If this ain’t the real blues deal, the real deal period, then this ain’t a damn fine day that ends in “Y”. In the autumn of 1963, Muddy went back to the basics: acoustic guitars, a string bass, sparse percussion. The result was “Folk Singer,” with this, the leadoff track, containing the framework for much of the album. Buddy Guy handled the other guitar while Willie Dixon played bass (and produced) and Clifton James handled the traps. The impact and inspiration on music by one McKinley Morganfield–his real name–cannot be overstated. Have moisey, indeed. Or on second thought, don’t!
He oversaw THE most successful recording of all time, Michael Jackson’s Thriller–even though Epic Records initially rejected him as Michael’s producer.His musical resumé is unmatched, spanning seven (!)decades now while producing and arranging everyone from Ray to Duke to Count to Sinatra to Michael to both “We Are The World” sessions.You could say his life resumé is peerless, too:composer, media mogul, best-selling author, philanthropist, social activist, father, mentor. “Q” is simply synonymous with quality–case in point, this 1969 piece featuring–among others–Freddie Hubbard, Roland Kirk, Hubert Laws, Eric Gale, Bob James and Valerie Simpson.Quincy Jones is truly a renaissance man’s renaissance man.
Before John Fogerty & Bruce Springsteen, Robert Plant & Alison Krauss and Simon & Garfunkel covered The Everly Brothers, Jesse Winchester had set the bar for all things Phil & Don redux. His 1977 interpretation of “ Bowling Green ” framed perfectly this bluegrass region’s tranquility and splendor, especially during its lazier, hazier days of the summer solstice. I should know; I was an undergrad at Western Kentucky University IN Bowling Green when Jesse’s version magically appeared like a soundtrack to our studies. To have lived and spent many a night under Bowling Green stars represents more than merely good fortune. Call it a blessing.
1973 was good to Todd Rundgren and vice-versa. Besides producing a critically acclaimed debut album (New York Dolls) and Grand Funk Railroad’s commercial comeback (We’re An American Band) he released A Wizard, A True Star and began creating 1974’s Todd. A musical cornucopia of ideas, sounds, and melodies, AWATS contains more hooks than a bait-and-tackle store. “The average person’s brain resembles the Wizard album,” Todd told Melody Maker in 1974. “In fact, that was my brain, until I cleared it all out. That was my first stream of consciousness album.” And one he’ll perform in its entirety for the first time this September in—perhaps appropriately—Devo’s hometown, Akron. In Todd we still trust.
Going toe-to-toe with the “fella in the Brite Nightgown” was based on a W.C. Fields line about the Grim Reaper. Donald Fagen took the idea, tossed in a few of his own—backed with a thick, relentless groove—and the result was one of the highlights of 2006’s Morph The Cat. Had his mother’s recent death and his turning 55 inspired his take on the big sleep? How could they not? But it sounds like Fagen subscribes to the other notion that if you can’t laugh at death, they’ll bury you wearing a frown.
Don’t Try To Lay No Boogie Woogie On The King Of Rock & Roll Long John Baldry
Label: Warner Bros.
Released: 1971
Before Rod Stewart created his Every Picture Tells A Story masterpiece, he warmed up by producing half an album—It Ain’t Easy—for the man who discovered him, Long John Baldry. (Elton John got the other 50%.) Because Rod’s production style involved extremely late hours and far too much Remy Martin cognac, Baldry ended up recording “Don’t Try . . . ” while lying on the floor! With Ron Wood helping on guitar, it’s easy to hear the blueprint that would become Rod’s early-1970s trademark sound. Incidentally, Elton took Baldry’s first name for his last, and in 1975 paid further tribute to this “Sugar Bear” in “Someone Saved My Life Tonight.” Long live the late LJB!
If the wails from Neil Young’s guitar on this track—arguably among the most heartbreaking he’s ever recorded—move you to tears, well, welcome to the club. What Neil sings in “No More” is honest enough, but what he gleans from Ol’ Black, his Les Paul, is beyond devastating. The song opens with a deceptively happy melody, then quickly makes way for notes so battered and lonely they must’ve escaped from the depths of another lost soul. Played in tandem with “The Needle And The Damage Done” on Saturday Night Live in 1989, “No More” capped off a decade that began with “Just say no.”
To be a freckle-faced middle school geek when the School’s Out album greeted us in June 1972 was divine karmic intervention. “You were our target audience!” Alice once proudly told me. One could call “Public Animal #9” “School’s IN,” with its references to recess, monkey bars, and cheating on a math test (with G.B, aka guitarist Glen Buxton, who was also Alice’s real-life schoolmate). Alice also likened being a student to being a prisoner, feeling like a lifer and trading cigs. As the band’s ’72 show opener, “Public Animal #9” hooked many a young Beavis to its hey-hey-heys, Alice’s snarling growl, and Neal Smith’s drumbeat. They sure ain’t salutin’ delinquents like they used to.
Who Do We Think We Are looks like the usual outstanding Deep Purple album, and for the most part, sounds like it. But upon further review, something’s missing: Ritchie Blackmore’s solos. During recording, he tired of soloing, offering those spaces to keyboardist Jon Lord, who reluctantly accepted the spotlight. (At least Blackmore was stimulated enough to mine several killer riffs for the album.) Those looking to Deep Purple for profound, thought-provoking lyrics, however, have scrubbed up for the wrong party, which brings us to this song—named after a drum fill—about a one-night stand. Dylan it ain’t, but you don’t bang your head to Bob, either.
From start to finish, is there a better soundtrack for driving through the desert than Chris Isaak’s 1987 self-titled album? Certainly no song from it channels his heroes—Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley—better than “Blue Hotel.” Chris played the song around San Francisco in the early ’80s with his band Silvertone—named after that cheap line of guitars from Sears. Speaking of Isaak and guitars, Chris is the sole owner of a Gretsch 6120 copy that he says Gibson made just as a one-off. For those of us who’ve found solace in these bluer-than-blue notes while driving through the Lucerne and Coachella Valleys, we’re much obliged to that guitar.
In that Bicentennial autumn, amid odes to wayward sons and disco ducks, Tom Waits escorted us to places so reeking in the truth and Chesterfield Kings, you felt like you needed a shower after listening. With “Pasties,” all he needed were 150 seconds, a drum kit, and prose. The album on which it appears, Small Change, made it as high as #89 on the Top 200 chart with little (if any) radio airplay. What Waits did have was a growing buzz on college campuses as well as recent converts who had gotten to witness music’s Bukowski—“the greatest entertainer on planet Earth,” he’d later be called by London’s Daily Telegraph—at his live shows.
Along with love and winning Lotto numbers, the greatest gift we can bestow upon others is our time. Face time. Quality time. “We had THE BEST time!” The company we keep defines us, as it has for Rickie Lee Jones. Days spent sharing her soul with Tom Waits and Chuck E. Weiss lead to Rickie’s 1979 debut, a captivating introduction to her streetwise witnessing with that remarkable voice. “Company” works on many levels: As a parting between friends, an eloquent requiem, and certainly as a glowing torch. Music writer Tom Moon said Rickie’s music has “brought blue notes to the brink of tears.” It’s a thought as timeless as “Company.”
With apologies to Ricky Skaggs and George Strait, this has to be the definitive cover of Guy Clark’s Texas-swing genius. For one, Rodney sounds a tad more battle-tested. Then you’ve got Emory Gordy’s bass and Hank DeVito’s steel guitar guiding and flavoring just right. And besides, neither George nor Ricky could bring themselves to sing the original phrase, “Pride is a bitch and a bore when you’re lonely,” which, of course, it is. Maybe that’s what caused Rodney to leave Emmylou Harris’ Hot Band and begin such a fruitful solo career. Given that the heart is a most resilient organ, it’s no surprise how sturdy Rodney’s version holds up after a mere 29 years.
It was the perfect storm of David Crosby-meets-Grateful Dead-meets-Joni Mitchell—and with lyrics inspired by a Beatle. Crosby found it funny to watch George Harrison search for answers with the Maharishi, believing that real truth is found in something as simple as a child’s laughter. Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, and Bill Kreutzmann had Croz’s musical back while Joni joined in the layered vocals. “Jerry’s pedal steel on ‘Laughing’ eats my heart every time I hear it,” said Phil Lesh. “It’s so expressive—it’s a cry.” Now ain’t that the truth!
Imagine, if you will, awakening at approximately 2:57 a.m. in a Midtown Manhattan high-rise. Not one to toss and turn, you shuffle into the den, pull back the drapes, and behold the sight of flurries quietly cascading against a backlit concrete jungle. You click the stereo on low, hoping to find something matching the moment. Perhaps “Sometimes In Winter” by Blood, Sweat & Tears or Debussy’s “Snowflakes Are Dancing.” Instead, you’re treated to this Buffalo Springfield cover from Yes. As far as 3 a.m., big-city snowfall songs go, it’ll do nicely. Now, off to the fridge for some leftovers . . .
You can thank a British tagger for inspiring one of the most drop-dead gorgeous creations by Mark Knopfler and Co. While living in the Deptford area of southwest London, Mark noticed this graffiti on a wall: “Love Over Gold.” The words stuck with him over the years, until he eventually used them in a tribute to a girl he knew who—as he put it—“seemed to be living two feet away from an accident all the time . . . living on kind of an edge.” As far as personally choosing love over gold, Mark talked it and walked it: He refused his record company’s demand’s to edit the album’s opening track, “Telegraph Road,” down from 14 minutes to five so they could sell more singles. Even in this economy, it’s still an easy choice.
Sinister. That’s only word that still comes to mind when Bill Payne’s organ oozes through the JBLs on this tour-de-Feats best captured on their 1978 double-live set, Waiting For Columbus. Called “the Orson Welles of rock” by Jackson Browne, Hollywood High and Mothers of Invention alumnus Lowell George fronted one of the most overlooked bands in rock (despite being Jimmy Page’s favorite American band). This version, complete with the Tower of Power horns, comes from a 1977 show at Lisner Auditorium in D.C., the same site where he would give his last performance on June 28, 1979. A party wasn’t officially a party at my alma mater—Western Kentucky University—until the needle dropped on Columbus. The Feat never failed us.
Ring in 2009 without a resolution and some horns? Perish the thought. In early 1967 Otis Redding and Stax labelmate Carla Thomas recorded King & Queen, a terrific album of duets in the Marvin & Tami/Kim tradition, with Booker T. & The MG’s and the Memphis Horns backing. In fact, the two even covered “It Takes Two” with—dare we say—better brass! The album also gave us one of the funkiest, funniest duets ever: “Tramp.” On this song, the two make a loving pact for the New Year that rarely—if ever—gets played anywhere this time of year. Excuse us while we change that. May every day in your 2009 be a damn fine one—long live Otis and Carla!
When the hardest-workin’ man in show business took on the hardest-workin’ man in snow business, the result was a gift that keeps on keepin’ on to this very Damn Festive Yuletide Day. In 1966 James Brown released not one, not two, or three, but FIVE albums, including James Brown & His Famous Flames Sing Christmas Songs. It was pretty milquetoast by JB standards, so in 1968 he took a cue from himself and made it funky. A Soulful Christmas had such automatic classics as “Tit For Tat (Ain’t No Talking Back),” “Santa Claus Gave Me A Brand New Start” and this one, which always seems to be overlooked by radio stations who kickoff their all-Xmas format an hour after Halloween ends. Have yourself a merry and a happy Christmas! (And like James says, “Don’t forget Gary!”)
Unwritten rule #14 for musicians: You are hereby commanded to pen an ode concerning life on the road. Practically everyone’s heeded it, from Chuck Berry (“Promised Land”) and the Grateful Dead (“Truckin’”) to Bob Seger (“Turn the Page”) and War (“Gypsy Man”). It’s a long list. In 1970 Chicago took the edict to new heights with an entire “travel suite” for their third and probably most overlooked album. “Flight 602” was written by Robert Lamm and features CSNY-esque harmonies and some pedal steel seasonings from Terry Kath. The trademark Chicago horns are absent, but visions of B-3’s and Leslies going ’round permeate nicely.
“The trouble was started by a young Errol Flynn . . .”
Channel surf all you want, but it’s doubtful there’s a song about watching TV more breathtakingly exquisite—or more English—than “Blood On The Rooftops,” from Genesis’ Wind & Wuthering album. This ode to couch potatoes was mainly written by guitarist Steve Hackett, who has credited Phil Collins with the song’s title and its musical chorus. From the classical guitar opening to Tony Banks’ resplendent accompaniments to Phil’s phrasing, “Blood” conjures up a deep, damp autumnal day by the hearth and telly in one’s toasty British tweeds. Mike Rutherford calls this “one of Steve’s best moments.” Steve Hackett said, “Luckily the band went to town on it.” Indeed they did. Well done, lads. Very well done.
Sometimes it’s tough on the ol’ ticker being Rod Stewart. Oh, sure, he loves his hot legs, his fun with blondes, his passion. But eventually love’s a bitch, and he knows he’s losing you. And we all know about that debilitating deep first cut. Therefore, it’s in his musical DNA to write a good “she really done him wrong” song, which found its way to the 1977 record Foot Loose & Fancy Free and then the album rock radio airwaves. Maybe it clicked because it’s that rarest of Rod tunes—one where he’s actually begging a woman to leave!
Newman’s 1977 album, Little Criminals, is probably best known for its misunderstood song, “Short People,” but its lesser-known tracks, including “Baltimore,” are great too. The song features Glenn Frey of the Eagles on guitar and backing vocals, along with Glenn’s friend and Eagles collaborator J.D. Souther. About the song Randy said that while a lot of folks in Baltimore didn’t like it, “It’s got those changes people have always loved. Try playing it backwards. It’s just like ‘House of the Rising Sun’ played backwards.” Challenge accepted.
Alice Cooper called himself a “living obscenity” and held court with none other than Salvador Dali, Groucho Marx, and John Lennon. The Lizard King Jim Morrison was an early supporter of Alice’s band as well—not to mention a drinking buddy—and when Morrison checked out in the summer of ’71, Alice intentionally performed these lyrics as a tribute to both Jim and the gunslinger from The Magnificent Seven, Robert Vaughn. Musically, its origin was organic: guitarist Michael Bruce says the riff was basically a piece he used to tune up with!
In 1974 Led Zeppelin was hard at work with what would become the monumental double-album, Physical Graffiti, a collection of newly written songs plus others that never made it onto Houses Of The Holy or Led Zeppelin III and IV. In a 1975 Rolling Stone interview, Robert Plant said the lyrics came from a relationship he’d been in years before joining Zeppelin. His girlfriend, whom he really loved, told him he had to choose between a life with her or “his fans.” As he told Cameron Crowe, “She’s quite content these days, I imagine. . . . We wouldn’t have anything to say anymore. . . .Ten years gone, I’m afraid.”
