David Bowie “ChangesOneBowie”

This record, which came out in 1976, seems to want to mark a change from sci-fi androgynous freak to good-looking mature artist, but it just rubs me the wrong way. It comes off more as midlife crisis, even though Bowie should have been much too young for that. It’s essentially a “greatest hits” record that doesn’t have a cheesy title like “Ladies and Gentlemen, The Very Best of…” But rather than approach it in context of the records the songs came from, I have to (I mean right now, for the sake of writing this) listen to it as the complete and unique art object it is.

“Space Oddity” is pure nostalgia for me, like everyone is sick of me rehashing. Blacklight posters and rootbeer incense and bad pot. But it’s just a good song, right? I’m sure there is a story behind “John, I’m Only Dancing” but I don’t care, because I can’t listen to it because it’s crap. Though, I would, some day, love to write a song with the title, John, comma, something. “John, Help Me To A Toilet So I Can Throw Up,” or something. “Changes” is a great song, and I suppose worth creating this particular record to get it out to the record buying public in a new format. “Ziggy Stardust” and “Suffragette City”–more nostalgia, but this time there is beer drinking involved. Whenever “Jean Genie” comes on, I’m just glad it’s the last song of Side One so I can take it off without listening to it and go directly to Side Two. White blues, but really white, and not blues at all.

Everyone who knows me is sick to death of me talking about how “Diamond Dogs” is one of maybe six favorite songs of all time. For some strange reason I just NEVER GET TIRED OF IT. I made the mistake, once, however, of looking up the lyrics on the internet, which almost ruined it for me, because they were NOT CLOSE to what I’ve been imagining all these years. I’ve been slowly deprogramming myself to go back to the way I used to hear it. “You’re dead,  they call them the Diamond Dogs.” Maybe it’s the cowbell, maybe it’s the way it sounds like the soundwaves are coming through some kind of viscous fluid. Maybe it’s nostalgia. I wouldn’t mind, however, NEVER hearing “Rebel Rebel” ever again. “Young Americans” has that 1980′s, Saturday Night Live, vapid entertainment sound. I think of Chicago (the city), comedy clubs, and those big pretzels, which, last time I ate one, I threw up. “Fame” is up next, White Funk, but REALLY white, and not funky at all. “Golden Years” is like a non-song with a non-hook, played as blandly as possible, and pretty much the perfect fit to end this record. It occurs to me that the lyrics might be interesting if I listened to them– after all, how do you justify calling a song “Golden Years?”– but I can’t even listen to the lyrics because I can’t listen to the song.

Boston “Don’t Look Back”

“Don’t Look Back” is Boston’s appropriately titled second album, from 1978—I mean appropriately for me, since that was the year I traded in my cap’n'gown for the ball’n'chain. I guess I never really thought I’d enjoy the success of a #1 on the charts album, but I did believe, at that time, that I could pursue a life of partying—which was my course of study at Kokomo Community College. This record went virtually unnoticed by my friends and me, I suppose, seeing it as pretty much a continuation of the first record, which we weren’t much interested in after its initial novelty. We were listening to the Sex Pistols at the time, and these bands seemed like night and day. Only now do I realize they weren’t all that different, at least musically: melodic, driving, hard rock with pop hooks. Of course, the vocals have little in common, though I have to admit, today, June 26, 2010, I’m more in the mood to listen to Brad Delp’s voice than Johnny Rotten’s. That said, lyric-wise is really where the difference lies. I’m maybe listening to Boston lyrics for the first time right now. What’s all this about a “golden rabbit” on the title song? Fortunately, this record contains a sleeve with lyrics, so I’m able to see that what sounds to me like “golden rabbit” is actually: “I finally see the dawn arrivin.’”

Side two really picks things up with the terribly catchy “Feelin’ Satisfied”: “So come on, put your hands together/You know it’s now or never, take a chance on rock’n'roll,” which is pretty insipid, but then followed by: “Come on let us give your mind a ride.” Which preceded, by six years, my groundbreaking ‘zine novella, “The Mind Ride.” The next song, “Party” is also a standout. Like I said, were I to answer the classic job interview question at that time—”Where do you see yourself in ten years?”—I guess my honest answer would have been, “Halfway between the keg and the men’s room.”

This album cover opens up and contains some pretty typical snapshot sized concert portraits of members of the band. The credits state that the record was recorded at “Tom Scholz’ Hideaway Studio” which I think meant his garage or basement, or his bedroom, I don’t know. He certainly had it going on as far as recording a hard rock band. You feel like he could have put anybody on the charts. One really interesting thing is there is a little note that says: “No Synthesizers Used/No Computers Used.” Now as far as the synthesizers they are talking about at the time, those now seem quaint and old-fashioned. But it’s an interesting sentiment for the time. As far as computers, though, what exactly was he talking about? Computers weren’t being used in rock music in 1978, were they? It’s not like he’s talking about Protools. When I think back to 1978, computers were like things that took up whole floors of some laboratory somewhere. Bill Gates was still in diapers. Just what, exactly, does “No Computers” mean? Was it a joke? Could Tom Scholz look forward 30 years and see Boston still playing, with considerably less hair and looser pants, and the opening act is some asshole with a laptop?

The album cover is even better than their first one. It takes me right back to our basement party room, with black lights and root beer incense. It folds out to show the spaceship—which was escaping the exploding Earth on the first album—is now landing on another world (you know that because there are two moons). This spaceship, which is like flying saucer with a dome covered city—and says “Boston” on it, so presumably it contains the city of Boston—is designed after an electric guitar, and it has what looks like a tail, which is the guitar neck. They may or may not be taking along the Red Sox, but there sure as hell will be hard rock. (Oh, and the lyrics on the record sleeve are printed over engineering drawings and diagrams of the spaceship, some of them quite detailed!) This new planet seems to be covered with a forest of nasty looking crystals, but the spaceship has found a grassy clearing in which to land. And if you look closely, off to the side, around the base of the crystals, there appears to be some gnarly shrubbery—but I believe it is, in fact, actually, an endless supply of righteous looking bud.

Boston “Boston”

It’s really hard to criticize something like this album–I mean it’s like criticizing The Dictionary–though, when I say that, I’m assuming “the dictionary of the English language,” and if you don’t speak English, the book isn’t of much use.

Listen to the record!

That was an attempted allegory. Note: edit out that first paragraph before posting.

Listen to the record!

Everyone knows the story of how Tom Scholz, MIT grad and scientist, was working for GE developing the Doomsday Machine when, while tinkering in his basement workshop, developed all those compressors and distortion devices that– when built into what are known as “guitar pedals” –have allowed future generations of mindless wankers to pick up an electric guitar for the first time and in fifteen minutes learn how to make noise like a goddamn god. When Andy Warhol said that “fifteen minutes of fame” thing, this is exactly what he was talking about.

Listen to the record!

That “Listen to the record!” business is from the liner notes, and I just love liner notes. It makes me so sad to think about all the young people and their MP3s and how they don’t even have an idea of the concept of liner notes. These liner notes discuss how the guys got together, first called their band “Springfield” and when things weren’t happening, changed the name to “Boston” and the rest is history. There is also a discussion of “technology,” but I’m just listening to the record. The song “More Than A Feeling,” despite being seriously in the top ten of alltime overplayed songs, is surprisingly fresh sounding–I mean considering– with that acoustic part and the hard rock part– I know it should sound more stale than it does– well, maybe it’s just been such a “Long Time” since my stereo needle touched vinyl. The song, “Long Time” incidentally, was used in studies. It was found that people of a certain age group (my age) could pick up a guitar for the first time and play the opening guitar part nearly note for note, particularly guitar store employees.

I’m making fun of this record a little, but I have to admit I’m actually enjoying listening to it, so if you’re a fan, old or new, and you want say “Speen thinks it rocks” go ahead, it won’t bug me too much. Really, it’s not entirely these guys’ fault that some of these guitar flourishes are what many of us will hear as we’re dying, coming out of a coma, having sex, or every time we turn the ignition of a car or open a can of Pepsi. Maybe Scholz DID invent the doomsday machine after all. Look at the cover art closely, if it doesn’t cause flashbacks to commence. It looks like the Earth is exploding and entire cities are being saved by being jetted off into space by dome-topped flying saucers. The one closest to us, of course, contains Boston. One wonders if Kokomo made it.

Lyrically–there are no printed lyrics on this particular sleeve, so I’m trying to make them out. Smokin’ indeed rhymes with tokin’. It’s interesting, with all the millions of times I’ve heard “More Than A Feeling” I never heard the “Mary Ann slipping away” part. Who is this “Mary Ann”? Seeing how this record came out in 1976, you have to figure the lyricist must have been watching endless Gilligan’s Island reruns, and how many people had a crush on that Mary Ann? I know I did, but it’s interesting, once I got to a certain age, I switched over from Mary Ann to Ginger. I really believe that’s a sign of maturity. Ask your friends who they prefer– it’s a good test to separate the men from the boys. I’m trying to remember who the eighth person on that island was… Anyway, you KNOW that The Professor could have had a short wave radio rescue transmission going in about five minutes, but he obviously didn’t want to. Thurston had Lovey and The Skipper had Gilligan (don’t pretend you didn’t know) so who else was there to satisfy the two hot women other than Russell “Magic” Johnson (not his real name) who– well they couldn’t really show it on TV then like they could today– got more ass than a makeshift bamboo outhouse.

I would apologize for that last paragraph, but you’ll never see it. I just started drinking coffee again and I’m getting carried away here. Memo to Speen: DELETE the paragraph about lyrics before posting.

Side two starts out with a really corny, compelling, unoriginal and utterly awesome rocker called “Rock & Roll Band” which is probably about playing in a rock & roll band, but I’m not going to fall back into that listening to the lyrics trap. I wasn’t actually able to get to the end of side two because this particular record, which was found on “the street,” seems to have about a kilo of cocaine encrusted in the later grooves of the second side. I would take the initiative to clean it, but I can’t find a hundred dollar bill.

Ja Bluezy at the Delta Lady

The murky black and white cover of this record matches its homemade sound and I mean that in a good way. The back cover looks like something much older than 1980, but that’s when it came out. The band is Paul Bouillet, singing and guitar, Max Koster, bass, and Mitch Purdy, drums. The record is pressed by Apollo Music Company, and it says it can be obtained directly by sending $6 to them at 184 Eastlawn, Detroit, Michigan. But I’d contact them first before risking that $6. A lot can change in 30 years.

Has it really been 30 years since Ja Bluezy recorded this record live at the Delta Lady in Ferndale, Michigan on March 1st and 2nd? Not that I was there, but I was a few hundred miles south in my dorm room drinking a six pack of Strohs, listening to “London Calling,” and it feels like it was yesterday. I wonder if I would have liked Ja Bluezy as much as I do now. Probably not– it’s pretty traditional guitar blues, pretty heavy on the guitar– some instrumental, some vocal– songs by Paul Bouillet and a few covers like “St. James Infirmary” and “Big Boss Man.” I like it now because it sounds live and real and it is what it is. It’s actually recorded very well. And the photograph on the cover is great, pretty much an uncomposed low contrast snapshot in a dingy atmosphere with lots of hair and beards. It kind of warms my heart.

I didn’t look too long, but I didn’t see anything in the internet world about these guys. I did see this record for sale somewhere for $250! Oh, and by the way, it came in number 126 on Rolling Stone Magazine’s top 500 records of all time. No, it didn’t, but those Rolling Stone rankings things really get on my nerves. Talk about taking the life out of something. It’s good to know there are records out there like this that haven’t been neutered in the wax museum.

Blues Explosion “Extra Width”

I preferred to alphabetize the band as “Blues Explosion” rather than wait for later in the alphabet (and be faced with alphabetizing dilemmas–Spencer, Jon Spencer, The Jon Spencer?)– but this is indeed The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, one of my all time favorite bands, I’ll admit right away. This isn’t my favorite of their records (and I haven’t even HEARD all their records) but it’s pretty solid. Also nice is that it’s a record–one of the newest in the current collection I’m writing about– though it’s from 1993– which now seems as long ago as The Fifties. The boys look pretty young in their individual Richard Kern glamour portraits– Jon Spencer’s, on the cover, which should have sold a record or two, is particularly striking with all the stuff in his hair and his Kuchar-esque eyebrows. Hell– I’D buy that guy a double bourbon!

There’s even some pointless liner notes on the back, for an old-fashioned touch– by Herb Hitts– a description of a live show that is so generalized and cliché-ridden it may as well say, “they rocked” with one fist in the air. Is it meant to be ironic? While I think it is — the once ironic fist in the air, and heavy metal fist in the air, and expression “rocked!” — once intended to be ironic, is no longer taken, or even intended that way– so what you have instead is a willful reduction of the IQ by half. But with this band there is no discussing irony or sincerity, they are so far beyond those considerations, you can’t figure it out and you shouldn’t try. Though, I can imagine if I was in a band with Jon Spencer I might at some point beg him to “please sing normal for once!” I might roll my eyes violently when he comes into rehearsal with a song called “Back Slider.” It might lead to a fight, someone walking out on the session, sulking on a bar stool, but would any of that be real or just another episode in a cheap paperback version of the life of a blues band that’s a rock band and a punk band?

I guess the question with this band will always be (as it is with every band): are they just an act– are they merely ABOUT what they seem to be, or are they the real thing? I have had the benefit of seeing a live show a few years back (maybe the last live show I’ve seen) where that question was answered; either they were the real thing, or else the real thing doesn’t really exist. Which might be the case. As time goes on and layers of history are peeled away, and you closely examine what you considered the important bands from your past, you find out they were ALL acts. The only thing that is real are the rare moments when no one was looking, the mistakes, and the tiny miracles that occasionally transcend the cement weighted egos and vanities.

But enough about me. This record is the kind of record, unfortunately rare, that I always prefer to listen to all the way through. I love some of it and hate some of it, but to isolate individual songs seems pointless. It all runs together the way a record album should. I’ve listened to it now hundreds of times, but I couldn’t tell you what a single song title is or what any of them are about. There’s a lot of grunting, groaning, screaming, unsettling noises, and then suddenly you find yourself in a groove that you wish you never had to leave. The guy’s singing “typecast” but he may as well be singing “hotpants” – guitars are destroyed, and the side is over.

To all of you in the CD generation, you will, I’m sure, not believe me when I tell you that you will never, ever be able to understand the singular, sublime pleasure of turning a record over and putting the needle on the second side. After some Elvis from hell bullshit, we again find ourselves in a groove that is over far too soon. Then some kind of an incomprehensible plodding noise out of which suddenly can be heard the phrase: “a Roy Rogers roast beef sandwich!” Probably the high point of my life. Then an instrumental funk groove that serves a similar function as when, in certain times and certain cultures, one would excuse oneself from the table to gracefully throw up. Followed by an unpleasant exorcism of a song– but it all works together, because then you get to the last song on the record, which is also the best, and it’s like you endured your dreadful vegetables, formalities, and pleasantries so that you can be rewarded with (your favorite dessert here). Bon appetit!

Black Sabbath “Vol. 4″

Why I never had this album, which came out in 1972, in my adolescent record collection, is beyond me, since I had “Master of Reality” from the year before and I loved that one—particularly the song “Sweet Leaf.” Even as a lad, I thought it was both funny and awesome, simultaneously, though I’m sure I didn’t use the word “awesome” at that time. I probably thought it was “bad”— which in 1971 meant awesome.

So I’ve never put this one on a turntable until now, and it’s pretty satisfying. The first song, “Wheels of Confusion” starts out with some guitar excess that sounds just like Pink Floyd, and you have to wonder if it was a joke. Pink FLOYD… Black SABBATH—get it? Then it goes right into that super heavy, super slow, simple guitar heavy metal that I love so much, and it’s like eight minutes long, too! The next song, “Tomorrow’s Dream”—if you were ever going to put a heavy metal song into a time capsule and send it out into space—to represent “Heavy Metal”—this would be the song. “Changes” kind of brings me down, even though it’s so obviously pretty and an allowable step in a different direction. “Supernaut” brings you back to where your heavy metal brain wants to be—insane!

Side two is much of the same, with Ozzy working the brain/insane rhyme which he had been, was, and would continue to make a career out of. Actually, I don’t know how many times he or anyone else used that rhyme, and I’m sure not going to pursue it! There are some pretty obvious drug references—a clue: if someone in rock music mentions “snow” it has nothing to do with weather. Everybody back then wrote about drugs a lot… you’d think they were IN LOVE with drugs! Try to find someone from 1972 who WASN’T writing songs about drugs—that is the real challenge.

The cover is a classic high contrast photo of Ozzy that’s as boring as it is iconic. The inside cover is nicer, with, apparently large color photo pages of the band—most of which are missing in this tattered copy—though there is a good picture of Tony Iommi, who was one of the more cool looking guys in rock from that time, in my opinion. The band wishes to thank, in the credits, “COKE-Cola”—apparently they were the first ones ever to make that Coca-cola/cocaine connection, and for that we owe them a great debt.

George Benson “Weekend in LA”

Ever since the suffering, bored days of high school, I’ve always considered George Benson’s 1976 milestone, “Breezin’” as shorthand for “insipid.” So it was with great trepidation that I put on this double, LIVE, LP from two years later, the dreaded cultural abyss of 1978. But to my surprise, I’m rather enjoying this low key, smooth jazz experience—really, I’m not kidding. I’ve graced my turntable and neighbors with this LP more than a few times lately. Perhaps I have mellowed like a fine wine. I’m not exactly coming home from school, putting on the Sex Pistols, and pounding a quart of hard cider like I was doing in the days this was pressed. No, these days Ray Speen has used his crack pipe to prop up the wobbly leg of his game table where he’s slowly working on an enormous jigsaw puzzle of the Taj Mahal. That image in the reflecting pool—as still and perfect as it is—just drives you crazy! But that’s another subject.

At first I thought this was a single record, as the second disk is gone. Then I noticed that I was in possession of Record 1 Side I, backed with Record 1 Side IV. That’s Roman numeral “4″ for all you intravenous drug abusers who can’t get their minds off the dope. Try a jigsaw puzzle, really. The best song is on side “IV”—the awesome Leon Russell’s “Lady Blue.” Other standouts are “Weekend in LA”, which could be synonymous with “mellow,” and “On Broadway” which could maybe be the theme song for everything in the 1970s I’d like to forget. But in a good way. You can barely tell this is a live record, the audience is so subdued; they sound like they’re all sitting in comfortable seats next to blonde ladies, sipping gin sours.

The cover is as equally classic, with “George Benson” “signed” in red neon, and George assuming the (strictly reserved for superstars) Jesus on the cross pose, that is if Jesus had been gripping a hollowbody, George Benson signature Ibanez in one hand, which, who knows, maybe he was. There are a couple more good pictures of GB, and really, he’s got one of the best moustaches of all time. This could very well be my moustache model for my new look. I’m already, as it is well known, fond of those open collars big enough to double as a jib, Genoa, or even a mainsail. Not something you’d want to wear on the high seas, but fine for tropical, LA nights.

Jeff Beck “There and Back”

Trying to write about these five or so Jeff Beck albums is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do– it’s kind of like the aural equivalent of scaling a virtually unlistenable replication of Mount Everlast or something, made especially difficult without an oxygen tank or being allowed to overuse the “W” word. This record from 1980– was ever there more deadening, time to stop reading and do the crossword puzzle, words as “this record from 1980?” (Unless it’s “this record from 1988.”)

I just checked my statcounter and my readership has fallen to ONE PERSON– who I suspect is Mr. Beck himself. Fortunately he is also checking my statcounter or we might end up in quite a “row.” Seeing how he virtually invented the sleeveless look, I suspect he still works out– something I ceased to do long, long ago, unless you count working out Lil’ Ray.

I’ve never been to the Rock’n’roll Hall of Fame, but I wonder if there is a Disney Animatronic version of a guitar store complete with the annoying customer running though every guitar cliché known to man, sponsored by Applebee’s America’s Favorite Neighborhood Grill. Free downloadable Hollywood bad girls nude wallpaper free flat tummy tips and debt counseling I found you a job! Is there a large electronic billboard like the stock market or something with the top selling records of all time, or at least the “Dark Side of the Moon” ongoing sales statistics, and the Rolling Stone greatest guitar wankers of all time, Jeff Beck currently ranked at 14 but looking to crack the top ten with continued collaborations with unlistenable contemporaries. But I like Jeff Beck, don’t get me wrong. I love the man. He doesn’t make me listen to these records, and he sure as hell isn’t the one paying me $9 an hour to review them!

One big, huge complaint. The album cover, which is simply the name in white, in stencil letters on a black background in fake leatherette (meaning it’s a fake version of a fake version of a fake version– how self-aware is that?) is one of like A MILLION record album covers (if you don’t have records and would rather hear me complain about CDs, stop reading NOW) that have an image and/or words on the cover and then some other image or words on the back cover set SIDEWAYS– that is on a 90 degree difference from the front. As record albums are SQUARE, it is hard or impossible to tell, when this happens, which side is up, and which side faces to the right, where the opening is where the record is inserted. Sometimes, even, the record goes in the top rather than the side. And sometimes, as in this case, the printing on the back is presented sideways, at least in relation to that of the cover. I’m sure the people designing the records find this playful. I find it incredibly annoying.

Jeff Beck “with the Jan Hammer Group Live”

If that title makes you say, “Uh-oh,” you’re right. You’ve got to love the live album, though. By 1977 people still weren’t embarrassed by it, I guess. The rising crowd noise, obviously manipulated, the out of breath utterances of the rock star… There was never any need to make “Spinal Tap 2″ because you have all the endless, endless shit that Spinal Tap was making fun of.

This is the Jan Hammer that did the excellent Miami Vice Theme, so I don’t think he’s so much to blame here. There are these sections of pretty listenable light funk, but it always devolves into some kind of pretentious, unpleasant statement of virtuosity. Every song seems like two songs, an okay one that teases you, followed by utter crap. During one song on the second side they momentarily go into the “Stoll On/Train Kept a Rollin’” thing, and it sounds just right and heavy, but it’s just like the sugar to attempt to make palatable the unbearable jazz/rock fusion to follow.

Most notable is the back cover of the album with a photo of Hammer and Beck, presumably playing live, slapped down with the most amateurish cut and paste technique I’ve seen in recent memory. I mean, these days, even quickly done grocery store newspaper inserts are pretty sophisticated, but this bit of nostalgia is back from when it was done by hand. But was it done by hand WHILE DRUNK, or what? It literally looks like the photo was cut out in about three minutes– a six year old would do a much more careful job. And weirder, great care was taken to cut out the microphone that is over the drums, but where is the drummer? Cut out completely! It is actually too weirdly bad to accept that it was just sloppy; I have to think it was purposely evoking cheap Kinko’s flyer style of the time, and in that, it’s pretty excellent!

Jeff Beck “Wired”

Pretty much exactly like “Blow By Blow” but worse–but let me think about 1976. Wait, I’d rather NOT think about 1976. That’s when this record came out, by the way. Jeff Beck has found some peers, on this record. They have an uncanny ability to come up with unpleasant chords and progressions with great frequency. They have an uncanny ability to play something that sounds like it could be the soundtrack of a sleazy, Blaxploitation film, and then turn on a dime and turn in into something that sounds like it could be the soundtrack to a suburban, white, Christian, feelgood, moralistic afterschool special. They have an uncanny ability to render me, as a listener, fatigued.