Rachel Sweet “Protect the Innocent”

In the between Rachel Sweet’s first LP (“Fool Around,” which I’ll get around to writing about some day) and her second, this one, from 1980, the album artwork (she’s wearing leather, and posing with much younger kids on front and back—pretty charming, really) leads us to believe she went from being a girl to being a woman. I suppose, age-wise, in a legal sense, that’s close to being true—but who knows. She comes across as a mature, seasoned singer on that first one—I love that record. I was sad, back then, as well as now, that I don’t like this one as much. It’s too 1980s, jaunty, new-wavy for me—I’m not crazy about the backing musicians—to erect and coked up—not necessarily literally. Maybe too much English breakfast tea. And too much guitar. But Rachel Sweet’s singing is great, and the song selection is interesting. She wrote or co-wrote a third of this record, including the kind of incredible, steamy last song, “Tonight Ricky”—which for a long time I thought was the sexiest song I’d ever heard. It still might be—what would have taken its place? It was also exciting that she did The Damned’s “New Rose”—a pretty bold punk statement at the time (and my favorite Damned song). My favorite song on the record is the Velvet Underground song, “New Age”—and seeing how Lou Reed is my all-time favorite songwriter, that’s not surprising. This version is a pretty mainstream arrangement, but the combination of her singing and it being a great song still gives me goosebumps—I’m not kidding. It also led me, on this evening, to go back and compare the versions from “Loaded” and “Live 1969,” I believe it was—I love them both. This is the earlier version with the Robert Mitchum line. I didn’t realize that Tori Amos recorded the other version, and I just listened to it—it’s satisfyingly strange.

The first thing I did while listening to this was look up Rachel Sweet online—something I hadn’t done since online was a possibility—and with a little trepidation. How often do I look someone up and find only tragedy? I’m kind of ashamed to say that, as much of a fan of her as I was back in the day, I probably hadn’t read about her in the time between when my Rolling Stone subscription ran out and the Internet was invented—and then some. It turns out she’s been busy and successful, and I don’t know how I missed so much—except that you could fill an IMDb-like-website with the stuff I’ve missed. Well… when the last part of your Wikipedia page says you unloaded Madonna’s former multi-million dollar home, that probably more likely indicates years of adventurous decorating than it does houselessness. Anyway, that brings me back to remembering my love for Rachel Sweet, over 40 years ago—which doesn’t make me feel old as much as… I don’t know… something about still being connected to the past. I wondered back then and still wonder now, who was making decisions about this and that, in regard to her career. Maybe there will be a documentary some day. All of this also reminded me of the one time I saw her live—probably around the time this record came out—at a fairly small venue, maybe it was the Cleveland Agora?* It was a great show—she was a confident and seasoned performer—still a teenager. Also, pretty sexy, of course—but I remember her evoking more of the image put forth by that first record—than this second one—very young and lovely and charming and fun. I even remember that she was wearing tight jeans, and her zipper (either by design, or due to being just that relaxed) was halfway down. There’s an image for you!

*A side note—while looking stuff up, I saw a YouTube post—a full concert (audio only) that is pretty great, and may well be the show I was at. It says Agora, Cleveland, 4-29-1980. It’s a fine recording, a pretty excellent document. At about the 20 minute mark, during the intro to “New Age,” I swear I can hear my friend, Brad (who I attended with) (AKA Jimmy Ego, of the Bursting Brains), yell, “Bursting Brains!” We’ve been missing Brad terribly for over 30 years now—kind of haunting to hear that—but also kind of great.

Pere Ubu “Dub Housing”

This is one of those records that—when I’m forced, at gunpoint, to make a list of my TEN favorite records—I don’t have to think twice about. If I had any hesitation at all, it would be to maybe include Pere Ubu’s first LP, The Modern Dance, instead—it’s almost a tossup between these two—this being their second LP. Both came out in 1978. But this was the first one I heard—maybe the first time I heard Pere Ubu at all. I probably bought it not long after it came out, and it warped my mind forever. I saw them live, then, in Cleveland, around 1980 or so—with this lineup. They are still an active band—though only David Thomas, from this record, remains in the band. It’s funny—this was the brief period they were on a major label—Chrysalis—and when you look at the other artists advertised on the inner sleeve (from The Babys to Trevor Rabin to UFO) (the hairstyles!) you realize just how NOT dated this record is. Listening to this now brings back the feeling of hearing it for the first time—and it always has—and the record never gets old, never sounds dated—and it’ll keep giving you some surprises if you listen closely enough.

I have not heard all the recorded Pere Ubu over the years (though, really, as much as I love this band, I should have) but I know they veered to quite a bit more experimental, out there, harder-to-take for-the-average-listener. This record is in a lot of ways fairly conventional—guitar, bass, drums, synthesizer—at least on some of the songs—yet it sounds nothing like a conventional rock record from this or any other time. For one thing, as a rock record, it’s more punk rock than most punk rock (as most punk rock is sadly not punk rock). But also, some of the songs are great, catchy pop songs. And even if you add up all the insane singers out there, no one is quite like David Thomas—his wailing, high-pitched voice and bizarre lyrics. You can’t separate the lyrics from the singing, here—but I’m resisting the temptation to paraphrase—you have to hear it sung. And then, Allen Ravenstine’s synthesizer—it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard—but also, never dominates—it always fits in with the songs. As a “rock” band, they’re a just a great rock band—and it’s worth mentioning, for this record, they have the essentials of the best bands: an excellent rhythm section—Tony Maimone, bass and Scott Krauss, drums. Also a fine guitarist, Tom Herman, who masters the most herculean of rock guitar feats—to not overplay. And on the more experimental-like, noise-like songs—whoever’s playing what—they do it with subtlety and color. They are also always fun—but at the same time also always sound dangerous—on the edge, or verge of destruction, or leaving the Earth.

I don’t like isolating any of the songs—it works best as an album—you play side one, and play side two (recover, and do it again)—but if you, say, have never heard Pere Ubu, and feel like listening to one of the more accessible songs on the internet, try: “(Pa) Ubu Dance Party”—it’s catchy and fun, and still plenty weird. It IS a dance party, in a single song, or maybe a TV show about Cleveland in the Seventies. Both the front and back cover are Cleveland cityscapes—the back a particularly nostalgic and lonely feeling sunset (or even lonelier sunrise). I’ve read that the front is a building in downtown Cleveland where band members lived. I remember driving down Prospect Ave, late at night, in the Seventies, maybe after some music show, and there would be prostitutes leaning out of opened windows, soliciting passing traffic—which is what the cover always makes me think of. But the music doesn’t really evoke a hardcore urban feeling, or anything, really of the time. It’s something else—I guess I’ve always considered it some kind of fiction—an interior landscape—maybe part insanity, part reality, part detective novel or film noir, part science fiction—but really only its own thing—and intricately connected with Cleveland. I guess when people think of Cleveland and rock’n’roll, maybe they think of Alan Freed, or WMMS “Home of the Buzzard”—and, now, the R’n’R Hall of Fame. So in that sense, I guess you could say Pere Ubu are the anti-Cleveland band—which makes them (in the spirit of Ghoulardi and Harvey Pekar and the cursed sports teams and the burning river) the most Cleveland of all Cleveland bands.

Jerry Byrd “On the Shores of Waikiki”

This is one of the more striking Hawaiian music records I’ve heard—not that I’ve heard tons, and I’m no authority. I generally like Hawaiian records, and they’re easy to find without spending too much money. But maybe I’ve mostly heard the more mainstream and bland ones, since I’ve generally considered them something pleasant and mellow to have on in the background while you sip a Mai Tai, Planter’s Punch, Caipirinha, Yaka Hula Hickey Dula, and so forth. But each of the songs on this record stands out and wants you to listen—and they’re all quite different, too. There’s a variety of vocals, several singers, more than one language (I’m assuming the Hawaiian language)—with sightly varying moods, even—though it all evokes what we imagine to be the essence of Hawaii. The other constant is the insane steel guitar—it’s some of the most steel guitar steel guitar I’ve heard—and I guess that’s Jerry Byrd. This record is from 1957, and there were a lot of Hawaiian records out by then, including several by Jerry Byrd—but there’s something about the sound of this one that makes you feel like you’re hearing this exotic stuff for the first time.

The cover says “the GUITAR of Jerry Byrd and his orchestra”— but the liner notes tell us that Jerry Bird (“King of the Steel Guitar”) brought in Danny Kuaana and his instrumental and vocal group, “The Islanders.” So I might have called it a record by Jerry Byrd and Danny Kuanna and The Islanders—but I guess these dudes had it figured out—no reason for me to get involved. The front cover is a wide beach landscape, dominated by a tree in the foreground—it looks like one of those trees with coconuts. Everything else is in the far distance including bathers that are about a quarter of an inch tall. It almost looks like a painting, but I think it’s a photograph. But also, there’s a GUY in the foreground, I guess sitting under the tree—we see him in semi-profile—mostly the back of his head. I’m wondering if this guy knew that it was him on the album cover—if he did, his friends probably got tired of him saying, “Look, that’s me!” But any of us would be excited to be included incidentally on an album cover—especially one as enduring as this.