The Unauthorized Biography of Rock and Roll

15 Albums That Changed My Life

2010-02-25T10:29:00.000-08:00

This was in response to a Facebook meme.

THE BEACH BOYS, "PET SOUNDS" - This one took me a while. Brian Wilson's wall of sound (prettier than Phil Spector's, but also less powerful) seems to veer into near chaos at times, and the sudden shifts in tempo and mood can be jarring. But just listen to little Brian's voice reach into the falsetto on "I'm Waiting for the Day," and you'll know why the music nerds drool.

RANDY NEWMAN, "SAIL AWAY" - Though I now regard "Good Old Boys" to be the superior record, this is the one that drew me into Randy's twisted world. On this, his third LP, he laughs at the prospect of nuclear holocaust, mocks the faithful, and gets downright horny. It's as disturbing and hilarious as it sounds.

TOM PETTY, "WILDFLOWERS" - Even better than his rock opus "Damn the Torpedoes," "Wildflowers" shows Tom Petty in full bloom. Petty's never been called an original, mostly because he's not, but he does deserve more credit for his versatility. Here he recalls the British Invasion at its catchiest, Dylan at his most romantic, and Neil Young and his most lovably dopey. Rick Rubin could get into heaven on this alone.

THE BEST OF RAY CHARLES: THE ATLANTIC YEARS - This essential one-discer charts Ray's progression from Nat Cole wannabe to the Genius that everyone else wanted to be. Only "Hard Times" is missing, but that's literally the only thing not to like.DWIGHT YOAKAM, "IF THERE WAS A WAY" - My parents had this one on cassette. Dwight is country's most soulful singer (besides Charlie Rich, who was never strictly country) and its most liberal purist. He pays respect to Buck and Merle without being slavish and he's funny without being a novelty. And he scared the hell out of me in "Panic Room."

ELLIOTT SMITH, "XO" - Smith wrote melodies like McCartney and suffered like Nick Drake, resulting in some of the loveliest mope rock ever. This meant a lot to me my freshman year of college. It's lost some of its power now (have I grown, or has it shrunk?) but once upon a time I felt every note deeply.

THE BEATLES, "ANTHOLOGY 2" - The best of the three volumes, and also the most diverse, this one kept me company the winter I broke my leg. While the first Anthology showed us a cheeky boy band on the make, and the third detailed the group's painful dismantling, "Anthology 2" is the story of how the world's greatest band became its most influential. The highlight: a three-track suite exhaustively detailing the birth of "Strawberry Fields Forever." And that's not even one of their best songs.

BOB DYLAN, "BLOOD ON THE TRACKS" - Long after Dylan stopped being anyone's idea of a spokesman, or even a dependable record-maker, he delivered his mostly acoustic masterpiece. His best songs, his best singing, hell, just his best.

JACKSON BROWNE, "LATE FOR THE SKY" - If Dylan's writing can be obscure, Browne's can be almost painfully direct. Make no mistake: he's trying to break your heart. "The Late Show" and "For a Dancer" might just do the trick, but if they don't, give yourself over to "Fountain of Sorrow". Elsewhere, JB predicts the end of the world and when he finally glimpses happiness, on "Walking Slow," he's in disbelief. In the summer of 2004, I was in utter disbelief at how affecting it all was.

THE VERY BEST OF ELVIS COSTELLO - I've since neglected this in favor of about a dozen studio albums, but for me, the obsession started here. Some artists, even gifted ones, suffer from a paucity of ideas. Costello is not one of them. His only problem is finding a place to put them all. Costello throws so much at you, it would be utterly baffling if the melodies weren't so elegant in their own spiky way. This 2-disc set spans a quarter-century and runs from country and western to chamber music to new wave to jazz. Astonishingly, this is only scratching the surface.

ELTON JOHN, "MADMAN ACROSS THE WATER" - In retrospect, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" is splashier, "Tumbleweed Connection" richer, and "Captain Fantastic" more personal, but this is the one that hooked me. We all know "Tiny Dancer" and "Levon," but the good news doesn't stop there. The haunting finale does more emotional damage in less than two minutes than most songwriters can muster in a career.

STEELY DAN, "COUNTDOWN TO ECSTASY" - The band's second LP, it was their last as a real band, as future records (mostly excellent) became populated with studio musicians and guest stars. Musically, they were never more expansive, whether jamming with tasty precision ("Bodhisattva") or crafting a sweet country ballad ("Pearl of the Quarter"). It doesn't get any better than "My Old School," and by "it," I mean anything.

PAUL SIMON, "HEARTS AND BONES" - Paul Simon has said this album represents his full maturation as a lyricist, and I see what he means. Middle age, unkind to many boomers, forces Simon into a philosophical corner, where he emerges with his most intriguing set of songs. The lyrics address marriage, divorce, parenthood, the loss of our heroes, mathematics, seasonal ailments, and lyric writing itself. Not bad for the guy who once talked to lampposts.

BILLY BRAGG & WILCO, "MERMAID AVENUE" VOL. 1 & 2 - I am grouping these together because that's how I bought them. America's best post-grunge band and England's best post-punk folkie teamed up to animate the last scribblings of the great Woody Guthrie. I learned that Guthrie's talents extended far beyond hobo lullabies and socialist anthems. He could also be poetic, whimsical, even erotic. These albums represent the full and final unveiling of one of America's greatest writers.

THE BEATLES, "ABBEY ROAD" - Not satisfied with changing the face of Western music, the lads, sensing a breakup was imminent, decided to pool their considerable collective genius and give us their flawless swan song. Emphasis on "flawless." Cleanly produced, sharply played, gorgeously sung, and creatively written, it's their finest by a mile. The real test: even Ringo's song is a classic. What popular music can be, should be, and sadly, may never be again.

What I Would Have Asked Paul McCartney

2010-02-24T15:00:00.000-08:00

This is a piece I wrote last summer.

Last night, David Letterman was given an opportunity I would figuratively kill for: he interviewed Sir Paul McCartney. The segment was decent enough, but Dave's questions were musty, forcing Paul to tell the same stories he's been telling for over 45 years now.So I decided to come up with a list of 10 questions I think might have made for a more original segment. Let me know if there's anything I missed.

1a. Your recent work has been met with much praise, whereas before, your solo work was often dismissed by critics. Have you noticed a change in the quality of your own work, or do you think critics are just susceptible to trends?
1b. Recently, do you feel reconnected with your music, or has your level of investment always been consistent?

2a. What do you do when you sit down to write a song and nothing comes? Or do you never treat it like work, and rather, wait for inspiration?
2b. Has it become harder over the years to connect with your muse?

3. You and John Lennon had a very rare creative chemistry. Did it have to be practiced or was it immediately apparent?

4. Did George Harrison ever reach out to you and John for songwriting advice? Why were there almost no collaborations between you and John and George?

5. How might the Beatles' career been different if George Martin had not been involved? Or if the group had decided to work with several different producers?

6. You have no musical training. How do you think this has shaped your approach to composition? Would training have given you direction, or would it have limited you and robbed you of discovery?

7a. You have also had songwriting partnerships with Elvis Costello and Michael Jackson. Was the process still similar to the way you and John used to write, or did it chance with each collaborator?
7b. Any collaborations you still wish to happen?

8. When you make an album today, do you have a specific goal, i.e., to do something you've never done before, or to top yourself?

9. You're a multi-instrumentalist. Which instrument is your favorite for composing?

9b. Can you remember any songs that came as the result of trying a new instrument?

10. You're known for your melodies, yet you typically play the bass, which is rhythmic. Is there a reason you prefer playing bass in live concerts?

Slight Return

2010-02-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't posted in a while, I thought I'd throw up a couple of little pieces I've written lately. It's a break from my usual week-by-week format. But as I haven't posted anything since 2008, format concerns are the least of my worries. The new entries will be up in the next couple of days.

THANKSGIVING: He's Got a Way

2008-11-28T15:19:00.000-08:00

Many of us go home for Thanksgiving. We often think of home as being a physical place, but I think it's wherever our loved ones are at any given moment. Sort of like Air Force One: it's not the president's plane, it's whatever plane the president happens to be on. This is awesome. So is Thanksgiving.

So I'll close the week out by talking about one of our greatest retired singer/songwriters: Billy Joel. William Martin Joel hasn't made an album of pop songs in 15 years, though he occasionally trots out a new single or live recording. Before he hung up his hat, he made sure he was one of the top-selling artists in history and a multiple Grammy winner. He's also a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the recipient of several honorary degrees despite being a high school dropout. So kids, if you're going to quit school, at least practice those scales.

"You're My Home" is indicative of Joel's early period. He hadn't yet found his distinctive voice, sounding thinner and less confident than the singer he'd become. It sounds strangely like Jim Croce, too, but that's not a bad thing. (A few years later, other artists would be imitating Joel; listen to Bruce Springsteen's "Hungry Heart" again).

The lyrics were Joel's way of telling his first wife that even though they ain't got money, he's so in love with his honey. "Home could be the Pennsylvania turnpike," he croons, "Indiana's early morning dew /High up in the hills of California /Home is just another word for you." Corny, yes, and Billy's admitted it, but it's true.

My brother has suggested an alarm clock that plays Billy Joel music. His reasoning, and I agree, is that you cannot wake up in a bad mood if you are listening to "Only the Good Die Young." I would never get tired of it. Christie Brinkley apparently did, but I wouldn't.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "You're My Home" by Billy Joel
AVAILABLE ON: Piano Man; iTunes

THANKSGIVING: Thank You, etc.

2008-11-27T18:15:00.000-08:00

I truly believe it's the song, not the singer, that matters. I have to. I've bought all those Bob Dylan records. But great singers are like great salesmen, and you'll end up buying no matter what it is. This isn't to say a bad song can sound great, but something that might seem unremarkable on a lyric sheet can result in a musical performance of great emotional heft.

Take Natalie Merchant's "Kind and Generous." The top single from her 1998 album Ophelia, it reads like a Hallmark card, the sort of thing you send your grandmother after a particularly large birthday check. The words aren't overly sappy, just simple, nothing special. But Merchant's light, jazzy voice makes them soar. The melody and production, also by Merchant, are also noteworthy.

I once had a friend who, as a classically trained singer, dismissed Merchant's singing as thin and amateurish. It's true that Merchant is no Celine Dion, but isn't that precisely why she's better than Celine Dion? She has a way of caressing a melody, letting her billowing contralto wrap around the words and notes rather than pulverize them. She's no diva, and that is her talent.

The success of Merchant's solo work in the 1990s (she had previously been the lead singer of alt-rockers 10,000 Maniacs) made her one of America's top female singer-songwriters. She was a main attraction at the famous Lilith Fair late in that decade. Nobody makes more fun of Lilith Fair than me, but hell, songs like this almost make me wish they'd hold another one. Just don't tell Jewel where it'll be.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Kind and Generous" by Natalie Merchant
AVAILABLE ON: Ophelia; iTunes

THANKSGIVING: Sweet Baby James

2008-11-26T17:41:00.000-08:00

I heard a James Taylor song today on the radio, and I couldn't stop smiling. What is it about JT (the original JT, that is) that just oozes inner peace? It could be the even baritone voice, never cracking, never straining, never quavering in the slightest. It might be the gentle steel fingerpicking, always elegant but never smooth jazz-boring. Maybe it's the way he can write about human emotions without ever resorting to hoary cliches or, on the other end of the banality spectrum, navel-gazing confessional muck.

It's not because Taylor's personal life has been a smooth one. In the late 1960s, he was institutionalized for mental illness and drug addiction. He also lost one of the most magnificent heads of hair in pop history. A song like "Something in the Way She Moves" is so wistful, you wonder if this guy ever leaves his bed. Even when he sings a happy song like "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)", he doesn't seem to believe the feeling will last.

I guess James Taylor makes me happy because his warm, conversational delivery makes every emotion sound natural. Emotions, even unpleasant ones, are key components of the human experience. Taylor is a singer of great emotional power who never seems to get overwhelmed by it, always staying calm and encouraging us to do the same.

On this Thanksgiving week, my thoughts turn to "Shower the People," Taylor's hit from 1976. In one of his most sweeping and nicely harmonized choruses, he encourages us to tell those we love just how we feel about them. "Things are gonna work out fine" if we let those feelings come out every now and then. It might be true that all we need is love, but it doesn't do us any good if we keep it to ourselves.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Shower the People" by James Taylor
AVAILABLE ON: In the Pocket; iTunes

THANKSGIVING: When You're Worried, And You Can't Sleep

2008-11-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

In a few days, your television will start its relentless barrage of Christmas movies. Some are good, most are middling, and one stars Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sinbad. But 1954's White Christmas, directed by the prolific Michael Curtiz, is something you might actually want to watch every year. Sure, it's hokey, but you can catch Danny Kaye and Rosemary Clooney in peak form, and the Technicolor looks tastier than a candy cane. The main attraction, though, is the music by Irving Berlin.

Berlin was a giant of American song, composing "God Bless America," "Blue Skies," "Always," and hundreds more. He wasn't as clever as Cole Porter, but also not as cloying. He might not have had the effortless grace of the Gershwins, but his songs stick in your head like peanut butter in a dog's mouth. His work is all the more remarkable when you consider English wasn't even his first language. The Dr. Seuss-like wordplay of "Puttin' On the Ritz" was written by a guy who spent the first five years of his life in eastern Europe. Doesn't that impress you? And kind of make you feel like a shithead?

You're probably asking what this has to do with Thanksgiving. White Christmas was basically a jukebox musical, years before Mamma Mia! left its dark imprint on this earth. The song "White Christmas" debuted in the 1942 film Holiday Inn, becoming probably the most popular recording of all time, and Bing wanted an excuse to sing it again. Some other Berlin classics were lined up and a thin story concocted around them. In addition to the oldies, Berlin did contribute the previously unheard "Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep," earning an Oscar nomination for Best Song.

This is what brings us to Thanksgiving. Though often considered a Christmas song, "Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep" (not to be confused with the old hymn, "Count Your Blessings") is an openhearted appeal for us to consider what we appreciate most. If the Production Code had allowed Berlin to write a song called, "I Moved to this Country Without a Penny and Now I'm a Millionaire, So Quit Whining and Get Off Your Ass" he would have. But instead, we get this simple wisdom: "When my bankroll's getting small/ I think of when I had none at all/ And I fall asleep/ Counting my blessings."

The song provides White Christmas with one of its best moments. And though Bing could croon like no other, I've recently heard a beautiful recording by that Canadian temptress Diana Krall. I can tell you what her husband, Elvis Costello, is thankful for...

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep" by Diana Krall
AVAILABLE ON: Christmas Songs; iTunes

THANKSGIVING: A Very Wainwright Holiday

2008-11-24T11:05:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and has been since I moved away to college. Home cooked meals and time with the family became special only when they became scarce, and now the fourth Thursday in November is the day I look forward to most. This is surprising, because no kid hated Thanksgiving more than me. I hated the bland food (no ketchup?). I hated the stupid questions adults think they have to ask you (yes, I do like video games and no, I don't have a girlfriend yet, I'm only seven. You, sir, are hilarious). Things change as we grow, however, and now I spend that special day giving thanks. Mostly, I am thankful I don't have any Native American friends, because I would feel really awkward around them all week.

There are a lot of Christmas songs, or general songs of wintry well-wishes. But songwriters have largely ignored Thanksgiving. Maybe it's one of those subjects that's just too tough to tackle without being too on-the-nose (I'm looking at you, Don Henley.) But I thought this week I should try and find some songs that properly express the sentiments of our greatest national holiday.

Our old friend Loudon Wainwright did take on the Thanksgiving songwriting challenge. In his own unique, bitterly funny way, he pulled it off. In "Thanksgiving," he sings, "Lord every year we gather here/ To eat around this table/ Give us the strength to stomach as much/ As fast as we are able." He's not talking about the food. The Wainwrights, as we've discussed, have a tradition of writing songs about how much they hate each other. "Thanksgiving" sees Loudon cursing his clumsy children, arguing with loved ones, and stating, without a hint of regret, that he barely ever sees these people.

But wait. I said I loved Thanksgiving. Loudon does have some nice things to say about it in his ode to dysfunction. In the song's final verse, he dreams of childhood Thanksgivings spent stargazing under a heavy blanket, loving parents, a time and a place where "nothing bad has happened." Loudon knows he's whitewashing this memory, but memories are better fuzzy, and it's a nice one.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Thanksgiving" by Loudon Wainwright III
AVAILABLE ON: Career Moves; iTunes

UNDERRATED ALBUMS: It's Funny Because It's True

2008-09-26T21:25:00.001-07:00

Why do people have a hard time taking funny music seriously? If a song makes us laugh, it's dismissed as a novelty, like Randy Newman's "Short People" or Loudon Wainwright's "One Man Guy." Never mind that these songwriters can also compose a love song as well as anyone else. As soon as they get a chuckle out of us, we assume they're lightweights, just out for a laugh. We don't have the same problem accepting a blend of drama and humor when we go to the movies. They're called dramedies, and James L. Brooks has won a few Oscars making them. So why the aversion to humor in popular music?

I don't know, but it's hurt Fountains of Wayne. Led by the songwriting team of Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger, they're known for their 2003 hit "Stacy's Mom," and that's about it. Due to the success of that single, they've been relegated to the joke bin with Ray Stevens and "Pac Man Fever," but they deserve more. Personally, I think "Stacy's Mom" is brilliant, and not such a bad legacy, but there's a lot more to Fountains of Wayne.

Their second album, Utopia Parkway, was such a flop Atlantic Records dropped them afterwards. Why more people didn't buy it, I don't understand. Why radio wouldn't play it, well, it keeps me up nights. Like all the band's music, it walks a tightrope between being riotously funny and painfully true. Nobody has written about youthful angst with this much insight and wit since John Hughes, but you can't sing along to John Hughes, unless you count that really cheesy "Twist and Shout" scene from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and I don't.

Fountains of Wayne's songs feature fully developed characters in familiar situations. "Utopia Parkway" introduces us to a narrator plotting his deserved rock stardom. "Laser Show" takes us on a (stoned?) trip to the local planetarium. "Prom Theme" is the story of a magical night as told by Electric Light Orchestra. Each one of these songs is hilarious, but also crafted with great care, and the melodies linger after the laughter fades.

The key song is "Red Dragon Tattoo." In it, our young hero gets inked so his crush will notice him. "Will you stop pretending I've never been born/Now I look a little more like that guy from Korn?" he pleads. Sure, it's funny, but we've all kind of been there, and the song rocks like a great old Cars track.

But the important thing is that when Fountains of Wayne aren't being funny, they're still a great band. "Troubled Times" deserves to be a classic, with its hummable chorus and lyrics about a lost love. The finest writers are the ones who best observe details and find creative, surprising ways to incorporate them. Schlesinger and Collingwood are great writers, populating their world with cover bands and custom vans and driving home on the L.I.E. Here's a test: listen to one Fountains of Wayne song, just one, and try and tell me you haven't met somebody just like one of their characters. It might even be you.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Red Dragon Tattoo" by Fountains of Wayne
AVAILABLE ON: Utopia Parkway; iTunes

UNDERRATED ALBUMS: Great Album, Scary Cover

2008-09-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

Tom Petty's blockbuster Greatest Hits CD was a neat collection of his hits from 1976 to 1993, and he had more than a few. But he has been an even more dependable album artist than hitmaker, especially now that mainstream radio has relegated him to the pop nursing home along with Paul McCartney and James Taylor. Petty has never released a bad album, a major accomplishment that often goes unnoticed. But if an album doesn't launch any hit singles, it's going to get short shrift, and one album was not represented at all by Greatest Hits.

That album was Let Me Up (I've Had Enough), an effort that failed to catch fire in 1987. The album's lead single, "Jammin' Me," made a disappointing showing (by Petty's standards), as did other singles from the record. "Jammin' Me", co-written by Petty with Bob Dylan and Heartbreakers guitarist Mike Campbell, isn't Petty's best, but it's a solid, meat-and-potatoes rocker that still sounds better than most artists on their best days.

The rest of Let Me Up (I've Had Enough) is just as strong, and usually more interesting. "Runaway Trains" is the most modern-sounding song on the album, and therefore, the most dated. But ignore the synthesizers, and it's one of the finer Petty/Campbell compositions. "It'll All Work Out" is a pretty ballad, chiming with acoustic guitars and mandolin. The rest of the album is mostly stripped-down rock, the Heartbreakers' forte, the highlights being "Think About Me," the raucous title track, and the Johnny Cash-inspired "Self Made Man."

The Heartbreakers, who produced the album themselves, were somewhat disappointed by the final product. Drummer Stan Lynch complained that many of the best tracks were left off (he has a point; check out the Playback boxed set to hear some of them). But Let Me Up (I've Had Enough) is probably the simplest and loosest album of Petty's post Southern Accents career. No concept, no orchestras, no Jeff Lynne, just Petty and co. ripping it up as only they can do. Had enough? Never.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "It'll All Work Out" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
AVAILABLE ON: Let Me Up (I've Had Enough); iTunes

UNDERRATED ALBUMS: He Thinks Too Much So We Don't Have To

2008-09-24T23:31:00.000-07:00

Paul Simon's Graceland was an enormous triumph, but not a return to form. Aside from the lopsided One-Trick Pony soundtrack in 1980, Simon had been on top of his game all along. Never more so than on Hearts and Bones. Initially, it was supposed to be a Simon and Garfunkel record, but the childhood friends had yet another falling out, and Simon scrubbed Garfunkel's existing vocals and completed it himself. When he finally released it in 1983, it was the biggest failure of his career.

All of this makes Hearts and Bones sound like a troubled album. If anything, it's Simon at his best. Forgotten in the wake of the blockbuster Graceland, it has recently been rediscovered by critics and fans. It is a masterpiece; an ambitious, complex, and thoroughly gripping middle age reverie by one of America's best songwriters.

Simon later referred to the Hearts and Bones period as the time he finally began "to understand about writing...when to use ordinary language and when to use enriched language." You can hear this poetic blend of the elevated and the conversational in the title track, now a favorite among Simon aficionados. It's the story of Paul's brief marriage to Carrie Fisher. Simon has always had a way with words, but my God, listen to this song and tell me it isn't his absolute peak as a lyricist. "The arc of a love affair," his eloquent phrase, has never been outlined with more grace or humor or profound sadness. It starts with the wedding: "The act was outrageous/The bride was contagious/She burned like a bride." The song's middle section is a dialogue between the two lovers, and Simon shows a playwright's skill in showing us, not telling us, why these two will never agree on anything. In the end, man and woman "return to their natural coasts" to recover from one other.

Hearts and Bones aches all over. "Train in the Distance" is also about a divorce, this time with children caught in the middle. But being a Paul Simon album, there's also some fussy intellectualism to go with the melodrama. "When Numbers Get Serious" equates the power of love with the certainty of mathematics. Simon is so stuck in his own head, he even wrote two-- two-- songs called "Think Too Much." Mr. Simon, it seems, has an acute sense of irony. "Think Too Much (a)" is a funky, funny look at youthful confusion. "Think Too Much (b)" is more somber, climaxing with this touching family scene: "And in the night/My father came to me/And held me to his chest/He said 'there's not much more that you can do/Go on and get some rest.'"

There's plenty of striking, lovely moments like this on Hearts and Bones. Perhaps the most effective song is "The Late Great Johnny Ace." In this musical autobiography, Paul links his childhood sadness over the death of minor rocker Johnny Ace with the much later murder of John Lennon. I wasn't alive to experience Lennon's death, but hearing Simon's take is shattering enough.

The album isn't the creamy folk-jazz of 1975's Still Crazy After All These Years, and it predates Simon's later experiments with world music and Broadway. Still, Hearts and Bones is full of little sonic surprises; some doo-wop here, a Philip Glass string arrangement there. Simon was punished on the charts for throwing so much at the wall, but most of it stuck.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The Late Great Johnny Ace" by Paul Simon
AVAILABLE ON: Hearts and Bones; iTunes

UNDERRATED ALBUMS: He Was Smooth, He Was Rough, He Was More Than Enough

2008-09-23T22:44:00.000-07:00

By the late 1980s, even Bob Dylan no longer believed in Bob Dylan. His albums had become increasingly labored and unimaginative, his live shows often descended into tuneless chaos, and he appeared withdrawn and sullen to even his closest friends. In his memoir, he remembers telling himself: "...I'm a '60s folk troubadour, a folk-rock relic, a wordsmith from bygone days, a fictitious head of state from a place nobody knows. I'm in the bottomless pit of cultural oblivion." Critics mostly agreed, giving poor marks to late '80s records like Knocked Out Loaded and Down in the Groove. Had the Spokesman of His Generation become the class clown?

Not quite. Even the disappointing Knocked Out Loaded contains some genius ("Brownsville Girl," co-written with Sam Shepard). If Bob was so down and out, how could he give that brilliant, jolting, punk rock performance on David Letterman's show? How could he surprise everyone by singing the hell out a Gershwin standard? The truth is, Bob's gift has never left him for too long. Just when he was contemplating retirement, he enjoyed a resurgence. First by participating in the Traveling Wilburys, and then with 1989's Oh Mercy, a moody return to critical favor.

Under the Red Sky, released the next year, did not share this success. One of the worst-selling albums of Bob's career, it was condemned by reviewers as a new creative low point. "The drag is that Dylan doesn't have much to say," groaned Rolling Stone, "or a really memorable way to say it." Other critics seized on the slick modern production by Don and David Was, known for their work with other geezer acts like the Rolling Stones and Bonnie Raitt. The album's apparent lack of depth, not to mention the unusual presence of guest artists, reinforced the idea that the River Bob had run dry.

I don't understand why Under the Red Sky has been so cruelly dismissed. True, Dylan would return in much sharper form with Time Out of Mind later in the decade, starting a hot streak that is still going strong. But to me, Under the Red Sky is one of Bob's most relaxed and enjoyable albums. It's silly and playful one moment ("Wiggle Wiggle"), quiet and philosophical the next ("God Knows"). "Unbelievable" rocks lean and mean, "Cat's in the Well" is a catchy blues, and "Born in Time" sports one of his most enticing melodies. When I listen to the record, I hear Bob Dylan dismantling his art to see if he can put it back together, bringing it all back home before he sets back out again.

As for the production, it is smoother than we're used to for a Dylan record, but not to its detriment. It's polished but also clean and sharp. Other producers had tried to modernize Bob by smothering him in synthesizers and canned echo (see Empire Burlesque). But the Was Brothers kept Bob's cranky croak front and center, making sure we knew who we were listening to. Dylan claims to have had little input into the record's sound, but maybe that's a good thing. It was certainly the producers' idea to have George Harrison lend his slide guitar to the title track, which alone makes the album worth its list price.

Dylan was so "completely disillusioned" by the experience he didn't record any new material for seven years, leaving the impression that Under the Red Sky almost killed his career. I disagree. I think Under the Red Sky is the sound of Bob Dylan recharging his batteries, quietly rediscovering his own creative spark and gearing up for one of rock's greatest twilight resurgences. Thank God he didn't let the sun set too early.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Born in Time" by Bob Dylan
AVAILABLE ON: Under the Red Sky; iTunes

UNDERRATED ALBUMS: Still Mightier Than Most

2008-09-22T21:29:00.000-07:00

Music critics, myself included, are mostly full of crap. At least, that's what you say, dear reader and music lover. What do critics know? All we do is overpraise weird, unlistenable hipster bands and slam your heroes. I don't suppose you put any more faith in your fellow consumers of music. Some of the stuff America sends rocketing to the top of the charts makes me want to clean my ears out with a letter opener. It puzzles us all when others don't hear genius in all the same places we do. This week, this music snob will introduce you to some records I think have gone criminally underpraised.

The only thing consistent about Elvis Costello's music over the past thirty years has been its undimmed emotional intensity. His late '70s records burned with nerdy fury, giving us punchy new wave rock songs that were too tuneful to be called punk. "Big Tears" and "Radio Radio" seethe infectiously, sounding every bit as angry as anything out of CBGB. Over the years, Elvis opened up his sound to include country, jazz, and classical elements, to name only a few. Costello's youthful anger may have lessened, just supplemented by new, equally potent emotional outbursts. North, his ravishing collection of piano ballads, may be romantic, but it's not mellow. Listen to the words, and the former Declan MacManus has a lot of raw emotion he just can't keep inside.

1991's Mighty Like A Rose is as emotional as any record he's made. On the surface, it's a shiny piece of early '90s pop/rock, one of the slickest of Costello's career. Following in the footsteps of 1989's Spike, Mighty Like a Rose continued to shave the rough edges off of Costello's sound in the pursuit of something much more polished. Baroque touches color the album. It bursts with horns and strings and overdubbed backing vocals, banjos and sound effects and anything else that was around. But underneath this pop party atmosphere, Elvis was still pissed off and passionate, barking some of his most biting lyrics ("I am your stupid lover, you wretched ghoul.")

Critics were generally not kind. While Rolling Stone gave it a pass, if not a rave, others were quick to proclaim it as Elvis' nadir. Robert Christgau graded Mighty Like a Rose a "C+", writing, "the good songs are overblown tragedies, the bad ones overblown trifles." All Music Guide said "there's so much going on that it's hard to get to the core of the songs." The dense production, credited to Mitchell Froom and Kevin Killen, received the brunt of the criticism, though the buck always stops with the guy whose name is on the album.

These critiques aren't entirely off base. The album is needlessly cluttered and fussy. A bizarre song like "Hurry Down Doomsday (The Bugs Are Taking Over)" would benefit from a more straightforward rock arrangement. "Playboy to a Man" could have been a great Little Richard rave-up, but it ends up sounding like something from Pee Wee's Playhouse. One wonders what Mighty Like A Rose might have sounded like if it had been quick and dirty like 1986's Blood and Chocolate or 2004's The Delivery Man. 1991 saw Elvis stuck in between these career high points, drowning in overproduction.

That's the bad news from an album overflowing with good news. "So Like Candy" is the best of the dozen or so songs Costello co-wrote with Paul McCartney. The song sparkles with Costello's sardonic flair and McCartney's melodic grace. "The Other Side of Summer" parodies the Beach Boys and even mocks McCartney's old songwriting partner, but with a killer hook and dark humor John would have loved. "All Grown Up" has a melody for the ages and "Sweet Pear" sounds like a moodier partner to the Beatles' "Don't Let Me Down."

Mighty Like A Rose is at times beautiful, baffling, and frustrating. It's appropriate it should end with a song that is all those things at once. The waltzing "Couldn't Call it Unexpected No. 4" is perhaps the finest piece of music Costello has ever composed. The lyric is evocative but ultimately inscrutable ("The sudden chill where lovers doubt their immortality/As the clouds cover the sky"). Costello's performance here is a marvel, too, seamlessly alternating between delicate and gruff. But the song's strange, circus-like arrangement is a major distraction, with cheesy trumpets and plinking keyboards carrying on as if writing the best song of your career is some kind of joke.

Costello is really onto something here, most of the time, and his idiosyncratic songcraft shines through the thicket of studio gloss. This is one time Costello couldn't be saved from his own eccentricities. Without them, though, would we love him as much as we do?

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Couldn't Call it Unexpected No. 4" by Elvis Costello
AVAILABLE ON: Mighty Like A Rose; iTunes

TELEPHONE SONGS: Raymond Carver's Got Nothing On This Guy

2008-09-12T14:56:00.000-07:00

Chuck Berry helped invent rock and roll, and nobody disputes this. If not for him, guitar solos as we know them might not exist. But Berry was also a gifted short story writer; songs like "The Promised Land" and "C'est La Vie (You Never Can Tell)" have a sharp narrative structure that translates well to the page.

My favorite is "Memphis." It covers the same ground as Jim Croce's "Operator" (and similarly titled songs by the Grateful Dead and the Band), but with a twist at the end. It's worth a read:

Long distance information, give me Memphis Tennessee
Help me find a party that tried to get in touch with me
She could not leave a number but I know who placed the call
'cause my uncle took a message and he wrote it on the wall

Help me, information, get in touch with my Marie
She's the only one who'd call me here from Memphis Tennessee
Her home is on the south side, high upon a ridge
Just a half a mile from the Mississippi bridge

Last time I saw Marie she was wavin' me goodbye
With "hurry-home" drops on her cheek that trickled from her eye
But we were pulled apart because her mom did not agree
And tore apart our happy home in Memphis Tennessee

Help me, information, more than that I cannot add
Only that I miss her and all the fun we had
Marie is only six years old, information please
Try to put me through to her in Memphis Tennessee

The "girl" Chuck's trying to get in touch with, whose mama doesn't approve, is actually his daughter. It's an unusually clever twist for an early rock song, and it showed the genre's lyrical potential beyond "Wop-bop-a-loo-mop alop-bam-boom." Then Berry went and blew it all with "My Ding-A-Ling." I guess great artists are unpredictable by nature.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Memphis" by Chuck Berry
AVAILABLE ON: The Great Twenty-Eight

TELEPHONE SONGS: Not-So-Silent Film

2008-09-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

When I hear certain songs, my mind creates little movies to go with them. I'm sure a lot of people do this. Real music videos have made our imaginary ones redundant, though, by supplying the images for us. Older songs are better fodder for the Scorsese in all of us, but even they can be spoiled by very bad soundtrack choices. (Robert DeNiro's A Bronx Tale, which is a pretty good movie, has completely spoiled the Moody Blues for me. Rent it and find out why.) And whenever I finally see the video for a song I've been directing in my head for years, I'm always disappointed.

This happened recently with Electric Light Orchestra's "Calling America." The song is typical of late-era ELO, with its cheesy synths, corny lyrics and Jeff Lynne's famous multitracking tomfoolery. And I love it. It tells the story of a lover stranded across the pond, trying desperately to reach his girl in the States. The hook is huge, and so is the heart, and Jeff's sincerity shines through even the slick '80s pop sheen.

The video, though, is terrible. We see Jeff and two other bandmates performing in front of a hideous office building. We see shots of a mass transit train. We see a woman... walking around, for some reason. And there's some awful computer graphics of her head. Yeah. It's bad.

Here's what I always imagined: a disheveled man, wearing a suit and tie, at a pay phone. He looks frustrated. He can't get through. Soon, we see him sprinting (with the synthy beat) around London, trying but failing to catch trains, cabs, and buses. A couple more times, he stops to use a phone but gets no response. Soon, he runs into Heathrow airport, in a series of tinted Paul Thomas Anderson-esque wide shots. The camera smoothly tracks along as he runs through the terminal to buy his ticket. But he has no need, because she's there. That's why he couldn't get through: she has left America to be with him.

I'd like to know what songs turn on the filmmaker in you. If you're like some enterprising fans, you've already made your own videos, and there's no reason not to share. Okay, sometimes there is. But it can't be any worse than McG.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Calling America" by Electric Light Orchestra
AVAILABLE ON: Balance of Power; iTunes

TELEPHONE SONGS: Your Mother Should Know

2008-09-10T22:37:00.000-07:00

Who do you call when you're in need of advice? If you're lucky, you've got a mother you can always turn to for long-distance counsel. Chris Streng apparently does, or just wishes it so, because he wrote an 8-minute song about it for his band the Stratford 4.

The Stratford 4 are a band from San Francisco I stumbled onto while attending college there. A perpetually stoned dorm roommate recommended them to me, and I picked up their Love & Distortion CD on one of many trips to Amoeba Records on Haight street. Their name had me expecting something vaguely Shakespearean. Instead, I heard dense, sleepy psychedelia, with droning guitars and Streng's dispassionate vocals. The album's sometimes lugibrious pace took some getting used to, but from out of the fuzz and echo, some songs started to stick with me. "Telephone" is one of the best.

It's certainly the funniest. In it, Streng asks his mom just what the hell went wrong with his life. "When I was 22/I was a lot like you," she replies. After Chris rattles off the gloomy indie bands he's been indulging in, Mom has one last bit of sage counsel: "Don't forget Bob Dylan, and don't forget the Stones/And don't spend Saturday night all alone." Whether this is an accurate portrayal of Streng's mother or just a rock geek's fantasy is a matter of conjecture, but I can tell you that's some damn good advice.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Telephone" by the Stratford 4
AVAILABLE ON: Love & Distortion

TELEPHONE SONGS: The Last of the Great Moustaches

2008-09-09T22:51:00.001-07:00

The singer/songwriter movement of the late '60s and '70s was surely a product of the folk music boom from several years earlier. But it's also helpful to remember that the baby boomers appearing on the music scene at the time were the first generation to grow up listening to rock and roll. If Joni Mitchell was such a touchy-feely folkie, what inspired her to write a funky rocker like"Raised on Robbery"? Before that, the Byrds ran a few volts of electricity through Pete Seeger. This fusion of coffeehouse navel-gazing and juke joint swing also explains the beguiling, timeless music of Jim Croce.

Croce, like Elvis Presley before him, was a singin' truckdriver who caught a break. After a few aborted attempts at a music career, Croce signed with ABC records in 1972. He died in a plane crash the following year, but not before recording classics like "Bad Bad Leroy Brown," "Time in a Bottle," and "Operator (That's Not the Way it Feels)".

It's the latter song that fits our topic this week. "Operator" is narrated by a guy who's lost his girl to his "best old ex friend," but who wants to call just to tell them he's no longer hurt (though he clearly is). He's presumably already told this story to the local bartender, who tired of it and sent the poor sap home. Basically, Jim Croce wrote the first great song about drunk-dialing. Imagine how hard it must have been back then, with the rotary phones. I can barely use one of those things sober.

Croce's often praised for his intricate acoustic guitar playing, though that was mostly the work of Maury Muehleisen. Muehleisen and Croce were a duo in all but name, with Maury's lead guitar propelling songs like "Rapid Roy (The Stock Car Boy)" and "Workin' at the Carwash Blues." Muehleisen's playing on "Operator" is especially fine. It's a good match for Croce's voice: tender, but strong, and not so pretty that you don't hear the hurt. Their partnership ended when both men died in the crash.

What would Croce be doing now if he had lived? Impossible to say. He might have escaped into a happy retirement like Bill Withers, or weathered the God-awful 1980s only to return strong in the '90s, like James Taylor. His music had the same warmth as theirs, and the same lack of depth that has kept critical praise at a distance. But you can't fake feelings that well, and Jim Croce clearly felt these songs. Spend some time with them, and you will too.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Operator (That's Not the Way it Feels)" by Jim Croce
AVAILABLE ON: You Don't Mess Around with Jim; iTunes

TELEPHONE SONGS: Son of a Son

2008-09-08T10:46:00.000-07:00

Alexander Graham Bell's invention of the telephone in 1876 was a huge leap forward for passive-aggressiveness. The first words spoken over the device were to his assistant: "Mr. Watson, come here. I want to see you." Bell might as well have added, "If it's not too much trouble. You're only my assistant, for Christ's sake." Soon people were using the telephone to end relationships and spread rumors without having to look another person in the eye. The phone became such a staple of human communication it became a frequent topic for songwriters. This week we'll discuss some of the finest odes to telecommunication.

They say you have to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues, advice Son Seals took to heart. In his 62 years, Seals was shot, robbed, lost a leg to diabetes, and saw his home destroyed by fire. Seals was always well-regarded in the blues community, winning awards and the praise of his peers, but he never had that big commercial breakthrough. He died in 2004.

I have to admit, I only became familiar with Seals' music recently, and when I first heard him, I thought he was B.B. King. His stinging guitar and gritty, powerful voice may not have been entirely distinctive, but he was a gifted musician and songwriter. The son of a bluesman, also somehow nicknamed "Son," Son II started out as a drummer, even touring with Albert King. But as a guitarist and bandleader he could really strut his stuff.

"Telephone Angel" is the song that led me to Son Seals. In it, Son sings of the sheer delight of contacting a sweetheart via the telephone wires. It does what the best blues music can do, speaking universal truths with plainspoken eloquence, lacing familiar chord progressions with improvisational spice, and sounding both fresh and age-old. Released in 1976, it came a full century after Bell spoke his famous words to Watson. Seals didn't have orders to give, though, just joy to share.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Telephone Song" by Son Seals
AVAILABLE ON: Midnight Son; iTunes

SOUNDS OF SUMMER: Have a Drink, Have a Drive, But Not in That Order

2008-08-29T06:00:00.000-07:00

I had a friend who thought Steely Dan was a person. For his sake, let's do a quick review: Steely Dan is a group, but Eagle-Eye Cherry is a man. Franz Ferdinand and Jethro Tull were people, but they have bands named after them. And Mungo Jerry? A band. Sort of.

Mungo Jerry is the band fronted by English singer/songwriter Ray Dorset. He named his group after Mungojerrie, one of the T.S. Eliot characters later brought to screeching life in the musical Cats. Dorset is the only perennial member of Mungo Jerry, and the author of their most enduring hit, "In the Summertime." Actually, it's their only enduring hit, though they placed several other songs on the charts back in the '70s.

"In the Summertime" has a special place in the Annoying Songs You Can't Help But Like Hall of Fame, along with "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" and "Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu." If the shuffling jugband rhythm doesn't get you, the killer ragtime piano will. But when your toe stops tapping, you'll have to wonder, what kind of music is this? Nothing recorded after 1930 can really be called ragtime, and it's too slow (and piano-heavy) to be skiffle. It's just a delightful pop anomaly, one that sold over 23 million copies and dominated radio in the summer of 1970.

Dorset's had a varied career, collaborating with people like blues rocker Peter Green and writing songs for other artists, as well as for films and television. But he's best known as the folksy, hiccuping voice of Mungo Jerry, enticing us to stretch right up and touch the sky. Bob Dylan and Roger Miller, no slouches where songwriting is concerned, have also written songs called "In the Summertime." Ray Dorset's is better. If I were him, I would put that on a plaque.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "In the Summertime" by Mungo Jerry
AVAILABLE ON: In the Summertime; iTunes

SOUNDS OF SUMMER: Even Surfers Get the Blues

2008-08-28T00:40:00.000-07:00

The weekly theme format is my own beastly creation, and I am at its mercy. I always knew certain bands and artists, namely my favorites, would show up more frequently than, say, Tiny Tim. (Ukulele week is something I'm saving for when I'm really out of ideas.) I do try to mix it up a little, but hey, if the theme makes a demand, I have to comply. I actually skipped over the Beach Boys during Brothers in Arms Week just because I wanted to give some other bands a chance. But there's no way the Boys are going to sit this one out, as they are the undisputed Kings of Summer.

In fact, it was Endless Summer, a 1974 hits collection, that returned the Beach Boys to the hit parade after a long absence. It climbed the charts again during the summers of 1975 and 1976, establishing Brian Wilson and company as America's hot weather band of choice. It's a pristine 21-song ode to youth, cars and sunshine. With all this fun to be had, it's not surprising that the most underrated song is also the saddest.

"The Warmth of the Sun" aches with unrequited love. Mike Love's lyrics put it simply:

The love of my life
She left me one day
I cried when she said
"I don't feel the same way"
Still I have the warmth of the sun
Within me tonight

Love and Brian Wilson composed the song the day of John F. Kennedy's assassination. Brian has suggested a connection between the romantic loss of the lyrics and the nation's loss that day in 1963. Brian's lead vocal, one of his most tender, foreshadows the deeply personal tone of the band's 1966 masterpiece, Pet Sounds.

The song first appeared on 1964's Shut Down: Volume 2. It was a time when the band was smack dab in between their early Chuck Berry knockoffs and their lush mid-'60s peak. Though songs like "The Warmth of the Sun" hint at a growing melodic complexity, Capitol Records still hyped their act as surfing, drag racing boys of summer. The original LP's outer sleeve reads, "The Beach Boys blazed to national championship in the hot rod song field... Pull up a bucket seat and aim an ear at The Beach Boys and SHUT DOWN, VOL. II!" Musically, they were maturing, but it would take a couple more years for their image to catch up.

As a result, the album feels oddly lopsided. Side 2 begins with the frivolous "Fun Fun Fun," immediately followed by the teen heartbreak of "Don't Worry Baby." The side ends with the jarring combination of "The Warmth of the Sun," their most pensive and deeply felt ballad up to that point, and the lazy, juvenile "This Car of Mine."

Soon afterwards, the Beach Boys would abandon songs about cars in favor of romance and introspection, then psychedelia, then self-parody. They went through a lot of phases in their long career, but summer was a topic they always returned to. Of all their songs, though, only "The Warmth of the Sun" eloquently explains just why we need to keep a little summer in our hearts all year round.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The Warmth of the Sun" by the Beach Boys
AVAILABLE ON: Shut Down- Volume 2; iTunes

SOUNDS OF SUMMER: Sand and Key Changes in Unexpected Places

2008-08-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

With summer dwindling, our beach days are numbered. Luckily, some songs can evoke summer year round. Sometimes this mental connection is created by the media. Summer songs, like Christmas songs, are seasonal because television commercials tell us they are seasonal, and we'd better get used to hearing them only a couple of months out of the year. Personally, I wouldn't mind listening to "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" or the Eagles doing "Please Come Home for Christmas" during all twelve months, but so be it. Same goes for summer. "Under the Boardwalk," by the Drifters, is a beautiful song even when the sun isn't shining outside.

"Under the Boardwalk," written by Kenny Young and Arthur Resnick, hit the charts in 1964. The group that recorded the song wasn't the original Drifters led by the great Clyde McPhatter, or the following group featuring Ben E. King. The Drifters of 1964, only one of dozens of lineups over the decades, were led by the voice of Johnny Moore. Moore sang the song only because lead singer Rudy Lewis died of a drug overdose the night before the session. By then, though, the Drifters were used to last-minute staff issues, and Moore sang the song as if he'd been singing it all his life.

It really is a great vocal, with Moore's voice smoothly navigating the longing high notes. In many ways, the song is typical of early '60s r&b, with its swooping strings and thinly veiled sexuality (they don't say what kind of fun they'll be havin', and don't need to.) The song is unique, though, for two reasons: first, "Under the Boardwalk" takes the unusual step of moving to a minor key for the chorus, then back to major for the verses. Also, it's driven by the distinctly Latin sound of the guiro. The instrument, a sort of wooden scraper, later surfaced in the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter" and Nick Cave's "Red Right Hand," but in 1964 it was rare in an American pop record.

Here's a good game: make your own guiro at home and see if you can follow along with the recording. It's a hell of a lot more fun than air guitar, and you get to hit stuff. I can't believe nobody ever comes to my parties.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Under the Boardwalk" by the Drifters
AVAILABLE ON: The Drifters- All Time Greatest Hits; iTunes

SOUNDS OF SUMMER: Wind in Our Hair, Water in Our Shoes

2008-08-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my family would often rent a houseboat on northern California's Lake Shasta. We'd spend a week during the summer cruising, fishing, swimming and hiking. It was the only time in my childhood I felt at all like Huck Finn, and every kid should get to do that at least once. As memorable as our lovely surroundings, though, was the music, and we always had the perfect boating soundtrack. My uncle Brent was probably the most canny family DJ, but my parents were usually in charge of making sure there was at least one Jimmy Buffett tape hanging around.

Jimmy Buffett. The guy's made a name for himself as America's great beach bum troubadour, but this image is rife with contradictions. First, he's originally from Alabama, though he eventually relocated to Florida. He may sing about his days as a young shoplifting mastermind, but he's a canny businessman with two restaurant chains. He seems like a chill guy, but infringe on his copyright and he'll sue your ass. And how can it be that the author of "Margaritaville," the theme song of mellow beach dwellers everywhere, once got ejected from an NBA game for using foul language?

Maybe he's just complex. His music isn't, though, which is part of its charm. Even before "Margaritaville" hit it big in 1977, Buffett had created and mastered the "gulf and western" sound that would define him. His classic third LP, A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean, is the best introduction. It's funny, it's catchy, it's mellow, and it's better if you'd had a few mojitos. Not sure if a steel guitar and a steel drum can coexist peacefully? Then you're not a Parrothead.

My favorite was always "Lovely Cruise." It sounds like Dean Martin singing a Willie Nelson song, only better. It's got some nice, lazy acoustic guitar, gentle harmonica, and some of the sweetest electric piano you'll ever hear. The first thousand times I heard it, I wasn't even old enough to get drunk while listening to it. This has since been corrected.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Lovely Cruise" by Jimmy Buffett
AVAILABLE ON: Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes; iTunes

SOUNDS OF SUMMER: Sing a Simple Song

2008-08-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

Why isn't Sly Stone a more celebrated figure? Maybe because he's been unwilling or unable to keep his name out there. He hasn't released an album in 25 years, and apart from the occasional odd cameo, he doesn't perform live. He didn't even have the common sense to flame out memorably; starting in the early '70s, Sly just slowly receded into drug-addled seclusion, where he remains. No blockbuster reunion tours, no comeback albums, no piggybacking collaboration with admiring young hip-hop stars. Like the old soldier of funk that he is, he just faded away.

I almost forgot: this week's topic is summer. With Labor Day approaching, this summer has just about faded away, too, but it's not too late to put on your favorite hot weather tunes. (And to answer your first question right away, no, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince will not be on the list.) What constitutes a summer song? Some reference the season lyrically. Some just have that carefree summertime vibe. Some, like Sheryl Crow's "Soak up the Sun," are automatically disqualified for trying too hard.

Sly and the Family Stone's "Hot Fun in the Summertime" doesn't try too hard, one reason it's so effective. From the rhythmic piano intro, you're hooked. So infectious is the song's funky bounce you won't notice the complex interplay of horns and strings on the first few listens. The lyrics are simple but evocative, making you instantly nostalgic for those summer days, getting high high high at the county fair.

"Hot Fun in the Summertime" debuted in August of 1969, around the time of the band's celebrated performance at Woodstock. Funny how when you think of the summer of '69 (make your own Bryan Adams joke), you don't think of the fresh, soulful sounds of Sly Stone. You think of acid-soaked jams and lily-white country rock. Those things are fine, but they've completely overtaken our perception of the era. 1969 also saw James Brown getting funkier and angrier, Johnny Cash's At Folsom Prison, and Bob Marley's debut. And on the charts, Sly and Family Stone reigned.

They actually were a family. Sylvester Stewart and his brother Freddie, along with sisters Rose and Vet, all changed their name to Stone. They formed in Vallejo, eventually adding members from elsewhere in the San Francisco bay area. Before Sly's meltdown, they made pop music history by blurring the lines between rock, soul, and pop. They were also an integrated band when that was still a novelty, playing to an unusually diverse audience.

Some claim the song to be a commentary on the race riots of the late '60s. Sly did have a social conscience, but I think that's like claiming "How Much is That Doggy in the Window?" is a clever dig at capitalism. Not everything from the '60s must reek of politics. Even Sly Stone liked to chill out every now and then.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Hot Fun in the Summertime" by Sly and the Family Stone
AVAILABLE ON: Greatest Hits; iTunes

BROTHERS IN ARMS: Dynamite

2008-08-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

Here we've come to the end of Brothers in Arms Week, and I'm torn. So many great bands feature brothers, it's hard to pick just five. It's tempting to write another Beach Boys post, but let's give them a rest for a while. Kings of Leon have three brothers too, the Followills, but they frighten me. Same for the Black Crowes. And the Allman Brothers weren't even my favorite members of the Allman Brothers Band. So basically, for today, it was down to Hanson and AC/DC. Guess who won.

Australia's Angus and Malcolm Young have been rocking together as AC/DC for thirty-five years. Like Van Halen, their sidemen and frontmen have come and gone, but these guys just keep on spreading the good word. Only they lost their original lead singer not to artistic differences but to alcohol poisoning. Bon Scott's 1980 death was labeled "death by misadventure," which makes it sound like he was killed trying to climb a tree or chasing a leprechaun.

His replacement, the prodigiously phlegmy Brian Johnson, picked up right where Scott left off and gave voice to the band's biggest hit, "Back in Black." Johnson still sings with the group, and they plan to release a new album later this year. Fans know what to expect, as AC/DC have never done anything other than what they do best: riff-based, no-frills rock and roll.

AC/DC (I am spelling their name incorrectly only because my keyboard does not have a lightning bolt) were a lean, mean rock band, a rarity in the 1980s. Listen to "Back in Black" again: there's not a single wasted note. Drummer Phil Rudd does little but pound out a backbeat, the bass pulsing along. The guitar solo is fast but clean, concise, almost elegant. Bands like Guns 'n' Roses didn't seem to grasp this Less is More approach, but let's not get into the things the guys from Guns 'n' Roses don't grasp.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Want to Rock and Roll)" by AC/DC
AVAILABLE ON: T.N.T.; iTunes

NOTE: I decided to mock Hanson instead of the more timely Jonas Brothers for a reason. I can't say I really dig those Jonas boys, yet, but I think I could. Let's see what puberty does to them. I remember writing off John Mayer a few years ago, and then he inexplicably got awesome, so I'm trying to be fair to the kids. Hanson's had a decade to impress me and they, as of this writing, still suck.

BROTHERS IN ARMS: You're Fired. "Right Now."

2008-08-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

With all the drama over Van Halen's revolving door of lead vocalists, it's easy to forget the band actually has a couple of guys named Van Halen in it. Actually, now there are three: Alex Van Halen, brother Eddie Van Halen, and Eddie's son Wolfgang just joined David Lee Roth for a hugely successful tour, with an album possibly to follow. Unlike most of the families we've talked about this week, the Van Halen clan is more united than ever. Their relationships with their singers, however, have been a little rockier.

The band's classic lineup featured Eddie on guitar and Alex on drums, plus Roth and bassist Michael Anthony. This quartet, the "real" Van Halen, became one of the biggest bands in the world. From 1978 to 1985, they made hard rock history with "Ain't Talkin' Bout Love," "Jamie's Cryin'," and "Runnin' With the Devil." The band's sound was heavy but hooky, earth-shaking but radio-friendly, with Eddie's frenetic fingertapping and Roth's flamboyant antics as instantly recognizable hallmarks.

I'll skip to the turmoil that followed: Roth left, to be replaced by the more tasteful but less fun Sammy Hagar. Hagar either left or was fired a decade later (nobody seems to agree), Roth rejoined for about a day, then Gary Cherone signed on, then Hagar again, then Roth again. For the latest tour, the Van Halens fired Michael Anthony and replaced him with 16-year-old Wolfgang.

What's more interesting to me than Van Halen's human resources issues is their influence. Van Halen is a great band that had a terrible effect on rock music. They did something very, very well, which inspired a lot of other bands to do the same thing badly. Eddie's guitar squeals, the fat keyboard riffs, Roth's lovable stupidity; all of these things were fine and dandy when done by VH, but pretty soon, we had to endure Motley Crue and Def Leppard. The hair just kept getting bigger, the lyrics kept getting dumber, and the '80s quickly became the worst decade for rock and roll so far. I can't think of another band that cast such a damaging shadow while actually making good music themselves.

But every silver lining has its cloud. Van Halen have sold over 80 million records, and not just to the people you'd think. Deep down, we all like our rock and roll a little stupid sometimes.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Beautiful Girls" by Van Halen
AVAILABLE ON: Van Halen II; iTunes

BROTHERS IN ARMS: Oh, So Good and Oh, So Fine

2008-08-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

Oasis get a lot of flak for wearing their influences on their sleeves, but you can't fault their taste: they've borrowed or stolen outright from the cream of British rock, from the Beatles to the Faces. But they also owe a great debt to another band comprised of stoned-looking (or just stoned) English brothers: the Kinks.

The Kinks formed in 1963. Led by Ray and Dave Davies, and augmented by the rhythm section of Mick Avory and Pete Quaife, they introduced a rough, sarcastic edge to the British Invasion. Their gritty sound on hits like "You Really Got Me" and "All Day and All of the Night" planted the seeds for punk and heavy metal. Pete Townshend has admitted that the Who's earliest hits were basically Kinks ripoffs, and filmmaker Wes Anderson frequently uses the group's songs in his acclaimed films.

The band's greatest weapon was Ray Davies and his wicked pen. Ray's witty, biting songs were richly detailed short stories set to music. Cockney slang colors "Harry Rag," "Village Green Preservation Society" lampoons British conservatism, and "A Well Respected Man" exposes the hollowness of a class-conscious society. He could be sweet, though, with ballads like "Days" and the great "Waterloo Sunset." The latter tells of a young man observing the world from his window, and of two lovers, who don't need money, for as "long as they gaze on Waterloo sunset/They are in paradise."

Dave wasn't in the same league as his older brother, but he was no slouch, writing catchy rockers like "Love Me 'til the Sun Shines" and "Mindless Child of Motherhood." But the creative inequality between the Davies boys strained their relationship, as did the group's fluctuating fortunes. After a few years of theatrical meandering in the mid-to-late 1970s, the band enjoyed a revival as an arena rock act that lasted into the '80s. But soon the group fell out of favor again, and 1993's Phobia failed to reignite interest in the band. After another tour, the Kinks were no more.

The solo years have been a mixed bag for the Davies brothers. They've both released well-regarded projects of their own. In 2004, though, Dave had a stroke and Ray was shot by a mugger. Both have recovered. Now come on, guys, nothing like a near-death experience to make you realize how precious life is, right? Now give your brother a call and plan another tour. Please?

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Waterloo Sunset" by the Kinks
AVAILABLE ON: Something Else by the Kinks

BROTHERS IN ARMS: mumblemumble[expletive]mumblemumble

2008-08-12T12:50:00.000-07:00

If my brother assaulted me with a tambourine while high on crystal meth, or heckled me during a solo performance, I probably wouldn't stay in a band with him. But I'm not Noel Gallagher. Noel's little brother, Liam, is one of rock's most storied bad boys, and it says a lot about their joint creative potency that they see a need to continue performing together as Oasis. Whatever they've got together, it's worth keeping, and so they soldier on, not yet dying and not particularly liking each other.

I don't want to give you the impression that Noel is, well, stable, but when Liam Gallagher is your brother, you wear that crown by default. But the man can write songs. Noel only joined Liam's band on the condition that his songs would be front and center, and it was a good choice. Since their 1994 debut, Definitely Maybe, the Oasis boys have mastered the catchy, loud, did I say catchy? genre known as Britpop, the name given to post-Beatles hooky UK rock.

We all know "Wonderwall" and "Champagne Supernova," or we should, but there's more. Somehow, in America, Oasis have been dismissed as a one-album wonder, since (What's the Story) Morning Glory was the band's only LP to make a splash stateside. In their native country, though, Oasis have earned eight number one singles and remain a top draw. Even their collection of B-sides was a top-seller. More importantly, it was good, reinforcing my feeling that no amount of Gallagher-on-Gallagher acrimony can derail such a talented duo.

They are essentially a duo. Liam and Noel have alienated or fired (or both) every other member of their band over the years. The sound, though, has never really changed. Liam still shouts like John Lennon impersonating Johnny Rotten. Noel still writes deceptively simple songs so infectious they put your brain in a vise grip. And they both continue to mumble incoherently whenever some poor sap tries to interview them. May they never stop.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Acquiesce" by Oasis
AVAILABLE ON: The Masterplan; iTunes

BROTHERS IN ARMS: Nobody's Clowns, Let Alone Cathy's

2008-08-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

Previously, I've mentioned the uncanny musical connection that can exist between siblings. Real siblings, not fake ones like the Traveling Wilburys or the White Stripes. Brotherly love can make for some nice sounds but also some bitter breakups. I think it's time to spend a week discussing the greatest fraternal acts in rock.

The Everly Brothers were weird-looking, a problem compounded by the fact that there were two of them. But Phil and Don, sons of Kentucky country singer and DJ Ike Everly, sang in harmonies so close you couldn't separate them with a butter knife. In the late '50s and '60s, they placed 35 songs on the Billboard charts, more than any other duo. They influenced everyone from the Beatles (listen to "Two of Us" again) to the Red Hot Chili Peppers (Anthony Kiedis named his daughter Everly). If it weren't for the Everly Brothers, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel would be junior high music teachers in Queens right now.

The Everlys found much of their success recording the songs of Felice and Boudleaux Bryant. The husband/wife duo (my last topic coming up again) wrote "Bye Bye Love," "All I Have to Do is Dream," "Bird Dog" and others for Phil and Don to work their magic on. The Everlys also recorded songs by contemporaries like Roy Orbison and Paul McCartney. Both Phil and Don were accomplished songwriters themselves, penning, together or separately, "Cathy's Clown," "'Til I Kissed You" and "When Will I Be Loved."

By the time their epic stream of hits had dried up, the Everly Brothers couldn't stand one another. They admit they saw each other only once in the 1970s-- at their father's funeral. But some things are too good to leave alone, and they reunited in the 1980s. Their loyal descendants, Simon and Garfunkel, coaxed them back out on the road in 2003. Simon claims the experience was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Well, okay, making a video with Chevy Chase was the real goal, but performing with the Everlys is pretty cool, too.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Walk Right Back" by the Everly Brothers
AVAILABLE ON: Walk Right Back: The Everly Brothers on Warner Bros.; iTunes

LOVE AND MARRIAGE: White on White

2008-07-25T09:51:00.000-07:00

In the early 2000s, the big story in rock and roll was that people were making rock and roll again. The boy bands and metal-hop that had been dominating the music scene gave way to a new strain of garage music. But despite the critical hoopla, few of these bands actually sold many records, and now the initial excitement over the Strokes, the Vines, the Hives et al. seems overheated. But one band was worth every superlative, with both their commercial success and sustainable creativity. The White Stripes, it seems, are the true saviors of rock in the new century.

In 1997, Detroit's Jack Gillis, an upholsterer by day and rocker by night, married bartender/novice drummer Meg White. Taking your wife's surname might seem strange, but one look at this guy, and you realize why it seemed appropriate. Meg, also pasty, has the body of a grown woman and the head of an 8-year-old girl. Together, they make an adorable pair, if you're Tim Burton.

Jack and Meg divorced in 2000, two years before their commercial breakthrough. For simplicity (though it really simplified nothing) Jack started telling people Meg was his sister, a fiction they continue to perpetuate. Jack insists the sibling myth is so people are more interested in the duo's music than their personal soap opera.

Their music is interesting despite any distractions. A punchy mutant baby of heavy metal, punk, blues and folk, the sound of the White Stripes is as distinctive as their tri-colored costumes. "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground," "Seven Nation Army," and "Blue Orchid" are classics already, and there's reason to believe they have a few more in them. Jack even has enough energy for side projects (the Raconteurs, producing Loretta Lynn, film acting) and Meg's got sufficient indie hotness to work as a model.

Is it awkward being in a band with your ex? Probably, but not as awkward as being a Detroit upholsterer wearing a Nudie suit.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The Air Near My Fingers" by the White Stripes
AVAILABLE ON: Elephant; iTunes

LOVE AND MARRIAGE: No Happiness, Please, We're British

2008-07-24T23:14:00.001-07:00

What is it with chicks and guitarists? Yesterday's post (and tomorrow's, if you're dying to know, but why would you?) concern couples featuring a guitar pickin' man and his woman. Sadly, most of this week's spotlighted unions have ended in divorce. My, how quickly "Love and Marriage" week has turned sour. But that's how love often goes. We should just be thankful that their marital pain has given us such musical pleasure, and nobody did pain and pleasure better than Richard and Linda Thompson.

The Thompsons were England's answer to Carly Simon and James Taylor, except much artier, and they never did that godawful "Mockingbird" song. Instead, they did a lot of good ones. Smart move. Richard had been a founding member of English folk rockers the Fairport Convention, and had made a name for himself as a singer, songwriter, and guitarist. After he left the group, he married another folksinger named Linda Peters, and they started singing as a duo.

Though their marriage would only last a decade, Richard and Linda recorded a string of acclaimed albums blending elements of rock, American folk, and traditional Celtic music. Linda has the kind of voice you wish could sing you a lullaby every night before bed. Richard is the troubadour you hope one day might sing your life story. Together, they were a folkie's wet dream, singing heart-wrenching ballads with an authentic ache. It became even more authentic when Richard left Linda-- and their three children-- for another woman in 1983.

But you can see why they were initially attracted to each other. As Linda's most recent solo album, Versatile Heart, proves, she's no Yoko. Her writing and singing chime with wit and soul. Richard is a songwriter of great heart but also great intellect, and his impressive guitar work never fails to amaze. Like Paul Simon, his playing is more intricate than flashy, and it often takes multiple listens to hear just what he's up to.

The couple split right after the release of 1982's Shoot Out the Lights, their most successful work. Though they've both moved on to solo careers, their joint accomplishments haven't been forgotten, particularly in the form of their son, singer Teddy Thompson. Teddy was born on the Muslim commune Richard and Linda retreated to in the mid-1970s. Folksinging, Islamic communes; how can two people with this much in common not make it work?

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Wall of Death" by Richard and Linda Thompson
AVAILABLE ON: Shoot Out the Lights; iTunes

LOVE AND MARRIAGE: The Magician and His Lovely Assistant

2008-07-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

Les Paul is best known for his eponymous guitar, manufactured by Gibson and beloved by axslingers everywhere. He should have one named after him: he is one of the inventors of the solid body electric guitar, which expanded the instrument's sonic potential and made rock and roll as we know it possible. Paul also invented multi-track recording and developed the close miking technique that forever changed the way singers approach studio recording. Les Paul, still with us at 93, is a sort of musical Nikola Tesla, a genius inventor with some hot licks to boot.

Paul's success as a recording artist, though, owed just as much to his partner than to his wizardry. Paul and his wife, singer Mary Ford, enjoyed huge success in the 1950s with their records, radio appearances, and television program. Ford, born Iris Hatfield, possessed a warm and soothing voice that countered Paul's frenetic noodling. The duo created one of the most unique sounds of the era by using Paul's multi-tracking technique years before it became commonplace in popular music. Les would overdub a complex web of guitar lines, while Mary sang her own harmony like a one-woman Andrews Sisters. It still doesn't sound quite like anything else.

Paul and Ford racked up sixteen top ten hits. They divorced in 1964, Mary dying thirteen years later from complications due to diabetes. Today, Paul still plays a weekly gig in New York, despite the fact he can barely use his right hand anymore. But arthritis can't take his name off those Gibson guitars, and it can't take away the huge impact he's made on the art of recording. And let's not forget the heavenly voice of Mary Ford, which has been silenced but not erased.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise" by Les Paul and Mary Ford
AVAILABLE ON: Best of the Capitol Masters; iTunes

LOVE AND MARRIAGE: But the Wigs Were Her Idea

2008-07-22T23:57:00.000-07:00

For those who found yesterday's entry a bit sappy, I'll offer this: sometimes the explosive energy that can create magic onstage can also make for disastrous relationships. Just because the music is pretty doesn't mean the feelings are. Ike and Tina Turner gave us the best example of a horrible marriage that resulted in great tunes.

When a music legend dies, there's a mad rush for canonization in the music press. But when Ike Turner peaced out last December, there was not even the slightest attempt to sugarcoat his 76 years of being an asshole. Tina Turner's representatives issued this terse statement: "Tina is aware that Ike passed away earlier today. She has not had any contact with him in 35 years. No further comment will be made." And none was.

Shame, though, that he had to go and act like that, because the man was a genius. A singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, bandleader and producer, he and Tina pioneered the soul revues of the 1960s. The man even co-invented rock and roll. In 1951, he and his band the Kings of Rhythm recorded the legendary "Rocket 88." The song, credited to Jackie Brenston but actually written by Turner, is often called the first rock and roll record ever made. It's an unusually hard-driving chunk of early r&b, complete with guitar distortion (the amp was damaged) and Ike's rockin' piano intro (later stolen and perfected by Little Richard.) Before he'd even met and renamed young Anna Mae Bullock, Ike Turner was a pioneer.

But meet her he did, and he liked what he heard. Tina Tuner was and remains one of the most stirring performers on earth, and with Ike as her bandleader, she always had the right material to tear into. From 1960 until 1976, Ike and Tina churned out the hits. "A Fool in Love," "River Deep, Mountain High" and their beloved, not so nice and easy take on "Proud Mary" made them one of the most popular acts in the country. It all fell apart when their marriage did, and Tina went on to enormous solo success.

Problem is, as much as I admire Tina's talents, she was never better than when she was being slapped around by Ike. He may have been a terrible husband, but he understood her talents more than any producer ever would. Who else would have given her that red-hot arrangement of "Honky Tonk Women"? I think the only reason she stayed married to him as long as she did is because she knew how much of her success she really owed to the big jerk.

Did their violent supernova of a marriage make the music more intense, or did their personal flameout just deny us of more music to enjoy? I guess it's more productive to just forget the Angela Bassett/Laurence Fishburne reenactments and enjoy the sounds they made together. And I don't mean 911 calls.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "A Fool in Love" by Ike & Tina Turner
AVAILABLE ON: Proud Mary-The Best of Ike and Tina Turner; iTunes

LOVE AND MARRIAGE: Hipsters In Love

2008-07-21T22:34:00.000-07:00

On KCRA 3 in Sacramento, Dave Walker and Lois Hart co-host the evening news. Offscreen, they're married, but you'd never know it from their awkward chemistry behind the anchor desk. They come off as one of those badly mismatched couples who stay together because it's the easy thing to do. Lois appears to be no stranger to the Botox needle, and I think Dave has a nip or two before most broadcasts. Why do I bring this up? Because being married doesn't necessarily mean you're going to be a potent creative team. This week's topic is betrothed singers who managed to make beautiful music together.

In 1997, Aimee Mann and Michael Penn were married. Michael is the singer of the 1989 hit "No Myth," which you probably thought was called "Someone to Dance With," like the rest of America. Aimee's old band, 'Til Tuesday, scored big in the '80s with "Voices Carry." They met while working on one of Aimee's acclaimed solo albums, and he was not frightened by her hair, and it was love at first sight.

Besides recording their own albums, both husband and wife are popular soundtrack contributors, thanks to Michael's film scoring work and Aimee's Oscar-nominated music from Magnolia. In 2001, they were invited to record a song for the film I Am Sam, starring Michael's brother Sean Penn.

I Am Sam is the story of a retarded man who at least has enough sense to like the Beatles. The soundtrack saw contemporary artists singing Beatles tunes. Aimee and Michael recorded a cover of "Two of Us," a smart selection from Let it Be. The song was one of the last Lennon/McCartney duets ever released, and one of the most undervalued.

When sung by John and Paul, "Two of Us" is a touching ode to friendship. "You and I have memories/Longer than the road that stretches out ahead," Paul sings, and considering the group's fragile unity at the time, it's easy to assume he was offering an olive branch to his increasingly distant childhood friend.

Aimee and Michael give it a different spin. In their hands, "Two of Us" isn't just about a pair of buddies, but lifelong companions enjoying each other's company in the simplest moments. Spending their lives together, Sunday driving, not arriving, on their way back home. Aimee has had other duet partners, and good ones. Elvis Costello, Jon Brion and Roger McGuinn have all backed her up. But with hubby Mike at the mike, there's a rare smile in her icy, sardonic voice. Michael has always been a solid singer, his voice like George Harrison's, only richer. But Aimee's is prettier, and she adds the needed touch of grace.

The Penn-Manns have duetted several other times, including a cover of Bruce Springsteen's "Reason to Believe" and Michael's own "Christmastime." But "Two of Us," in sound and sentiment, best expresses their wedded bliss. Dave and Lois could really learn something from these two.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Two of Us" by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn
AVAILABLE ON: I Am Sam Soundtrack; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: We Missed You, But Not That Much

2008-07-18T01:14:00.000-07:00

The Eagles' catalogue is both slimmer and deeper than most realize. Slimmer because for all their blockbuster success in the 1970s, they managed to squeeze out only six albums. Give me a break; Neil Young makes six albums on his day off. But if you've heard only the half dozen songs classic rock radio has made us sick of, you're missing out. You owe it to yourself to hear Hotel California and On the Border in their entirety.

For 28 years, the Eagles didn't make a studio album. They were too busy with solo careers, families, and firing Don Felder to even bother. Then finally, in 2007, the fifth Eagles lineup gave us the seventh Eagles album. Don Henley, Glenn Frey, Joe Walsh and Timothy B. Schmit managed to complete Long Road Out of Eden without killing each other, and the album went multiplatinum in no time, despite being available only at Wal-Mart and on the band's website. The album's long, painful birth seemed to have been worth it.

The thing about spending that much time on an album, though, is that you can't bear to throw anything away. Long Road Out of Eden groans under the weight of 20 tracks. I don't care how long we had to wait for it, that's too many. Henley has said he believes the record would have been better if they'd spent another 6 months polishing it, but I can't imagine that's the problem. If anything, someone should have shut down the sessions early and forced these notorious perfectionists to just get the damn thing out already.

Henley blames the album's length on his own benevolence; he and co-founder Frey just didn't have the heart to cut any tracks by their employees Schmit and Walsh. What Don doesn't tell you is that Schmit and Walsh contribute only two songs each, and they're all pretty good. I'm afraid Henley and Frey, the only two original members left, are to blame for Long Road Out of Eden's sprawl.

Repetition is their undoing. Henley doesn't get one track to rant about the state of the world, he gets three, including the ten-minute(!) title track. Frey isn't allowed just one of his sappy/sweet ballads, he has five. Prune the album's few weakest tracks, and you're left with a more democratic selection of very strong material. Most importantly, an uneven double album becomes a very strong single disc.

The highlights, though, are worthy on the band's legacy. Henley's thoughtful "Waiting in the Weeds" features some of the most gorgeous and complex harmonies the Eagles have ever attempted. J.D. Souther's "How Long" makes for a hell of a single, and "No More Cloudy Days" plays to Frey's strengths as a melodist. Altogether, Long Road Out of Eden makes for a better valedictory than 1979's tired cokefest The Long Run. We're glad the old boys came back for another round, but they didn't need to stay until closing time.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Waiting in the Weeds" by Eagles
AVAILABLE ON: Long Road Out of Eden

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Bob Gives Us the Finger

2008-07-17T23:56:00.000-07:00

There are several different types of double albums. Some contain an awkward marriage of brilliant material with dreck (see yesterday's entry). Some ramble in ways that are consistently bizarre and fascinating (the "White Album"). Some feel too long not because any of the material is weak, but because the strong moments aren't strong enough (Foo Fighters, In Your Honor). But there is one kind of double album that most fascinates: the double album that shouldn't have even been a single album.

Bob Dylan's Self Portrait is the most notorious example. I won't dwell too much on the album's many faults, as rock critics have spent the last 38 years finding new ways to say it sucks. (The great Greil Marcus said it best when he simply asked, "What is this shit?") Instead, I'd like to explore the reasons Dylan would even release this inscrutable jumble of covers, remakes, and oddball experiments.

Dylan has given several reasons over the years, but the most compelling is that he was angry at his fans and wished to punish them. While living in Woodstock with his family in the late '60s, Dylan saw his property overrun by unwashed admirers who trespassed just to get a look at him. Years later, he wrote, "Roadmaps to our homestead must have been posted in all fifty states for gangs of dropouts and druggies." I wouldn't want those people pitching tents in my yard either, but was he really surprised? What did he think his fans looked like, George Plimpton?

This is how Dylan describes the making of Self Portrait: "I just threw everything I could think of at the wall and whatever stuck, released it, and then went back and scooped up everything that didn't stick and released that, too." There is no better way to explain the almost shockingly slapdash quality of the record. The covers are mostly incompetent; if his recording of "The Boxer" is a joke, it's not funny, and if it's serious, God help him. The originals are lightweight and poorly sung, in a jokier permutation of his Nashville Skyline croon. And the remake of "Like a Rolling Stone"? Let's just say it is hard to rob that song of its bite, but Dylan figured out how to do it.

Okay, "Alberta" sounds fine, but we didn't need two versions. And the Band provide enough energy to carry "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)." But a great artist can stumble onto something good by accident. Most of Self Portrait seems designed to irritate and confuse. As the album hit stores, Dylan was already completing the far superior New Morning. Only four months passed between the release of the two records, and I don't believe that was an accident. I think Dylan wanted to see what people would do if he immediately followed a terrible album with a solid one. Like a coy lover, he started a fight just to make up. This is one of the reasons Bob Dylan is one of the most challenging and dynamic artists of our time, and why I wouldn't want to have dinner with him.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)" by Bob Dylan
AVAILABLE ON: Self Portrait; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Spaceships and Overdubs

2008-07-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

If we’re going to talk about overdoing it, we have to talk about Jeff Lynne. Lynne’s most famous project, the Electric Light Orchestra, is a tribute to all that is overblown and ridiculous. Their concerts were known for elaborate sets and light shows. As a producer, Lynne puts his stamp on everything he touches, regardless of whose name is on the album. Still, he's been a spectacular hitmaker. His finest moment came in 1977, with the release of ELO’s Out of the Blue, a double album that misses greatness by the smallest margin.

Out of the Blue is ELO’s seventh and best record. Lynne’s hooks were never sharper, the ELO sound never smoother. The band’s early LPs were clunky, awkwardly marrying thin string arrangements to meandering progressive rock tunes. Their '80s albums suffered from lack of inspiration and synthesizer fatigue. But Out of the Blue is where Lynne got it exactly right. He must have been excited, because he let it go on way too long.

The album’s highlights are stunners. “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” welds the band’s hypnotic harmonies to an irresistible R&B groove. “Sweet is the Night” is sweet indeed, and surprisingly moving. "Jungle” is endless fun. Lynne also foreshadows his later work as a producer, with the Roy Orbison ache of “It’s Over” and Beatlesque bounce of “Mr. Blue Sky.”

Lynne was on such a roll, he kept going. That was his biggest mistake. The entire third side of the album is taken up by what Lynne calls his “Concerto for a Rainy Day.” It’s about as pretentious as it sounds, and mildly engaging at best. By the time things perk up with “Mr. Blue Sky,” the record’s flow has been seriously disrupted. It rallies a bit for the fourth side, but not without a major speed bump: “The Whale.” A five-minute instrumental, “The Whale” sounds like John Tesh on mushrooms, and it blemishes the album badly.

Cut away some of the fat, and Out of the Blue is a nonstop feel-good hook machine. Lynne’s skills as a pop craftsman rival those of Paul McCartney. But McCartney, at least in his peak days, had John Lennon to tell him when to knock it off. Also, the spaceship on the cover? Even George Lucas is shaking his head.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” by Electric Light Orchestra
AVAILABLE ON: Out of the Blue; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Runt Goes Big

2008-07-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

“Anything worth doing is worth overdoing,” or so says Mick Jagger, and many of his rock and roll cohorts seem to agree. Much like indulgent Hollywood filmmakers, some recording artists see no merit in self-editing. This is how we get Meet Joe Black. It’s also how we get to this week’s topic: Unnecessary Double Albums.

Todd Rundgren was one of rock’s first great do-it-yourselfers. A multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, producer, filmmaker and hope to nerdy young boys everywhere, he made his mark with the Nazz before going solo in the early 1970s. His hit singles include “We Gotta Get You a Woman,” “Can We Still Be Friends?”, and “Bang the Drum All Day.” He’s also produced Meat Loaf’s Bat out of Hell, toured with Ringo Starr’s All-Starr Band, and replaced Rick Ocasek in the Cars.

Joining these achievements is Something/Anything?, his two-LP epic from 1972. Comprising 25 tracks and almost ninety minutes, it’s an overblown and often underwhelming attempt at remaking the White Album in Rundgren’s own image. A few tracks are essential, many are enjoyable, some are puzzling in-jokes that should have stayed in the vault. It even includes a spoken word interlude, a Motown cover, and an instrumental, thus completing the Album Filler Trifecta.

If it sounds as if I don’t like Something/Anything?, slow down. I criticize because I love. There’s plenty to marvel at. The soulful hit “Hello It’s Me” was good enough for the Isley Brothers, and therefore, for us. “Couldn’t I Just Tell You” and “It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference” are heartfelt and catchy. “Wolfman Jack” and “Slut” are funny without being too stupid and they rock, which is hard to pull off. “I Saw the Light” is as close to perfection as a pop single ever gets. Add up all of Something/Anything?’s finest moments, and you’d swear Rundgren was a genius.

He is, but genius is not concise by nature. It’s sloppy and sprawling and unreliable, making Something/Anything? a fitfully enthralling but frustrating experience. Did Rundgren really need to include “I Went to the Mirror,” a mumbling dirge that could be described charitably as a Lou Reed parody, and uncharitably as an incomprehensible waste of time? Must he indulge his inner Gilbert and Sullivan to sing about a Viking? Must he ruin the amusing “You Left Me Sore” with laughter, just to make sure we know he’s kidding? No, he mustn’t, but he does, and it leaves the listener exhausted and impatient.

Altogether, it’s a good album containing some greatness. It is impressive to consider that, for the first three sides, Rundgren plays every instrument and sings every part himself. That’s not a choir of females on “I Saw the Light,” it’s an overdubbed army of Todds. (He has said, "I have no 'soul' in the usual sense, but I can do this great feminine falsetto,” and he’s right.) Rundgren’s talent is impressive, but once he’s done impressing you, he doesn’t know when to stop.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “I Saw the Light” by Todd Rundgren
AVAILABLE ON: Something/Anything?; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Elton's Blue Period

2008-07-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

By 1976, Elton John had cranked out a dozen albums in only seven years. This, combined with constant touring, a nasty (and worsening) drug habit, and the stress of concealing his personal life had left old Reg pretty drained. Lyricist Bernie Taupin wished to leave England for the United States so he could become a real Brown Dirt Cowboy. But the beast needed feeding, and Elton was the biggest star in the world, so they kept on. That year saw the release of Elton’s second double album, Blue Moves, after which he took a desperately needed break.

Blue Moves is an appropriate title. Not only is it Elton at his most melancholy, but the album has classy pretensions not expected from this man. It's Elton's Art Record. Jazz flourishes and James Newton-Howard’s dramatic orchestrations replace the tacky fun of previous hits like "The Bitch is Back" and "Bennie and the Jets." Even Taupin seems muted and unusually humorless. "The Wide Eyed and Laughing" is laughable, and "Boogie Pilgrim" strains but fails to strike a funky rock groove. Really, who told these guys they could even approach funkiness?

Shame, though, because there are occasional reminders of the team's brilliance. Bernie spins one of his patented narratives in the spirited Bonnie and Clyde update “Shoulder Holster.” "Tonight" is an eloquent, if overextended, tale of a dying affair, and "One Horse Town" rocks nicely.

Most revealing, and quite effective, is “Idol,” the sad tale of a pop star “taken to the very bottom.” The narrator, seated in the audience, can’t bear to see one of his heroes singing in a dingy lounge. The creamy, horn-colored arrangement can’t hide how tired and sad Elton sounds as he sings it, and it makes you wonder just whose demise Bernie was chronicling.

Upon its release, critics entirely dismissed Blue Moves, ignoring even its best moments and declaring it a disaster. The original review in Rolling Stone failed to even mention “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” the album’s only hit. That the song was not recognized as an instant classic is surprising, but at that point, many were rooting for Elton’s hot streak to finally cool. They got their wish, but if Blue Moves had been more succinct, it might have been another Elton John classic.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “Idol” by Elton John
AVAILABLE ON: Blue Moves; iTunes

SHOW BIZ KIDS: All His Rowdy Friends Are Dead

2008-06-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

Life is hard enough in the cold shadow of a legend, particularly one who died when you were four. Having problems with drugs and alcohol doesn't help. Neither does a disfiguring accident, or being called "Bocephus." But somehow, Hank Williams, Jr. lives on, successfully, and has managed to make his own imprint on country music.

Hank Jr.'s hard-nosed mother, "Miss" Audrey Williams, engineered her son's early success. She dressed Junior up in his father's clothes and made him sing the old hits to curious audiences. Hank eventually tired of his mother's domination (as did Hank Sr., who divorced her twice) and ditched the clone act, writing his own songs and taking his work in a less traditional direction.

Hank Jr. became an important member of the Outlaw country movement of the 1970s. Fellow newcomers like Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson, as well as veteran Willie Nelson, found success bucking slick Nashville trends and appealing to freaky long-haired rock fans. Hits like "Family Tradition" and "Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound" paid tribute to Hank Jr.'s hard-partying genes and built him a devoted fan base.

Williams was seriously injured while climbing a mountain in Montana, which is an awesome way to injure yourself if you must. The recovery was long and painful, and the surgery scars necessitated his famous disguise of beard, sunglasses, and hat. This led to a great deal of confusion whenever he was in the same room as Jeff Lynne.

Like his dad, Hank Jr. has abused far too many substances and far too often. But it hasn't killed him. Hank has paid tribute to his famous father by recording many of his songs and participating in some well-intentioned grave robbing. He's also raised a singing son of his own, country/punk hybrid Hank Williams III. But the greatest tribute has been finding success on his own terms, not as a pale imitation of Hank Williams. Who was already quite pale.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Women I've Never Had" by Hank Williams, Jr.
AVAILABLE ON: Hank Williams, Jr.'s Greatest Hits; iTunes

SHOW BIZ KIDS: Cash Money

2008-06-26T12:26:00.000-07:00

One aspect of rock genealogy we haven't gotten into: is descending from greatness a blessing or a curse? I suppose it depends on the talent, temperament, and media savvy of all involved. Springing from the loins of legends does not entitle anyone to stardom, but it does assist it, and acknowledging the leg up you've been given is key to levelheaded second-generation success. One artist who wields her big last name with humility is Rosanne Cash.

Rosanne is the daughter of, well, you know, and his first wife Vivien Liberto. For narrative purposes, Vivien was the dream-doubting shrew of Walk the Line, a portrayal Rosanne rejects as oversimplified. (The film's credits misspelled Rosanne's name, too.) I would argue the film simply shows Vivien as the long-suffering wife of a rotten husband, but Rosanne has a point. Vivien's mothering skills must have been considerable, since Rosanne Cash emerged as not just a major artist, but a thoughtful human being.

Is it possible for someone to have a handful of top 40 hits, plus a Grammy, and still be underrated? Rosanne Cash's '80s hits are largely forgotten today, not because they deserve obscurity but because the disgraceful condition of country radio. 25 years ago, Cash helped pioneer a new strain of country music. Edgy, soulful and intelligent, it appealed to pop and rock fans but held on to the poignant storytelling of classic country. This is mainly what you hear on country radio today, but significantly watered down by lesser talents like Kenny Chesney and Big and Rich, who think self-parody equals wit and relatability equals emotional depth. There just isn't room for Rosanne's music, and that of contemporaries Lucinda Williams and John Hiatt, when Carrie Underwood's latest is fresh from the factory.

Cash's songwriting did not disappoint her dad. "Seven Year Ache" and "Black Cadillac" are real without being hokey, with melodies that linger but don't impose themselves. She's also done fine work with the songs of others, like Tom Petty ("Never Be You") and even the old man ("Tennessee Flat-Top Box").

I have to mention Rosanne's stepmother, the great June Carter Cash, also the child of famous musicians. The Carter family were country royalty long before Johnny Cash married his way in, and eons before Rosanne kept the tradition alive. Rosanne's half-brother, John Carter Cash, is a successful producer. So, to answer the question I posed in the beginning: yes, Rosanne's Cash's lineage has been an advantage. But unlike, say, Julian Lennon, she didn't need it.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Dreams Are Not My Home" by Rosanne Cash
AVAILABLE ON: Black Cadillac; iTunes

SHOW BIZ KIDS: He Can Drive It Home

2008-06-25T23:58:00.000-07:00

The release of Jakob Dylan's new album, Seeing Things, as well as some solo dates he's playing this summer, signals the death of the Wallflowers. The band has been hemorrhaging members here and there over the years, with keyboardist Rami Jaffee being the latest escapee. It's a shame, too, since the Wallflowers were one of the bright spots of the 1990s rock scene. Since their second album, Bringing Down the Horse, stormed the charts in '96, they've churned out more than a few memorable tunes.

Bringing Down the Horse brought us the classic single "One Headlight," which we all got sick of a decade ago, but there was a reason we listened to it so many times: Jakob, son of Bob, knows how to write a hook. Their music may not be chock-full of surprises-- it has that Counting Crows quality of being familiar without being directly derivative-- but Jakob inherited some solid songwriting genes. "6th Avenue Heartache," "Sleepwalker," and "When You're On Top" all deserve to stand alongside the Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen songs they vaguely remind you of.

"Wallflower" is the name of an obscure Bob Dylan song from the '70s. This may have been the source of the band's name, though I doubt it. Jakob has never shared the stage with his dad, and they don't discuss each other publicly. Still, I suspect Bob is proud of his only musical offspring, and he has every reason to be. When you have someone who looks just like you working in your own profession, they'd better be good.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Sleepwalker" by the Wallflowers
AVAILABLE ON: Breach; iTunes

SHOW BIZ KIDS: A Father and a Son

2008-06-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

In 1998, two promising second-generation singers toured together to support their debut albums. One was yesterday's spotlight, Sean Lennon. The other had a less famous surname but came from an even richer musical gene pool. Rufus Wainwright would soon earn great acclaim for his operatic art pop, and keep the Wainwright name in the musical press.

Rufus' dad, Loudon Wainwright III, is known either for his 1972 hit "Dead Skunk" or from his recent contribution to the film Knocked Up, in which he also appeared. He was once proclaimed the Next Next Dylan, but was perfectly content to be something far original. Mixing Randy Newman's wit and Jackson Browne's naked emotion, he carved himself a nice little fan base, and even snatched the ultimate songwriter's prize when Johnny Cash sang one of his songs ("The Man Who Couldn't Cry").

Rufus is also an original, but in the opposite direction. While Loudon's music never strays far from his folk roots, Rufus' music isn't so earthbound. His opulently arranged baroque pop is grand and splashy, often beautiful and just as often bordering on camp. Of his six albums, I most visit 2003's Want One. It has a muscle and boldness lacking from Rufus' earlier work, and the focus his recent output has lacked.

The large and musical Wainwright family has had its share of dysfunction. Loudon divorced Rufus' mother, folksinger Kate McGarrigle, when the children were young. Rufus' sister Martha recently wrote a song called "Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole," which she has openly suggested is about her dad. "Dinner at Eight," from Want One, tells of a bitter dispute between Loudon and Rufus over the latter's higher profile.

Still, there is some affection between father and son. While his son was breastfeeding, Loudon penned the lighthearted "Rufus is a Tit Man." (Though the song grew an unintended ironic layer when Rufus turned out to be gay.) Rufus has admitted, in "Want," that he doesn't want to be an iconic songwriter like John Lennon or Leonard Cohen. "I just want to be my dad," he sings, "with a slight sprinkling of my mother." But I think Rufus' version of Loudon's "One Man Guy" best expresses the fragile unity of the gifted, explosive Wainwright clan. It's nice that Rufus recorded his dad's song, but if you look at the lyrics, it's all about the joys of time alone. Ouch.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "One Man Guy" by Rufus Wainwright
AVAILABLE ON: Poses; iTunes

SHOW BIZ KIDS: All You Need is a Trust Fund

2008-06-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

Show business kids
Making movies of themselves
You know they don't give a fuck
About anybody else
-Steely Dan, "Show Biz Kids"

A few years ago, Rolling Stone ran an interesting cover story about the offspring of famous musicians. It detailed the highs and lows, both natural and chemically induced, of life with a rock star parent. Some second-generation pop stars reside in their parents' shadows; others achieve success greater than their celebrated moms and dads. This week we take a look at noteworthy singing scions.

Every Beatle had at least one musical child. Dhani Harrison co-produced his old man's last solo album, James McCartney has earned a couple of co-writing credits with Sir Dad, and Zak Starkey has sufficient chops to drum for the Who and Oasis. Nice work, and they can get it, but the Lennon boys have had it a little rougher. Julian (born 1963, to Cynthia Lennon) barely knew his absent father. Sean (born 1975, to Yoko Ono Lennon) enjoyed John's doting presence, but only until he was five, when John was murdered.

Julian Lennon is best remembered for his hit "Too Late for Goodbyes" and his uncanny vocal resemblance to his father. Half-brother Sean has had a lower-profile but more diverse musical career. In addition to releasing two albums of his own, he's played with the cult alternative band Cibo Matto and hip-hop heroes Jurassic 5. He's also been known to sing his father's songs, which he does beautifully.

Sean's voice is high and thin, sounding like his dad's only when executing a graceful, Lennon-esque vocal turn. He's a natural at crafting melodies, and his second solo album Friendly Fire is a fine collection of bittersweet breakup ballads. So next time you think about badmouthing Yoko, just remember: she managed to raise a surprisingly normal kid in the most tragic of circumstances. You can still badmouth her, though.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Parachute" by Sean Lennon
AVAILABLE ON: Friendly Fire; iTunes

SUPERIOR COVERS: I Refuse to Believe He Did Any Acid

2008-06-20T12:54:00.000-07:00

If the finale to Superior Covers Week is an obvious choice, it's because some records are so good they're destined to be buried in praise. Jimi Hendrix's performance of "All Along the Watchtower" has been used in basically every stock 60s montage ever made, as The Simpsons hilariously pointed out. It's easily Hendrix's best single, containing some of his most inventive guitar work and his most passionate singing. I can't get enough of it.

For a long time, though, I was partial to Dylan's original version. Sparse and quiet, it has a spooky power unique to even Dylan's work. As with most of the tracks on Dylan's John Wesley Harding, it's full of vaguely Biblical language and a palpable feeling of dread, with howling wind, wildcats, and mysterious riders approaching. It's one of Dylan's better performances, and if you're not familiar with it, it's worth a listen for its low-volume intensity.

But nobody did intensity better than Hendrix. Hendrix's cover, recorded a mere two months after John Wesley Harding's release, is all electric rage and wah-wah theatrics. (Connection to yesterday's post: Dave Mason played on it). Hendrix re-worked the song without obscuring it, which is tricky. Dylan's recording is a creepy old black and white movie; Hendrix's is a technicolor nightmare. It's a shame we'll never see what was happening in Jimi's head. Luckily, we can hear it.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "All Along the Watchtower" by the Jimi Hendrix Experience
AVAILABLE ON: Electric Ladyland; iTunes

SUPERIOR COVERS: He Is So Beautiful. To Me.

2008-06-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

Joe Cocker may be the only man who can make flailing look masculine. There's just something badass about the guy, even if he sometimes looks like he might have cerebral palsy. Well into his 60s, he managed to steal his Across the Universe scenes from much prettier young co-stars. Many have tried to imitate the great screamer from Sheffield, but he's just too unique. He also might be the all-time covers champion.

I bestow this honor upon him because he not only does great covers, but he consistently improves upon the original versions. Cocker's classic records from the late 60s and early 70s showed him to be an unparalleled interpreter. He never resorts to mimicking the phrasing of the original singer. He climbs inside the song and takes it for a drive.

He's covered the best. Joe loves the Beatles, and has managed to put his stamp on "With a Little Help From My Friends," "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window," "Something" and many others. He's also poured some soul into a number of great Bob Dylan tunes. But the best example of Joe's genius is also one of his best-known: "Feelin' Alright."

Dave Mason wrote "Feelin' Alright" while still a member of Traffic. Their recording is a loose, folky jam, led by Mason's mellow warble. Steve Winwood's harmony vocals add some energy, but the whole thing seems awfully restrained.

Cocker gives it life. Longtime sideman Chris Stainton kicks it off with an immortal piano lick, achieving the impossible: giving a song a hook it didn't have before. Cocker's vocal has all his usual grit, but also great control. He's not just shouting. It's a carefully calibrated performance, more nuanced than you probably remember. His falsetto shudder before the piano solo is one of those sublime little touches that mark true greatness.

Cocker is one of a dying breed: the interpretive rock singer. The current generation needs another Cocker, or even a Linda Ronstadt. Someone to put an original spin on on the work of songwriters like Ryan Adams, KT Tunstall and Jeff Tweedy. Or better yet, just let the old guy take a crack at it. Coming soon, in my dreams: Cocker Sings Wilco.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Feelin' Alright" by Joe Cocker
AVAILABLE ON: With a Little Help From My Friends; iTunes

SUPERIOR COVERS: A Toast to Absent Friends

2008-06-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

The "Comments" section of this blog is the place for suggestions, arguments, and criticisms, and I encourage you to take advantage of it. Every week, I'm bound to omit something blindingly obvious. What's that? I'm an idiot because I forgot to mention the Zombies during Best Rock Harmonies Week? Go ahead, point it out. It'll make us all feel better to get it out in the open.

For instance, during last week's exploration of posthumously released albums, I failed to mention Roy Orbison's hugely successful Mystery Girl. Luckily for me, one track off of Mystery Girl fits in with this week's topic.

"The Comedians," written by Elvis Costello, originally appeared on his LP Goodbye Cruel World. The album, which Costello has identified as his worst, was an overproduced, synthesizer-soaked '80s mess, and its failure inspired the former Declan MacManus to stay silent for a couple of years. He rebounded in 1986 with not one but two of his best records: Blood and Chocolate and King of America. Goodbye Cruel World is remembered, if at all, as the album that forced Costello to get his act together.

Costello's recording of "The Comedians" is early '80s pop with some lite jazz touches thrown in. Costello sings the song too quickly, and its sweeping melody never takes hold. The lyrics are obtuse without being interesting.

Orbison's version, produced by the great T-Bone Burnett, is grander and more dramatic. Costello's rewritten lyrics tell the story of a romantic loser (the Orbison archetype) stuck on a metaphorical ferris wheel, while his rival on the ground gets the girl. The song starts slowly with shuffling drums and elegant electric guitar, building to a stunning, orchestrated crescendo. And of course, Orbison's magnificent croon is what really sells it.

Johnny Cash once advised a young Roy Orbison to sing in a lower voice, and for God's sake, change that awful last name. Good thing Roy was too stubborn to listen.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The Comedians" by Roy Orbison
AVAILABLE ON: Mystery Girl; iTunes

SUPERIOR COVERS: Though It Wasn't In "The Big Chill"

2008-06-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

If you're a music supervisor for films and television, and you're very lazy, you're probably scored a scene with Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah." Not since James Brown's "I Got You (I Feel Good)" has a song been slapped on so many soundtracks. Every television series from One Tree Hill to The West Wing has used the song to underscore an emotional on-screen moment.

But a great overused song is still a great song, and there's a reason Buckley's remarkable recording has so many fans. Buckley's gentle voice, suggesting a more relaxed Bryan Ferry, floats above soft electric guitar arpeggios with superhuman agility. Leonard Cohen's lyrics, full of sexual innuendo and Biblical references, fascinate more with each listen. It's so intoxicating you don't even notice that it's almost seven minutes long.

Buckley recorded "Hallelujah" for his 1994 album Grace, which turned out to be the only album he completed before his death. He gave the song its finest reading, even better than Cohen's spooky (but overproduced) original. Rufus Wainwright, John Cale, and many others have produced worthy versions, but Buckley's blows them away with its understated majesty. Next time you hear it, just try not to think of a cheesy episode of The O.C.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley
AVAILABLE ON: Grace; iTunes

SUPERIOR COVERS: Echoes of His Mind

2008-06-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

If you think about the movie Midnight Cowboy, you might recall Dustin Hoffman's famous line, "I'm walkin' here!" You may think of that sad last scene on the bus . You may even remember seeing Bob Balaban do something you never thought Bob Balaban would do. Most likely, though, you recall the gentle, lilting voice of Harry Nilsson singing "Everybody's Talkin'." The song brings us to this week's topic: Superior Covers.

"Everybody's Talkin'" first appeared on a 1966 album by folksinger Fred Neil, who composed it. Three years later, the producers of Midnight Cowboy asked Harry Nilsson to perform the song for their film (after rejecting his original composition, "I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City.") Nilsson's recording became the film's theme-- this is back when movies had themes, instead of soundtracks jammed with incongruous pop hits-- and moviegoers have since been unable to forget the song, or the sad fate of Ratso Rizzo and Joe Buck. Midnight Cowboy went on to win the Oscar for Best Picture, despite being rated "X" for its gay themes. (Interestingly, Fred Neil was a homosexual).

Neil's recording of the song is a fine showcase for his smooth baritone and crisp 12-string guitar. But Nilsson really ran with it. His pure voice, with its four-octave range, wrings every ounce of emotion from Neil's lonely lyric. The arrangement, with Glen Campbellesque acoustic guitar and sweeping strings, is pure '60s schlock, but Nilsson's eccentricity makes it distinctive. No matter how many times you hear it, the yodeling is still odd, but it's also perfect.

Midnight Cowboy, a groundbreaking film in its time, has dated. Nilsson's Grammy-winning recording of "Everybody's Talkin'" remains evergreen, a career highlight of a vastly underrated talent.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Everybody's Talkin'" by Nilsson
AVAILABLE ON: Nilsson: All Time Greatest Hits; iTunes

POSTHUMOUS ALBUMS: Feeling Good Was Easy When She Sang the Blues

2008-06-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

Someday we'll do Blackest White Singers Week, if only because I am looking for an excuse to watch my favorite Rick Astley video. Oh, hell, we can do it now. But somewhere on that list, probably atop it, would be Janis Joplin. Pearl, as she was called, died in 1970 at the age of 27, leaving a only a few albums but millions of admirers.

At the time of her death, Joplin was working with venerable producer Paul Rothchild, known for his work with the Doors. If the guy could wrangle Jim Morrison, the logic went, he could get Janis to straighten up, too. The sessions were productive and happy, best expressed by Janis' joyous take on "Mercedes Benz," which she co-wrote. Most famously, these sessions produced the single "Me and Bobby McGee," written by sometime lover Kris Kristofferson. The song, when sung from Kristofferson's perspective, could be heard as a song for Janis, a traveling blues singer much like the title character.

On October 4, 1970, Janis died. Pearl was released four months later and became her best-loved album. Years earlier, back home in Texas, her campus newspaper declared, "She Dares to Be Different." In the 46 years that have passed since that headline, nobody has disputed this fact.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Cry Baby" by Janis Joplin
AVAILABLE ON: Pearl; iTunes

POSTHUMOUS ALBUMS: Come As You Are

2008-06-12T22:03:00.000-07:00

In November of 1993, Nirvana performed on MTV's Unplugged. It was something all the top stars of the day (and days past) were doing, and Nirvana had a new album, In Utero, to promote. Unintentionally, they ended up showing the world just how versatile a group they were.

Touring guitarist Pat Smear and cellist Lori Goldsten augmented the core trio of Kurt Cobain, bassist Krist Novoselic and drummer Dave Grohl. Cris and Curt Kirkwood of the Meat Puppets joined the band for three of their own songs. Fleshed out but not fattened, Nirvana painted with a lot of colors they hadn't used before. Novoselic played accordion on "Jesus Doesn't Want Me For a Sunbeam," and though his Foo Fighting days lay ahead, Dave Grohl plucked a little bass and supplied backing vocals.

The band attempted several covers that night, ranging from David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold the World" to Leadbelly's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?", the album's finale and highlight. (They also cheated a little: some electric guitar sneaks in here and there, but the sound is still crisp and intimate).

Five months after the performance, Cobain took his own life. MTV Unplugged in New York arrived on CD that November, a year after its recording. It's noteworthy not for just being a great posthumous release, but also for displaying previously unheard potential that would never be further developed.

It may not be Nirvana's most groundbreaking album. That prize goes to the era-defining Nevermind. Grohl has said Bleach may be the group's best overall, and he didn't even play on it. But Unplugged is the finest example of Nirvana's collective skills. It's their most diverse, surprising album, full of moments both lovely and terrifying. It's also the saddest; without all the electric noise of their other records, you can really hear how badly Cobain was hurting.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" by Nirvana
AVAILABLE ON: MTV Unplugged in New York; iTunes

POSTHUMOUS ALBUMS: Last Act of the Man in Black

2008-06-11T22:03:00.000-07:00

Johnny Cash's late-career comeback was remarkable for a lot of reasons. It was remarkable that an artist over seventy could release a platinum album. It was remarkable because it resulted not just in huge commercial success, but also in some of the finest work of Cash's career. It was remarkable because, even after his death, it showed no signs of slowing down.

In the late 1970s and '80s, Cash's career descended into mediocrity and repetition. His longtime home, Columbia Records, dropped him. He endured a short, unsuccessful stint at Mercury Records, which saw him re-recording many of his classics, a pointless and empty use of the great man's time. Cash was even reduced to appearing in a Taco Bell commercial. Sure, he guest-starred on a U2 track ("The Wanderer"), but cameos don't make for satisfying careers.

Then, a frighteningly bearded but beloved rock producer named Rick Rubin took notice. In 1994, Rubin signed Cash to his American Recordings label, and recorded an album of solo acoustic performances in Cash's living room. Simply titled American Recordings, it was a jolting return to form for Cash, both as a performer and songwriter. Blending strong new originals ("Drive On") and cleverly chosen covers (Nick Lowe's "The Beast in Me"), it was Cash's biggest success in years, and as good an album as he had ever made.

Cash and Rubin followed it up with Unchained, featuring Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and American III: Solitary Man. By the time of The Man Comes Around in 2002, Cash had finally started to sound his age. But that didn't stop the fourth installment of the series from becoming the most successful, selling over a million copies. It even got Cash back on the radio with his shattering cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt."

Cash died in September of 2003, less than five months after his beloved wife June. This left Rubin with a mountain of unreleased material, much of it recorded in Cash's final days. In 2006, Rubin issued American V: A Hundred Highways. It debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts, and featured Cash's final compositions, plus covers ranging from Gordon Lightfoot to Odetta. Listening to the album can be emotionally trying; not only are most of the songs about death, but Cash sounds frail, and his once-mighty voice wobbles and cracks.

But music is made to elicit an emotional response, and on that note, A Hundred Highways is a fitting tribute to Cash's long, hard life. Joaquin Phoenix ain't bad, but no actor could reproduce the dramatic punch of an artist knocking at death's door and making music this damn good.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by Johnny Cash
AVAILABLE ON: American V: A Hundred Highways; iTunes

ADDENDUM: People have asked what Rick Rubin looks like. You can Google it for yourself, but here's a pretty good approximation.

POSTHUMOUS ALBUMS: History's Most Ironic Band Name

2008-06-10T22:55:00.000-07:00

It is often said there's no better way to stay famous than dying. Death can intensify your legend, especially if it follows an extraordinary career, like that of John Lennon or Keith Moon. But sometimes, tragically, an artist will leave us at such an early stage in his or her career that their death becomes indistinguishable from their life. They're gone as soon as they've arrived.

Listening to the music of Joy Division, it's impossible not to think of the suicide of frontman Ian Curtis. Curtis suffered from epilepsy and depression, as well as a failing marriage. He hanged himself at the age of 24, soon before the group was to tour the U.S. The group's sophomore album, Closer, debuted in July of 1980.

Curtis and bandmates Stephen Morris, Peter Hook, and Bernard Sumner burst onto England's exploding punk scene in the late 1970s. The group released their first album, Unknown Pleasures, on an independent label in 1979. Curtis' voice, an off-putting combination of David Bowie and the HAL 9000 computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey, was the most striking component of their dark, brooding sound. Vocally, Curtis resembled his contemporary Tom Verlaine of the band Television, only much sadder.

Joy Division weren't exactly punk. Their music wasn't loud or nasty enough. But they were also too strange and glum to fit in with the New Wave. They were hugely influential to the goth-rock movement of the 1990s, for better or worse. Their work is somewhat reminiscent of the Doors, but far more despairing and minus the rock star sheen of Jim Morrison.

Even without traditional rock star charisma, there is something immensely moving about Curtis' performances, especially when you consider his fate. As critic Robert Christgau said, "It's his passionate gravity that makes the clumsy, disquieting music so convincing."

For a slightly fictionalized look at Curtis' life, check out Control, a highly acclaimed 2007 film by Anton Corbijn. Corbijn has some experience with depressed rock stars, having directed music videos for the likes of Nirvana. But more on them later in the week.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Passover" by Joy Division
AVAILABLE ON: Closer; iTunes

POSTHUMOUS ALBUMS: The Quiet One Has Something to Say

2008-06-09T10:59:00.000-07:00

Tupac Shakur has released more albums since his murder in 1996 than he did while he was alive. This makes him the most productive dead man since Paul McCartney, except he's actually dead. Record companies love dead artists because they still sell but they never complain about money. This week we spotlight albums released after their creators kicked the bucket.

George Harrison enjoyed a relatively quiet post-Beatles career. Though productive throughout the 1970s, with albums of wildly varying quality, he settled down in the '80s to record only sporadically. After a brush with cancer in the late 1990s, not to mention a brutal attack by a crazed Beatles fan (no, not that one), George decided to get back to work while he still could.

This meant finally putting the finishing touches on some songs he'd been tinkering with for a decade. George enlisted the help of his lookalike son Dhani, as well as old Traveling Wilburys buddy Jeff Lynne, to lay them down. When Harrison's cancer returned in 2001, the team worked feverishly to get as much work completed as possible. George, the youngest Beatle, died on November 29. After a break, Dhani and Lynne returned to the album, now called Brainwashed, and released it a year after George's passing.

George was ill during much of the album's production, and his voice is audibly weak in spots. But he also sounds more engaged and energized than he did on lesser records like Dark Horse and Somewhere in England. The album sounds fresh, rigorous, with a surprisingly restrained production considering Lynne, Mr. ELO himself, was involved. Guitars, ukuleles, and earthy harmonies swirl together gently to create the warmest album of Harrison's career.

It's also the second best solo disc Harrison ever cut. It's a lovely bookend to his first, and best, All Things Must Pass. It's a shame he had already used that title.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Any Road" by George Harrison
AVAILABLE ON: Brainwashed

WEIRD SEX: Or Maybe it Was Longfellow

2008-06-06T10:25:00.000-07:00

Frank Zappa is the weirdest guy in rock and roll history who didn't do drugs. Why would he need to? This is the man who, without the aid of chemicals, named his daughter Moon Unit, released an album called Weasels Ripped My Flesh, and played a bicycle as a musical instrument on The Steve Allen Show.

To close out Weird Sex Week, I'm going to let Mr. Zappa's eloquent lyrics speak for themselves. Please enjoy these as you prepare for your weekend:

Penis dimension
Penis dimension
Penis dimension is worrying me
I can't hardly sleep at night
'Cause of penis dimension

Do you worry?
Do you worry a lot?

No!

Do you worry?
Do you worry and moan . . .
That the size of your cock is not monstrous enough?

It's your penis dimension!
Penis dimension!

Until I researched this post, I thought Rudyard Kipling wrote "Penis Dimension." Learn something new every day.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Penis Dimension" by Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention
AVAILABLE ON: 200 Motels soundtrack

WEIRD SEX: David Gets Greedy

2008-06-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

David Crosby knows how to have fun, and he has the old liver to prove it. I really hope he doesn't have it in a jar somewhere to scare his grandchildren, like some horrific reenactment of the orange peel scene from The Godfather. But I wouldn't put anything past the old guy.

In 1967, Crosby and the Byrds recorded a daring menage a trois anthem called "Triad." Crosby's song was gentle, if not subtle. "You want to know how it will be/Me and her or you and me/But I don't really see/Why can't we go on as three?" A fair question. But Byrds leader Roger McGuinn saw plenty of reasons why they couldn't, and vetoed the song. He booted Crosby from the group shortly thereafter, and David had plenty of free time to let his freak flag fly.

"Triad" didn't languish in obscurity, however. The Jefferson Airplane quickly picked it up and included it on their Crown of Creation LP. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young also issued a version on their live album 4 Way Street. The Byrds' recording finally surfaced as a bonus track in the CD era.

Did Crosby's fantasy ever come true? Well, yes and no.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Triad" by the Jefferson Airplane
AVAILABLE ON: Crown of Creation; iTunes

WEIRD SEX: As Long as Randy Stays Clothed, It's Okay

2008-06-04T21:01:00.000-07:00

Most think of Randy Newman as the sarcastic, brutally funny auteur behind "Short People" and "I Love L.A." Youngsters and parents of youngsters might recognize him from his work on several Pixar films. But those who've studied his music closely know he's really just a sex freak.

In his five decades as a professional songwriter, Newman has covered a lot of ground. His favorite topic is bigotry, as espoused by his unreliable narrators. He's also written a great deal about God, and lack of belief thereof. But time and time again, he's come back to sex, with unsettling results. "A Wedding in Cherokee County" tells of a redneck honeymoon ruined when the bride laughs at the groom's "mighty sword." "Tickle Me" suggests some not-so-innocent foreplay. "Maybe I'm Doing it Wrong" is self-explanatory.

Newman's best song in this vein is "You Can Leave Your Hat On." In it, Newman invites an unnamed person to entertain him, with very specific instructions. It's kind of an adult-themed "Hokey Pokey." The song has been covered by many artists with different outcomes: Etta James (sexy), Joe Cocker (threatening), and Tom Jones (unintentionally hilarious), to name just a few.

But Randy's deadpan performance beats them all. "I know what love is," he sings, but he doesn't sound like he means it.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "You Can Leave Your Hat On" by Randy Newman
AVAILABLE ON: Sail Away; iTunes

WEIRD SEX: More Funny Hats

2008-06-03T21:53:00.000-07:00

In case you still doubt the power of music videos, consider this bit of unforgettable '80s camp: Devo's "Whip It." If you only heard the song, or read the lyrics, you might think it was just a goof on self-help cliches ("Shape it up/Get straight/Go forward/Move ahead"). The song is catchy enough, but not the sort of thing that would still register with a mass audience nearly 30 years later.

But I'm sure as soon as you read the song's title, your mind immediately went back to that awesomely creepy video, where Mark Mothersbaugh whips a woman's clothes off with a maniacal gleam in his eye. There are also some drunk cowboys, a blind Asian woman shooting a handgun, and the five members of Devo decked out in black turtlenecks and red pyramid hats. We all remember it, but watch it again anyway. You've probably forgotten how truly disturbing it is.

Thanks mostly to the subversive clip (directed by Devo bassist Gerald Casale), "Whip It" has endured. Most assume the song to be about sadomasochism, or masturbation, or huffing from cans of whipped cream. It's a testament to Mothersbaugh's versatility that he can write stuff like "Whip It" and the theme from TV's Rugrats. I can't imagine any of those toddlers brandishing whips on a dude ranch. But I'll bet he can.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Whip It" by Devo
AVAILABLE ON: Freedom of Choice; iTunes

WEIRD SEX: Do You Like My Tassel? It's New

2008-06-02T10:25:00.000-07:00

Since its inception, rock and roll has had a steady companion in sex. Rock has also had its share of weirdos. The result is perverted fun for listeners everywhere. We won’t get into the whole Led Zeppelin shark story, or the sad, Faulknerian saga of Jerry Lee Lewis. This week is dedicated to songs about, or inspired by, bizarre or shocking sexual cravings.

The guys from Steely Dan may look like child molesters now, but back in their ‘70s heyday, they just looked like lonely geeks who worked at Guitar Center. After a few lineup changes, masterminds Walter Becker and Donald Fagen surrounded themselves with the smoothest, most expensive studio musicians available. They patented a sound that was more cocktail lounge than CBGB, but always with a subversive, sardonic edge.

Sometimes things got a little strange. For reasons they probably don’t remember, Becker and Fagen composed a song called “The Fez,” about a fetish for a certain piece of middle eastern headgear. “No, I’m never gonna do it without the fez on,” Fagen moans. Just for Donald’s information, on the Sexy Hat Scale, the fez ranks somewhere below the propeller beanie and above “#1 Grandpa.”

Nobody ever looks good in a fez, with the possible exception of Jonathan Rhys-Davies. I guess it depends on what shoes you’re wearing. I’m thinking about this too much.

Please let me know if any of these entries sound like an old Steve Martin routine (“He wanted her to sing from her diaphragm!”). Steely Dan is weird, but things might get weirder later in the week. You know what that means: Randy Newman.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "The Fez" by Steely Dan
AVAILABLE ON: The Royal Scam; iTunes

BEST ROCK HARMONIES: Don't Call Him "Mr. Misery"

2008-05-23T11:21:00.000-07:00

The death of a minor hero is sadder than the death of a great one. We expect our great heroes to go. We expect the pomp and tributes and superlatives. It's a part-- the last part-- of every great hero's journey.

But when a minor figure dies, one you especially admired, it's hard. Most will ignore the news, having never heard of the departed. But it affects you, and you wish others would appreciate how much so. This is how I felt when Elliott Smith died in 2003. I had just become a fan of his work a year earlier, and it was a blow. As a lonely college freshman, his moving music was a great comfort, even more so than other masters of heartbreak like Jackson Browne and Roy Orbison.

The reason, I think, may be Smith's voice. By itself, it wasn't anything special. A cracking whisper, it seemed to struggle through most songs, as if he were about to cry or pass out or otherwise break down. But in harmony, he was his own sad choir. He could multitrack his way to angelic grace like almost nobody else.

Some have dismissed Smith's music as "depressing." This makes no sense. To paraphrase Roger Ebert, good art is never depressing, no matter how sad it may be. Bad art is what's depressing. While it was still beating, Elliott Smith sang his heart out. There's nothing depressing about that.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "I Didn't Understand" by Elliott Smith
AVAILABLE ON: XO; iTunes

BEST ROCK HARMONIES: That's Right: "Kokomo" Doesn't Count

2008-05-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday, I mentioned the uncanny harmonizing abilities of siblings. This phenomenon predates rock and roll by eons, stretching back to the Carter Family, the Andrews Sisters and beyond. But the greatest set of singing siblings in history were of the rock era, in the form of brothers from Hawthorne, California.

Carl, Dennis, and Brian Wilson sang together from the start. Brian would spend hours upstairs ("In My Room") teaching his younger brothers songs by the Four Freshman and the Lettermen. Teaming up with their cousin and a neighborhood friend, they became the Beach Boys, and did some of the best group singing in pop music history. And they were way less creepy-looking than the Everly Brothers.

As members of the group dropped out due to mental illness (Brian), death (Carl and Dennis), and lawsuits (anyone who isn't Mike Love), the Beach Boys name became diluted by hired guns and sidemen. The original lineup, augmented by Bruce Johnston, remains the only one I'll accept. I'm sorry, but if you weren't on Pet Sounds, you're not a Beach Boy. That means you, John Stamos.

The Beach Boys' creative peak, about 1966-'67, gets most of the attention, and rightly so. But their early stuff is fascinating, too. I'll never know where they got the idea to meld Chuck Berry rock and roll licks with the harmonies of ascot-wearing glee clubs. I can only thank them for having it.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Their Hearts Were Full of Spring" by the Beach Boys
AVAILABLE ON: Smiley Smile/Wild Honey; iTunes

BEST ROCK HARMONIES: Hope Ringo Brought Something to Read

2008-05-21T21:28:00.000-07:00

Love, the Beatles-themed Cirque du Soleil show currently dazzling midwestern tourists and curious stoners alike in Vegas, doesn't open with "Let it Be." It doesn't open with "Yesterday", "Hey Jude," or "Strawberry Fields Forever" either. The show's creators chose to kick things off with "Because," a haunting John Lennon ballad. It's a relatively obscure choice, or at least as obscure as a song from Abbey Road can be. It pains me to say it, but those French clowns were on to something.

The version of "Because" that appears on Abbey Road, for many years the only version available, is marked by a truly bizarre arrangement: electric guitar, bass, harpsichord, and Moog synthesizer. John, Paul, and George sang the lyric in three-part harmony, then overdubbed their parts twice more. According to legend, Lennon composed the song by reversing the chord progression of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." "Because" is a strange but vital segueway between "Here Comes the Sun" and Abbey Road's closing medley.

In 1996, the uneven but mostly wonderful Anthology set presented us with a striking a capella remix. With all the instruments stripped away, the exquisite nine-part vocal track can be heard in perfect detail. You can actually hear the lads inhale before each line. It's heavenly, spine-tingling stuff, arguably the band's finest vocal performance. (With honorable mentions going to "If I Fell" and "Nowhere Man.")

Ever wonder why these guys get so much attention? Get two friends and try to sing an F#m6 chord.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Because" by the Beatles (remix)
AVAILABLE ON: Anthology 3

BEST ROCK HARMONIES: Family Ties

2008-05-20T21:53:00.000-07:00

Truly great harmony singing is rare. It requires a special combination of voices coming together to become more than the sum of the combined singers. It doesn't require every member to have a great voice, but it does demand a special chemistry not every band can muster. Practice helps. So does having a great ear. Or you can just sing with your relatives.

It's uncanny, but kin are the best harmonizers. There will be other examples later in the week, but today we focus on a group of sisters from Oakland, California. June and Bonnie Pointer began performing together in the late 1960s, then remembered they had two more sisters poking around somewhere, and the foursome quickly secured a contract with Atlantic Records. The Pointer Sisters' chart success began with a cover of Allen Toussaint's "Yes We Can Can" in 1973 and continued for the next couple of decades.

You may remember them for their cheesy 80s hits "I'm So Excited" and "He's So Shy." But the Pointer Sisters of the early to mid 1970s adhered more closely to the jazz, country, and rhythm and blues they absorbed growing up. (Their mother was no fan of rock and roll, except Elvis Presley, because he sang nice gospel songs for his mama.) One of their biggest early hits was "Fairytale," a straight country ballad penned by sisters Anita and Bonnie. The King himself covered that one.

The sisters' mellifluous harmonies shone in any genre. Their singing was strong, soulful, and tight as the strands of DNA they shared. They were equally comfortable covering Willie Dixon and Bruce Springsteen. They will go down in history as the funkiest women to ever come out of Oakland. This includes Gertrude Stein.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Shaky Flat Blues" by the Pointer Sisters
AVAILABLE ON: That's a Plenty; iTunes

BEST ROCK HARMONIES: Joe Walsh Wrote a Book, Too, But He Lost It, Man!

2008-05-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

Former Eagles guitarist Don Felder has just published a book, Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles (1974-2001). Felder is sort of the Mick Taylor of that band; neither an original nor current member, his contributions were nonetheless important. The co-author of "Hotel California," Felder provided graceful-yet-muscular lead guitar that toughened the group's sound without surrendering beauty or subtlety. As for his book's title, I assume being present at the recording of something as badass as "Victim of Love" is filed under "Heaven," while listening to Don Henley's lectures on recycling fits squarely under "Hell."

Seeing Felder's book on the shelf inspired this week's topic: Best Rock Vocal Harmonies. What better way to begin than with the Eagles? It is not, and has never been, hip to be an Eagles fan. It's also frustrating to hear the same dozen songs being flogged to death on classic rock radio. But any group that writes so many top-notch tunes, plays so flawlessly, and harmonizes so effortlessly has to have something going on, even if it's ironically name-checked by Steely Dan.

The tastiest slice of the group's harmony singing is "Seven Bridges Road," a track from Eagles Live. Though not an original, the song is almost perfectly suited for the band's unique (but always familiar and comforting) vocal blend. Just listen to how all five voices stay in unison until, at the end of "like some lonesome child," they break apart, leaving Henley's poignant wail briefly alone. As singers, it's their masterpiece.

Like all Eagles live recordings, this one was heavily overdubbed and perfected in the studio. I know I've broken some hearts just now, but you shouldn't really care. What we're left with is so gorgeous, it doesn't matter if it was completed via FedEx because the members could no longer stand to be in the same studio space at the same time. Wow, with all that juicy band tension, it's amazing somebody didn't write a book sooner.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Seven Bridges Road" by Eagles
AVAILABLE ON: Eagles Live; iTunes

ALBUMS THAT GOT SCREWED: They Found Themselves in Times of Trouble

2008-05-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

To close out Albums That Got Screwed Week, I've chosen a record that has never been released. We're all familiar with the Beatles' Let it Be. Many of us are even familiar with the album's troubled history. In brief: the Beatles were falling apart, and decided to record an album live in the studio in the hopes of rekindling the excitement of their early days. It didn't work, and Phil Spector was brought in by John and George to overdub the hell out of the results. McCartney threw a fit, critics hated it, and the group broke up before it could even hit the shelves.

(Personally, I don't find Spector's contributions to be as horrifying as some. His graceful work on "I Me Mine" and "Across the Universe" sound just fine. He did go too far with the strings and choir he piled onto "The Long and Winding Road," but when you listen to the original track, it does sound awfully flat.)

What a lot of people don't know is that engineer Glyn Johns, later a superstar producer, attempted to shape the basic tracks into an album before Spector was brought in. The album Johns wanted to compile was the anti-Sgt. Pepper's; it was raw and a little sloppy, much like some of the songs it contained, namely "Don't Let Me Down." It was a simple, unpretentious rock and roll album. Twice Johns presented the group with a potential track listing, painstakingly culled from hundreds of hours of tape. Both times they rejected his proposal.

So the Glyn Johns version of Let it Be will never be heard. Some of the unadorned original recordings popped up on the Anthology, others on Let it Be... Naked, which was closer to Johns' vision but with a very different track listing. Johns later became famous for his work with Led Zeppelin and the Eagles, and was even mentioned briefly in the film Almost Famous. But I'll bet it still burns him up that his version of Let it Be never saw the light of day. And the title probably doesn't bring him any comfort.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Don't Let Me Down" by the Beatles
AVAILABLE ON: Past Masters Vol. 2

ALBUMS THAT GOT SCREWED: What's Big and Purple and Torments Captain Ahab?

2008-05-01T21:43:00.000-07:00

The story of Moby Grape is one of rock's great cautionary tales. It involves so many elements a great Tragic Band Saga has to have, including a greedy manager, incompetent executives, and mental illness. Before they were completely undone, though, the Bay Area's Moby Grape did manage to complete one underheard classic: their self-titled 1967 debut.

Moby Grape was a hugely promising young band. So promising, in fact, that Columbia Records promoted them with the unusual stunt of releasing five singles at once. It backfired, and the singles sank. The group's disappointing second album further led to accusations of empty hype. Unstable lineups and LSD-related breakdowns followed, until the group finally gave up sometime in the mid 1970s.

Moby Grape made one of the greatest debut albums of all time, and were rewarded with obscurity. Guitarists Jerry Miller, Peter Lewis and Skip Spence, drummer Don Stevenson, and bassist Bob Mosley all wrote and sang, and they all did it pretty well. Miller and Stevenson's "8:05", along with Spence's "Omaha," became country-rock cult classics and inspired dozens of covers. The album is so good, even its minute-long novelty "Naked if I Want To" works. (Inexplicably, the band reprised the song on a later album, a sign of a creative nose dive if there ever was one.)

It was Spence who lost his wits to LSD. Since he was a former member of the Jefferson Airplane, nobody should have been surprised. Though the group had plenty of singing and songwriting talent, they had lost their creative rudder, and never recovered from his bad trip. In later years, the group would wrangle over ownership with their former manager, and were even reduced to gigging under the name Maybe Grope, which is very funny and terribly sad. But they left behind one album as good as any by their contemporaries the Buffalo Springfield or the Grateful Dead, and we all owe it to ourselves to give it a spin. And tell two friends.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "8:05" by Moby Grape
AVAILABLE ON: Moby Grape; iTunes

ALBUMS THAT GOT SCREWED: With Brian in Bed, is it Al Jardine's Time to Shine?

2008-04-30T23:39:00.000-07:00

It would be a shame, during Albums That Got Screwed Week, not to mention Brian Wilson's Smile. Smile is best known as the album that Wilson lost his marbles trying to make, while his fellow Beach Boys and Capitol Records waited impatiently for the genius to come up with something. Wilson recorded the album in bizarre fragments and spent months trying to make them fit together, a puzzle his LSD-addled mind couldn't quite make sense of.

So, then, Smile was screwed by its own troubled creator, not by a record company. But I've always wondered why some helpful person- a bandmate, a concerned record exec- didn't check the clearly schizophrenic Wilson into a mental hospital. The man actually thought Phil Spector was bugging his room to steal ideas. And we all know it's crazy to think Phil Spector could ever do anything illegal.

Wilson and lyricist Van Dyke Parks did finally finish Smile in 2004. The results were wondrous, but, frustratingly, not as fascinating as the fragments of the original Smile that have trickled out over the years. Many have been bootlegs, although the Beach Boys did officially release a few of the album's tracks in the late 1960s and early 1970s. They are beautiful, strange, and feature Wilson at the peak of his vocal talents. For all the poignancy his ragged voice now carries, it no longer achieves the choirboy perfection it used to. I guess dealing with record companies and Mike Love for forty-five years will do that to anyone.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Heroes and Villains" by the Beach Boys (original version)
AVAILABLE ON: Sounds of Summer: The Very Best of the Beach Boys; iTunes

ALBUMS THAT GOT SCREWED: Mayday

2008-04-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a tricky one for any accounting department: how do you explain your company giving something away, then buying it back? The good folks from Warner Brothers are probably still scratching their heads over that one. But it worked out in the end, because Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot has gone gold.

Back in 2001, Wilco were just a scrappy alternative band out of Chicago that had charmed the critics (and Nora Guthrie) but had failed to find a large nationwide audience. After they finished work on their highly experimental new album, Warner Brothers rejected the tapes, claiming the new material to be uncommercial. Finally, Wilco asked to be released from their contract. Warner Brothers offered to sell the YHF master tapes to the group for $50,000. This bit of pointless greed brought the company some mighty negative press, and they eventually agreed to let Wilco have the rights, providing the band got lost.

While the band contemplated their next move, Wilco fans began flooding the MP3 world with poor-quality bootlegs of the new material. Wilco decided to release the entire album on their website, and it became a great success. Soon Nonesuch Records, a division of Warner Brothers, signed the band, boughtthe album and released it to great acclaim and success.

I have to admit, I didn't fall in love with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot at first. I thought Jeff Tweedy and right-hand man Jay Bennett (who quit after the sessions were complete) had gone too far. Too much ambient noise. Too many long, spaced-out interludes. But it grew on me, and I eventually came to appreciate the album's strangely cohesive weirdness. Tweedy has described this approach as giving the album "space," instead of making it a compact, too-tight collection of songs.

Warner Brothers should just be glad they still have Wilco in their family. They've proven to be one of rock's most popular live acts, and their last two studio albums have debuted in the top ten. Not commercial? Who says?

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Jesus Etc." by Wilco
AVAILABLE ON: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot; iTunes

ALBUMS THAT GOT SCREWED: Not to Be Confused With the Album by Pink Floyd (That One Made a Profit)

2008-04-28T00:38:00.000-07:00

If record company executives made all the music, nobody would want to listen to it. And if artists made all the business decisions, every new release would be a double album that cost $4.6 million to record. It seems these two groups are just going to have to find a way to get along, because they need each other. (For a particularly one-sided view of this relationship, consult Willie Nelson.)

This week we're going to highlight some particularly dumbass moves by record companies over the years. Some of the best albums ever made almost never made it to release, either because the suits didn't get it or because greed got in the way.

Badfinger were victims of the latter. In 1974, after a series of smash hit singles ("Come and Get It," "No Matter What," "Day After Day") the group teamed up with producer Chris Thomas to record Wish You Were Here. The album was a blast of catchy power pop, a reminder that the genre hadn't died with the Beatles. It was their best work. Too good, in fact, to get into the hands of record buyers.

The album was released, but was almost immediately pulled because of a lawsuit between Warner Brothers Records and the group's shady manager, Stan Polley. This began the chain of events that brought Badfinger to a tragic end. Guitarist Pete Ham and bassist Tom Evans both committed suicide in the decade that followed, and the surviving members traded lawsuits for many more years. Wish You Were Here has never been released on CD in the U.S.

But thanks to our best buddy iTunes, you can enjoy the whole thing for $8.91. Any fan of great pop music shouldn't think twice about the purchase. Let's hope none of that money goes into the hands of Stan Polley and his ilk.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Meanwhile Back at the Ranch/Should I Smoke" by Badfinger
AVAILABLE ON: Wish You Were Here; iTunes

RARE DISEASES: Too Soon!

2008-04-25T23:03:00.000-07:00

To wrap up this weeklong discussion of rare diseases, I thought of stretching it a little. "Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie-Woogie Flu", for instance. Or I was going to go with alcoholism. The medical community agrees it's a disease, but if half of the Who can have it, it can't really be that rare. At one point, I was just going to list all of the things that are wrong with Ozzy Osbourne.

But I'm going to go the sentimental route and highlight Danny Federici, the recently departed keyboardist for Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band. He provided the memorable organ part from "Hungry Heart," as well as the accordion solo on "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)." Federici's contributions never stole the show, and they weren't supposed to. The chemistry he shared with pianist Roy Bittan made for a thick, seamless sound, full of virtuosity but not its usual ego. Their partnership was not unlike the one enjoyed by The Band's Garth Hudson and Richard Manuel. (Manuel was an alcoholic, but we've already decided that doesn't count towards the theme.)

Thom Zimny's documentary Wings for Wheels: The Making of 'Born to Run' fascinatingly deconstructs that album's title track to show the dozens of layers that make up the song. Federici's glockenspiel part, which sounds odd out of context, fits perfectly into the Phil Spectorish blend of raucous noise "Born to Run" became. It's a unique touch you'd never notice, but you'd miss if it weren't there.

Federici died on April 17 from melanoma. My friend Jeff, a Springsteen fanatic, could tell you exactly which songs feature which Federici licks and what he was thinking while he played them. But it's more fun if we all listen and find out for ourselves.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
AVAILABLE ON: The River; iTunes

RARE DISEASES: Heart of Gold; Immune System Leaves Something to Be Desired

2008-04-24T20:42:00.000-07:00

Today's post is a little more cheerful than the others so far this week, if only because its subject isn't dead. Yet.

Neil Young is an artist of such creative resilience, it's surprising to learn how many times he's come close to death, and not for the usual rock star reasons. As a child, Young was diagnosed with diabetes. Then he survived polio. Years later, pushing 60, Young suffered a brain aneurysm, which was corrected with two surgeries (the first one didn't take). All of this, and he's breathed the same air as David Crosby for four decades. How is he still able to stand under his own power?

The rest of Young's family hasn't gotten away unscathed. His father, Scott, who was sort of the Ron Burgundy of Toronto, suffered senile dementia. Young also has two sons with cerebral palsy.

Did I promise this post would be more upbeat? Then I should mention Young's remarkable work with the Bridge School. For over twenty years, Young has invited his rock star friends to perform with him to raise money for special needs education. The concert is held every year and is typically an eclectic affair. Last year's show featured Metallica, Tom Waits, and Jerry Lee Lewis.

I've made it this far, and haven't talked about Young's music. You may think Young's voice sounds like somebody rubbing two cats together, but I don't care. Try and find someone else to sing "Old Man" with the same pathos and dark intensity. You can't.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Cowgirl in the Sand" (live acoustic), by Neil Young
AVAILABLE ON: Live at Massey Hall 1971; iTunes

RARE DISEASES: I'm Sure Marvin Was a Complete Gentleman

2008-04-23T20:54:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I came across a photo of Motown legend Tammi Terrell labeled, "Tammi Terrell in her early years." Terrell died at 24. I would argue they were all early years.

Terrell is best known for her magnificent duets with Marvin Gaye, who, apparently, liked women. Her voice, sweet but powerful, brought out the best in her famously randy partner. Her death rattled him so much that he went into seclusion for over a year, emerging finally with What's Going On.

No amount of cheesy movie soundtrack appearances (or wretched Diana Ross covers) can dull the thrill of hearing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." That song, along with "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing," seems to enforce the theory that the worse the grammar, the better the tune.

Terrell might have had a great career outside of her partnership with Gaye. She just ran out of time. She died of a malignant brain tumor, leaving behind a few solo recordings and three albums with Gaye. Her early years were very productive.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "You Ain't Living Until You're Loving," by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
AVAILABLE ON: 20th Century Masters: The Best of Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell; iTunes

RARE DISEASES: Now He Can Do Those Things in Denver

2008-04-22T22:18:00.000-07:00

It's amazing Warren Zevon lived as long as he did. Not just because of the substance abuse problems, but the man also loved to tempt fate. Songs like "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" and "My Ride's Here," about a hearse, encourage even the listener to knock on wood. He also had a lot of guns and hung out with Hunter S. Thompson. Death finally told him to knock it off and took Warren at the age of 56.

Like fellow ironist Randy Newman, Zevon is often praised for his wry, sardonic writing. "Werewolves of London" isn't the work of a man who takes anything too seriously. But like Newman, Zevon's tender side is underappreciated. Though he may sound like he's joking, I believe Warren shows some real sympathy for his subject (Marilyn Monroe) in "The French Inhaler." "Mutineer" and "Accidentally Like a Martyr" also show a serious, mature writer, incapable of cliches but full of genuine emotion.

Zevon died of mesothelioma, a form of lung cancer, in 2003. "I may have made a tactical error in not going to a physician for 20 years," he told David Letterman shortly before he succumbed. Characteristically, he balanced out the wisecracks by writing "Keep Me in Your Heart," one of his most heart-wrenching songs. There was plenty of tenderness left on the block.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Keep Me in Your Heart" by Warren Zevon
AVAILABLE ON: The Wind; iTunes

RARE DISEASES: When He Was Stronger

2008-04-21T23:01:00.000-07:00

This week, for sheerly morbid reasons, we will be celebrating rare diseases in rock and roll. Whether musicians fell victim, or just waxed poetic, we'll explore the role of these afflictions in some of our favorite music.

At the end of Wes Anderson's film Rushmore, Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman) hands a record to a party DJ in the hopes it will liven things up. The record is "Ooh La La" by one of Britain's most influential bands, Faces.

Originally called the Small Faces (they had to change their name when they finally added a member over 5'8"), the rowdy Brits scored a number of successful singles, including the Oasis-inspiring "Stay With Me" and "Cindy Incidentally." Faces launched the careers of lead singer Rod Stewart and guitarist Ron Wood, who later became the youngest Rolling Stone, which is sort of like being the world's prettiest warthog. Rounding out the lineup were Ian McLagen on keyboards, Kenney Jones on drums, and Ronnie Lane on bass.

Lane was the elfin heart and soul of the band. His most enduring contribution is as co-writer (with Wood) of "Ooh La La." Though I like Wood's ragged, Dylanesque take on the song, Lane's post-Faces rendition gives it the right amount of sweet wistfulness.

Lane was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1977. He moved to Texas, where he continued to perform almost until his death in 1997. The following year, young Max Fischer brought his music back to cinematic life.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Ooh La La" by Faces
AVAILABLE ON: Ooh La La; iTunes

FLORIDA: He Sure Could Sing

2008-04-18T09:52:00.000-07:00

Gram Parsons, like Citizen Kane and Netflix, is actually deserving of the praise he receives. Founder of the International Submarine Band and the Flying Burrito Brothers, nominal but essential member of the country-era Byrds, and Keith Richards drug buddy, Parsons' short discography has made him a pinup boy for slobbering rock critics everywhere.

And why shouldn't it? The man wrote "Hickory Wind," rescued the Byrds from irrelevance during his four-month guest appearance, and introduced us to Emmylou Harris. He did it all without reaching his 27th birthday.

It's funny that Parsons' music has been labeled "country rock," when the only thing rock about it is his haircut. Ben Ratliff of the New York Times has suggested that the only difference between Merle Haggard and his druggier descendants is the aggressiveness of their drummers. This may be true of the late troubadour's live performances (recently captured on Live at the Avalon Ballroom 1969), but his studio recordings are a mellower, twangier affair. They're more country than anything you'll hear on contemporary country radio.

Parsons' voice could wobble and wander off key here and there, carrying equal doses of sweetness and hurt. Born in Winter Haven, Florida, Parsons lost his father at age 12. Fifteen years later, we lost Gram. As fellow Burrito Bernie Leadon sang in "My Man": "...his song came from deep down inside/ You could hear it in his voice, and see it in his eyes."

And with our second Bernie Leadon name-drop of the week, we come full circle in our appreciation of Florida. Florida: a musical legacy almost as big as its insects.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "She" by Gram Parsons
AVAILABLE ON: GP/Grievous Angel; iTunes

FLORIDA: Bet You No One Ever Looked at the Bass Player

2008-04-17T07:45:00.000-07:00

First, let's be clear: there is no such person known as "Blondie." Unless you count the title character of a comic strip that everyone should have stopped reading in 1936. But with her peroxide halo, singer Debbie Harry sure fit the name of her famous band. As the 1970s faded, the acclaimed new wave act abandoned their edgier sound for something poppier and more radio-friendly, even embracing disco ("Heart of Glass") and hip-hop ("Rapture"). The latter proved that if you rap as badly as Debbie Harry, you damn well better look like Debbie Harry.

But before that, on their first two albums, Harry and her cohorts rocked like the CBGB regulars they were. If you need further evidence of Miami native Harry's new wave/punk credentials, she went on to appear in a failed Broadway play with legendary provocateur Andy Kaufman. Remember: if it's not profitable, it's punk.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "X Offender" by Blondie
AVAILABLE ON: Blondie

FLORIDA: When Gregg Allman Thinks You Drink Too Much, You Have a Problem

2008-04-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

The Allman Brothers Band formed in Macon, Georgia. The eponymous siblings hailed from Nashville, drummers Butch Trucks and Jai Johnny Johanson were from Florida and Mississippi, respectively, and second guitarist/vocalist Dickey Betts was born in West Palm Beach. Maybe this is how the group so effortlessly mastered, you could even say designed, southern rock as we know it. They assembled the most diverse group of white, Christian, long-haired southerners possible.

Though known for their interminable jams, which are either tedious or awesome, depending on how stoned you are, the group possessed some sharp songwriting skills. Many of their most memorable pop hits came courtesy of Betts. The Florida-born guitarist composed "Ramblin' Man," "Jessica," and "Blue Sky." After the 1971 death of lead guitarist Duane Allman, Betts assumed more leadership of the group, and was the driving creative force behind the classic album Eat a Peach.

Betts was booted from the band in 2000 after years of conflict with Gregg Allman. He continues to tour and remind people of who he is.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Blue Sky" by the Allman Brothers Band
AVAILABLE ON: Eat a Peach; iTunes

FLORIDA: He Wants to Push Me Down? Let's See Him Try

2008-04-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

The last turn of a century provided us with some of the most boring rock music not created in Tom Scholz's basement ever. "Alternative rock", the ridiculously-named genre created to explain the likes of Nirvana and Soundgarden, had sputtered and nearly died. This is the era that gave us Creed, the band that pulled off the remarkable feat of being both overblown and mind-numbingly dull. We also got groups with names like Third Eye Blind and Vertical Horizon; names that make you think for a second, and then make you mad you thought about them.

One of the most massively successful groups of this era was Orlando's own Matchbox 20. Though their music could fall victim to the alternative rock blandness du jour ("If You're Gone"), I always felt the songwriting of leader Rob Thomas was a cut above. It doesn't take a lot to be better than Eve 6, but it's something, and Matchbox 20 were able to craft some memorable tunes.

Thomas' voice was another reason they stood out. His rich, slightly raspy bellow could sound both soulful and hard-edged, sensitive and angry. It's the same voice that lead Santana's "Smooth" to three Grammy awards, and earned it a place in the Don't Hate it Just Because It's Played to Death Hall of Fame. (First inductee: "Hotel California.")

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Mad Season" by Matchbox 20
AVAILABLE ON: Mad Season; iTunes

FLORIDA: But What Inspired His Cameo in "The Postman"?

2008-04-14T00:08:00.000-07:00

This week we turn our attention to the Sunshine State. Florida is home to such spectacular attractions as Disneyworld, Seaworld, and of course, the Burt Reynolds and Friends Museum. Most think of Florida as a giant, obscenely-shaped resting home for America's infirm. This is unfair. It is also miserably hot and the elections are rigged.

Our sweaty southern belle does have one virtue, though: Florida has been an important contributor to rock and roll music. Southern rock wouldn't be the same without some of Florida's native sons and daughters. I use the term "southern rock" here instead of the oft-uttered "country rock" because "country rock" ignores the influence of blues and gospel music that informs so much of the music of the American south. I can't imagine Elvis Presley without the influence of Hank Williams, but his existence would be even harder to explain without Arthur Crudup or the Blackwood Brothers.

Speaking of the King, we begin our musical tour of Florida with one lucky kid from Gainesville. When production on one of Presley's many interchangeable star vehicles came to nearby Ocala, a skinny 11-year-old named Thomas Earl Petty was, via a well-connected uncle, allowed to visit the set and meet briefly with Elvis. Afterwards Petty was, in his own words, "a changed man," and decided that being like Elvis Presley was a reasonable goal for even the most large-toothed of Floridian children. And the title of the Elvis flick that made it all happen? Follow That Dream.

14 years later, Tom Petty's band Mudcrutch relocated to Los Angeles, only to dissolve. Petty soon formed a new band, the Heartbreakers, with Mudcrutch alums Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench, plus fellow Florida evacuees Ron Blair and Stan Lynch.

The Mudcrutch story has another chapter, though. On April 29, a reunited Mudcrutch will release their self-titled debut LP. The album features Petty, Campbell, Tench, drummer Randall Marsh and guitarist Tom Leadon (brother of Bernie, of Eagles fame). A brief tour will accompany the band's reunion. So far, no Florida dates have been set.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Up in Mississippi Tonight" by Mudcrutch.
AVAILABLE ON: Tom Petty's Playback boxed set