Kill Your Television

I suppose we can thank MTV for the obligatory music video, which was really something back when they actually played them, though today I don’t think anyone really cares about videos any more except for maybe PR folks, rabid collectors and teenyboppers. At this point in my life I have zero interest in seeing any new music videos, even from favorite bands and albums. And while there are lots of innovative things going on that “push the envelope” of the medium (Bjork for example always comes up with something interesting and forward thinking), I just don’t care. And I think for the most part, past a certain age, most solid fans of music could take or leave a music video. Now I admit when I was a kid I thought they were just as important as the song itself and equally as memorable. For example, I can’t hear either Welcome to the Jungle or Sweet Child O’ Mine without seeing Axl’s giant red hair or bandana-shades get up respectively…they’re equally as ingrained and ingratiating as the opening guitar licks for both songs. But really, at the end of the day, when you wanna rock solid, and you wanna be able to step about and groove if the mood should strike you, being obliged to keep your eyes glued to the TV/computer screen isn’t gonna help you shake yer biscuits.

But having said that, there are a handful of videos worth taking the three to four minutes to chill out and appreciate for various reasons. Here are a few of them in a special edition of the Willie Awards…

All Time Favorite Video: Billy Bragg – Greetings to the New Brunette: Simply put, there’s a definite ironic sweetness to this montage of old footage from the 50s, 60s, etc over Bragg’s ode/lament to love and marriage…and the bits with the famous Shirleys are especially nice.

What Every Video Should Be: At the Drive In – One Armed Scissors: I remember seeing this video on some weird expanded cable channel at someone else’s house very early in the morning and being blown away. All I caught was the title of the song and couldn’t track it down anywhere. A few months later At the Drive In exploded (and promptly imploded) upon the indie scene and this was the song/video that basically made it all happen. A montage of brief, energetic live clips reminiscent of a lot of 80s metal acts, this showcases the band at the peak of their hype and powers respectively. If every artist was required to put out at least one video in their career along these lines, we’d finally start seeing who was the what and how.

Most Universally Memorable: A-ha – Take On Me: If you don’t remember this pulp comic book video from 1985, just click the link and you’ll say ‘Oh yeah…’ Not to take away from the merit of this song (or the entire Hunting High and Low album), but A-ha shot to fame based solely on the unique and instant recognition of this video. The story told within the frames touches my romantic soul ever time, but what is really cool is that the mix of the song itself is different from the album and instead of a fade out, we get a nice little alternate and natural ending.

Most Rockin': Def Leppard – Photograph: With Pyromania, Def Leppard became the coolest and best hard rock act of 1983 (if not most of the rest of the decade). This video with fast licks and cool tricks, shared microphone vocals and spinning drum sticks (no, I will NOT make a two-armed drumming joke here…wait, maybe I just did), not to mention Marilyn Monroe shtick, summed up everything Def Leppard and rock music were supposed to be about. I can’t hear this song or see this video without getting a little nostalgic with butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

Most Romantic: The Cure – Just Like Heaven: Simply one of the most “dreamy” pop-love songs ever written, the video pretty much matches it frame for note, with Robert Smith and company bedecked in black upon a lonely sea cliff, while the man himself spins on that dizzy edge and sings to the waves crashing on the rocks below. Throw in the dream-dance sequence during the piano solo and you’ve got teenage love angst personified.

Most Life-Changing: The Church – Under the Milky Way: I think I’ve told this story before, but back in 8^th grade, for about a week to ten days, I used to hit the ground running from the bus in order to make it home in time to catch a handful of videos on MTV that for some reason were always played around the same time and in the same order. This was my favorite of the lot. There was something about the nonsensical yet poignant imagery of this video, interwoven with a very understated, penetrating performance from the band, that struck me in a way I couldn’t quite understand, but readily related to. Coupled with the fact that this is a sensational song (on a sensational album from a sensational band), and you’ve got real magic in the making. Near the end of this stint (which was a Thursday) when MTV switched out this video for the Church’s next one, Reptile, I was sold, and promptly bought the Starfish album the following evening. From there my life in pursuit of "alternative" music truly began.

Best Live Video: U2 – Sunday Bloody Sunday: I’m going to say it again: In 1983, U2 was the greatest band in the world (I love you, Murmur). When I was a kid I was absolutely enthralled by this performance video. The energy, the emotion, I was wrapped up in the message without fully understanding the meaning, such being the beauty and the fear of music, and can’t help but compare every videoed live performance I see even now to this one. They all fall short.

Alas, it’s true…I’ve let the Twitter dust and blog gossip settle for a few days and it seems that the solid facts have presented themselves…Steven Tyler has left Aerosmith. The why and the wherefore are irrelevant considering the Bad Boys from Boston have been nothing more than a well-oiled, solid-rockin’ corporate machine for the better part of two decades now. And yet because at one time they rocked the face off the planet, and because S-Tyler is such an enigmatic front man, it needs to be noted that this is the end of a rock era…or so one would think. Apparently Joe Perry and the other three Bad Boys are gonna carry on without ol’ Steven at the helm. The question is…who to replace him? I mean this isn’t INXS trying to make a comeback and be a real band again ten years after their supposed death, or Queen tacking on Paul Rodgers for a bit of classic rock nostalgia, or Journey recruiting some look alike/sound alike guy named Steve to replace Steve Perry and do a bunch of greatest hits tours, or even Van Halen essentially recreating themselves between DLR and Sammy Hagar. This is Aerosmith purportedly pretending to be Aerosmith as if the public (and these guys have been so huge for so long I mean THE public) isn’t going to realize that the elf’s daddy isn’t up there sucking up the first six rows with those massive lips (see Exhibit A).

And ok, fine, I can live with that.

Exhibit A

So…who to replace him? Sure, there are dozens, nay hundreds, of guys (and gals…wouldn’t that be awesome) who can hold up the vocal parts and even do a little of the mic stand molestation. But in my opinion, which is both valid and worthless, it doesn’t need to be an unknown or even a partially known (to say music geeks). It would need to be somebody equally or almost as recognizable as Steven himself, able to carry the band instead of being supported by them, to capture the true spirit of Aerosmith and yet not mimic, making each song their own. Basically, it needs to be a gimmick. Someone like Sammy Hagar pretty much fits that bill, but I don’t know that he would do it. I mean I don’t really know Sammy, dig? I just drink his tequila and share his belief that Eddie Van Halen is a douche (ok, only one of those is true).

AeroKISS?

So the question is, who? I’d like to hear from you people. Tell me who you think it should/could be. Ridiculous answers are of course welcome.

And for fun, I asked a few of my friends their opinion of the break up:

• Brian: Aerosmith is still together?
• Paul: Is that happening?
• Bill: Stupid. I think he's off the wagon again. The band can't tour w/o him. That would be terrible.
• Effrin: Whoa, I didn’t know he was doing that.
• Bob: Death to Aerosmith, finally?

Also, here are a few of my favorite Aerosmith songs from back when they truly rocked, thus making this post at least somewhat legit.

Kings and Queens
Toys in the Attic (live)
Mama Kin (live)
Last Child
Angel (This one doesn't necessarily rock, but it doesn't necessarily suck either, and has a special place in my heart.)

Obscuro Vol 2: A Melancholy Favor

I admittedly don’t know much about the late Lee Hazlewood. Sure, I’ve read the Wiki bio and I could spout out a few facts, but that’s just regurgitation…it’s nothing I know, as in what is a part of me. What I do know has more to do with the “you-go-grrrl” hit that he wrote and produced for Nancy Sinatra, These Boots are Made for Walkin’ and, more obscurely, their duet Some Velvet Morning as covered by Slowdive. But that limited knowledge base doesn’t mean Brother Lee can’t speak to me, because I assure you he can – and does.

The album in question here is his 1971 effort, Requiem for an Almost Lady…a scathing title and quite befitting the 10 songs/25 minutes, 26 seconds (give or take) of music it represents. If there were a contest for ultimate break up album, this one would definitely be a heavy contender. Essentially, it tells the story of a romance (or perhaps several) after the fact…the good, the bad, the inevitable. Throughout he’s blaming her and himself and just about everything but the kitchen sink, yet not out of bitterness but with a clear, humorous, almost philosophical understanding of “sometimes thems the breaks, partner.” He’s happy for the time he’s spent and glad he was given the opportunity in the first place, no matter how far the fall or how hard he hit in the end.

Musically, Requiem for an Almost Lady is a blend of tumbleweed western and flower child folk – and its one of the sparsest albums I’ve ever heard. Each song is comprised of nothing more than acoustic guitar, bass, vocals (maybe two) and sometimes a lead guitar; but no percussion (the bass amply accommodates that roll as well as providing the occasional counter-melody), no strings, no tickled ivories – essentially, no filler. Two guys could have recorded most of this album with a tape recorder between them, and indeed, it’s both that raw and intimate. Lee sings with a gruff but sympathetic sweetness, never harsh or agitated, though sometimes mildly threatening, he's mainly reminiscing, relaxed, going through the details of a plight that can no longer harm him. And really, for me, the icing on this nostalgic cake is that each song begins with a spoken word summary, his balladeer’s heart coming through his vest, and one of the greatest lines in popular music can be found in the song I’ll Live Yesterdays when he muses, “Seems we’re always doing something to hurt each other. But you know, you never really hurt me until the fourth verse of this song…” Classic.

So if you like to wallow in other folk’s misery -- or have some of your own that needs a soundtrack -- do yourself a melancholy favor and pick up Lee Hazlewood’s Requiem for an Almost Lady.

Q3-09 Update

Yes, it’s here again…the end of another fiscal quarter and so time to recap what all I’ve been up to musically the past three months.

Unfortunately I’ve been woefully negligent with new releases this year and there are several that I still need to pick up, including the latest by the Church (I know…), the Bats (I KNOW!) and Mission of Burma (I KNOW!!!). Plus, the Feelies reissued their first two albums (I KNOW!!!!!!!) and I should be beaten for not having snagged those already.

However, while I have slacked with new music, I’ve been exploring a few things that are new to me, as well as reacquainting myself with some old favorites and reconfirming why I loved them then as well as now.

But first, the one new album I picked up (finally) is the latest from PJ Harvey – in this instance her second collaboration with John Parish, A Woman a Man Walked By. If a title is any indication as to what the music it represents will contain (and really kids, it should be), then I figured I was in for a bizarre treat. I was not wrong. Let me just go ahead and say that the title track (officially called A Woman A Man Walked By/The Crow Knows Where All The Little Children Go) is just about one of the most terrifying songs I’ve ever heard. You just have to hear it for yourself. The rest of the album is essentially a louder, sometimes rockier, though no less sinister pick up of where 2007’s White Chalk left off. And though John Parish was all over that album, he gets a collaboration/cover credit now because he not only performed on AWAMWB, but also wrote all the music, while Polly simply provides lyrics/vocals. Things start of straightforward enough with the nearly pop catchy Black Hearted Love. After that it’s pretty much a mixed bag of dark, twangy folk (The Soldier), demented cabaret (Leaving California), off kilter dance (The Chair) and of course the “regular” post deconstructionist stylings we’ve come to love PJ for in the past (Pig Will Not). Honestly, this album is all over the place, and that’s sort of a distraction. Polly’s better albums are the ones that pick a sound/feel (no matter how bizarre) and stick with it throughout. That’s not to say there’s not some worthwhile magic to be had and some truly interesting goings on with AWAMWB, but the cohesion is simply not there and as a result, the album does not beg to be re-listened to no matter what worth may be contained within.

Even though this album came out last year, Glasvegas is just now getting exposure, etc (well, as far as I know) around these parts. I saw them on Craig Ferguson a couple or so months back and really enjoyed them, so went out and got their self-titled debut. I guess it goes to show you that playing on late night TV sometimes pays off. Anyway, these guys are like nothing I’ve ever heard. Talk about fusion. Basically, if Clash-esque punk rockers who secretly like Morrissey took 50s rock with a 60s backbeat, slowed it down and drenched everything in shoegaze guitar (got all that), it would sound exactly like this. And I totally dig it. There’s not a lot of variation from song to song, but each song flows effortlessly one into another, like a 41-minute suite complete with crescendos and diminuendos and all those other fancy I-talian words I can’t remember from my piano lesson days. (Actually, the song S.A.D. Light is a spoken word performance over Moonlight Sonata, so….) Several songs, if approached differently, could sound like just about anything beneath the “punk” banner, from Blink 182 (or at least what I assume they sound like) to rockabilly to the more pop-tastic moments of the aforementioned Clash. And I don’t make these references in order to shame or discredit Glasvegas (the band, the album), but simply to point out that it’s all about approach, even with the same roots, and their approach is quite inventive and ultimately rewarding, making repeat listens a must, as new layers and textures are discovered with each spin. Rarely does this album move beyond a mid-tempo chug. The drums (or more like percussion) accent the music as often as provide a driving force, and several times drums, bass and anything else “solid” drop out completely as a wash of FX laden distortion provides the only backdrop for the vocal melody. In short, it’s relaxingly catchy, you’ll sing along (with a Scottish lilt) in your car, but you won’t feel compelled to drive very fast.

Key Tracks: Geraldine, Lonesome Swan, Daddy’s Gone

Say/think what you want about Sting (and I will given the chance), his time in the Police was (mostly) well spent. Of their five albums, four are spectacular and the other one (you know) produced two great singles and another really good one. I just got off a rather lengthy kick of listening to their first three albums – Outlandos d’Amour (1978), Reggatta de Blanc (1979) and Zenyatta Mondatta (1980) – exclusively in the car, windows down, volume knob cranked, my (then) 8 month old in the back hitting the high notes that I can’t. What a treat. Forerunners and then banner boys of the New Wave movement, it’s interesting to hear how these three diverse players and personalities not only meshed but developed over a span of just three years. This is especially true for Sting and Stewart Copeland. Though extremely talented musicians, they still bashed out their parts on Outlandos d’Amour with a reckless “all or nothing” determination that Andy Summers (ten years older and with those years plus musical experience) adapted to simply because he could. By Reggatta de Blanc, the boys began to settle into a working groove. These are no longer four-chord rants, but deeper, more mature songs with complex parts and melodies, and yet often just as immediate, fun and gritty as the debut. By the time they got to Zenyatta Mondatta, all the rough edges were polished off and the band was ready for the super stardom status that would especially come three years later with Synchronicity. But the one thing that threads these albums together (and to be honest, all of them) is a sense of quirky experimentation. For every straightforward pop rocker (Roxanne, Message in a Bottle, De Do Do Do De Da Da Da), there’s some punk-reggae-jazz infected ditty (Hole in My Life, Does Everyone Stare, Bombs Away) that proves these guys were interested in creating a mood and not just a string of hits. Heck, some of the songs that were hits (Walking On the Moon, Don’t Stand So Close to Me) were hardly standard radio fair, and proof that just before the “anything goes” 80s, people could appreciate a good tune even if you couldn’t necessarily dance or rock out to it.

Ever since my 1989 post and the shout out I gave to Vain’s debut, No Respect, I’ve been revisiting a lot of glam/metal/hair bands I enjoyed from back in the day, and even discovered a couple along the way.

Of all my nostalgic spandex reruns, reacquainting myself with Europe’s The Final Countdown has been a real delight. Though the iconic title track is never far from mind, and of course instantly recognizable to anyone between the ages of say six and 135 (except of course my mother), I was reminded of just how great that entire outing was (rather is) when hanging with friends and the casual viewing of the Andy Sandburg vehicle Hotrod proved to have not one, not two, but EIGHT (8) of the ten songs from this 1986 release. And I shouldn’t call them songs but anthems. These are true epics in a time when to go over the top was the eye rolling norm, and yet these guys did it with such sincerity, style, grace and a true love for the spirit of rock n roll that they shouldn’t be questioned even for a moment. Yes, singing about space travel, ninjas, Cherokees, rockin’ the night and (ugh) girls is super duper cheesy, but it’s just as much fun as well, and honestly, with rock n roll there are no rules or boundaries. Besides, when you’ve got a guitarist like John Norum shredding riffs and solos like a flaming sword of justice through the hearts of unbelievers, well… Ok, I got a little carried (ha, Carrie) away there, but for the genre and times, this really is a sensational album that has held up well and should be in the collection of anyone interested in a good rock.

One thing I often find fun and refreshing about “metal” (in all of its shapes and sizes) is that instead of a lot of the woe is me posturing that’s such a mainstay with a lot of music out there (at least what I listen to), serious hard rockers spend a good portion of their time talking about how bad azz they are. For a full dose of that sort of gumption, look no further than Tygers of Pan Tang and their 1982 sophomore album, Spellbound. I stumbled upon these guys after a discussion about Whitesnake with my token metal head friend Justin. Threading the long, twisting trails of Wiki, I found that this was a pre-Whitesnake band of guitarist John Sykes…and this album is about a thousand times better than anything those Tawny Kitaen bangin’ dopes (yes, I’m implying she slept with all of them) ever thought of putting out. With the jugular threat of Judas Priest, the hot lick solos of Iron Maiden and the melodic sense of both, Tygers of Pan Tang rocked harder and faster than most bands at the time and should have been huge, but were shamefully disregarded by their record label (MCA) and so destined to languish in a somewhat cult status even to the present day (after about a billion line up changes, including losing Sykes). Still, all the ingredients for fist waving arena rock are right here – heavy riffs, catchy hooks and choruses that will have you on your feet in no time. And did I mention the solos? Well, they could seriously give the aforementioned John Norum’s flaming sword a battle axe to smash up against. Seriously, if you’re a fan of the genre at all, this album is an absolute must.

Key tracks: Gangland, Take It, Hellbound

Obscuro Vol 1: Renaissance Man

Alexander “Skip” Spence (1946-1999) is most famously known, forty years ago, as a member of such seminal 60s psychedelic outfits as Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane and Moby Grape. A veritable Renaissance man, he covered everything from drums to guitar to vocal duties (and more) in these groups. More infamously, he is referred to as the “American Syd Barrett,” for his tale was one of mental illness and drug addiction that made his considerable talents moot and his musical output rather limited. But, like Barrett, he left one shimmering, if murky, testament of his genius – the darkly surreal and, to my mind, aptly titled Oar.


I can pretty much guarantee you’ve never heard anything quite like this album, and if you have -- this is the original. A collection of low-key folk rock compositions delivered in a sparse, ramshackle style and interwoven with Spence’s sleepy baritone croon, the momentum of Oar is essentially one of laidback urgency. Spence’s vision isn’t so much his view of a private world, but the unique reading of the world he shared with everyone else – the same hopes and fears, a desire for love and acceptance and success, the random, the trivial and the mundane ins and outs of life. Some of these songs are little more than snippets, seeming to start and end in mid thought, as if at the time of recording Spence knew exactly where he was, but neither where he was going nor even where he was coming from. And yet others have a clear and concise purpose, like Weighted Down (The Prison Song), about the premeditated murder of a wayward lover, or (original) album closer Grey/Afro, concerning his lack of ability to communicate with, presumably, a lover, and yet likely anyone and everyone with whom he came into contact. Often Spence says so much by saying very little, as in the heartbreak ballad Diana, or can say most anything by saying seemingly nothing at all, as in the somewhat apocalyptic Books of Moses.

Rockin'

A weighty doom hangs over Oar and, if this could be considered a musical self-portrait, did as well over Spence’s own life. Recorded solo in Nashville in 1969 (after spending six months in a mental hospital where he was diagnosed with schizophrenia), recurring themes of death, seclusion, alienation and a sense of loss permeate these songs. Yet there is a certain strength as well, a confidence and an aptitude that exist in the creation of such a beautifully unassuming and yet starkly profound album, despite the fragile state of mind Spence was in at the time. It’s not so much that he has a message for the world, but a statement he would like to make (very softly), and if you would care to listen, he’s happy to oblige. The end result is that you are left feeling down but not entirely unhappy, because Spence speaks to and for the quiet places in your mind where even you are afraid to go.

At left with Moby Grape

Unfortunately, Spence never really got it together again after this album. He contributed a few songs or recorded tracks for various Moby Grape releases, but never functioned fully as a musician. He spent most of the next 30 years either destitute, living off the charity of friends or as a ward of the state of California. And yet his legacy has certainly not been forgotten. Oar has influenced countless artists, from Tom Waits to Beck, and has been rereleased a couple of times, most recently and fully on the Sundazed label, which includes ten bonus tracks of rough song fragments and demos, each revealing another piece of Spence’s mind, all as intriguing and worthwhile as the original album.