The Blasters are probably not the best known or the first of the Rockabilly Revivalists, but they are probably the best of all of them. When you listen to their earlier recordings, there is a great sense of authenticity and energy. They are clearly great at what they do. But I think they really hit their stride on their second album on Slash, Non-Fiction. Not to cast aspersions on some of their earlier numbers like Marie Marie, So Long Baby Goodbye, and Border Radio.
But I believe that on Non-Fiction, they went from being impressionists, revivalists, to being artists that contributed and expanded on this genre. No small feat, given Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, etc.
And it boils down to superior songwriting and a confidence to bring one's own life experiences and sensibilities into the equation. A quantum leap was made here, though I would be in disagreement with the popular narrative. I could not help but make a comparison when I first got Testament: The Complete Slash Recordings, a superb anthology of their output on said label, three albums and a live Ep. I think critics noticed that the band was diverging from the traditional formula a bit and didn't like it so much. I think that they were finding their voice and a new found comfort level in their abilities. There is a richness and depth to Dave Alvin's songwriting here that was just a portent of things to come. And they continue to rock out with gusto, with the addition of the expanded horn section of New Orleans session legend Lee Allen and Steve Berlin. In the words of the great American Philosopher/Lifestyle Consultant Louis Jordan, if you aren't digging this, "Jack, you dead."
The album begins with the rockin' rockin' glory of Red Rose. Anybody can get a rush from the fantastic stinging Chuck Berry guitar, but listen carefully and you realise the song is like a short story. They are still dishing the same great music they did on their other albums, rooted in rock tradition, but moving in a forward direction and coming from the heart.
Your father sat with the night's first drink Your mother washed the dishes in the sink You stood on the steps, wearing your best One red rose on a new black dress
Of course at this juncture the band was composed of the Alvins, Phil and Dave, on vocals and lead guitar respectively, John Bazz on bass, Bill Bateman on drums, and the mighty Gene Taylor on keyboards. The aforementioned Lee Allen and Steve Berlin rounded out this incarnation of the group. People unfamiliar with the band might recognize them as the house band in the silly new wave adventure Streets of Fire, which included Rick Moranis, Diane Lane, Willem DaFoe, Michael Pare, and the furious frontman of Fear, Lee Ving. The band's performance is one of the best parts of the movie, memorably ripping out One Bad Stud, and Blue Shadows, which are included in this anthology. Another winner is Justine, where Phil and X's John Doe team up on vocals. It was a white-hot inexplicable outtake from Non Fiction. With so many great songs, maybe they just ran out of vinyl room!
Bus Station is another Blasters classic, a candid detailing of the back and forth downward entropy of a degenerating relationship. He lies to her, she lies to him, they lie to themselves--though they are sick of everything, here they are together. On the flipside, you have the simple joys of the moment, like the happy one two punch of perfection of One More Dance and It Must Be Love. Maybe the joy won't last forever but it is a feeling that we can all identify with. And another great tune is the poignant ballad Leaving, probably one of my favorite Dave Alvin compositions, up there with 4th of July.
And there is a historical context to this music--it's American music, as they call it, and as an American these themes resonate deeply with me. Songs like Boomtown, about high times come and gone, times that might never return, at least not for the average person. One of my favorites is the high octane Long White Cadillac,
which is about American as they come.
Headlights shine The Highway fades to Black It's my last ride I'm never coming back In a Long White Cadillac...
The Blasters still play around and tour with Phil Alvin. Of course the original Blasters are not together anymore (though Dave reunites with the band occasionally. But if you enjoy this music you will want to hear Dave Alvin's solo records. One of my favorites is the stripped down greatest hits album King of California, where the unadorned versions of his songs really emphasize how great they are. And he is a real gamer live, believe me. I've seen him twice, once with a full band and again with just him and an astounding Texas guitarist with a pompadour hairdo. He's a hard working full time musician. If he comes to your town, I suggest you buy some tickets.
Just wanted to say a few words about Cate Le Bon's promising debut album My Oh My. I first heard her voice on I Lust U on the brilliant 80's concept album Neon Neon, which I wrote about previously on this site. Later on I had heard she had released this album and I heard things. You know, good things. Gruff Rhys liked her enough to release this album on his Irony Bored label.
So here I am listening to this album. The general consensus is she is the Welsh (Penboyr to be exact) answer to Nico. Well...I can see how that could be said, but to a degree I think she is doing her unique own thing which is part of a bigger older folk tradition. But I definitely feel her darkness. Obviously there are Velvet Underground here arrangements here, and there is the fuzz guitar riffs that I hear on the albums of Brazilian Tropicalistas Os Mutantes. There is a vintage quality to what she does, like being in a 60's time machine. She has a lovely moving voice, though quite a bit on the dour side. If you want to go the Velvet's route, I can't be help but be reminded of Mo Tucker singing After Hours. Or maybe more apt, a female Nick Cave. But there is a realistic personal quality to her lyrics. The mainstream music scene today is so divorced from this creative side of music. Dumbed down repetitive simple hedonistic narcissistic lyrics being jammed down the throat of a docile public, like sonic warfare.
Hearing a down to earth unassuming gem of an album like this is a welcome antidote to formulaic crap. Give me an Artist over an Idol any day.
I find this to be a very engaging album that does a good job changing stylistic gears, though the styles are from 40+ years ago. They run from the gamut of Black Angel Death Song raveup Burn Until The End or the lovely plaintive bleak folk of Sad Sad Feet. It's like looking at the world through someone else's eyes. And like Joe Pernice, she combines lovely melodies with lyrics that make you do a double-take. Wait, what did she just say? "I want to burn until the End???"
All I can say is that I look forward to hear what she does next. I wouldn't be surprised if she does something in an entirely different direction. Then again, if she kept making albums like Me Oh My I would not shed tears of disappointment. She has an amazing ability to combine the bizarre and singular with the universal. You only have to listen to the lyrics of the seemingly traditional folk song Shoeing the Bones. I heard that she put out a Welsh language album on the Peski label. I definitely would love to hear some of that. It's a great language to hear people sing, though I don't speak the language at all. It seems that these days Wales is doing all it can to keep their mother tongue alive, which is a fantastic thing.
Sometimes it's easy to get jaded, and think that there is nothing good coming out. But then I hear music like this and I realize that the music is out there. But even with the global connectivity of the internet it may even be harder to locate.
I was watching some Three Stooges shorts today. One of the bits had the boys standing as silly dictators (this of course was during WWII). Of course, by the end of the film they suffered a cruel punishment, as you can see by the head shot above. It was then that it struck me.
Three-way tie for awesome
How did I not put two and two together sooner?
What a great homage, from a great band that had a bass player that later became a member of Iggy Pop's Stooges versions 2.0 and 3.0. And anyone who has read the superlative punk anecdotal archive Just Kill Me, by Legs McNeil knows that Ron Asheton of The Stooges used to come and visit Larry Fine of the Comedy Stooges when he was in a nursing home in the latter years of his life. The circle of life. Hakuna Matata. Or did I mean Akuna No Uta? Everybody loves a good clever tribute. At least if that everybody is me.
I'm very happy that I scored Barre Phillips' Three Day Moon on Cd, a startlingly strange esoteric psychedelic jazz album which came out on the ECM label in 1979. I used to have the album on vinyl and it was one of those unique records to me. It's pretty difficult to find on Cd--I'm not certain why ECM has not reissued this one. Three Day Moon is a fairly amazing melding of different styles. You have the Mingusy Barre Phillips, the psychedelic textures of Terje Rypdal, the tabla rhythms of Trilok Gurtu and eerie syntesizer of Dieter Feichtner. There is some unique quality to this music that actually seems to put me in a hypnotic trance. It wasn't something I was trying to have happen, but I no on a few occasions that I was startled into consciousness by the sound of a needle scraping at the end of one side of the album. But my eyes were open! Listening to this album never feels to give my brain a good cleaning, but not in a soporific way. I feel relaxed, but more energized and focused.
I first discovered ECM records in a strange place, my local Caldor department store, now defunct, but a place where I used to find interesting cut-outs, like Teardrop Explodes or Killing Joke Cd's. I started seeing these albums with unusual artwork on the cover being sold there. Because I recognized some of the names on the albums like Keith Jarrett, I knew that it was jazz. There was a certain consistency in style on the records unlike other labels that I was familiar with. They were so cheap too. I could kick myself now. At one point the store had a huge bin of ECM vinyl that they were selling for 99 cents each!! In retrospect, I should have bought a pile of them.
Three Day Moon came into my possession years later because of a visit to a record store, upon the recommendation of the proprietor. That's one of the nice things about going into a real record store--those wonderful surprises you can encounter, courtesy of people who are genuinely informed about music. He played the record for me and I was won over pretty quickly.
Though the songs are definitely not all the same, there is a mesmerizing quality that runs throughout the album. Though credit must be given to the innovative and virtuoistic guitar playing of Rypdal, the star and gang leader here is Phillips. Sometimes his bass lines lead the charge, other the times they buzz in the background forming a type of private conversation. Sometimes the bass is a crazy rangeing heartbeat. Overall the soundscapes are startling. Ostensibly, this is considered a jazz album. I don't think this is such an important distinction to be made--I just like this album a lot. But I think back to the reaction of the Jazz World when Ornette Coleman burst onto the scene. (Phillips actually performed with Coleman on the beautiful Naked Lunch soundtrack).
The reaction was not positive. The strangeness of the new style was jarring. Today when people are attempting to institutionalize jazz as an America's home grown of Classical music, it creates a difficult dichotomy. I guess it is like loose and strict constructivists of the American Constitution. Like, the Constitution does not mention cell phones, so how can government regulate them? I guess in terms of jazz, I am a loose constructivist. Give credit where credit is due, to all the great jazz legends and tradition, but let the genre breathe. Don't be such a tight ass as to what Jazz is and isn't.
Back at the old Knitting Factory in NYC they used to have a What is Jazz? festival, which they held at the same time as the old institution, The New York Jazz Festival. And no doubt not accidentally. Well, What is Jazz? quickly grew and grew, as it was a melting pot of diversity, and a cross pollination of musical genres. Eventually it threatened to usurp the other festival in stature. First and foremost, jazz is improvisatory music, and is a cross pollination of musical styles, and in some ways is musically political satire. People who create great jazz imbue it with part of themselves, sometimes in way that can't quite be replicated. And if you try to pin it down, you kill the life out of it, like a beautiful butterfly collection.
It's a Heartbeat, It's a Love Beat
I'm listening to Three Day Moon as I tap the keyboard and I'm enjoying it as much as I did when I first heard this unique disc. S.C. & W is without doubt the best country space raga I've ever heard. All 9 1/2 minutes of it. There is a zen quality here where even disparate noise that might be accidental seems like it is there for a reason. There is a strange ambience at work, perhaps because of the 1000 mile journey that Phillips, Gurtu and Feichtner took from Salzburg to Oslo to make this album. In a converted ice cream wagon!! For some reason these disparate artists came together and created a coherent masterpiece, even though at times it seems they are all playing different things in a schizophrenic way.
Three Day Moon is a very amazing one of a kind record, the kind of record that has inspired me to seek out interesting music outside my comfort zone.
I can't say that this philosophy has given me much regret.
Yes, my friends, this venerable blog has reached another milestone. 200 posts!!
Thank you friends. Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you...
Post 100 took us to the streets of Memphis and Big Star's mighty Third/Sister Lovers, and now we head across several ponds to the Antipodean other end of the musical world, Brisbane, Australia, to scale the top of the punk rock mountain for enlightenment from one of the very greatest bands ever, The Saints.
If you don't know what I am talking about, call a close friend and have them come over and smack you in the head.
The Saints are simply the best; as good as any punk band out there. If you love great rock and roll, this music needs to be a part of your musical world. The snottiest, hard rockingest, youthfully energetic, guitar thrashing, in your face punk rock there is. The easiest description is to say they are like an Australian Ramones, but that is far a too easy and not too apt statement. For one thing, before there were Ramones, before Sex Pistols and the only band that mattered, there was Edmund Kuepper, Chris Bailey, Ivor Hay, and
Kym Bradshaw, in the garage, doing what they wound up doing so well for three tremendous albums. Their music reminds me as much of super frenetic versions of 50's and 60's music. Their musical legacy has now influenced several generations of Australian bands.
Another great thing is their iconoclasm, their lack of tolerance for foolishness and clicquery. The same angry jaundiced worldview expressed in their songs was in turn directed at the insular and intolerance of punk rock. New club, different badges. A band unappreciated in their homeland until they made a splash in London. Getting criticized by punks in England for not fitting the mold, growing their hair long. It all seems pretty silly today, more popular delusions and the madness of crowds. A musical cultural movement that was under attack turning around and eating itself. I say listen to the music and let that be the final testament, if we need testaments at all. The Saints got shot by both sides, but sold out to noone. In the salad days of Green Day, Blink 182, etc. it seems kind of trite. But when I was in a band at College we couldn't get booked at the school pub because the student said "I hate the band and everything they stand for", whatever the hell that meant. So much for liberal arts.
Wild About You is a fantastic collection of all the studio recordings of the early Saints, when Ed Kuepper was still on guitar, released on Raven Records about 10 years ago. It contains their first three albums, (I'm Stranded, Eternally Yours, Prehistoric Sounds), cuts off of singles and eps, and a few unreleased numbers.
Outstanding from beginning to end. I know that many people draw a line in the sand between the second and third albums. I won't argue that on Prehistoric Sounds they took a different direction, slower, more like a traditional rock album, with great seamless use of a horn section. But only the most doctrinaire music fan can be dismissive of this album's merits. As I see it Prehistoric Sounds is still pretty terrific, but without the visceral thrill of the prior two albums. The same intelligence and attitude is there in an undiminished amount. It's a similar argument to Stiff Little Fingers Now Then... album. Very very good, but the fans don't go crazy when they hear "Big City Night" like they do "Suspect Device". It's difficult not to make such comparisons.
Of course, I haven't had the luxury of hearing the original Saints perform. I was hopeful that I would get a chance to see these guys. Despite all the enmity I had heard existed between Ed Kuepper and Chris Bailey they got together for a few festivals in Australia. But as far as I know, the reunion was a temporary one, and there are no plans to take on a World Tour. I don't think they played the state ever so it wouldn't really be that nostalgic. I sort of hope that if they came to the US that they wouldn't be playing the Mercury Lounge or some such small venue. Of course in a selfish way, to see such an amazing band in a venue like Maxwell's in Hoboken which hold less than 200 people would be a pleasure I would feel very unguilty about. I guess I'm saying that I would hope that these guys would get the popular credit they deserve, beyond the critical accolades they've received.
The collection begins with a flat-out howling punk rock classic, the one that show up on compilations. I'm Stranded flings a defiant gauntlet to the world, taking on the tribulations of conservative life in Australia and defiantly standing up to the view of Australia being a stereotypical backwater. The Saints have a huge chip on their shoulders, and their attitude punctures all the popular prejudices they had to contend with. They were from someplace outside the rest of world and they were outside the society they lived in. Pure rock n roll rebellion.
The insane thing is, this entire collection is crammed full of classic songs, both originals and amazing interpretations of other people's tunes. Ed Kuepper's buzzsaw guitar work still knocks me out, its something that I could never get tired of. And Chris Bailey is the perfect snotty punky frontman. Listen and be amazed at Demolition Girl and Wild About You! One of my favorites is the blistering Nights in Venice--I still can't believe that its nearly 6 minutes of bone rattling glory. It's over before I realize it. This Perfect Day is another A-list tune, a perfect frenetic buzz kill of a song. And of course there is the classic punk screed against crass commercialism,Know Your Product,delivered pre-Sex Pistols.
Don't talk to me about what you done
Ain't nothing has changed it all goes on
And they'll keep laughing till the end
I've seen them drive around in cars
All look the same get drunk in bars
And don't talk back we got no social rights
Oh perfect day
What more to say?
Don't need no one to tell me what I don't already know
We got no high times always flat
If you go out you don't come back
It's all so funny I can't laugh
Oh perfect day
What more to say?
Don't need no one to tell me what I don't already know
The Saints also do some unusual covers, which they execute in typically brilliant fashion. They do a revved up version of Connie Francis' Lipstick On Your Collar!! And it's both hilarious and pure rock n roll. Elvis's Kissin' Cousins is also roughly sent through the Bailey/Kuepper meatgrinder with equally entertaining results. When you hear these songs, you begin to get an idea of where their musical roots originate. Of course, if I didn't mention the absolutely over-the-top version of Ike and Tina Turner's River Deep Mountain High I ought to be horsewhipped. This is definitely one my favorite covers ever, ranking with Husker Du's apocalyptic take on Eight Miles High. On River Deep, The Saints show themselves to be masters of tempo and dynamics. Bailey howls like a transplanted southern preacher here and the excitement slowly builds to pure destruction. In their covers, they both mock and show reverance for the past. They even do a bit of social commentating and satire in their mock dance-craze song Do The Robot.
In between the noise they also manage to deliver some memorable ballads like the AllTheYoungDude-ish Messin' With The Kid and the darkly grandiose Memories Are Made of This. The band critiques the "no worries" Australian attitude in Orstralia, where you can sit back, bake in the sun, watch telly and leave your brain at home. Bailey pointedly compares day to day life as "living in a chain gang" in Memories. In Messin' With The Kid, "all your kid dreams have melted under the sun". A favorite is the ode to a dissolving relationship This Time, where a couple go through the motions and stick together for no compelling reason. And its a very well constructed classic pop song with a great horn arrangement.
I'm talking to you but you're in a trance... You're talking to me but I ain't got a chance Cause you'd rather sit with your radio
You're lying in the sun and you read magazines You think that you know everything on the scene But you're hanging around, only fooling yourself.
I listen to the tunes from Prehistoric Sounds and I can't help but think of The Commitments, with the soulful singing and the horn lines taking the place of the stinging guitar, at least on some of the songs. They do a nice uptempo version of Otis Redding's Security and also Aretha Franklin's Save Me. Bailey's Take This Heart of Mind is not out of place in this company, as is Everything's Fine. But there are a variety of songs here, including the cowpunk of Swing for The Crime, which Prehistoric Sounds leads with. The ballad All Times Through Paradise sounds like a dark proto-Bad Seeds number. Crazy Googenheimer Blues is a strange blend of Motown bounce and rockabilly.
The original band held together for three records, except for the replacement of bassist Bradshaw with Algy Ward after (I'm) Stranded. But Kuepper and Bailey had creative differences over the band musical style. Bailey continued The Saints and had success on MTV in the 80's with stellar albums like A Little Madness To Be Free, All Fool's Day, and Prodigal Son. Some of his recent albums are a bit of a return to his punk roots. Kuepper formed the jazz punk group Laughing Clowns, the mockup hard rocking group The Aint's, and has had a distinguished solo career with numerous great albums. Wild About You ends with an interesting unreleased song Looking For The Sun, which does not sound like any song in their canon. It's sort of a jangle guitar Byrds meets Eric Burdon garage ballad. You wonder if this is where they were headed before the split. I think these guys were probably capable of anything, really.
But Wild About You is a perfect anthology of one the top punk bands ever, on the level of The Clash, Ramones, Buzzcocks, Pistols, etc. If they were from America or England they would be lionized. For the completist, there is the box set All Times Through Paradise, which includes a bunch of demos and great live tracks, which was recently reissued. But if you like what you hear you will probably want to hear the later Saints, Chris Bailey's solo work. The Laughing Clowns are pretty much a unique band that I think someday will get their due. I don't think there is anything out there quite like it, and Kuepper deserves high praise. His solo works like Electrical Storm and Honey Steel's Gold are also worthwhile. Or check out the compilation Butterfly Net. The Aint's are also worth a listen, especially the hard rocking live album SLSQ. Or there are the jillion recordings on Kuepper's Prince Melon Label.
So enough blah, blah, from me. Do yourself a favor and get acquainted with this exemplary band. You need this, believe me. I wish I knew about these guys when the music originally came out, but I was busy listening to Boston and "Green Grass and High Tides". You can avoid this fate. So wish CT a Happy 200th. Maybe we'll get in another 200 before I finally succumb to carpal tunnel. Or tinnitis.
Recently I reread one of my favorite short story anthologies, The Jaguar Hunter by Lucius Shepard. I have to say that when I slowly and carefully pored my way once again through the 14 stories anthologized here, I noticed so much more about his superb and fantastic writing ability. He's probably not one of those guys you will find on the shelves of your local mall bookstore. But he is definitely worth seeking out.
Shepard has abilities on a variety of levels. First and foremost he is an idea guy, with a lot of interesting concepts. He explores his way down a lot of intellectual and philosophical alleys and often takes popular conceits and platitudes to exaggerated and shocking conclusions. In that way, he reminds me a bit like a Kurt Vonnegut but from a younger generation.
He has a wonderful descriptive ability, describing the backdrop of his stories with a lush thoroughness. Though many of his tales are set in Central America (where he spent time in his younger days), his stories take place in many locales that would be deemed exotic at least by the standards of the average American reader. And the descriptions are plausible, in all likelihood a potent combination of life experience and research. And though the stories are grounded in this realism, it is a tribute to this artistic abilities that he manages to take that realism, and mold it, and send it off onto surreal and otherworldly plane. In that respect he reminds me a bit of the great J.G.Ballard. In his stories it often seems that when things start heading south, when your existence is in a state of mortal peril, you realize that people haven't really changed that much over the millenia. Magic and ancient lore mix with world-weary jaded modernity, superstition and magic help to fill in the unintelligible spots, to make life bearable in a changing lonely uncertain and cruel polluted world.
In truth Shepard writes so fluently and with so much kinetic creativity I both awed and more than a little jealous. A few of the stories included in this collection are flat out masterpieces. One is the The Man Who Painted The Dragon Griaule, a captivating Medieval tale that has to be read to believed, a tour de force of descriptive power and a compelling look at the heights and depths of human nature. Another great one is the surreal semi futuristic novella Radiant Green Star, a coming of age and revenge tale set in a Vietnamese traveling circus. It was the last story in the collection and it was probably why I felt so strongly that something needed to be said in a post. Just when the book was nearly perfect I read the finale and I had to make my opinions public.
I could go on and on about these, stories, but I don't want to give it all away. One of my favorites here is Night of White Bhairab an East-West Supernatural showdown set in Nepal. When you read How The Wind Spoke at Madaket you will discover a chilling reason why Hurricanes have names, and a wonderfully written take on the consequences of unrestrained destruction of our environment. If like me, you have spent more than a few summers in Cape Cod, Mass, you will get a Lovecraftian tingle as you turn the pages. Black Coral is tremendous metaphor, comparing human communities to the intertwined community of a coral reef and having the narration in the form of a modern fairy tale. Just audacious!!
I'd like to end this post with a rather lengthy quote from the end of A Spanish Lesson, which I think sums up Lucius Shepard better than I am inadequately doing. A final observation is his passion and fierce unwillingness to tolerate ignorance. Despite the world weariness, there is hope and inspiration in his writing, the thing that helps people get up in the morning to do what they need to do. And He engages you and forces you to think. And his word ring as true today as they did then.
When the tragedies of others become for us diversions, and stories with which to enthrall our friends, interesting bits of data to toss out at cocktail parties, a means of presenting a pose of political concern , or whatever...when this happens we commit the gravest of sins, condemn ourselves to ignominy, and consign the world to a dangerous course. We begin to justify our casual overview of pain and suffering by portraying ourselves as do-gooders incapacitated by the inexorable forces of poverty, famine, and war. "What can I do?" we say. "I'm only one person, and these things are beyond my control. I care about, but there are no solutions."
Yet no matter how accurate this assessment, most of us are relying on it to be true, using it to mask our indulgence, our deep-seated lack of concern, our pathological self-involvement. In adopting this attitude we delimit the possibilities for action by letting events progress to a point at which, indeed, action becomes impossible, at which we can righteously say that nothing can be done. And so we are born, we breed, we are happy, we are sad, we deal with consequential problems of our own, we have cancer, or a car crash, and in the end our problems prove insignificant. Some will tell you that to feel guilt or remorse over the vast inaction of our society is utter foolishness; life, they insist, is patently unfair, and all anyone can do is to look out for his own interest. Perhaps they are right; perhaps we are so mired in our self-conceptions that we can change nothing. Perhaps this is the way of the world. But, for the sake of my soul and because I no longer wish to hide my sin behind a guise of mortal incapacity, I tell you it is not.
So do yourself a favor and get to know the writings of Lucius Shepard. I think that you will not be disappointed. If you are a fan of Harlan Ellison, Jonathan Lethem, or the short stories of T.C. Boyle, you can't go wrong here, or with his many other worthy books.
