Contemporary blues artists mostly tend to fall into one of two categories. There
are those who are strictly bound by tradition, following either the Delta or
Chicago school of thought, with their individual and inevitable limitations.
Then there are those who genuflect at the altar of Stevie Ray, guitar heroes and
wannabes channeling the spirit of Jimi through endless blooze-rock exercises.
Otis Taylor, on the other hand, falls into neither category. A unique and
exciting artist following his own muse, Taylor infuses his music with life and
energy, odd instrumentation and rhythmic meter supporting his intelligent
lyrics.
Otis Taylor sounds like no bluesman you’ve ever heard
before. Perhaps it’s because Taylor spent almost 20 years outside of the music
industry, or maybe it’s because his musical education includes liberal doses of
both rock ‘n’ roll (playing with Tommy Bolin back in the day) and folk
(courtesy of the Denver Folklore Center). His songs blend elements of blues,
traditional folk, and rock music with erudite lyrics that often offer edgy social
commentary or historical morality tales recreated for a modern audience. The
resulting mix is invigorating, Taylor’s imaginative and sometimes-reckless
instrumentation satisfying your soul while his brilliant, thought-provoking
wordplay massages your brain.
Otis Taylor’s Double V
Double
V is Taylor’s second album for indie blues/jazz specialists Telarc and his sixth
effort since ending his self-imposed exile from music. The album is not entirely
unlike previous award-winning efforts such as White African or Respect the Dead,
although it is a bit more ambitious. With Double V, Taylor forsakes the potent
band that he’s used since returning to music. Using sparse instrumentation on
Double V to highlight each song’s vocals and lyrics, Taylor’s mix of guitar,
banjo and mandolin is supported by his daughter Cassie’s steady bass rhythm and
augmented by the odd horn or cello. Each song on Double V is thus provided its
own canvas, at times stark and at other times quite beautiful.
It’s
his songwriting on which Taylor has built his well-deserved reputation, and
Double V meet the high standard set by his earlier work. “Please Come Home
Before It Rains” offers an upbeat soundtrack as a sailor reads a letter from his
wife and reminisces of the things that he’s seen and the family that he misses.
“Mama’s Selling Heroin” is semi-autobiographical, dark instrumentation and
haunting vocals underlining the story of Taylor’s mother, serving as an allegory
for the pain and heartbreak that drugs have brought to the African-American
community. The ravages of poverty are explored on “Plastic Spoon,” an elderly
couple forced to choose between medicine and food, opting for cheap dog chow to
save money. Taylor tackles domestic abuse with “505 Train,” homelessness with
“Reindeer Meat” and the slavery-like imprisonment of African-Americans under the
U.S. justice system with “Sounds Of Attica.”
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
Lest you think that Double V is overly dour and depressing,
Taylor ends the album with the uplifting “Buy Myself Some Freedom.” Sung in an
ethereal whisper by daughter Cassie, this tale of a young girl searching for a
better life is filled with hope and dignity. It’s a fitting end to a solid
collection of songs that present reality as a minefield of tragedy, emotion,
and triumph over adversity. Even as it veers from tradition, Double V further
cements Taylor’s reputation as a great, groundbreaking bluesman of keen
insight and considerable vision. By redefining the sound of the blues, Taylor
is also extending the tradition beyond its Delta roots into the 21st century.
(Telarc Records, released May 21, 2004)
Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™, 2004
Six-string wunderkind Tommy Bolin made his bones as a teenager playing
with the blues-rock band Zephyr in Boulder, Colorado. Although he provided his
stellar fretwork to that band’s self-titled 1969 debut album (Bolin was only
18), his restless muse prompted the guitarist to leave the band shortly after
the release of their 1971 album, Going Back To Colorado.
Bolin subsequently forming the jazz-rock fusion outfit Energy (which never
recorded an album) before his immense talents would lead to high-profile gigs
with the James Gang and Deep Purple during the mid-to-late ‘70s. Bolin also
worked on sessions with fusion pioneers Billy Cobham (1973’s
Spectrum LP) and Alphonse Mouzon (1974’s Mind Transplant) and
provided guitar solos for Canadian hard rock outfit Moxy’s 1975 self-titled
debut.
When it came time for Bolin to record his first solo album,
1975’s Teaser, it was only natural that he’d infuse the performances
with elements of all of his disparate musical influences – hard rock, blues,
jazz fusion – with the results varying entirely on your taste for what Tommy
was dishing up. Recorded just prior to working on Deep Purple’s
Come Taste the Band, Teaser is, first and foremost, a showcase
for Bolin’s unique steel-string pyrotechnics. As such, it’s a somewhat schizo
affair, with the guitarist often changing stylistic directions even within a
song with whiplash accuracy.
Still, Teaser is an
entertaining, if uneven, collection of period rock ‘n’ roll. Album opener “The
Grind” is a boogie-flecked barrelhouse rocker with backing vocal harmonies,
rollicking instrumentation, and an overall ‘70s era musical sound and feel. By
contrast, “Homeward Strut” masterfully blends a hard rock soundtrack with
funky rhythms and a little jazzy swagger to create a lively instrumental with
definite New Orleans vibes. “Dreamer” skews a little too far into Elton John
territory for my taste, probably due to David Foster’s wimpy piano playing
while “Savannah Woman,” with its rhythmic Latin undercurrent, is a ‘yacht
rock’ attempt at making the charts better left to folks like Toto (whose Jeff
Porcaro plays drums on nearly every song on Teaser EXCEPT “Savannah
Woman,” where the stool is occupied by the Tubes’ Prairie Prince).
Thankfully,
the album’s title track mainlines some steroids with a hard rock soundtrack
upon which Bolin embroiders his fluid, razor-sharp guitarplay. The soulful
“People, People” displays Bolin’s emotional, albeit under-powered vocals, the
guitarist bringing in a bunch of jazz dogs like synth wizard Jan Hammer and
saxophonist Dave Sanborn to brass up the arrangement, which offers only the
slightest of six-string shadings. Bolin dives into the depths of jazz fusion
with “Marching Powder,” which brings in drummer Michael Waldon alongside
Hammer and Sanborn for a cacophonic instrumental that wouldn’t have been
out-of-place on a Cobham or Mouzon LP. Although the closer “Lotus” starts out
deceptively soft and kinda mushy, it soon powers up with a soaring guitar solo
before veering off again into more pastoral acoustic guitar strum and then
exploding once more with switchblade flash.
Much like the entirety
of Tommy Bolin’s too-short career (he would O.D. the following year after the
release of his sophomore effort, Private Eyes), the guitarist’s debut
album couldn’t figure out what direction it wanted to go, so instead it veered
all over the road. It makes for a thrilling, if somewhat unsatisfying ride,
but I’d still recommend either of Bolin’s solo albums for listeners looking
for a challenging perspective on guitar rock. (Nemporer Records, 1975)
Many think that the growing fascination with vinyl records by music lovers is nothing more than the hipster trend du jour. But as sales of vinyl LPs continues to grow from year to year and the major vinyl pressing plants expand their operations, it’s clear that the old fashioned record album isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Besides, if the so-called industry pundits and prophets took the time to talk to a few fans in the 15-25 year old demographic, they’d realize that there’s a growing dissatisfaction with modern music formats like crappy mp3 files. Young listeners just discovering their fave new bands are addressing this dissatisfaction by (re)turning to vinyl.
The major labels have begun to wise up somewhat, releasing a few classic titles on vinyl, trying to catch up with those forward-thinking indie labels that have been releasing new music in multiple formats for several years now. Jack White’s Third Man Records label has become a trend-setter in this regard with its dazzling array (and constant stream) of 45rpm records, live LPs, and vinyl blues reissues (Charley Patton, Blind Willie McTell, and the Mississippi Sheiks’ Paramount Records catalogs). The mainstream blues world has been underserved so far, an oversight that is somewhat redeemed by the release of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble’s Texas Hurricane on vinyl by Chad Kassem’s Analogue Productions.
Texas Hurricane
Vaughan’s Texas Hurricane is a six-album box set that revisits the beloved guitarist’s studio recordings, beginning with 1983’s Texas Flood and including the following year’s sophomore effort, Couldn’t Stand the Weather; 1985’s Soul To Soul; 1989’s In Step; 1990’s Family Style, a collaboration with brother Jimmie Vaughan; and The Sky Is Crying, an odds ‘n’ sods collection of unreleased studio tracks released in 1991, shortly after Vaughan’s death. Each album has been carefully re-mastered from the original half-inch analog master tapes and masterfully etched into thick, high-quality 200 gram vinyl.
To say that Texas Flood was a revelation upon its release would be an understatement. Blues music had all but assumed room temperature by ’83, and although bands like the Nighthawks, George Thorogood and the Destroyers, and Roomful of Blues cracked the door open a bit, it was SRV and his Double Trouble gang – veteran bassist Tommy Shannon and drummer Chris Layton – that would kick it in, smash all the windows, and paint the walls blue. While original songs like “Love Struck Baby” and “Pride and Joy” struck a chord with blues-starved fans, covers of Howlin’ Wolf’s “Tell Me” and Buddy Guy’s “Mary Had A Little Lamb” cemented Vaughan’s blues bona fides. Texas Hurricane recaptures the magic of that debut album’s original ten songs with vibrant sound and remarkable clarity.
Couldn’t Stand The Weather
Texas Flood inched into the Top 40 on its way to double Platinum™ sales status, opening up the blues world to mainstream audiences and setting the stage for subsequent successes by talents like Robert Cray and the Fabulous Thunderbirds. Many questioned what Stevie Ray would do for an encore, and he answered with 1984’s Couldn’t Stand the Weather. Although the album is, perhaps, a notch less revolutionary than its predecessor, it further showcased the guitarist’s immense skills. With only eight songs, Vaughan had to make a case for his stardom, something he achieved with the blues monster “Cold Shot,” recorded as a favor to his mentor, songwriter and bluesman W.C. Clark. Dynamic instrumentals like “Scuttle Buttin’” and “Stang’s Swang” highlight Vaughan’s jazzy, B.B. King/Lonnie Johnson influences while a cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” pushes the song into the stratosphere.
Life was moving pretty fast for Vaughan in the mid-1980s: Couldn’t Stand the Weather improved slightly but markedly upon the debut’s chart position, hitting #31 on the Billboard Top 200 albums chart. Videos from both albums were in heavy rotation on MTV and the band touring constantly. With the 1985 release of Soul To Soul, Vaughan expanded his band, adding keyboardist Reese Wynans, and his sound, by incorporating greater soul and R&B influences into his gutbucket blues sound. Vaughan still struggled to come up with original material, although the Southern funk of “Say What” has since taken on classic status, and by enlisting Texas music icon Doyle Bramhall to pen a couple of raucous numbers, Vaughan cleverly sidestepped the songwriting question. Covers of the Hank Ballard gem “Little Sister” and Willie Dixon’s “You’ll Be Mine” round out a solid album that nonetheless felt like a step backwards.
Stevie Ray Vaughan’s In Step
Part of the problem with Soul To Soul’s backsliding can be attributed to developing chemistry with Wynans, but the lion’s share of the blame can be laid directly at Vaughan’s feet. His growing drug and alcohol abuse threatened to derail his career, and after a minor accident in 1986, Vaughan entered rehab and took a couple years away from the fray. By the time he returned, with 1989’s classic In Step, Vaughan had found both sobriety and his songwriting voice, co-writing four tunes for the album with Bramhall while applying his newfound vision to covers like Buddy Guy’s “Leave My Girl Alone” and Willie Dixon’s “Let Me Love You Baby.” Originals like “Tightrope” and “Wall of Denial” highlight the artist’s freedom from addiction, while the group-written “Crossfire” would top the rock chart and become a fan favorite. In Step earned Vaughan his first Grammy® Award for “Best Contemporary Blues Album.”
Sadly, In Step was fated to be Vaughan’s last album with Double Trouble. Released in June 1989, slightly more than a year later the guitarist would meet his tragic, accidental death. Before that sad day in August 1990, though, Vaughan would fulfill a lifelong dream by recording an album with his older brother Jimmie. Credited to The Vaughan Brothers, Family Style was produced by Nile Rodgers (with whom Vaughan worked, pre-fame, on David Bowie’s Let’s Dance album) and recorded in Memphis. By eschewing the use of either guitarist’s bands – although they did include friends like Bramhall and former Thunderbirds bassist Preston Hubbard – the brothers achieved a fresh sound that mimicked neither man’s previous album but broke new ground with its mix of blues, soul, and rock ‘n’ roll.
The Sky Is Crying
Although Family Style is often overlooked in favor of other albums from either artist’s catalogs, Stevie Ray and Jimmie sound like they’re having a great time together and Rodgers’ steady hand on the console enhances the funky strut inherent in the performances, and the mix of covers and originals blends together almost seamlessly. The brothers would earn hits with both the Bramhall/Stevie Ray co-write “Telephone Song” and the Jimmie Vaughan/Nile Rodgers’ track “Tick Tock.” Released a month after Stevie Ray’s death, Family Style shot up the charts to peak at #7 on its way to multi-Platinum™ status and a pair of Grammy® Awards for the brothers.
The posthumously-released final Stevie Ray studio album The Sky Is Crying is a collection of studio outtakes and alternate takes culled from across Vaughan’s meteoric but too-short career. Put together by brother Jimmie, the heart of the album is the guitarist’s incredible take on Elmore James’ title track, “The Sky Is Crying.” Overall, the album is an excellent representation of both Stevie Ray’s musical influences as well as his incredible dexterity as a performer and instrumentalist. From the howlin’ country funk of Lonnie Mack’s “Wham” and the muscular blues-rock of Jimi Hendrix’s “Little Wing” to the jazz-flaked instrumental “Chitlins con Carne” and impressive originals like “Empty Arms,” The Sky Is Crying was not only a fitting swansong for the beloved guitarist, but a comprehensive and creative album in its own right that would earn Vaughan another pair of Grammy® Awards.
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
What’s not to like about Texas Hurricane? The six individual albums are all pressed on luxurious high-quality vinyl, thick slabs o’ black wax with deep grooves that capture every bit of the music with unbelievable, crystalline clarity. Each 12” hockey puck is lovingly wrapped in an archival quality, non-scratching, anti-static sleeve that is subsequently slipped into full-sized cardboard sleeves. Not some cheap-o, cheap-o simple reproduction, but a wonderful gatefold sleeve sporting the original cover artwork in brilliant full color, song lyrics, rare photos, and full credits. The albums are packaged in a giant-sized box with faux-leather graphics and the set includes a 24-page, album-sized booklet with (a lot) more photos, and insightful liner notes for each album penned by Guitar World magazine Senior Editor Andy Aledort.
The music stands on its own merits – Stevie Ray Vaughan forever influenced the evolution of blues guitar and extended the music’s popularity to the present day. With its obsessive attention to quality in all aspects, the presentation provided these classic albums by Texas Hurricane fits the status of the music itself. While a pricey box set like Texas Hurricane may appeal mostly to the well-heeled fan or hardcore collector, it’s definitely worth the money if you have the coin…this is Stevie Ray Vaughan as you’ve never heard him before. (Analogue Productions, released April 8, 2014)
The bottles were all empty and the lights were being turned out by the time that
Be-Bop Deluxe made their way to the early ‘70s British glam-rock party.
The band released its critically-acclaimed debut album Axe Victim during
the summer of 1974 and, while they had the musical chops and cool song titles
like “Jet Silver and the Dolls of Venus,” “Night Creatures,” and “Rocket
Cathedrals,” it had been a couple years since Bowie’s
Ziggy Stardust masterwork, three since Marc Bolan’s T. Rex breakthrough
Electric Warrior, and Mott the Hoople were on the verge of breaking up.
Glam-rock had begun to assume room temperature…
Be-Bop Deluxe
frontman Bill Nelson evidently agreed, as he booted the entire
Axe Victim band, stripped Be-Bop down to a power trio with new guys
Charlie Tumahai (bass) and Simon Fox (drums), and re-forged the trademark Be-Bop
sound to a curious mix of shimmering fretwork; unusual song structure; and
oblique lyrics that often had the band venturing, often dangerously, into proggy
art-rock turf not dissimilar to what Queen was pursuing at the time. In my
humble opinion, Be-Bop Deluxe did it better. Listening to “Maid In Heaven,” from
the band’s sophomore effort Futurama, my mind goes back to first hearing
the song on Nashville’s WKDF-FM radio during my senior year in high school.
Nelson’s wiry, melodic leads are balanced by a rough, scraped guitar lick, the
band’s masterful vocal harmonies, and the sort of fantastical lyrics that would
appeal to an erudite 17-year-old rock geek.
Nelson didn’t stop with
“Maid In Heaven,” which became a minor FM radio hit stateside, delivering a
knockout punch with the mesmerizing “Sister Seagull.” Offering up some of the
most exotic six-string pyrotechnics of the era, the song matches a lofty melody
with hard-rocking rhythms that are guaranteed to take your head to places that
only ‘shrooms or old-school LSD could travel…call it a “new psychedelia” for a
modern age. Nelson’s stunning guitarplay would bring an otherworldly vibe to
every song on Futurama, from the lush, radio-friendly “Music In
Dreamland,” with its lofty pop echoes to the Spanish-flavored guitar strum of
“Jean Cocteau” or the alluring cacophony of “Between the Worlds.” Little has
been recorded to match Futurama for sheer reckless abandon, and fewer
still are the songwriters who could match Nelson in vision and ambition.
Be-Bop
Deluxe would enjoy a short, but impactful career – a mere five studio albums and
a stellar live set – over a too-short four-year span circa 1974-78 before Nelson
packed it in and launched a solo career that continues to this day and best
expresses his restless musical ideas. Still, you can’t go wrong with any Be-Bop
LP, and after Futurama, I’d heartily recommend Sunburst Finish and
Modern Music, both of which display differing facets of Bill Nelson’s
talents and wandering muse. (Harvest Records, 1975)
For long-suffering progressive rock fans, the arrival of
Spock’s Beard
was a revelation. The mid-70s glory days of bona fide prog-rock were long over,
the genre’s early bands providing mere blueprints for a future that had yet to
show up for dinner. The 1995 release of The Light, the debut album from
California band Spock’s Beard, punctured the dark cloud of somber Seattle bands
like a laser beam. The band self-financed and originally self-released the
album, because, in the mid-90s, what record label in its right mind would sign a
prog-rock band, for Pete’s sake, when the Pacific Northwest was such a fertile
rock ‘n’ roll breeding ground?
Little did the major label A&R
people know at the time that they were overlooking one of the first major steps
towards a prog-rock revival. History has proven that Spock’s Beard’s
The Light rivals only the parallel release of Roine Stolt’s
The Flower King in importance and influence on the burgeoning prog-rock
scene. Picking up the torch that had been discarded by obvious touchstones Yes
and the Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, Spock’s Beard in America and the Flower Kings
in Europe went about creating memorable music, jump-starting a long-dormant
musical tradition.
Spock’s Beard’s The Light
The importance of The Light on the growth of prog-rock is obvious only in
retrospect. However, I can’t imagine the subsequent popularity of bands like
Arena, IQ, and Threshold, as well as prog-oriented record labels like Magna
Carta and Inside Out without Spock’s Beard. How does this groundbreaking album
hold up a decade after its release? For that matter, what about the band’s
following releases, 1996’s Beware of Darkness and 1997’s
Kindness of Strangers, both important albums in their own light? Metal Blade Records recently
reissued all three of these pioneering prog-rock albums in deluxe, digitally
remastered editions with liner notes by founder
Neal Morse, lyrics and rare photos and let me tell you, they all still sound as
remarkably fresh and startlingly original as they did a decade
ago.
Many consider
The Light to be Spock’s Beard’s finest recorded moment, and I would not
argue the point save to throw in a few caveats. Considering the album’s
pedigree, the era in which it was released, and the circumstances surrounding
its recording and the formation of the band, I would gladly concede the album’s
influence. However, after careful consideration of the band’s entire catalog, I
would consider The Light’s place in the Spock’s Beard canon to be that of
a secondary effort. It is an important release, the first album for the band
and, given the musical climate of the time, a bold departure from mainstream
culture. However, I personally feel that later Spock’s Beard releases better
define or further refine the band’s trademark sound.
Which is not to
say that The Light should be dismissed as inadequate – it is merely a
lesser work in relation to the band’s growing catalog of excellence.
The Light remains a highly entertaining album and an amazing showcase for
the young talents of the band’s founders, brothers Neal and Al Morse. The
technical proficiency and mastery of their instruments shown by the Morse
brothers, bassist Dave Meros, and drummer Nick D’Virgilio is quite stunning and
nothing short of amazing. Absorbing the classic influence of Yes and that band’s
penchant for extended song suites, The Light stands alone as a solid work
of composition and lyricism.
The album kicks off with the
fifteen-minute title track, broken down into eight disparate musical sections
that evoke the music of Yes and King Crimson, vintage ‘60s psychedelic rock,
even Spanish Flamenco, and would offer Spock’s Beard’s first overt Beatles
references. Although Neal Morse’s raw vocals would later grow smoother and more
mature, here they evince a certain energy and eagerness that stands in contrast
to the popular music of the day. Al Morse quickly becomes a guitarist to be
reckoned with, a talented fretboard artist whose ability to both compliment and
dominate a song’s arrangement would become a major factor in the Spock’s sound.
“The Light” is a suitable kick-off for the album of the same name, the band
running through several musical styles from its bag of tricks, setting the stage
for the listener and revealing the possibilities of that which would follow.
Neal Morse’s lyrics range from insightful to oblique, often within the course of
the same verse.
“Go the Way You Go” is slightly shorter than the
opening title track, but no less grand. With extended instrumental passages that
often descend into chaos, Neal Morse’s best pop star vocals, some fine band
harmonies and the positive outlook of its lyrics, the song was a signpost of the
band’s later musical direction. The song also shows off some of Neal’s best
keyboard wizardry, with jazzy flourishes inspired by Billy Cobham and Herbie
Hancock. A second song suite, “The Water,” clocks in at a taxing twenty-two
minutes and contains both some of the band’s most exhilarating musical moments
and, possibly, its most embarrassing.
“The Water” begins with some
classically informed piano, evolving into a Rick Wakeman styled keyboard romp
before leaping headfirst into a clash of vocals, guitar, keyboards, and
percussion. Through the song’s seven or eight distinctive sections, the band
quotes Pink Floyd and ELP and even throws in some soulful, Motownish backing
vocals. Al Morse’s guitar crackles and snaps like a bullwhip, punctuating his
brother’s vocals with stabbing riffs and reckless fretboard runs. Neal’s lyrics
here are dark and angry, resulting in the aforementioned embarrassing moment on
the “FU” section of the song when the pissed-off singer screams “fuck you” in
his most punkish voice.
The emotion seems forced, however, not wry
as with Nilsson’s “you broke my heart, you tore it apart, so fuck you” or
genuinely frustrated/confused/angry as on a million punk rock songs. It’s a
minor glitch in an otherwise ambitious song, and the resulting section, the
pastoral “I’m Sorry,” only partially redeems the lapse in judgement. The second
half of the song veers back into classic prog-rock territory, featuring maestro
performances from the band’s instrumentalists while musically and lyrically the
last two segments of “The Water” serve to connect the earlier segments,
completing the song’s story and themes.
By comparison with the rest
of the album, the brief and lively six-minute “On the Edge” sounds like an edit
made for radio. Al’s atmospheric six-string work is razor sharp and quite
engaging, complimenting Neal’s dancing keyboard passages while Meros and
D’Virgilio provide a strong, and often quite funky, rhythmic undercurrent. The
song is about as close to commercial as the band would come on The Light;
unfortunately it was the right song in the wrong era. If it had been released
two decades earlier, it would have been embraced by fans of Yes, ELP and
possibly Zappa’s Mothers of Invention as the innovative pairing of intelligent
lyricism and instrumental virtuosity that it is. The Metal Blade reissue of
The Light includes the band’s original homebrew demo for the title track,
interesting mostly in comparison, hearing the foundation on which the final
rendition was built.
Part of the charm of Spock’s Beard has
always been the band’s innate ability to quote several decades of musical
predecessors without sounding trite, revisionist, or derivative. Whether miming
the Beatles, David Bowie, Yes, or whomever they might consciously or
subconsciously choose, Spock’s Beard has always made its musical references
personal, its interpretations unique and entirely original. At no time was this
more apparent than on The Light. Spock’s Beard’s debut album would do an
excellent job in establishing the band’s credibility and announcing its arrival
to the world outside of the insular Southern California rock scene. It is
rightfully considered a classic of modern-day prog-rock, and rightfully so. But
for Spock’s Beard, it was only the beginning.
Spock’s Beard’s Beware of Darkness
In my mind, Beware of Darkness stands as one of the band’s most vital
works. The growth in skill and vision from the band’s first album is enormous,
Spock’s Beard showcasing an increased maturity and chemistry in the conceptual
song cycle. Part of the reason for the band’s improvement was the addition of
keyboardist Ryo Okumoto, who fleshed out the band’s sound with a perspective
entirely his own. This would remain the Spock’s line-up for quite some time, the
band creating a lasting legacy on the strength of a handful of recordings.
Using
Leon Russell’s somewhat suspect arrangement of George Harrison’s wonderful
“Beware of Darkness,” Neal Morse goes on to “prog up” the song with keyboard
improvisations, syncopated vocals and brother Al’s wicked guitar riffing. The
song also features Okumoto’s introductory keyboard solo, the new member showing
off his chops for the first time. The SB arrangement of the song retains the
spirit of the original while also taking it into an entirely different stylistic
direction. Although some of Russell’s original vocals resulted in Morse’s
misinterpretation of the lyrics, it all works out fine. “Beware Of Darkness”
opens the door for an album consisting of shorter songs that would feature more
concise and focused instrumental interludes. Spock’s Beard’s later albums would
vacillate back and forth between this approach and that of the lengthier song
suites.
“Thoughts” was inspired by Neal’s discovery of
Gentle Giant, an obscure British prog-rock band similar to Genesis but with more classical
music influences. The instrumental passage that opens the song sounds somewhat
Baroque to these ears, with syncopated rhythms leading to an enviable bit of
harmonic vocal interplay that would have the members of Yes in awe. The song’s
lyrics are a reflective look inward, an introspective treatment of doubt and
hesitation. With its unusual arrangement and interesting vocal gymnastics, the
song would stand out on any prog-rock album.
A gentle classical piano
intro opens “The Doorway,” the second longest song on Beware of Darkness.
The keyboards eventually kick in, the percussion begins pounding and Al Morse’s
multi-layered and textured guitarwork runs the gamut from subtle acoustic
craftsmanship to sharp circular rhythms. The song features some of Neal’s
finest, most passionate vocals and, perhaps, the sparsest arrangement of any
Spock’s Beard song at that point. Midway through the song, however, everybody
takes a turn showcasing their instrumental prowess and the song finishes as a
grand fusion of classical influence and rock ‘n’ roll showmanship, Al’s fluid
guitar lines and a wicked keyboard riff carrying the song out.
The
instrumental “Chatauqua” features some wonderfully crafted Spanish-styled guitar
by Al Morse, providing an excellent showcase for the guitarist’s range and
versatility. The full-blown prog-rock rave-up “Walk On the Wind” would follow,
the song’s oblique lyrical poetry among Morse’s best, his vocals rising and
falling in range with the instrumentation. Al is once again allowed to stretch
out, delivering an electric lead solo that sparks with life and energy. The
playful clashing of Morse’s piano and Okumoto’s keyboards is subtle and almost
lost in the mix.
“Waste Away” is a fine song about self-delusion and
lost opportunities, Morse’s stylized lyrics supported by folkish acoustic
guitar, chiming keyboards and a big beat. By the time that Al’s electric guitar
kicks in, Neal’s vocals rise in volume and intensity, driving his lyrical point
home with some force. At a mere five minutes in length, “Waste Away” would have
made for some great-sounding radio.
The album ends with the epic
“Time Had Come,” a sixteen-minute revisiting of prog-rock’s finer moments that
has plenty of what the band’s early fans came to hear – lengthy instrumental
jams, a spacey arrangement, altered vocals, and hard-to-decipher lyrics. The
band channels elements of early Pink Floyd, Wakeman-era Yes, vintage ‘60s
psychedelica, and ‘70s-styled space-rock and even a little German-influenced
electronic rock. The reissued Beware of Darkness includes the original
home demos of the title track and “The Doorway,” perhaps the album’s two
strongest and most entertaining songs.
Spock’s Beard’s The Kindness of Strangers
A year after the release of Beware of Darkness, Spock’s Beard would
return with The Kindness of Strangers. Needless to say, releasing three
lengthy and complex albums like the band’s first three in a relatively short
period of time is quite a feat to accomplish. These weren’t mindless pop albums
churned out by faceless musicians using pre-fab songs but rather intricate and
carefully crafted musical collaborations created with a precise blend of
songwriting, vocals and instrumental performances captured using
state-of-the-art recording techniques. Regardless of what Spock’s Beard would go
on to accomplish in the latter part of the decade – which was quite a lot, by
the way, the band’s first three albums ensured them of a lasting prog-rock
legacy and immense influence.
With The Kindness of Strangers, the
band takes a “best of all worlds approach,” bookending the album with two
lengthy song suites, similar to its debut disc, and filling in the middle with
shorter AOR-friendly songs, refining the tact from their second album. The album
features Neal Morse’s most fully-realized lyrics to date, the musician finding
his voice as a songwriter, moving away from the oblique poetry of the first two
Spock’s Beard albums towards a more direct, traditional style of writing.
The Kindness of Strangers also shows the first signs of the band’s underlying
pop tendencies, the songs including more Beatlesque hooks between the amazing
flights of instrumental virtuosity.
The album also includes Neal
Morse’s first overt attempts at social commentary in his lyrics. “The Good Don’t
Last,” a song suite in three parts, displays Morse’s disgust with assembly-line
produced pop culture and foreshadows his eventual embrace of Christianity with
the spiritual segment “The Radiant Is.” The ten-minute opus includes a nice
orchestral string section that augments Okumoto’s dazzling keyboard runs and
brother Al’s magnificent guitarwork. “In the Mouth of Madness” is grand in
scope; a fine example of what would become Spock’s Beard’s trademark sound.
Plenty of handsome string-bending by Al Morse, a fireworks display of keyboards
and synths and drummer D’Virgilio’s most outrageous workout yet. If you had to
play one song for a friend to explain prog-rock to the uninitiated, “In the
Mouth of Madness” would be that song.
“Cakewalk On Easy Street”
offers some positive lyrics, a reaffirmation of being and a reminder that things
could always be worse. Neal’s lyrics are supported by some tasteful piano fills,
D’Virgilio’s dynamic rhythms and knotty six-string manipulation by Al. According
to Neal Morse’s liner notes, “June” almost didn’t make the cut to be included on
The Kindness of Strangers, which would have been a mistake. “June” features
some wonderful three-part harmonies and an overall acoustic-pop sound that made
it a popular song with live audiences. “Strange World” displays Neal’s wry sense
of humor, the song’s commentary outlining society’s unbalanced sense of
priorities and the often times unrecognized surrealism of life. Morse’s vocals
are altered at times, with spacey, effects-laden guitarwork skewed towards a
psychedelic sound.
The lengthy “Harm’s Way” is the album’s
instrumental showcase. The song is held down by a steady, rock-solid Dave Meros
bassline upon which the rest of the band embroiders its various solos and
musical embellishments. The song’s lyrical message seems to be “live your life,”
a sort of “carpe diem” philosophy. With varying passages and time changes as
well as evolving atmospherics, “Harm’s Way” is another fine example of prog-rock
classicism. The second song suite “Flow” closes the original album, its three
disparate segments running hot and cold with changing musical moods and various
emotional palettes. The song offers a meditative reflection on the nature of
life and points towards Neal Morse’s future lyrical inclinations, the
metaphorical lyrics more closely akin to those on the band’s first two
albums.
The reissued The Kindness of Strangers includes several
bonus tracks, including radio edits of “The Good Don’t Last,” “Cakewalk On Easy
Street” and “In the Mouth of Madness” that reign in the band’s instrumental
tendencies and tighten the focus of the lyrics and instrumentation. Although all
three songs would make for refreshing radio programming, “Cakewalk On Easy
Street” would have been my choice to serve as an introductory taste of Spock’s
Beard, the song’s positive message and amazing soundtrack providing a strong
initial impression of the band. The original home demos for “June” and “Strange
World” round out this version of the album, offering insight into the evolution
of both songs.
With TheKindness of Strangers, the band’s musical
vision and personal chemistry hit another peak. The band would subsequently tour
Europe, earning a loyal following that appreciates the prog-rock aesthetic and
eagerly supports both Spock’s Beard and Neal Morse’s individual and
collaborative musical efforts. The first three Spock’s Beard albums built a
solid foundation for the band’s live performances and raised expectations for
future recordings. After releasing three exhausting albums in three years, the
band would not venture into the recording studio for over a year, releasing its
next album, Day For Night in 1999.
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
Neal Morse left the band he founded in 2003 after almost a decade of
acting as the Spock’s Beard ringleader. As the primary songwriter for the band
as well as a charismatic lead vocalist and multi-talented instrumentalist,
Morse’s controversial defection left the future of Spock’s Beard up in the
air. While Morse, a born-again Christian, went through a period of
self-reflection and soul-searching after he left the band, he started a solo
career without missing a beat. Two excellent solo albums, along with his
collaborations with Roine Stolt of the Flower Kings and Mike Portnoy of Dream
Theater under the Transatlantic name has kept Morse’s work in the public eye.
Spock’s Beard has also soldiered on, drummer Nick D’Virgilio
taking over the vocal duties and the band sharing the songwriting on its two
post-Neal albums, Feel Euphoria and the new Octane. The band’s
sound has undergone a gradual evolution, featuring a harder rock ‘n’ roll edge
and more AOR-radio friendly sound. The band remains one of the most popular in
progressive rock, however, even as it continues to break new ground with
innovations in sound and performance. The first three Spock’s Beard albums,
however, resurrected by Metal Blade, remain fan favorites, defining the band’s
signature sound and widening the audience for prog-rock during the ‘90s.
(Metal Blade Records, released 2004) Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™ zine, 2004
If you ever have the opportunity to catch singer/songwriter
Todd Snider in a
live setting, don’t let it pass you by. Charming to a fault, with a casual
on-stage presence and between song rapport and no little amount of charisma,
Snider creates the most intimate of listening experiences. Yeah, and he writes
pretty damn good songs, too, mixing up shots of roots-rock, folk lyricism and
country flavor with an alt-rock slacker ethos to create some of the most amusing
and thought-provoking music that you’ll hear.
Originally from
Portland, Oregon, Snider is a Nashville artist by default, making his way to the
Music City by way of Austin, Atlanta, and Memphis. Don’t mistake this talented
troubadour for one of your typical Nashville “hat acts,” however. Snider has an
appreciation for his roots that Music Row could never muster and although his
work can get twangy at times, this is no redneck rocker or pop-country artist
we’re talking about here. As the story goes, Snider was working the Daily Planet
club in Memphis when he came to the attention of songwriter Keith Sykes from
Jimmy Buffet’s Coral Reefer band, which led to a subsequent major league deal
with Buffet’s MCA-distributed Margaritaville Records label.
Todd Snider’s That Was Me
That Was Me 1994-1998 compiles the best material from the three
albums that young Todd made for Margaritaville, a sort of “best of” collection
from Snider’s early years. Snider was already a considerably talented
songwriter by the time of his 1994 debut Songs For The Daily Planet,
able to turn a phrase and tell a story with ease. Over the course of these
three Margaritaville/MCA albums, Snider would be buffeted from one style to
another (pun intended) as he searched for a musical identity free of label
executive opinion. By the time of his final album for the label,
Viva Satellite, Snider had been recast as a Tom Petty-styled roots
rocker with a more raucous sound that felt forced. Snider subsequently signed
to John Prine’s indie label Oh Boy Records in 2000, the result a more
nurturing environment that has seen some of Snider’s best work released over
the course of four albums.
That’s not to say that the material on
That Was Me 1994-1998 isn’t worthwhile. It’s still Todd Snider, an
artist that this humble scribe has long felt is underrated and
underappreciated for the humor, insight and talent that he brings to his
craft. Snider’s initial stabs at often self-deprecating humor are here,
including his spot-on satire of grunge, “Talking Seattle Grunge Rock Blues,”
delivered with Todd’s best Dylan imitation, and “Alright Guy,” a tale of a day
gone horribly wrong. There are barroom ballads like “Trouble” and story songs
like “Moondawg’s Tavern” and “Easy Money” and heartland rockers like “Hey
Hey.” The folkish, socially-conscious talking blues of “Tension” foreshadow
much of Snider’s later work while songs like “Horseshoe Lake” and the
hauntingly beautiful “You Think You Know Somebody” reveal Snider’s serious
side, showcasing his ability to weave a thoughtful, emotionally-moving tale
with his words.
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
Snider is a gifted wordsmith, a poet of considerable insight and
intelligence. Much like his “boss” and mentor John Prine, Snider continues to
get better with age and experience. An excellent introduction to Snider’s work
for the uninitiated, That Was Me 1994-1998 documents an integral period of the
artist’s career, his formative years as it were, a small part of the ongoing
story of this still-maturing talent. (Hip-O Records, released 2005)
Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™ zine, 2005
When the Doors were booked to perform two nights at the Matrix in San
Francisco in March 1967, they were just another group of hopeful L.A. area
musicians trying to ride the rock ‘n’ roll gravy train to fame and fortune.
Hungry, loud, raw, and energetic, the band’s first album had only been
released a couple of months previous, and few in the sparse audience knew (or,
evidently, cared) about the Doors.
I won’t go into too much detail about the band – the story of Jim Morrison,
Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, and John Densmore is known too well, been
re-hashed far too often since Morrison’s “alleged” death in 1971 to bore the
reader with useless observations. Suffice it to say that when the band’s
self-titled debut was released in early 1967, its unique mix of rock, pop, and
blues…shaded with psychedelic strains and Eastern exoticism…sounded like
little that had been previously released in the world of rock.
The Doors’ Live At the Matrix 1967
The
band’s songs would become weaker with each subsequent album, Morrison’s poetic
lyrics strained by hurried composition. The band’s sound would also become
overly stylized, polished by the studio and producers to better fit the
charts. The performances displayed by the band here are nothing short of
remarkable, however. Live At the Matrix 1967 is the first legitimate release of
an often-bootlegged set of tapes, drawing material from across the four sets
performed by the band over the two nights. Unlike the band’s later recordings,
Live At the Matrix 1967 showcases the band in all of its ragged glory.
The
two-CD set kicks off with a strident, high-octane take of “Break On Through
(To the Other Side).” Starting off with a shuffling beat, the song jumps into
Morrison’s rattletrap vocals sitting firmly astride Ray Manzarek’s stabbing
keyboard riffs, his voice simply crackling with electricity. Robby Krieger’s
guitar is somewhat subdued here, lost in the chaos until he roars above the
mix at around the three-minute mark to lay out a razor-sharp solo. The
performance itself is breathtaking in its energy, shocking in its relative
brevity.
Manzarek’s familiar keyboard line opens the bluesy “Soul
Kitchen.” Accompanied by Krieger’s fine fretwork, the song’s running time is
stretched out to almost six minutes with brother Ray’s keyboard pyrotechnics,
some bombastic John Densmore skin-pounding, and a couple of explosive
six-string solos. “Twentieth Century Fox” is another short, sharp shock, with
swirling psychedelic keyboard riffs and stomping rhythms almost drowning out
Morrison’s hoarse vocals. Krieger’s guitar solo is particularly tasty,
evincing the sort of bluesy psychedelic edge that was often softened on the
band’s recordings.
When The Music’s Over
“Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)” is a fine cross
between Delta blues and German cabaret, an odd little song that builds upon
the sanitized album version with an even more reckless reading of the lyrics
and an intriguing, syncopated rhythm that hits the ears with an outlandish
perversity. “Light My Fire,” which would become the band’s breakthrough hit a
few short weeks after this performance, stands up well in a live setting, the
Doors’ again jamming their way past the eight-minute mark with all the
intensity of a wildfire.
The band’s live performance of “Moonlight
Drive” is, perhaps, less mesmerizing than the LP version, but manages to
create a different sort of magical vibe nonetheless. With reckless vocals,
slinky/squealing guitarwork, crashing rhythms, and Manzarek’s keys pounding
away at the bottom end, the song sounds almost improvised, chaotic in
conception but drunkenly anarchic in its execution. The excellent “People Are
Strange” is somewhat more sparsely arranged than the version offered by the
Doors’ sophomore album, with Manzarek’s keys chiming freely above subtle
rhythms and Morrison’s haunting vocals.
The psychedelically-morose
“When the Music’s Over” is extended by a couple of minutes from its appearance
on Strange Days, but the longer run time does little to dilute the song’s
stammering power. With Manzarek’s ever-present keyboard runs, Morrison’s voice
soars and dips, stomps and plunders across the lyrics like a pirate’s
swordfight, his swaggering voice matched by Krieger’s distorted, strangely
disquieting fretwork, which runs through the song like a needle and thread.
The result is a thoroughly off-balance work of genius that strained against
the boundaries of rock music that themselves were being almost weekly with new
album releases from a number of artists.
In the beginning, the
Doors brought a strong blues-rock flavor to their material, and this is
displayed up-front on Live At the Matrix 1967 with a number of blues and
R&B covers, some working and some… like the middling “I’m A King
Bee”…falling flat on their face. A cover of Bo Diddley’s classic “Who Do You
Love” is stronger – propelled by Densmore’s tribal drumbeats and an overall
anarchic instrumental vibe, Morrison’s fledgling lizard king vox pairs nicely
with Diddley’s voodoo-infused lyrics. The band’s take on John Lee Hooker’s
classic “Crawling King Snake” is appropriately menacing, even if Morrison’s
primal howl is no match for the master’s mojo hand. A spirited and inspired
cover of the Van Morrison/Them garage-rock classic “Gloria” is provided one of
the best performances short of Patti Smith’s classic take of the song.
Starting slow and simmering to a boil, the Doors’ performance is built on a
lively guitar lick and galloping drumbeats, augmented by Manzarek’s best
approximation of a Farfisa organ run amok.
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
The sound on Live At the Matrix1967 is somewhat hollow, sometimes muddy,
and often times bright to the point of distraction, i.e. it stands a notch
above that of a decent bootleg CD, but less palatable to sensitive ears than
your watered-down, slick-as-a-baby’s-bottom contemporary live LP. No matter,
‘cause it’s the songs here that matter, and to that end Morrison et al
deliver, perhaps, their best performance ever caught on tape. Along with the
historical provenance of these recordings, should be enough to spur
long-suffering Doors fans to their local music emporium to snatch up a copy of
Live At the Matrix. (Rhino Records, released
September 27, 2008)
Review originally published by the Trademark of Quality (TMQ) blog, 2008
---------- Editor’s Note: evidently there is a growing controversy
over the tapes used by Rhino/Warner Bros. to master Live At the Matrix ‘67.
You can read all about the subject on Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Live_at_the_Matrix_1967
After the 1996 break-up of punk icons the Ramones, the band’s frontman and teen idol Joey Ramone worked sporadically on a solo album for several years. Uncompleted at the time of his death last Easter from cancer, Ramone’s long-awaited solo bow has been wrapped-up by producer, guitarist and long-time compatriot Daniel Rey, and is being released in time for the Ramones’ induction to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in March. Ironically titled Don’t Worry About Me, the album is a fitting tribute to an enormous talent.
With a band that includes Rey, the Dictators’ Andy Shernoff, Frankie Funaro of the Del Lords and former bandmate Marky Ramone, Joey has delivered the perfect pop masterpiece that he’s wanted to create his entire career. The album opens with a strong affirmation of life over death, Ramone masterfully providing the Louis Armstrong classic “What A Wonderful World” with new meaning and power. From the funny schoolboy crush of “Maria Bartiromo” to an inspired cover of the Stooges’ “1969,” Don’t Worry About Me offers up the same sort of bubblegum punk and hard rock that was the trademark of Ramones’ former band. Joey’s imperfect vocals remain infectiously friendly, his simple lyrics concealing the depth of thought behind them.
Joey speaks openly of his disease only once, with “I Got Knocked Down (But I’ll Get Up),” a powerful song of defiance and hope. The album closes with the title track, fittingly an old-fashioned love song. In his heart, Joey was always a mark for pop music, a rabid record collector with a fondness for bubblegum pop and sixties garage rock. With Don’t Worry About Me, Ramone reaffirms his love for the music that gave his life meaning. Joey brings the same sort of passion and fire to this wonderful collection of songs that he did to that first Ramones album better than twenty-five years ago. Joey Ramone leaves a magnificent recorded legacy, one that will continue to reach new fans when today’s hyper-marketed artists have fallen by the wayside. (Sanctuary Records, released 2002)
Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™, 2002
Dave Alvin – From An Old Guitar: Rare and Unreleased Recordings (Yep Roc Records) This “odds ‘n’ sods” collection of rare, unreleased, and barely-released songs by Americana pioneer Dave Alvin stands with any of the artist’s albums due to his talent and passion. Offering the listener every shade of American music, from acoustic and electric blues to country, folk, and rock ‘n’ roll, Alvin mixes original songs with those written by friends like Peter Case and Chris Smithers as well as tunes by musical idols like Doug Sahm, Bob Dylan, and Willie Dixon. There’s really no ‘hard sell’ needed here – if you’re already a fan of Alvin’s charms as a singer, songwriter, and guitarist then you’re going to pick up From An Old Guitar no matter what I write. But whether it’s the energy provided a spry reading of “Highway 61,” the heartbreaking cover of Waylon Jennings’ “Amanda,” or the exciting, electrifying guitar-play of “Variations on Earl Hooker’s Guitar Rumba,” Alvin knows his way around a song. Originals like the swinging, bluesy romp “Albuquerque” or the country blues-flavored instrumental “Krazy and Ignatz” display other facets of Alvin’s immense skills. A true legend of American music, the performances documented by From An Old Guitar are a welcome addition to an often-varied, always-impressive Dave Alvin catalog. Grade: A BUY!
Blue Öyster Cult – The Symbol Remains (Frontiers Records) BOC’s first studio album since 2001’s Curse of the Hidden Mirror was pronounced ‘D.O.A.’ has been hailed by many critics as a “return to form,” but is it really? The 1970s/’80s-era Blue Öyster Cult is long gone, although the (arguably) two most important old guys remain – guitarist Buck Dharma and singer Eric Bloom – backed by a longtime touring band with chops honed to a razor edge by a thousand nights on the road. So, The Symbol Remains offers a new sort of BOC sound, the guitar-driven slab o’ granite released by Italian hard rock specialists Frontiers Records. Whether there’s a market for this sort of rock ‘n’ roll two decades into the new millennium is beside the point, as aging fans will eat up the jagged power-pop of “Box In My Head” or the haunting Goth-metal palace intrigue of “The Alchemist.” All 14 tunes here are originals, written, co-written, sliced & diced with collaborators like musician/cyberpunk author John Shirley and rockcrit legend Richard Meltzer. The results are a crazy-quilt of ‘70s-inspired classic rock with a contemporary sheen. Dharma’s guitar cuts like a knife, the vocals-by-committee approach works, and the album rocks. Hard. What more could a po’ boy ask for? Grade: B BUY!
Shemekia Copeland – Uncivil War (Alligator Records) Returning to Nashville to record a follow-up to her award-winning 2018 album America’s Child, blues singer Shemekia Copeland is working again with producer, songwriter, and musician Will Kimbrough, who collaborates with Copeland’s longtime creative foil, John Hahn, to put together a helluva slate of songs for the talented singer. Musicians like guitarists Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, Jason Isbell, Steve Cropper, Duane Eddy, Webb Wilder, and Kimbrough himself as well as steel-guitar maestro Jerry Douglas and mandolin wizard Sam Bush add to the bluesy gumbo that is Uncivil War. Make no mistake, though – this is Copeland’s show, and her confident, inspired vocals make for transcendent performances. The blues-gospel title track is a gem with heavenly vocals grounded by Douglas’s dobro and Bush’s mandolin while “Walk Until I Ride” is a gospel-tinged treasure with Copeland’s soulful vocals displaying a powerful defiance in the face of discrimination. The wonderful “Dirty Saint” displays a nuanced New Orleans mojo in tribute to the late Dr. John and “Apple Pie and A .45” is a devastatingly powerful blues-rock dirge. Copeland doesn’t ignore straight blues here, as the smoky “In the Dark” will attest, Copeland proving once again that she’s among the best the blues has to offer. Grade: A+ BUY!
Coyote Motel – Still Among the Living (Dolly Sez Woof Records) I’ve heard enough of ‘em over the past 50 years that it’s a rare live disc that really makes me wish that I’d been at a particular show. As for actually going to shows anymore, I’ve paid my dues several hundred times over in clubs with bad air, muddy sound, and overpriced beer. After listening to Coyote Motel’s Still Among the Living, documenting a February 2020 performance at The 5 Spot in Nashville, damn if I don’t wish that I’d been there that night. Pursuing what he calls “cosmic roots music,” musician and scribe Ted Drozdowski leads Coyote Motel through songs from their self-titled 2019 debut, offering a unique hybrid of blues, rock, and roots music. The guitarist imbues opener “Still Among the Living” with otherworldly fretwork and haunting vocals while Luella Melissa Mathes’ ethereal vocals offer a nice counterpoint to Drozdowski’s wiry vox, taking a song like the devastating “The River” into a higher dimension. An appearance by jazz legend Stan Lassiter on the classic “Tin Pan Alley” compliments Drozdowski’s scorched-earth approach to the song. Overall, Still Among the Living captures a truly electrifying performance by a talented band as scary as the wrong end of a .44 revolver. Grade: A BUY!
The Fleshtones – Face of the Screaming Werewolf (Yep Roc Records) Although I found the band’s previous album (2016’s The Band Drinks For Free) somewhat tepid (by the Fleshtones’ lofty standards), I’m happy to say that your fave “super rock” garage band is back in the groove with the rowdy Face of the Screaming Werewolf. Released on CD and vinyl for this year’s third Record Store Day “drop” in October, the album is the rock ‘n’ roll tonic we need for 2020. Featuring Keith Streng’s stellar fretwork, Peter Zaremba’s haunted vocals, and lusty, deep-throated bass drums, the title track will have you hiding under the bed from monsters, but tapping your toes nonetheless. The tribute “Alex Trebeck” takes on a new look with the beloved TV host’s recent death, pairing erudite lyrics with a throwback ‘60s rock vibe (trembling guitars and jangly rhythms) for a respectful homage. Much of the rest of Werewolf offers different shades of guitar-happy, reckless rhythm rawk, from the harmonies of “Child of the Moon,” which reminds of the Stones’ “We Love You,” to the Kinks-styled buzz and hum of “You Gotta Love, Love,” the Fleshtones leave no tasty musical stone unturned, putting their own signature on nearly 60 years of rock ‘n’ roll cheap thrills. Grade: A BUY!
Little Richard – Southern Child (Omnivore Recordings) Signed to Reprise Records in 1970, Little Richard decided that his third effort for the label would be a country album. After all, if Ray Charles could pull it off, so could the rock ‘n’ roll pioneer. The result – 1972’s Southern Child – was produced by longtime friend Robert “Bumps” Blackwell and featured a brace of original songs…and it was promptly shelved by Reprise until finally appearing as part of a 2005 box set. Hindsight is 20/20, but I think that if the label had released the album, it may have gotten some traction. As shown by Omnivore’s CD reissue of this lost gem, Mr. Penniman sings country as effortlessly and with the same charisma as he does rock, soul, and gospel. Some of the material – notably “Burning Up With Love” or “California (I’m Comin’)” – are really just rockin’ soul tunes with a bit of added twang. But others, like the slow-rolling “Ain’t No Tellin’” or the raucous title track certainly could have found a home on country radio in the pre-playlist days of the early ‘70s. Altogether, Southern Child is a successful experiment in style, Little Richard proving (again) that he was the best at whatever he chose to do. Grade: B+ BUY!
Nick Mason’s Saucerful of Secrets – Live At the Roundhouse (Legacy Recordings) I had my doubts about Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason reliving his glory days with live performances of the band’s classic psych-era tunes, but my fears were erased soon after slapping this sucker on the turntable. Mason does his old mate Syd justice with Nick Mason’s Saucerful of Secrets and their Live At the Roundhouse album and concert film. Documenting performances from two nights in May 2019 at the historic Roundhouse in London, England, Mason’s talented band rip and roar through almost two-dozen tracks that pre-date Floyd’s commercial ‘monsterpiece’, Dark Side of the Moon. Mason’s band includes former Floyd touring bassist Guy Pratt, guitarists Gary Kemp and Lee Harris, keyboardist Dom Beken, and Mason himself on the cans; they honed these songs with theatre dates across North America, Europe, and the U.K. The musical chemistry shows, gems like “See Emily Play,” “Arnold Layne,” and “Saucerful of Secrets” hewing close enough to the originals to please the hardcore faithful but offering enough originality to entertain any classic rock fan. FYI, the vinyl packaging is gorgeous, a cardboard slipcase with a cut-out revealing the colorful gatefold double-LP cover beneath, the two albums sheathed in full-color paper sleeves and thick slabs o’ vinyl. Also available as a double-CD set with concert DVD…buy ‘em both! Grade: A- BUY!
Midnight Oil – The Makarrata Project (Sony Music Australia) The first full-length studio album from Australian rock legends Midnight Oil since 2002’s Capricornia, The Makarrata Project is a special collaboration, a meeting of minds whose ponderous description may scare off the casual listener (and even a few hardcore fans). Don’t buy into the ignorance – The Makarrata Project is every bit a Midnight Oil album, from Peter Garrett’s stunning vocals and Jim Moginie’s razor-sharp fretwork to the thunderous rhythms of bassist Bones Hillman and drummer Rob Hirst. Where it differs from the usual politically-charged Midnight Oil joint is its worthy cause and inclusion of indigenous voices from ‘First Nation’ artists like Jessica Mauboy, Alice Skye, Tasman Keith, Sammy Butcher, Frank Yamma, and others. So, you get some spoken word passages, tribal chants, and other singers, all united in service of the ‘Uluru Statement of the Heart’ which, basically, calls for Constitutional power and protection for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in Australia. It’s a powerful use of rock ‘n’ roll for social change, and the band is donating its royalties (matched by Sony) from the album to organizations seeking to elevate the Uluru Statement. Midnight Oil has always “walked the walk;” with The Makarrata Project, they’ve upped the stakes. (Bones Hillman, R.I.P. November 2020) Grade: A BUY!
The Pretty Things – Bare As Bone, Bright As Blood (Madfish Music) The final recording from these British rock legends is pretty much a collaboration between Pretty Things founders Phil May and Dick Taylor, with occasional instrumental contributions from friends and fellow bandmates. An acoustic collection of blues, rock, and folk music that places an emphasis on May’s expressive, soulful vocals and Taylor’s deft fretwork, Bare As Bone, Bright As Blood masterfully blends songs like the PT’s George Woosey’s haunting title track or Will Varley’s “To Build A Wall,” which features May’s gorgeous, fragile vocals with traditional blues tunes by Robert Johnson (“Come Into My Kitchen”) and Willie Dixon (“I’m Ready”), the likes of which the PTs cut their teeth on five decades ago. A cover of folk songwriter Gillian Welch’s hillbilly dirge “The Devil Had A Hold of Me” displays another facet of May’s immense talent while Sheryl Crow’s “Redemption Song” benefits from May’s nuanced vocals and Taylor’s elegant guitar playing. Tragically, May’s death earlier this year ends the 55-year musical partnership between the singer and guitarist but, as swan songs go, Bare As Bone is a hell of a note to go out on. Grade: A+ BUY!
Walter Trout – Ordinary Madness (Provogue Records) The blues-rock maestro returns with Ordinary Madness, a quick follow-up to 2019’s critically-acclaimed Survivor Blues. There are no signs of rush recording here or a drop-off in song quality, though – the guitarist’s tone, tenor, and tenacity have never been fiercer. The title track is a smoldering jam with gorgeous guitar and lyrics that barely hide their menace. The production on “Wanna Dance” (by longtime Trout collaborator Eric Corne) is spectacular, lush tones and power chords pumping up the instrumentation, underlining Trout’s mournful vocals; forty years ago, this would have been a chart-topper. Much of Ordinary Madness follows the same blueprint – electrifying blues-rock with scorching guitar, soulful vox, and a stout backing band. Trout’s guitar talents often overshadow his vocals, which are displayed nicely on the ballad “My Foolish Pride,” Walter capable of expressing great emotion. “The Sun Is Going Down” may be the best performance of Trout’s lengthy career, Robert Johnson’s hellhounds picking up the scent again, the guitarist facing the passage of time with unflinching defiance. Since his near-death experience six years ago, Walter Trout has been making the best music of his life, Ordinary Madness an album so good that I bought it twice (on CD and vinyl!). Grade: A+ BUY!
Various Artists – Brown Acid: The Eleventh Trip (Riding Easy Records) The folks at RidingEasy Records scour the back rooms, under-the-shelf crates, and other dark record store crevasses to find the most far-out psychedelic garage-rock cheap thrills possible and slap ‘em on vinyl as part of their “Brown Acid” series of rock ‘n’ roll obscurities. One would think this well-trodden turf to be mined out, what with all those Nuggets, Pebbles, and Back From the Grave compilations clogging up the shelves, but here’s Brown Acid: The Eleventh Trip with ten more roller-coaster time machine trips circa 1969-1977. Like every LP of this kind, there are hits and misses – some 7” wax should remain lost– so I’ll only mention the winners. Adam Wind’s “Something Else” is a cool psych-blues jam with flanged guitars while Grump’s “I’ll Give You Love” is a raucous R&B rave-up with swirling instrumentation. Larry Lynn’s “Diamond Lady” is a slab o’ guitary blues-rock with prog tendencies, old faves Zendik deliver a shimmering bit of chaotic hard rock, and West Minist’r offer a red-hot, Brit-sounding rocker. Kudos also to Debb Johnson for a brassy, soul-blues romp. Since six outta ten ain’t too shabby a batting average, I’ll happily recommend The Eleventh Trip for any fan of old school-dropout psych-cum-garage-rock. Grade: B BUY!
