Graham Parker & the Rumour Perform ‘Black Honey’
Listen to this track by pub rock heroes Graham Parker & the Rumour. It’s the contemplative “Black Honey” as taken from the band’s 1976 album Heat Treatment
Parker was a key figure in British pub rock, inspired by Dr. Feelgood and American soul music, with a splash of Bob Dylan for good measure. His sound takes in all of that, plus later to incorporate reggae and even country music. His band The Rumour were all notable players, and one of the best live acts in the circuit, known for their mastery over a wide range of styles. As such, Parker’s considerable songwriting capacity was given free rein.
And this is one of my favourite songs of his, full of soulful contemplation and world weariness. His vocal is a rough instrument, yet infused with emotional connectedness that gives the song real impact. “Black Honey” frames Parker as a songwriter of note, offering something beyond the usual crowd-pleasing fare when it came to his contemporaries, some of which would come into their own during ensuing years (Squeeze, Ian Dury & the Blockheads, Elvis Costello, The Stranglers, and others).
Pub rock was the rough British equivalent to the early New York punk scene, yet was not punk in the truest sense of the word. All of the bands prided themselves on a key area that many punks would shun, to wit: an ability to play very well. This aspect of the scene is well exemplified on this track, and on the rest of Parker’s early material. An overt acknowledgment of the debt rock ‘n’ roll has to American roots music, including soul is another marker of the scene. This can certainly be heard on ‘Black Honey’ with the Steve Cropper-esque guitar, the moaning Hammond organ, and even in Parker’s delivery with an almost gospel approach to the phrasing.
One of the things that can be viewed as a parallel to punk of course is a back-to-basics approach to performance, a reaction perhaps to the lofty ambitions of progressive rock which came out of the early 70s. This certainly plays to Parker’s strengths, a songwriter looking to put across songs, rather than a series of chances to impress an audience with instrumental prowess. And yet, with this emphasis, he and the Rumour impress anyway, with a live sound that made them something of the British equivalent to Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers who were enjoying parallel success in America at the time.
For the most part, Elvis Costello would steal Parker’s thunder on the world stage, coming out of the same scene and part of a sort of angry young man new wave triumvirate with another writer and performer, Joe Jackson . But, Graham Parker would put out solid album after solid album from the mid-70s to the present day, a respected rock craftsman of singular talent and range to be ulimately compared to no one.
For more information about Graham Parker, check out the Graham Parker MySpace page.
Enjoy!
Frank Black Sings ‘I Burn Today’
Here’s a clip of former Pixies belter Frank Black (aka Black Francis, kids) with a track from his 2005 Honeycomb
Frank Black has been positioned as one of the fathers of grunge, inspiring Kurt Cobain among other grunge icons, and modeling a key sonic ingredient of that scene – the quiet verse with loud chorus. Yet, despite Black’s pedigree as a shouty, indie rock god, he was as interested in roots rock. And this album, his eleventh and recorded within a span of days, certainly puts that passion for soul and folk music on display. This particular tune is deeply in Dylan country, although perhaps it’s more Nashville Skyline
While in Nashville, Black recorded with luminary musicians that included Spooner Oldham, Steve Cropper, Dan Penn, and Chester Thompson, among others. And in addition to the originals he laid down, he also took time to record unexpected cover versions of the James Carr classic ‘the Dark End of the Street’, ‘Song of the Shrimp’ an Elvis Presley movie tune as recorded by Townes Van Zandt, and Doug Sahm’s ‘Sunday Sunny Mill Valley Groove Day’, possibly to culturally orientate himself to his Southern surroundings. Nashville is a rock ‘n’ roll and country Mecca, afterall, a cultural hub from which springs all manner of strains of popular song.
Yet, Black would show himself to be a formidable songwriting talent in this context as well as any other. And what a song this is, full of sadness and pathos, and a far cry from the feral wail of his Pixies days. Perhaps a part of it is that he had so many musicians to impress in a short time period. But on this song and the rest of the album, it’s as if Black had always been a roots musician, evident from the tender, acoustic lines of this song. And in addition to being heartfelt, I think what comes through in “I Burn Today” is Black’s ability to write any type of song, father of grunge or not.
That this is a break-up song is suggested in tone and also in the lines
“She said have fun/its time has come/hold my heart strings/and have yourself a strum/no, nevermore this song will we play/I burn today.”
Yet Black and then-wife Jean were going through a divorce, despite her presence on another track “Strange Goodbye”. And perhaps Black’s sojourn to the heart of American music was more than a stylistic one. Perhaps it was one of the soul, too.
For more information about Frank Black, check out Frankblack.net
Enjoy!
Elvis Costello & the Attractions Play ‘Riot Act’
Listen to this track, the closing song on 1980’s landmark Get Happy!! album
Picture the scene in a Columbus, Ohio hotel bar, with a well-in-the-bag Costello, along with Attractions bassist Bruce Thomas, as well as members of Stephen Stills’ band, including one Bonnie Bramlett. As such, we have something of the old guard in Stills’ party, argubly 60s hippy remnants at somewhat of a descending career arc by 1979. To contrast, Elvis Costello was being hailed as the future of rock ‘n’ roll, and as far away from Woodstock ideals as could be – at least on the surface.
Musicians being the competitive sort, and some being rather belligerent after a few beers, an argument ensued. And boy, did it get ugly. From People magazine’s archives:
“Bramlett, a longtime paladin of rhythm-and-blues whose backup bands once included heavies like Leon Russell, Duane Allman and Rita Coolidge, kept cool until, she says, Costello “called James Brown a jive-ass n*gger.” Next, according to an onlooker, “Bonnie said, ‘All right, you son of a bitch, what do you think of Ray Charles?’ He said, ‘Screw Ray Charles, he’s nothing but a blind n*gger.’ That did it. Bonnie backhanded him, slapped him pretty hard, because she’s a healthy chick.” (asterisks mine).
The result of this was a press conference in New York, with Costello on the carpet in front of a very disgruntled American music press. It also led to American radio banning of Costello’s music, and picketing at his remaining concert appearances. Costello explained to the press that he was drunk at the time, and feeling very much like he wanted the conversation to end. He explained that he was not a racist, but that he wanted to offend his assailants.
As such he very ill-advisedly decided to say the most offensive thing he could manage. At the time, he felt that since they were American musicians, it made sense to denigrate some of the giants in their field with the worst insults possible. “Had they been painters,” Costello said at the time, “I would have insulted Toulouse Lautrec”.
Yet, the whole thing seemed like a pall on the band when they got back to Britain, and subsequently recording Get Happy!! in Holland with the heavy atmosphere created by their experiences in Ohio, and the flak they took afterward. The Ray Davies-esque “Riot Act” seems like Costello’s way to decompress from it, infused with frustration over what had happened, as well as with some fear he felt over the possibility that the incident had derailed his career as a professional musician in America and everywhere else. “A slip of the tongue is going to keep me civilian” indeed.
His angry young man phase was nearly at an end, whether by circumstance or design. And this track showed that even if his judgment as a man was questionable where this incident was concerned, the work he was able to produce as an artist certainly was not. He would take the ambition of this track to the next level in ensuing years, particularly with his Imperial Bedroom
Enjoy!
Classic Rock: Corporate Magazines Still Suck, Don’t They?
This month’s contribution from author, music fan, and curmudgeonly pop culture critic Geoff Moore is all about the lost art of music journalism, back when music writers for Rolling Stone, Creem, and Trouser Press served as conduits to the ever-elusive future of rock ‘n’ roll. And where did that future take the music press, exactly? Find out here, good people!
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A recent trawl through the bargain shelves at the rear of our somewhat local Indigo store turned up a hardcover volume reprising some of the best editorial and graphic content from Creem, America’s defunct rock ‘n’ roll magazine. Boy Howdy! froths again between the covers of a coffee table glossy.
Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be, as Yogi Berra may or may not have said, but the book is a welcome addition to a library which includes two editions of The Rolling Stone Illustrated History of Rock & Roll, The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll, 20 Years of Rolling Stone and various special Rolling Stone publications on artists like the Who, the Stones and Bruce Springsteen. Somewhere amidst lives lived in Montreal, Edmonton and Calgary, the first edition of The Rolling Stone Record Guide (red cover) was foolishly lent, only to be lost. There’s even a book on the shelf about RS and its founder Jann Wenner, Robert Draper’s coolly objective Rolling Stone Magazine: The Uncensored History
Suffice to say, there was a time when one was as fanatical about the magazine as the records it reviewed. And unlike Creem and another long departed favourite, Trouser Press (which still exists in an abridged form in cyberspace), the self-venerating, former tabloid endures in a slicker, more compact, vanity format as surely as the Muddy Waters and Bob Dylan songs from which it lifted its namesake masthead.
Every single edition printed between 1975 and 1990 was devoured – the John Travolta Tarzan bikini bottom cover issue being the exception, just because, well, ick. Relatively current and authoritative sources of music news, gossip, insight and opinion were not overly prevalent in the pre-digital age and Rolling Stone’s content mattered as much as the music it described, even if the editorial gravitas was at times as laughably puffed up and self-referential as the egos of the stars on its covers. And then, like FM radio, it slid into the slimy corporate slough of the predictable and uninteresting.
Or maybe, one turns 30 and features on rap-metal acts and wacky ensemble sitcoms set mostly in coffee bars no longer fire the imagination. The familiar writers, Dave Marsh, Cameron Crowe, Paul Nelson, Chet Flippo, Kurt Loder, Timothy White, Greil Marcus et al had all moved on to other ventures. So David Fricke and Mikal Gilmore (brother of Gary who was the subject of Norman Mailer’s best book, The Executioner’s Song) aside, a byline on the cover meant something next to nothing to the lapsed, once loyal reader.
We are back together again and have been for a few years. The matchmaker was our niece who raises funds for her school by selling ludicrously discounted magazine subscriptions, a welcome change from chocolate covered almonds and frozen chubs of cookie dough, although one quietly wishes young people were permitted to hawk cigarettes and beer.
The world is an imperfect place; rock ‘n’ roll was supposed to change all that, wasn’t it? Anyway, a familial obligation was met on the dime of traditional media, which has been smoked at a level crossing by a high speed train anybody can ride for free. Good Housekeeping did not appeal even though there eventually comes a time in life when your average mortgaged homeowner would rather emulate Heloise than Keith Richards.
The renewed relationship has had few sparks. Have you ever paid a dollar or two to see a hit film in a repertory theatre months after its first run and then felt ripped off despite the meagre cash outlay? Wayne’s World springs to mind. Four out of every five issues of Rolling Stone are like that too, as one of us strives to remain hip and in the now while the other mutters to the dozing tabby tomcat about the terminal mediocrity of the Montreal Canadiens, RRSP account statements swiped by Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and a retirement strategy that likely involves dropping dead at the office.
Jonas Brothers cover stories are of more interest to our 13-year-old subscription salesperson as opposed to the subscriber. In a recent cover feature a would-be starlet, younger than one’s dental fillings, opined that “men are afraid of powerful vaginas.” Perhaps she was referring to some sort of Tantric/Bond villainess clench. A disengaged reader could not be bothered to find out.
American Idol is a lowest common denominator, a pop culture abomination best left to the hacks at People magazine and Coca-Cola marketers. That Rolling Stone even reports on the show’s developments is one thing. That the magazine’s ingrained snootiness crumbles into slightly edgy PR fawning… There are no words and nor should there be in the pages of Rolling Stone.
‘Gonzo’ journalism, almost always political and one of the iconic foundations of the Rolling Stone’s carefully groomed, iconoclastic reputation, seems have devolved to merely describing any current neocon figure as “batshit crazy.” And that’s fine and probably true, but it’s facile, and worse, devoid of humour. Before he lost his mojo, many, many years before he ventilated his cranium, Hunter S. Thompson was an hysterically funny writer.
Rolling Stone magazine is a survivor and its fifth decade of publication is to be acknowledged as the content is not consistently wretched. We tend to reserve our rock ‘n’ roll affection for what’s been lost, for who’s been left behind as human wreckage, for what stayed the way it was for whatever reason. And so, we must prefer our coffee table with Creem.
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Geoff Moore is a writer from Montreal who is now based in Calgary. He likes music, hockey, beer, and chasing kids off of his lawn.
Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers Perform ‘Rockin’ Shopping Center’
Listen to this track by rock ‘n’ roll throwback eccentric Jonathan Richman and his band the Modern Lovers with their ode to the symbol of suburban gentrification. It’s ‘Rockin’ Shopping Center’, as taken from the band’s 1977 self-titled LP Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers.
There is perhaps a fine line between earnest songwriting and ironic songwriting. The great thing about Jonathan Richman is that you’re never really sure. With this tune, Richman asserts his approach that anything can be a subject of a song if you choose to write about it. And there is something innately endearing about this, and a lot of his other work that often sounds like wacked out children’s music written on the spot more so than planned out beforehand.
Yet, Richman’s music is clearly in the traditional rock ‘n’ roll tradition, with a stylistic nod to the Velvet Underground too, which makes Richman something of a forerunner to both punk and post-punk. Richman’s ‘Roadrunner’ would be a touchstone for punk rock bands from the mid-70s and onward.
I personally love this tune, perhaps because it evokes a landscape of my childhood, the ‘burbs where shopping malls were like little cultural Meccas, characterized as they are by little details that are not really noticed on any conscious level. Yet, Richman is able to connect just by bringing those details out. Much like kindred spirit Robyn Hitchcock, Jonathan Richman’s strength as a writer lies in his ability to avoid cliches, simply by writing about subjects that other songwriters don’t generally identify as topics for songs.
And often what comes out are statements that make a point, without necessarily being the intention of the song on its surface. On this one, the shopping center represents (maybe) the homogeneity of shopping malls, and the death of the main street in America. Or, maybe he’s just talking about a specific day he spent thinking about malls. Or, maybe one day he went shopping and this song popped into his head. And of course, it could be all three. His almost childlike approach to songwriting and performing is so disarming, that it almost pays better dividends not to worry too much about what the songs are supposed to mean, or what he intended when he wrote them.
For more information about Jonathan Richman, check out this Jonathan Richman MySpace page.
Enjoy!
The Bangles Perform ‘In Your Room’
Listen to this track by one-time Paisley Underground darlings and former Egyptian-walkers The Bangles. It’s their 1988 single ‘In Your Room’ as taken from their Everything
The Bangles, once known simply as the Bangs, and earlier as the Colours, flourished in the early 80s firstly on the L.A based Paisley Underground scene. That scene was loosely centered around guitar based power pop and neo-psychedelia as inspired by the 60s British Invasion sound, along with bands like the Three O’Clock, The Rain Parade, and the Dream Syndicate. But, once the 80s began in earnest, they became something of a hit machine, initially with “Going Down to Liverpool”, and then with “Manic Monday” (written by Prince), and the aforementioned ‘Walk Like An Egyptian”.
Despite the production on their albums which place them definitively in the 80s, the band still had roots in classic 60s guitar rock, which this track demonstrates most effectively. The band had showed their colours previously with a hard edged take on Simon & Garfunkel’s “Hazy Shade of Winter”, which sort of brought their Paisley Underground ethic into the mainstream.
With that earlier scene, it was clear that bands involved in it were looking to get back to basics. And even if the Bangles were known as pop writers that were very much a part of 80s mainstream chart acts, by the Everything album, and their biggest hit “Eternal Flame”, it was clear that their hearts were more in 1968 than 1988, although they somehow manage to embody the best of both eras.
Despite their success, the band broke up the following year, with each member taking on solo projects. Hoffs, among other things, played with Matthew Sweet on a collection of 60s cover albums along with solo albums of her own. And Vicki Peterson performed in a new band, the Continental Drifters as well as with the Go-Gos, a band after the Bangles own hearts, as a replacement member for keyboardist Charlotte Caffrey. Yet, they also managed to reunite by 2000, putting out a comeback record in 2003, Doll’s Revolution, with a cover version of Elvis Costello’s “Tear Off Your Own Head (A Doll’s Revolution)” providing the basis for the title.
For more information about the Bangles, check out the Bangles MySpace site.
Enjoy!
The Beach Boys Sing ‘Surf’s Up’
Listen to this track, a marvelous piece of orchestral pop, and indeed a fragment of a bona fide teenage symphony to god. It’s ‘Surf’s Up’ from the album of the same name from 1971, and recently coupled with 1970’s Sunflower album in a CD twofer, Sunflower/Surf’s Up
The song itself came out of the famously, or infamously if you prefer, aborted SMiLE album, which was to be Beach Boys leader Brian Wilson’s magnum opus, with the help of lyricist Van Dyke Parks. The vision for the album was certainly grand, with Parks’ lyrical architecture proving to be somewhat cumbersome to at least one group member. Lead singer Mike Love warned Brian ‘don’t fuck with the formula‘ upon which they had built their success during the first half of the 1960s, to wit: writing songs about cars, girls, and surfing.
Yet, Wilson’s proclivities for grand arrangements seemed to demand him to get past the confectionery pop of “Sufer Girl”, “I Get Around”, and “Little Deuce Coupe” among other hits, and into a more ambitious musical milieu. Van Dyke Parks seemed to be the perfect collaborator to help him get there, to Mike Love’s purported chagrin. The SMiLE LP, meant for a 1967 release, would never be completed. Yet, there were many fruits that came out of its ashes, including this track which was salvaged and re-arranged for this later release.
The Beach Boys, from left: Al Jardine, Brian Wilson, Dennis Wilson, Carl Wilson, and Mike Love (seated).
The song comes off like a suite, on this version led first by Brian’s brother Carl Wilson (who also served as the band’s musical director by the early 70s) with his famously angelic vocal range on the ‘Are you Sleeping Brother John’ sequence. Then, on the second ‘Dove nested towers …’ section, Brian himself takes the lead vocal, with a follow-up section ‘The Child is the Father of the Man’, actually another track from the original SMiLE sessions, tacked on to it. This section features the full range of what the Beach Boys had to offer as a vocal unit, which is no less than an approach to male harmony vocals that changed the face of pop music forever.
And that’s the thing that strikes me most about this; that the formula wasn’t really ‘fucked with’ at all. It had simply evolved. The primary Beach Boys elements were still well in place; the lush harmonies, the on-the-beat piano lines, and the sheen of child-like optimism that colours their whole body of work, and that makes them so beloved. By 1970-71, the Beach Boys were no longer boys at all. They’d grown up. “Surf’s Up” in that respect takes on a new meaning.
Brian Wilson of course would revisit the SMiLE project again in 2004, when he recorded an album based upon his original work in the 1960s. He would even take it on tour to an adoring crowd, happy in the knowledge that he’d inspired a whole new generation of admirers, some of which had started bands themselves in the Pet Sounds/SMiLE-era Beach Boys tradition.
For more about Brian Wilson, check out BrianWilson.com. You can even follow Brian Wilson on Twitter!
Enjoy!
Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians Play “My Wife and My Dead Wife”
Listen to this track, a Bowiesque tale of the supernatural, or maybe just another love song from a different angle. It’s Robyn Hitchcock and his then-new band the Egyptians with “My Wife and My Dead Wife” as taken from the 1985 album Fegmania!
Robyn Hitchcock was the former frontman for the Soft Boys, and had up until this record written songs that evoked an 80s take on 60s Psychedelia, a sort of British equivalent to the Paisley Underground scene in the States. But, he was as interested in David Bowie as much has he was in 60s psychedelia, mixing in glam with absurdism. By 1984 after three solo albums, he gathered together with former Soft Boys Andy Metcalfe and Morris Windsor to form Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians, a band that would last, in name at least, into the early 90s.
Hitchcock is known of course for his ability to write from unexpected vantage points, often judged as willfully weird, even if his abilities with writing pop hooks are as accessible as you’d like. The oddness is certainly front and centre here. But, the story here of a man with an unwelcome house guest – his former, in every sense, wife. But, is this a literal tale of a man and his new bride plagued by the spirit of his deceased wife? Or is this just an elaborate metaphor for a man who has remarried too soon, who has not let himself get over one love before pursuing another?
I like to think of this as an Anglicized take on the magical realism literary tradition, which allows for both things to be true. In this tradition, very popular in Central American fiction, a fantastical element like a ghost of a dead person is both literal and metaphorical, haunting the living as a literal ghost, but also at the same time as a memory, too. As such, what we’re getting here is a novel’s worth of drama wrapped inside a single song, something of a comic-tragedy. The narrator is a man in conflict, who can’t decide which wife he loves more – the one he’s with, or the one who haunts his memory.
It’s lighthearted, but somehow it’s sad. As wrapped up as it is in absurdity and irony, it paints an acccurate portrait of a lot of relationships, with the ghosts of lovers past floating in and out of them, uninivited. It’s these forces that often keep us from moving forward with the new person who is right in front of us, held as we are by the spirit of an old love that we somehow idealize instead.
For more about Robyn Hitchcock, check out the Robyn Hitchcock MySpace page.
Enjoy!
John Lennon Sings ‘Real Love’
Listen to this track, a lullaby from the Walrus who became John, recorded as a home demo while a househusband taking care of toddler Sean. Both Lennon’s were born on the same day – October 9th, 1940 and 1975 respectively. Happy birthday!
The song would of course provide the basis for a new Beatles song by the mid-90s, when the surviving Beatles gathered together in the studio with the help of producer Jeff Lynne, with John’s ghostly vocal underpinning the pop sheen that Lynne, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr built up around it. Unlike the wonderful “Free As A Bird”, the results are less of a success to my ears. I prefer John’s demo, which I originally heard on the Imagine : John LennonOriginal Soundtrack 
There’s very little known about John Lennon’s househusband period when compared to his former glory days. But, the sound of his voice here reveals a few things to me. One, that he was still interested in putting across songs, even if he was no longer interested in being in the limelight. I think he did it for his own amusement, and for sheer self-expression which is really evident to me here. His voice is hushed, as if he’s trying not to wake someone, which may have been the case since he was a full-time dad by this time.
And there is something else too; a certain brittle quality, which may be down to the demo quality of the track. But, I wonder if through song he was also working things out. In many ways, this is how Lennon had approached songwriting almost since he began, from “There’s a Place” to “I’ll Cry Instead” to “Help” to “God” to “Mother” and many other musical moments besides.
There would be the high gloss of Double Fantasy a few years after this recording od course, when he wore his love for Yoko on his sleeve once again (“Woman”), and his love for Sean, too (“Beautiful Boy”). But, this is late night John, after everyone’s gone to bed. It’s the sound of a guy singing for himself, pulling ideas out from his guitar, and out of his heart just for the joy of the activity itself.
It’s pure, it’s real, it’s love.
Enjoy!
Lyrics Born Performs “Callin’ Out”
Listen to this track by Japanese-born, American-raised hip hop messiah Lyrics Born. It’s “Callin’ Out”, a party tune with something of an inwardly-looking point of view, underpinned by a groove inspired by 70s funk as much as from modern hip-hop. The track is taken from 2003’s Later That Day…
When I first heard this at an office party of all places recently, I thought of both Parliament Funkadelic and DJ Shadow, just because of the unabashed funk approach, and with plenty of bottom in the Larry Graham sense of the word. And I thought “At last! A hip hop record that understands the importance of textural variety!” which is a common complaint of mine.
Another reaction was that Lyrics Born isn’t the only voice you’re hearing on this track, which is another important element of traditional funk. The best of the form always gathers multiple voices together, and make it sound like the most communal, community-oriented music in the world. And this one seems to take up that mantle quite nicely.
Third, because the sonic variety on this opens things up for the ear, I could really begin to appreciate the sheer vocal skill it takes to deliver material in this style, which is a combination of singing and rapping, one technique often intertwining with the other. And this is not even mentioning the breathing control it takes to pull off the phrasing in a number like this, which borders on the superhuman.
I have a lot of musical interests, yet I mostly feel shut out by hip hop. Yet, this track seems to welcome me in, by the sheer sweatiness of the groove, and by the vocal skill of Lyrics (born Tom Shimura) himself. My education continues!
To see and hear a selection of Lyrics Born tunes, check out the Lyrics Born YouTube playlist.
And of course, for more information on Lyrics Born, investigate the Lyrics Born MySpace page.
Enjoy!
