitarist/vocalist William Merriman, they’ve been putting out quality music for around two decades and at one time they were part of the Sarah Records roster (which is how I stumbled on them). Yet despite having a radio smooth, adult contemporary appeal (or maybe because of this), they were overshadowed by more prominent label mates like Heavenly, the Wake and the ever-adored Field Mice. More polished rock than heart-on-the-sleeve twee pop, their subject matter, though similar, often as not dealt with the more mature, sobering aspects of their boy-meets-girl-loses-girl-so-writes-a-song-about-girl contemporaries, touching a darker, more socio-political realism. Basically, they feel like the older guys in the room, “saying been there, done that” to the self-indulging self-pity (and I say that with much love) of youth’s angst, to deal more with the life-long consequences of heartbreak, flashes of joy and the basic steps of getting along in a troubled world.

And while the Harvest Ministers might not be quite as immediate - though there are certainly exceptions - they benefit greatly from a touch of patience and repeat listens that subsequently bring about a rewarding and multi-layered experience, which in many cases can be more fulfilling and ultimately timeless. There are few songs to beat the “woe is me humor” of If It Kills Me, and It Will or the quirky yet poignant That Won’t Wash, and albums like Little Dark Mansion and A Feeling Mission provide a darkish to whimsical approach to the fears and expectations of life that we all face on a daily basis.

Merriman’s voice is warm and friendly. He does not preach or dictate, simply lays out how he’s feeling (sometimes with a female accompaniment or even lead) over a pleasant backdrop of pop-strummed and jangling guitars or more jazz-tinged piano-bass workouts or picked out, lightly orchestrated balladry or simple, gospel-bent harmonizing. Each single is an exercise in a new musical adventure, and each album dabbles in just enough genre-mixing to keep things active, while never losing familiarity or cohesiveness through over indulgence.

What’s great, and yet at the same time a bit disappointing, is that you can satiate your curiosity over whatever I’m driveling about here for a very low price, as many of their albums – A Feeling Mission, Orbit – can be picked up on Amazon for a mere penny (plus shipping of course) and everything else available is below the $5.00 mark. So really, why not? Get your credit cards ready!

Meanwhile, here are a few tunes (you can even hear the vinyl crackling!)… Petticoats, The First Star, Railroaded

Where have all the good balladeers gone?

Sweden. It’s that simple. I’ve mentioned my sometimes unhealthy infatuation/affair with the Swedes and I won’t dissect that any further here, but I will tell you about a somewhat recent import from that cold country - The Tallest Man on Earth, aka Kristian Matsson, a one-man folk act influenced heavily by American folk, Americana in general and especially pre-electric Dylan.

This is a good thing. A very good thing. It’s not that he’s picked up where Uncle Bob left off, but simply acts as if the Thin Wild Mercury Sound never actually happened and all we have is Dylan between 1962 and 1964. Well, that’s not entirely true, but in many cases this is Matsson’s blueprint, ‘cos the nod is obvious and the results are fantastic. TMoE’s imagery is deep and his vision broad. He paints pictures with words using a voice that is plaintive, primitive and 100% plausible. Never has a single man and a guitar sounded more vibrant or exciting, with the power of a dozen musicians and ten thousand watts at his fingertips. And yet within a moment he can become as whisper-delicate as a morning flower.

Anyone into folk music should already know what I’m talking about. Anyone halfway interested should check it out. Anyone who’s not a fan will become converted…or at least as far as these two albums and one e.p. will take you.

Check out this NPR showcase. The camerawork is a bit wonky, but the sound is perfect.

Back From Exile

Well, after a rather long pause thanks to some heavy-duty work obligations, I’m hoping to kick-start this blog again for all of my loyal follower(s), including the completion of my 00s recap, over-under, the year that was and others. But first, this…

I’m sure most to all of you know that the Rolling Stones recently re-released their seminal magnum opus, 1972’s Exile on Main Street, with a re-mastered, re-packaged deluxe edition that includes a 10 track bonus disc of never before released songs from the same infamous sessions.

As I’ve said many times before concerning artists of this caliber, I am grossly under qualified to say much of anything, especially when everything has been said time and again and is best followed up on with write ups from the people who mis-remember it most. And yet after doing a bit of reading in anticipation of this re-release, I will say that one of the things that strikes me most about this, in today’s world, undisputed classic, is how torn and frayed (oh yes, pun intended) fans and critics were at the time of its release, with some panning it outright and others heralding it as the greatest thing to hit hot wax since ever. With the hindsight of nearly 40 years, I won’t challenge the latter, but I really can’t understand the former.

Yes, Exile on Main Street is a sprawling epic of booze soaked rock, blues, country, boogie-woogie, folk, soul, gospel and something akin to hudu voodoo, but what I don’t get is why some folks were so taken aback by the Rolling Stones tackling such a wide array of genres when they had already done so quite masterfully on the ultra-perfecto Sticky Fingers, as well as their 1960s closer, Let It Bleed. Honestly, aside from the jungle drum freak out of I Just Want to See His Face (a standout amongst a brilliant side 3…for those of you tuning in on vinyl), there’s not much on Exile that hadn’t been explored on previous outings, plus plenty of single-worthy, public-friendly cuts (Tumbling Dice, Loving Cup, Happy, Shine a Light) to bridge the “gaps” over some of the "less immediate" numbers. My only guess is that this is one of those ever risky and often daunting double albums, which can as often as not be a slug instead of a stallion (yeah, I dunno, just go with it), and with its dark musical tones and even darker lyrical imagery, Exile could have been too much for some people to swallow all at once. But with time and repeat listens, most everyone has finally had a chance to let it go down and digest, and now all the kiddies are coming back for more and more and more.

And with the bonus disc, that’s exactly what they get…more. For the Stones to be able to do something like this is quite a feat in and of itself simply because they weren’t ones to let a good track sit in the vaults for too long, and often in those days would use any stray or leftover songs on future releases on down the line (ha, another joke...well, sorta). With the two alternate takes of Loving Cup and Soul Survivor aside (the former being a slower, rougher take, the latter being, in my opinion, a messy, at times brilliant, at times almost unlistenable slow burn), these additional tracks are every bit as good as any of the “lesser” (you decide) tunes on the initial album, with the initial standout being the Record Day 2010 single, Plunder My Soul (with a truly animalistic vocal from one of the backing singers). While at times these songs may feel slightly under developed, as a stand alone disc in and of itself, it’s easily as satisfying as many of the brightest moments of Goats Head Soup or It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll (which is saying something, ‘cos I really love the second half of the latter).

As for the overall sound of the re-mastering, I have to say it’s pretty spot on. Instead of attempting to make the album sound “contemporary” or “updated,” everything simply sounds fresher, as if it’s 1972 again with better recording techniques and hi-fi equipment. And what’s brilliant is not that these songs sound cleaner or even clearer, they just sound more enhanced, more, well, gritty…which is exactly how they need to sound, because these nasty little tunes do not deserve to be glossy and slick, but to stay down amongst the seedy underbelly of drugs and debauchery that birthed them in the first place.

When I was listening to this disc earlier today, I had to just come out and admit to myself (and why wouldn’t I?) that the definition of rock n roll, for all intents and purposes, is the Rolling Stones, and while some of their albums might make this point quicker or more easily, none will do so more fully or ultimately satisfyingly as Exile on Main Street.

Some live rockin'.

RIP Dio

Ronnie James Dio, 1942-2010

If you don't know, I can't explain it, but a rock legend, particularly heavy metal, has left us. Ronnie James Dio gave us so much more than rock, he gave us the Goat. And for that, this boy is eternally grateful.

Can’t Get It Out of My Head

At one time or other we’ve all been there - we find ourselves humming, mouthing, tapping our foot to the smooth rhythms of a song that is stuck in our head and won’t get out. Usually it’s the last possible song you’d want bouncing around for hours on end, but sometimes it’s just what you need to put a little extra pep in your step and make it to the end of a shaky patch in your day. Roughly between 1997 and 2004 (that’s seven years, kids) I had Roxanne by The Police in my head at some point every…single…day. Roxanne is a song that most everyone who knows it loves, ‘cos it’s a staple of classic rock n roll, ridiculously catchy and about a prostitute, so win-win-STD. Those who don’t like it actually hate it (along with cherry pie, smiles on babies and the Easter Bunny), which is their loss and mistake. And as much as I do really love that song, it really became a problem making an appearance every day, especially as we broke into the new century. Somewhere around that time I let my little problem slip to some coworkers and they were all too happy to oblige me into putting on the red light well into my thirties. I mean I did everything I could to get rid of the demon, from listening to Outlandos D’Amour over and over again, to playing Roxanne on the guitar, to trying to pass it on like a hot potato to friends and loved ones. But it was no use. I was always singing it, humming it, dancing along to it as I went about my day. I sang it in the car, in the shower, in the line at Wendy’s, during the “king of the world” bit in Titanic and at my cousin Kevin’s wedding. I changed the style from standard classic to bebop to opera to ballad to punk and had a pretty good time with it, but never achieved my goal. And then one day it was gone. It took me several days to realize it had been several days since I’d sold my body to the night, but the curse was finally lifted. Now I can listen to Roxanne and not worry about that tart being stuck there for days/weeks/months on end, but she's always welcome for a few hours.