As usual, a YouTube clip with overly compressed, streaming audio doesn’t do justice to a band as powerful as Visqueen. So take my word, you want to hear this live or on the album with some good speakers (made of wood, not plastic, jackass).
Quite frankly, I’m a little shocked you’re not already shouting along, pumping your fist, kicking over your desk, and setting fire to your coworker’s office in rhythm with Visqueen’s Message to Garcia. It’s fucking badass. Visqueen is basically a super-group made up of some of Seattle’s most ruthlessly talented musicians, and yes, I am well aware of the gravity of that statement.
It’s like someone blackjacked a drunk leprechaun from behind, put a knee on his chest, a knife to his throat, and a clinched fist around his tiny, lil’ magic balls, and said “listen here you little drunk fucker, I want to hear a band with a tiny but indomitable chick on bass, a drummer that sounds like five, a guitarist that can shred like Eddie Van Halen, but has the good sense and soul to know not to, and a hot lead chick with lungs that makes two out of the three tenors sound like they’re phoning it in,” and then, much like the Muhgal Emperor who blinded the craftsmen who built the Taj Mahal, he curbed the little pikey bastard so it could never be replicated.
But really… you don’t have this album yet? You’ve at least heard of Visqueen, right? Jesus fucking Christ, you’re killing me, kid. Well how about this, you know Neko Case, right? Well, ask Neko about Rachel from Visqueen. Oh, you don’t really know Neko, like know-know her? Well Rachel does. They sing together all the time. In fact, Neko sings backup on this album. Yeah, backup.
There are still a couple of months left in the year, but I’m more than willing to say this is easily one of the best rock albums of 2009. It’s blistering. At first it feels like straight up, balls to the wall rock, but then you realize it’s loaded with horns, strings, and pedal steal, among some other jaw dropping subtleties. What’s that? You never had your jaw dropped by subtleties, and you think it’s an oxymoron? Well, fuck you. You haven’t heard this shit yet.
I love when Idols go bad, or at least back to their dancey raver roots. I’m blowing through a never-ending to-do list while listening to Blake Lewis‘ first album on Tommy Boy Records, out today. Heartbreak on Vinyl is ridiculous, infectious dance music in the general pop-electronica vibe of BT. I like “Sad Song” (see video above) but my favorite on the LP is probably “Binary Love,” possibly because it sounds like a love song between robots.
And Tommy Boy seems a much better home for Lewis, where his sound thankfully hasn’t been slashed and burned into a more generic mainstream radio format. He’ll be playing at the Roxy in LA on Thursday to celebrate the album release.
This is Os Mutantes first album in 35 years. If you don’t know Mutantes, it would be easy to say something like they’re the Brazilian Beatles or the Brazilian version of the guys from Buena Vista Social Club, but they’re not; they’re Os Mutantes.
The Mutantes were a big part of the Tropicalia movement in Brazil during the ’60s. Imagine what you know about the psychedelic ’60s in America and the UK, and then combine that with Carnival, and you can basically suss up the sound of that movement. Put simply, it’s fucking wild.
Around 1964, there was a military coup in Brazil, and yes, that did suck. The starched uni’s were cracking down on the kids, art, and social activism. Legendary Brazilian musicians Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil were playing with Mutantes at the time, and they were arrested and forced into exile on some trumped up charges off communism. (Back in the ’60s anyone who didn’t agree with the far right were branded “communists” much like people are branded “socialists” or “Nazis” now. All bullshit).
But the point is, Mutantes’ music was so radically different and powerful that the government got involved. If that’s not an endorsement of something really special and creative going on, I don’t know what is.
The music on this album will blow your mind. Listen to it on a real stereo with some real speakers, not ear buds or plastic computer speakers. The instrumentation, harmonies, and pure passion will knock you over.
I was on CNN.com/live again today, trying to squeeze about 30 minutes worth of words into about 10 minutes. Of course there were some things I couldn’t fit into that time, so I’ve banged ‘em out on the ol’ type machine for you here:
The Esso Trinidad Steel Band, “Van Dykes Parks Presents the Esso Trinidad Steel Band”
Ok, this is a hell of a story. You know it’s going to be a sad and fucked up tale when it begins with Christopher Columbus… so we’ll skip about 400 years of very, very unfortunate shit that went down (you remember the old rhyme, “in 14 hundred and 92/ Columbus sailed the ocean blue/ and served as a catalyst to the biggest genocide in human history—doo” or something like that).
Mid 19th century-ish, Trinidad and Tobago were under British control. Of course, we all know the Brits may not have invented “the Man,” but they sure as hell mastered it. During the waning years of slavery, the Man realized he was on thin ice in the Caribbean, but instead of making things cooler, the man heated it up and banned slaves from talking to each other. Seriously! I know, what a bunch of dicks—but wait, it gets worse.
So the slaves started communicating with drums, as many cultures in Africa did. Then the fucking Brits outlawed drumming! Now the Man can make as many rules as he wants, but you can’t stop the shining, so the people started cleaning out and tuning bamboo stalks that they would beat together rhythmically to communicate.Guess what the Brits did next—that’s right, they banned those sticks.
We’re up to the early to mid 20th century now, and, in addition to ruining and raping indigenous culture, the white folks had a way of doing the same thing to the previously pristine environment.
Around this time, giant oil drums (metal barrels) were washing up on the beaches of Trinidad after they were thrown overboard by British oil companies.Forget “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Life gave Trinidad toxic waste and catastrophic oppression, and they made some most joyous and soulful music in the world. Steel drums were made by heating and pounding these giant oil drums until they were tuned to a chromatic scale. (Technically they’re called “steel pans.” The “drum” part actually refers to the oil drum not the structure of the instrument made out of it.) Ta-da! Calypso is born.
The Marines stationed in Tripoli really dug the music and the culture around it, and much like VD, they spread it from port to port.
Around about 1960-something, the Esso Oil Company realized a few things. One: they had really pissed off the locals. Two: the people were using their oil drums to do something the masses loved and had captured worldwide audience with it. And three: they could co-opt the beauty and soul that was rebelling against them, and make themselves look like the polar opposite of what they really were.
So Esso decided to sponsor the biggest, baddest steel band in town, the Tripoli Steel Band, and change their name to the Esso Trinidad Steel Band. (They did the same thing on a few other islands too). As evil as oil companies and the Man are, this money made it possible for a 28-member band to support themselves and tour the world. There’s pretty much no other way for a 28-member band to pull a profit on the road, so this is actually one of those times where the Man helped himself and helped the world at the same time. I know, it’s rare.
Sometime around 1970 Van Dyke Parks enters the equation. Parks is a wunder-producer and musician who has played with the Byrds and produced everyone from the Beach Boys and Ry Cooder, to U2, Rufus Wainwright and the Scissor Sisters, and perhaps, most important to me, he did the Bare Necessities which Ballou sang in the Jungle Book. Parks is a genius producer, and his real bread and butter is juxtaposing lyrical themes with musical moods and styles that seem counter intuitive. Google him and listen to his work, and what I just said will make total sense.
So Parks picked up on these guys and recorded this album of covers. In addition to some classic reggae tunes (which is totally different than calypso, btw), Parks added steel pan versions of Apeman by the Kinks, I Want You Back by the Jackson 5, Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel, Come to the Sunshine by Harpers Bizarre, and even Sabre Dance by Aram Khachaturian, among others. The results are mind blowing. Ride on Sammy is the new soundtrack to my life.
This album’s been in and out of print for a while, but is being reissued today, thanks to the good folks at Allegro Media, who I believe are working in conjunction with Minky Records. Looks like they’re already selling out on Amazon as I type this, but you can get it on Allegro’s page now. I’d advise doing it quickly, because I’m not sure they printed enough copies to meet the demand. Buy it now, and tell your friends about it before they run out.
Oh yeah, Van Dyke Parks also produced the Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs covers collection I was ranting about a couple of months ago. And of course, Matthew and Susanna were in the Austin Powers movies, and Tom Cruise was in Austin Powers 3, and Tom was in a Few Good Men, with… Kevin Bacon.
Pete Molinari “Today, Tomorrow and Forever featuring the Jordanaires”
Pete Molinari was born and raised in England to an Egyptian, Italian and Maltese immigrant family. Then he went to Nashville to record some old country standards with the Jordanaires, Elvis’ backing gospel group. Happens everyday, right?
This stuff is crazy. I’m from the South, and as much as I love to see outsiders take a swing at Southern standards, I generally get furious when it doesn’t work and someone misses the mountain sound and lands closer to a nasally Long Island accent while singing about oatmeal instead of grits, but damn, Pete nailed it. This EP’s as good of an argument for reincarnation being real as anything I’ve ever heard.
The vinyl release only contains the four covers “Today, Tomorrow, and Forever” by Patsy Cline (Goddess), “Tennessee Waltz by Roy Acuff (THE King of Country Music—if you don’t know him, listen to Jeff Tweedy’s song “Acuff Rose” for the history lesson), “Satisfied Mind” by Porter Wagner (the man who brought us Dolly Parton) and “Guilty” (lots of people have sang this one—that’s why it’s called a standard).
When Pete was in Nashville, he was playing with Chris Scruggs (Earl’s grandson, who by the way is a BADASS steel guitar player and is all over this record) and Pete mentioned he wanted to get some gospel singers on it. They didn’t have much of a budget, so he was just planning on finding some folks in a church and asking for their help. Then Chris says something to the extent of, “how ‘bout the Jordanaires. I know them.” Pete lost his shit, as he should have.
There was a very small window in world history where white people made really good gospel music, and the Jordanaires were the brick propping that window open. The power and strength that they ad to this EP is amazing. I love these songs and can’t wait to hear more.
Adam Landry produced this album. I’m sure his schedule’s full, but if you’re an artist in Nashville, you should do whatever you can to try to work with him. He’s great.
Go get this now. If Amazon has run out (damn straight, we’re crashing the servers this week!), and I think they have, get it on itunes. You’re also going to want to get Pete’s previous album Virtual Landslide (looks like Amazon is running out of these too, so get it here).
Imogen Heap “Ellipse”
If you’ve ever watched TV or a movie, you’ve heard Imogen’s work. Guarantee it.
If you like crying alone in your room while listening to Dido, you’re going to love dancing by yourself to this album. It’ll be kind of an interpretive dance with lots of semi-graceful arm waving, but you’ll be dancing just the same. Oh, and even if you’re not a borderline manic-depressive weeper who gets off on psychological cutting, you’re still going to dig this. (I should point out that Imogen is light years ahead of people like Dido when it comes to actual talent).
It’s kind of a unique blend of indie, electronic and ambient that absolutely bounces around the room. And at the same time it feels really natural and not at all artificial, unlike most music that you could put in its category.
As a kid Imogen taught herself to play pretty much every instrument out there, but when she went off to boarding school she didn’t get along with her teacher (who was probably an asshole), so instead of getting a traditional musical education, she continued to teach herself. That means instead of getting caught up in memorizing names of composers and movements, she tinkered around with computers and taught herself how to engineer and produce by using developing, hi-tech lo-fi equipment. (Seems contradictory, but it’s not).
Basically what that all means is, every bit of this album sounds exactly like she wants it to, and few musicians are lucky enough to have not only that kind of artistic control but also the innate ability and talent to make it happen.
You can stream it this week on Spinner. Once you stream it a few times, you’ll probably want to buy it here. When you listen to it, check out track 3 “Earth,” it’s totally a capella (I think), but you’d barely notice if I didn’t tell you. And from what I can hear, Imogen slaps her ass and uses it as percussion on one of the songs, but I’m not telling you which one, because I like the idea of you listening to the entire album trying to find the ass smack.
I was on cnn.com again today, ranting about some great music and trying not say anything too strange due to the meth lab exploding in my soul after mixing a large coffee and a 240 mg pseudoephedrine time-release capsule that was dissolving way too rapidly.
Here are a few of the points I didn’t get to make on air:
“Acquired Taste” Delbert McClinton
Delbert McClinton’s been making music professionally since before you were a misguided glimmer in your dad’s bloodshot eyes. He’s an old pro, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.He’s spent the past 50 years playing with all the greats, released 13 of his own albums, and won three Grammys. On top of that there’s a rumor goin’ round that he taught John Lennon how to play harmonica.
Now he’s teamed up again with super producer Don Was (Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, BB King, Al Green, Waylon Jennings, the Black Crowes, Brian Wilson… need more convincing? Okay: Roy Orbison, Elton John, Lyle Lovett, Iggy Pop, the B-52s. Surely you’re convinced by now… really, more? Okay: George Clinton, Carly Simon, Paul Westerberg, George Michael, Joe Cocker, Jackson Brown, Amos Lee, Willie Nelson, the Stone Temple Pilots, and tons more).And this album is exactly as good as you would expect it to be when the two team up.
Delbert named the album “Acquired Taste” and when you open up the liner notes it says, “Most people don’t like me at first.” In the past, that’s been somewhat of a true statement. McClinton’s always been a musician’s musician, and hardcore music junkies love him, but on the unskilled ear, some of his brilliance can be lost. However, ironically, I think “Acquired Taste” is the album that breaks that trend. I fucking dare you not to dance to “Mama’s Baby.”
“Until Then” starts off like a simple Randy Newman number, then hits some crazy jazz chords that oddly enough have an ’80s vibe, before Delbert falls into a Dr. John groove and Neil Young style “Southern Man” guitar licks flood your ears.Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. “When She Cries” is a song the Replacements would have recorded if they had stayed together another 30 years and practiced every day and still maintained their excitement.
My point is: go get this album, and if you don’t like it, it’s your fault.
“Watch Me Fall” Jay Reatard
Jay Reatard is a lo-fi garage punk anti-hero from Memphis. The Memphis part is important. Most of the best music in America has come out of Memphis, granted in the past it’s been more about blues and soul, but the genre isn’t the point. The point is that Memphis is a shitty city and their music has always been about rising above circumstances and conquering adversity.
Memphis isn’t as bad as it was 40 years ago (fortunately, you can only kill MLK once) but it’s still a rundown puddle of douche water for the most part. And that is what makes Memphis so beautiful. The best art often comes out of affliction and misfortune. I’d like to repeat that Memphis is in no way as bad as it was 40 years ago, but Jay still grew up in a tough town and was exposed to the type of shit you’d rather your kid not be exposed to.
He dropped out of school in the 8th grade. I’d imagine it was because his teachers were dicks who were too stupid to understand his brilliance. Basically, since then Jay’s been playing in thrash punk bands around Memphis. He earned a bit of a reputation for being a badass troublemaker, but how else was a 15-year-old kid in a punk band supposed to act?
Jay’s grown out of punching people in the back of the head and channeled that energy and passion into his music even more, and the results show. Whereas much of his previous recordings were straightforward, throbbing garage punk, on this one Jay’s worked in a lot of poppish melodies (even counter melodies) and hooks. It’s fucking awesome. I’d say this is the future of rock ‘n’ roll, but that’s probably giving the listening public too much credit.
However, I do think Jay has the potential to be the next Jack White… but without the wardrobe department. Tonight, you should go home a say a prayer to whatever superhero you worship, and ask him/her/it to have Jay and Jack work together on an album. If you put the two of them in a studio together, one of two things would happen: either they would lay down the best tracks ever made, or there would be a two-hour fistfight, and then they would record the greatest song ever.
I hate the word “folk.” I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again, given the chance, I would kick Peter, Paul, and Mary in the balls. Peter Yarrow knows what he did. BUT the term “indie-folk” seems to be sticking, and thus, we’re stuck with it, so this album is classic Pacific Northwest indie-folk.
The Cave Singers are three guys from Seattle who used to play in bands like Pretty Girls Make Graves and Cobra High. Basically, the music these guys used to play had a lot going on in it and a good bit of noise. However, now, they’re putting just as much energy into minimalist, lower key music. The results are pretty cool. You can still feel just as much energy, but it’s all concentrated on fewer notes, chords and beats, which only intensifies them.
Most songs build as they progress by adding more instruments: keyboards enter midway through then horns towards the end or something like that. But the Cave Singers’ songs manage to build in intensity and emotion, but without cluttering their sonic space. It’s raw and organic and fairly unique in this day and age. Get it here.
I was on cnn.com again today, spreading the Gospel of Willie and apparently cussin’ in British slang. These things happen.
Here is the music you must buy today:
Willie Nelson, “Lost Highway”
Willie Nelson is a god. Not just a musical god, but a full-on deity. Someday, 2,000 years in the future, when the aliens visit our charred, post-apocalyptic planet and start poking around the artifacts, there’s a good chance they’ll get Willie and Jesus mixed up. The two have a lot in common, except that nobody ever got hurt in Willie’s name, and instead of bringing the wine to parties, Willie’s got the weed.
For a lot of people in our generation, it’s easy to take Willie for granted: he’s always been around and your parents have had his albums since long before you were born. But believe me, Willie Nelson is more of a rebel and rock star than the entirety of 40 years of commercial rock ‘n’ roll that have followed his departure from Nashville.
Back in the ’60s, Willie was one of the most respected songwriters in Nashville, penning hits like “Crazy” for Patsy Cline and the “Nightlife” for Ray Price, among many others. Back then he still had a nice, tidy haircut, clean-shaven face, and played the game to make it as a writer, with hopes of bringing his own special sound to the masses someday. However, the problem with mainstream, mass produced, Nashville country music is: it sucks. They didn’t get Willie. He’s got a unique voice, he writes like a poet, and he plays blues infused solos on a classical guitar in country songs with jazz changes. Add it all up, and it’s too many “wait, what just happened?” moments for commercial country.
Round about 1970, Willie’s house in Nashville burnt down, both literally and figuratively. Willie packed up and headed back to the hill country of Texas, where he noticed something amazing: the hippies, freaks, and fun kids started showing up to country shows, creating a completely new, unheard of country counter-culture. For the first time, Willie could make music the way he wanted to, and it absolutely caught fire.
And it wasn’t just the hippies and freaks that were diggin’ it. Willie’s music resonated with everyone from the unwashed “Woodstock ended?” crowd to the real-deal cowboys. Still today, if you go to a Willie show (and you must) the crowd is made up of hippies, rednecks, yuppies, kids, the elderly, and about anyone else you can think of. Fuck you, the Man. It worked.
This album is a compilation of some of Willie’s best moments while on the Lost Highway label. (If you’re into classic, outlaw country and wondering where the good new stuff is, get into Lost Highway.) There’s some classic Willie on here, some recent stuff you might have missed, some duets, and some unreleased rarities. Some of the duets are amazing, including “Crazy” with Elvis Costello and Diana Krall and “Overtime” with Lucinda Williams. The only dark spot is Shania Twain’s appearance on “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” Sure, she looks good in animal prints and cowboy hats, but she ain’t country. Granted, if she asked to sing on my album, I’d let her too, but she still ain’t country.
Also, if you buy this in store, it comes with a free scratch ‘n’ sniff poster, which I’m guessing you probably don’t want to have in your car on a hot day if you get pulled over by Johnny Law.
Holy shit, I love Frank Turner. What? Is a critic not supposed to say that? Fuck you. The video for the Road above does a better job showing what an authentic, DIY, 200 shows-a-year beast he is than I ever could by blabbering on using excessive adjectives and less than subtle dirty puns.
Technically, Frank falls under the label of folk-punk, but pretty much everybody who makes this music or is into it will tell you that’s not an ideal label for it, plus it’s somewhat of an oxymoron, but let’s not get distracted from how amazing Frank’s music is. His album “Poetry of the Deed” comes out September 8th, so you need to go get his previous record “Love Ire & Song” right now. RIGHT NOW, I said. Okay, you back from downloading it? Good, let’s proceed.
Frank has a passion for music and life that is pretty much unrivaled these days and is certainly lacking from your playlist—don’t give my any attitude, it’s true. If you find yourself in the post Gen-X haze that can be summed up by his lyrics “I won’t sit down and I won’t shut up, and most of all, I will not grow up” you know what he means when he says “I’m gonna live fast and I’m gonna die old” or “we can never sell out, cause we never bought in.” Frank has upgraded the traditional “fuck the establishment, fuck the world” attitude of punk rock to a more appropriate and feasible, “Fuck the establishment. I live in my own world, with my friends, and we love our life.” Plus the song To Take You Home is an absolute pant dropper. Guaranteed.
I’d say he’s the voice of a generation, but, quite frankly, there are too many worthless cogs and whiners in our generation that don’t deserve to be associated with Frank and his music.
Go get “Love Ire & Song” now, then get “The First 3 Years” to prep for the September 8th release of “Poetry of the Deed.” You’ll be glad you did. If ever you took a chance and merely trusted my word, let this be that one time—or simply listen to his stuff, realize I’m right and then buy it.
I was on cnn.com this morning, sharing the joys of the Fruit Bats and debating the merits and relevance of Madonna. Part way through my review of The Ruminant Band, my audio froze and my video pixilated as if I was reporting from the front lines of the first Gulf War, so I just kept yammering and next thing I knew we were talking about Madonna.
Here are my liner notes to the segment, because I’m not sure which parts actually made it through the control room.
Fruit Bats “The Ruminant Band”
I’m calling this the happiest album of the year—hands down. It’s not annoyingly happy in the “rainbows, unicorns, and ice cream cones!” kind of way, but the music is bright and the lyrics don’t shy away from embracing joy and the good parts of life. Trust me, I love the dark, brooding, functioning alcoholic who writes about the world’s problems from a barstool as much as anybody, but enough already. You don’t have to wear a black t-shirt everyday to be cool. I get it—you’re dark, mysterious, and non-conformist, just like the 500 guys in line behind you.
Simply put, I love this album. For one thing, it’s an album, not merely a CD. The driving force behind the Fruit Bats is Eric D. Johnson (he’s also a recent addition to the Shins), but clearly a lot of credit on this one also has to go to drummer Graeme Gibson, who produced it. If you’ve ever wondered what people mean when they talk about the art of producing and engineering an album and how it all peaked in the ’70s, check this one out. It’s masterfully done.
I can’t remember coming across an album in the past decade that is so conscious of its sonic soundscape, but doesn’t rely on distorted noise and effects to fill it. Instead, an acoustic guitar falls right into place over your left ear, a Wurlitzer slowly boils up from below you, or the pedal steal has you chasing the bridge around the room. It’s amazing. The vocal harmonies are beautifully and placed with restraint. Most producers who have elements like these would just go nuts and over use them, but these guys got it right.
The music is seeped in late ’60s/early ’70s heritage and awareness, but it never over-treads on a single influence and thus remains completely original and new. If you don’t want to buy into the mainstream, but are getting sick of all the morose, dark, grumbling poet-singers who only find fault in the world, this is for you. And it’s also for your mom. Really. Anyone can enjoy this one.
The question here isn’t, “has Madonna ever done anything good?” Clearly she has. I liked “A League of their Own” a lot. Penny Marshall is awesome. But the question here is, “is Madonna’s upcoming, 7th greatest hits album ‘Celebration’ the most self-serving, unoriginal piece of shit that uses her fans as pawns?” And the answer is a resounding “yes.”
The inaptly named “Celebration” comes out September 29th. Don’t mark your calendars. It’s just a repackaging of the same old crap that’s available on 14 other Madonna CDs. Plus Madge phoned in vocals for two new tracks that represent Paul Oakenfold’s greatest attempt at assassination since he worked with U2 in the Zooropa years. This is what we call an obligatory album. Madonna’s contract with Warner required her to release one more album before she could leave and start her even more lucrative, 360 deal with Live Nation.
I’m sure somewhere in an attorney’s office at Warner Brothers there is a legal definition for what constitutes a new album, and this refurbished turd bucket meets the absolute bare minimum requirements, and thus, it exists.
I do realize that if you are in the cult of Madonna, two new songs from her are a total Mitzvah, no matter how much worse they are than her entire, well-worn, over-sexed body of work. And to be fair, if you’ve ever blasted a line of ecstasy with one nostril while hovering a rail of meth with the other at the same time in a dance club bathroom stall, you may well like these two songs.
If you’re into classic Madonna, you deserve better than this clubby test run of Autotune. If after this you’re still looking for something new, go buy everything released by Janelle Monae and Lykke Li.
I was on cnn.com/live again this morning talking about new releases and trying not to mispronounce any British slang. (Mispronouncing American words is a given). The segment was around the same length as usual, but my coffee was much larger, and I felt like there was a lot I didn’t get to say, so here are the extended liner notes:
“Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood Live from Madison Square Garden,” Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood
This is one of the quintessential Rock ‘n’ Roll recordings of this millennium. I would almost call it the epitome of Rock ‘n’ Roll in its truest form: two extremely talented, absurdly skilled, and well-seasoned pale, white dudes playing old black music. The combo of Clapton’s blues guitar and Winwood’s R&B background is rock in its purest, most simple and deconstructed form. (Plus or minus some Anglo and Scotch-Irish influences).
Clapton and Winwood were old friends all the way back to when they were teenagers in London. The two were always in a bunch of separate bands including Cream and Traffic. When those two acts dissolved, Winwood and Clapton got together to form Blind Faith. That didn’t last long and they went their separate ways shortly afterwards.
Winwood reformed Traffic, and Clapton joined an ass load of different bands and sang a song called “Cocaine.” A lot. Like every night. Then in the mornings and at lunch too. God, he loved that song… so much!!! “Let’s sing it again!!! Right NOW!!! Cut that track up or you’re fired bitch!!!” he’d shout.Then Clapton started singing songs about fucking George Harrison’s wife. (He was kind of a dick.) Flash forward 30 some-odd years and the two reunited on stage for a charity show in 2007, as Clapton was no longer being a dick, and the groundwork was laid for this tour and live album.
Now, everyone knows that Clapton is one of the greats (he’s not God but he is one of the greats); however, Winwood’s the real gem on this record, and he clearly elevates Clapton’s playing, as Clapton does his. Before these shows, Winwood basically called bullshit on Clapton for having other guitarists playing identical Strats right behind him at every show and said it’s just going to be you, me, drums, bass, and some additional keyboards. Not sure how Winwood got to bring backup, but either way, this combo rocks hard and is full of soul. There’s no hiding behind a chorus of studio lifers and background vocalists.
The last time Winwood and Clapton played in Madison Square Garden together, it was 1969, a riot broke out ON STAGE, drummer Ginger Baker got knocked out by a cop’s billy club, and Winwood’s piano was smashed. Five weeks later Blind Faith broke up after only one album and a six-week tour. That’s rock-n-fuckin-roll.
There are a lot of standout tracks on this recording.Traffic’s “Glad” with Clapton shredding in place of the tenor sax solo is as badass as it sounds. So is Winwood joining Clapton for dual guitars on “Dear Mr. Fantasy.” The two of them even manage to do justice to Hendrix’s “Little Wing” and kill a 17-minute “Voodoo Chile.”
My favorite track is probably “Them Changes” by Buddy Miles. Without even knowing he was ill, ClapWood recorded this just days before Miles died. Apparently, a friend at one of the shows held up a phone for Buddy to hear their cover, and he loved it. More or less the same thing happened right after Clapton and Duane Allman laid down “Little Wing” as Derek and the Dominoes, just days before Hendrix died. Thanks Eric. It’s a wonder JJ Cale is still alive today… well, for lots of reasons.
You probably know all the great stuff Clapton has done with Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominoes, Delaney and Bonnie and Friends, and as a solo artist, but if you’re not familiar with all the bands that Steve Winwood played in that shaped the landscape of modern music, here are a fewchoiceclips.
“A Beginners Guide to Blur,” Blur
If you’re not very familiar with Blur’s catalogue, it’s only partially your fault. British music that sounds British has never been big on American radio or MTV or whatever other commercial crap takes up most of our bandwidth these days.
Blur are essentially the godfathers of Britpop. Granted, it’s impossible to ever give one band credit for an entire subgenre, but if you had to pick one group, it would be Blur. After their first album, Blur toured the US, to mixed results, and by the time they got back to England, the Seattle grunge scene was exploding like the back of Kurt Cobain’s head all over the UK. Damon Albarn was sick of hearing foreign music dominate the British airways, so he set out to create something distinctly British, and more or less, that’s when Britpop entered the scene in the ’90s.
Blur and Oasis had a pretty big feud. Granted pretty much everyone had a feud with Oasis, hell — they even feuded with themselves. But Blur and Oasis were always competing for the #1 slot in the UK, often with Blur winning. However, Oasis was doing more of a Lo-Fi, American alternative sounding thing, and that caught on much bigger over here. But remnants of the rivalry still exist. If you ever see a drunk British guy in his mid 30s, which is fairly common, run up to him and shout “BLUR OR OASIS!?!” and then vehemently disagree with everything he says after that. It’s a blast.
Kid British pull off a pretty slick combination of most every genre of music using some sweet harmonies, live instruments and well-placed samples. Don’t be angry just because they’re better at it than Americans.
To old school rockers who shit on sampling all together: sampling is nothing new. It’s been around forever, and the greatest sampler of all time is probably Jimmy Page. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, and if you actually don’t know, look it up. Sampling’s not just unique to music either. No one called Jasper Johns a hack for lifting from Betsy Ross.
Kid British are getting bigger across the pond, but for some reason no ones is really pushing them over here, which is retarded because these guys are a goldmine. If I had the cash, I’d invest in an American PR campaign, and then retire from the royalties of their next album. Whoever decided not to get behind them here is a fucking moron. Do yourself a favor and get in on what they’re doing now, so you won’t have to buy “A Beginners Guide to Kid British” in 18 years.
You can buy the first half of their album here, watch some videos here, follow them on twitter here, and do a little bit of everything here.
So I was on CNN.com/live again today talking about music and looking like an ass for forgetting John Brim’s name. Here’s the crib sheet:
Bob Dylan Radio Radio Vol. 2, Various Artists
First off, these aren’t Bob Dylan songs; it’s music he played on his radio show. The stuff ranges from old fashioned to old timey. It’s got everything from blues to ragtime and a touch of mountain music too, but I still can’t believe what a douche I am for forgetting John Brim’s name while I was on camera.
This collection of songs supports my theory that the biggest myth in music is that Rock ‘n’ Roll was invented in the 60’s or late 50’s. First off, you can’t invent music—it just exists; secondly, raucous songs about getting drunk and doin’ it have been around forever. It’s just that the kids in the lily-white suburbs didn’t get hep to it until the ’60s. Goddamned baby boomers think they invented everything.
Under the Covers, Vol 2, Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs
I hate most cover collections, but I love this one. I could explain that it’s a combo of their voices, smart instrumentation with respectfully yet cleverly re-visited arrangements, and brilliant song choice, but honestly, just go download this, rock out, and realize it for yourself. Susanna Hoffs has one of the sexiest voices ever. I’m pretty sure all the bullshit fixes and filters they put on Britney and all the other whorelets is called “the Hoffs package.”
I’m going to see these two at the Grammy Museum tonight, and I’m considering winking at Susanna. I realize that when I man winks, it’s one of the creepiest things in the world, unless, of course, you’re Santa Claus or a French diplomat, which can still be creepy depending on the location and time of year, but if I do wink at her, there’s a chance that maybe, even by accident, she’ll wink back. And I don’t need to tell you how hot that would be. Damn those eyes!
If you want to hear it before you buy it (and you will buy it), you can stream it on Spinner for the rest of the week.
Change is Gonna Come Sessions, Bettye LaVette
Bettye LaVette is, hands down, the most soulful singer alive and kickin’ today. Suck it, Aretha—there’s been a coup, and you ain’t the queen anymore. Bettye’s life story is an allegory for the age old battle with simple-minded, money driven, visionless music execs and her struggles mirror those of the Civil Rights movement… which of course makes the record execs even bigger assholes. If you want the melodic version of her life story check out the song “Before the Money Came (the Battle of Bettye LaVette)” and listen to the lyrics. It’s a part of American history that shouldn’t be glossed over.
This recording of jazz and R&B classics is more of a red wine drinking, hanging out and acting like adults record, while her other recent releases like Scene of the Crime and I’ve Got my Own Hell to Raise let you hear the soulful fire in her belly, and man, is it soulful. If you can get your hands on a clean copy of “Child of the Seventies” consider yourself very lucky. It was shelved and never released, but is undoubtedly one of the best soul records ever. It’s worth the effort to find it.
PS: I’ll stab Jon Bon Jovi with a dull spoon for walking out on that stage, but honestly, I bet if you ask him, he knows he had no business being there.
I was on CNN.com again today, and this time I got to talk about three great bands. Here’s the liner notes and additional info for what I was yammerin’ on about:
The Dead Weather, “Horehound”
This is Jack White’s latest argument for being the most amazing person alive today. He doesn’t sing much on it, and he plays drums not guitar (more bad news for Meg). Alison Mosshart from the Kills handles most the vocals on this one, and does so masterfully.
However, it has to be frustrating to be the other guy in the Kills, Jamie. Once your bandmate starts playing with Jack White, you know things will never be the same. It’s like if your wife started hanging out with Steve McQueen or John Wayne. You’d be like, “well, I guess she’s with the Duke now… and possibly a necrophiliac. Meh. Stuff happens.”
Stream it here for free for the rest of the week, then buy it here.
The Black Crowes, “Warpaint Live”
If you’re like most people who get their music from the radio and channels that used to play music videos, you’re probably wondering what happened to the Crowes. Well, the turned on, tuned in, and dropped out, and presumably ate fistfuls of magic mushrooms, channeled their inner Allman Brothers and evolved into the best straight up rock band touring today.
Simply put: they bring it live. Chris Robinson can belt it out like no one else in rock n roll today. All the classic frontmen that can actually sing are too old to do what they used to, but Robinson, man, he’s something special. Brother Rich keeps it tight and holds things together on rhythm and texture guitar, with his own share of face-melting solos, but the Crowes have a knack for hiring the best damn guitar players alive to tour with them for a couple of years each. Recently they’ve had Mark Ford and Audley Freed, and now they’ve got Luther Dickinson from the North Mississippi Allstars, and he’s monster. Unless they can convince Warren Haynes or Derek Trucks to come play, I hope Dan Auerbach is next.
Buy this DVD. Oh yeah, it’s a live rendition of their album Warpaint (plus some classics and covers), in case you didn’t figure that out.
Chairmen of the Board, “Give Me Just a Little More Time, etc”
General Johnson and the Chairmen of the Board represent an underappreciated subgenre in the history of American music: beach music. Beach music has nothing to do with the Beach Boys or Dick Dale. It’s melodic, danceable, harmony driven soul in the vein of early Motown. It’s what you shag to.
The Chairmen of the Board were signed by Motown’s writer-producer-hit-machine Halland/Dozier/Holland after leaving the Detroit label. They’re are probably best known for “Give Me Just a Little More Time” but their other hits include “Patches” (which Clarence Carter made a hit), “Carolina Girls,” and “39-21-46” (now that’s a woman who knows how to enjoy life).
Today, the Chairmen of the Board’s first two albums and General Johnson’s first solo album were re-released after being out of print for years. Here’s the bad news: the General had nothing to do with this re-issue and most likely won’t see a cent for it. Fuck the man. Buy something recent from these guys or go see them live and dance your ass off.
