Archive for the 'Bands with one really tall guy' Category

20
Feb
19

Jefferson Airplane “Bark”

The art department did a good job on this album cover—it totally fooled me. I am not that familiar with Jefferson Airplane’s discography, so when I saw this odd album cover with a fish head, I thought that someone had scrawled “BARK” on the cover just so they’d remember what it was—but it’s actually the album cover—very good job of replicating a black marker scrawl. (I was not, however, fooled into thinking it was an actual fish wrapped in paper—if that was the case I would have smelled it long before seeing it.) So apparently the original album cover looked like a shopping bag (or was a shopping bag) brown paper, with a “JA” logo meant to replicate the “A&P” grocery store logo—which would mean very little to people now—I barely remember that logo. Or maybe they still use it? Are there still A&P stores? Anyway, it’s a weird choice, but these were out-of-control San Francisco hippies and releasing an album in a shopping bag is probably very mild compared to the ideas they probably did have but someone with relative sanity stepped in. So I don’t know when this glossy replica of a fish wrapped in paper came out, but it’s a really good album cover, and even better is the lyrics “flyer” inside (in pink, what is meant to be, I guess, butcher paper). Each song title gets a different font (this is long before “font abuse”—and subsequent font sanity). It’s nice to have the lyrics, very readable (it folds out to 12×24 inches)—but then even better, on the other side is a kind of concrete poetry thing, titled with crudely cut out paper bag paper letters: “What you can do with the bag”—below which are about 100 or so suggestions about what you can do with the bag. I can’t type it all out since I don’t have the “good speed” they had when they composed this thing, but I’ll read over it quickly and tell you my favorite(s).

Fans of this band’s history will probably correct me, but this seems to be a later version of JA—some band members changed, I guess—but still well before the dreaded “Jefferson Starship.” I’m wondering now if they’re really dreaded (my memory, of back then, was dreading them—but now I do like a lot of stuff I once hated). But what I’m wondering is if they almost called themselves something else, like what’s between an airplane and a starship? Maybe a dirigible? Could they nearly have been temporarily named Jefferson Zeppelin? I was playing this record the other night and I felt like either it was really fucked up (the recording, or the actual vinyl) or my stereo was fucked up, or my needle, maybe, or maybe it was me because the apartment was 80 degrees. Or maybe a young Tom Cruise was in here fucking with my equalizer. It seems like every song was written by a different band member, but I’m not going to go through them one by one. I’m not going to say life it too short for that—it isn’t—but February is too short. The one song that kind of freaks me out though is “Feel So Good”—and I can’t really put my finger on why, but it seems to bring back these strong memories of how intimidating the Seventies were—when everyone over the age of 12 had a moustache, and people wore hats and scarfs, and the cool guys had little leather satchels tied to their belts—and what was in them? Suddenly everyone was several inches taller (shoes and hair) and you could see the ocean in their blue eyes, and they knew something they weren’t going to tell you, and somehow there just seemed to be more people than ever with wide gaps between their two front teeth. All that from that one song, for no good reason, either.

I really do like this record—I don’t mean to be negative about the fucking up sound—I actually like that, a lot. Just to be clear. (But is she singing in German on this one song, over a background of tortured ghosts?) And I like the all-over-the-place-ness of the record—which maybe has something to do with all the songwriters present—it’s like everybody gave it a shot. Maybe there’s a song by the guy who brings the acid over, and one by the guy at the deli. Some day I’ll put all these JA names together, in a proper order, and associate them with faces and instruments. I love the scenes of them playing at Altamont in Gimme Shelter (1970)—they are all both really intense and like just normal cats. Plus, didn’t one of them get punched by one of the Hell’s Angels? And then I’m especially fascinated with Grace Slick—even through all the concert footage, records, and reading about her, I could never get a sense of what she’s all about—like she’s just outside any kind of personal reference (comparison with another person). Maybe I’m wrong about that, and she’s just kind of like a cross between someone and someone else, but I guess I want to believe she’s alone in Grace Slick-ville. This record is kind of growing on me, actually—I might have to write about it again, later, and I can do that, because I make the rules here. Here’s a fine example of what you can do with the bag: “Call it Chester… call it loose… call it nester… call it Goose.”

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16
Feb
19

Traffic “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys”

This is another band that I always mixed up with every other band from the late Sixties and early Seventies whose name was one, everyday word. This is a really enjoyable listening record, though, and it would probably have been in my high school record collection if I was a little older, but in 1971 I was still in my bubblegum period. Who am I fooling, I’m still in my bubblegum period. I believe I wrote about an earlier Traffic record on this site—but I’m not going back to look—maybe later. This version of the band is a six-piece, and they use the variety of instrumentation well (the usual, plus really prominent additional percussion, saxophone, and flute)—while managing to keep a fairly minimal sound, which means no one is horribly overplaying. No one sounds the least bit in a hurry, either, which I quite appreciate at this juncture. There are only six songs on this record, the shortest being over 4 minutes. The longest, which is 12 minutes, is the title track, and it’s such a nice song, it feels half as long, and I could have listened to it twice as long. I have no idea what the hell it means or what it’s about, and after reading something on the internet about where the title comes from and what it refers to, I still have no idea.

The album cover is another die-cut atrocity (pretty much all album covers that aren’t the usual square shape are atrocities)—it’s supposed to look like a cube, but of course wouldn’t even fool or impress even the most stoned among us. If you’ve seen one painting depicting a blue sky with misty clouds above a black and white checkered floor, you’ve seen them all. I probably made one myself in high school art class. Even on back, with the band photo taking up most of it, the dumb black and white checked floor cuts their feet off (just not really thought-out at all). Most likely everyone who has ever rented an efficiency apartment in a college town has had that very black and white checkered floor, and depending on your level of making peace with the past, just this graphic will either depress you or fully nauseate you. The only good thing is that the inner sleeve (in this used version) is still intact and matches the shape of the cover. Also, the band photo on back (should have just been the cover) is pretty amusing, the six guys standing there, either looking at the photographer, or each other, or laughing, or serious—seems like it could have been the first of this style of band photo—though it was probably the ten-thousandth, or so (and of course has been emulated millions of times since). One odd detail, the guy who is either the sax player or is just wearing that sax strap around his neck to attract girls (I’ve been guilty of that myself) is holding, in his left hand, what looks like a cordless phone—you know, an old one, gray plastic, with a long antenna—something that’s beyond dated now, of course, but did it even exist in 1971?—I guess it had to, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but I sure don’t know what.

Side two starts out with the one bummer song on the record, which made me feel like I was watching the local blues rock band at the county fair (not a lot of fond memories there—the fair yes, the bands no). The last song on this side is another extended one, and it starts out with a really inane art rock feel, with the singer repeating “rainmaker, rainmaker” over and over until you expect to see little fairies dancing in your room—and then just when you’re about to throw a shoe at the turntable, they suddenly shift gears and it goes all abstract and dissonant to the point where you think it’s just falling apart—but then settles into a moderately funky groove—it plays out the rest of the song like that, fading out way too soon, actually. I really wish the whole second side would have just been this for 26 minutes. These guys—when they’re not piddling with the wizard bullshit—can play.

09
Dec
18

The Mamas and The Papas “If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears”

The first Mamas and Papas record, and far from my favorite, though it has some great songs (each of their records has some of my favorites—though, if I was able to put together a “greatest” record for them it would probably not resemble anyone else’s version). My favorite here is “Somebody Groovy”—I can’t get enough of that song. Then “California Dreamin’”—a song I liked a lot when I kind of “rediscovered” (for me) the band, in the early Eighties—which is also, of course, probably the most overplayed of all their songs, and one I’d be in danger of being sick to death of if it wasn’t for it being used in several scenes in Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express (1994)—at which time it became forever connected to that movie, and those great scenes with Faye Wong working at the restaurant, playing the song on a boom box. The other one I really like here is “The In Crowd,” a Dobie Gray hit song (I also really love the Ramsey Lewis Trio version—one of my favorite songs) and this version is really an excellent one—they add a lot to it.

There are some bizarre liner notes, too, pretty long and wordy, written by Andy Wickham. Here’s a bit: “They live in a nutty world of semi-existentialism, of cuckoo-clocks and antique lampshades, of beat-up old cars and Indian boots…” etc.—great liner note style. The other thing worth mentioning is that I have two copies—I guess a stereo and a mono version—at this point I have no preference—but the covers are way different, and what’s weird is that it’s the same photo, cropped differently. It’s a photo where the four of them are sitting somewhat awkwardly in a dry bathtub. It’s a pretty good bathtub, too, in a tiled bathroom with a window right above the tub—I’d take that bathroom. On the right, the toilet would be very prominent except that it’s mostly covered by an art department signboard announcing the album’s singles. Too, bad—I want to see the toilet—is there an older version of the cover with the toilet visible? Anyway, on the other record the photo is cropped so that you can’t even see the bathtub—and if that one was the only one you ever saw, you’d think, why in the hell did they pick this odd, awkward photo in this weird tiled room? There must have been a handful of fun discussions, about all this, at Dunhill Records.

30
Nov
18

Jefferson Airplane “Volunteers”

If you want to give some kid an introduction to 1969, this would be a good place to start. The album cover is modeled after an activist newspaper, and the foldout, insert lyric sheet is as well. There is that equal amount of humor, deadly seriousness, surrealism, practicality, insiderishness and outsiderishness in unequal but workable measures. The music, too, of course—that style of vocal harmony, everybody singing, and jamming, and pretty excessive lead guitar that is often impressive once you’re in the mood. If I have time later, I’m going to go back and read some of this stuff, but I’m nearing the end of my time here (as we all are). I am actually pretty unfamiliar with Jefferson Airplane—I know the names (if you came across them for the first time, you might think they were a law firm, or a deli), but not much about them. I probably have had more contact with the band through the movie Gimme Shelter (1970) than any other way. Oh, one really important thing is that this is one of the few records I know of that uses the inside album cover (it’s one of those that fold open) to good use: there is a giant (as big as the album cover, X2) photo of peanut butter and jelly on bread (it looks like crunchy PB and straw-or-raspberry jelly-or-jam, with a liberal amount of butter). So it’s an open-faced, PB&J—and then when you close the album cover back up, it makes a sandwich. Get it?

11
Sep
18

Fleetwood Mac “Tango in the Night”

Now, I know better than to ever put the needle on ANY album released in 1987 (unless I already know it’s one of the very few good ones), but I thought I’d take a chance and against all odds this would be the underrated Fleetwood Mac record of all time. And it is quite remarkable, but not in the way I’d hoped; it is maybe the worst thing I’ve ever heard. How can this even exist? It’s the same lineup on those two classic F.Mac records—there is a picture of them on the back cover looking like they stepped out of the movie, St. Elmo’s Fire (except for Mick Fleetwood, who seems to have grown another foot and is wearing a hat that looks like it’s about to fly off to its home planet)—interesting, because the stoner cover painting of a tropical paradise also features a UFO, no bigger than half a Valium, indeed so small that the same pic reproduced on the CD cover would reduce the UFO to microscopic size.

After suffering through an eternity of songs—each one a punishing barrage of what I guess is the 1980s production style (which reminds me why I stopped listening to ANY popular music in the 1980s)—the last song was actually halfway catchy and kind of pretty, and so against my better judgment I’m putting it on again and taking a look at the lyrics sheet; after all, these are what must be interesting and decent people who wrote some great classic songs, and maybe there is something revealed in the lyrics about what they are going through here—whether it be insanity, drug impairment, or some kind of cultish trip we need to know about. Oh, no—that was a mistake. I won’t get through a second listening. Any record that makes me get up from my chair and remove it from the turntable isn’t likely to see daylight in this lifetime. Right now I’m regretting this brutal sound memory of the most horrible decade, culturally, I’ve yet endured.

18
Jul
18

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery to Me”

This is a record that should be woefully familiar to record collectors because its heinous cover will at some point assault you during your journeys; it’s a giant stoner drawing of some kind of baboon eating a cake, and it folds out to show him in conversation with an equally hideous, bald, bearded, scholarly man. I don’t know what it all means, but being hungry, the cake with the candied red and green cherries actually looks pretty good. The inside photo is much nicer, of five hairy hippies in a pyramid huddle looking slightly upward at the camera. I recognize Christine and John McVie, the “Mac” part of the band, and Mick Fleetwood, who I believe is like eight feet tall; he’s one of those guys who makes whatever drums he’s playing look like a kids’ drum-set, and like he should probably be out slaying dragons instead. The other two are the guitarists, Bob Welch and Bob Weston (I wish they were called Bob W.1 and Bob W.2) who I don’t recognize, even though I do remember a prominent Bob Welch solo record from, I think, the Seventies, with him on the cover with those big, graduated rose lens glasses, and an open shirt, generally reeking of coke. Like many people, I first came upon Fleetwood Mac with those two records with black and white covers (I think) around the time that Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham became prominent members (I think—it’s been a few years since I’ve gone back to those records, though songs from them will be over-played into the unforeseeable future).

Actually, I’m kind of glad I’m in this cabin in the “North Woods” because I could easily go into a Fleetwood Mac rabbit hole if I had free use of the internet—and I could find the marijuana I know is around here somewhere. In fact, had they known when they formed the band, Rabbithole would have been a better name. Was this the band that had two couples that eventually broke up and dated each other? 1973 was a good year for music and movies, one of my favorite years, but there is not a lot on first listening to this record that’s producing mental notes to go back for a second listening; it’s already sounding like a chore, and choosing between this and doing the dishes… About half the songs are written by Bob Welch, and he is also singing on half or more—I’m assuming that’s him. Even when Christine McVie sings there isn’t much of a glimmer of the later Fleetwood Mac (to me, I’m sure purists would disagree). I wonder if someone has written a decent biography of the band—that might be kind of fascinating. Hey, here’s a cover song, “For Your Love”—which I recognize, of course, from the Yardbirds; I’m afraid it’s weak, especially the wanky guitar. Oh well, some paths in the woods circle right back to the cabin after about five minutes and you realize you’d rather just be making pancakes.

08
May
18

The Byrds “Younger Than Yesterday”

I have spent my life trying not to have to try to figure out The Byrds; it might have been different if I’d started way back, maybe not from the beginning, but maybe when this 1967 album came out, their fourth. I could have joined the cult, been indoctrinated, socialized, whatever. It’s kind of like with any cult, if you’re brainwashed from childhood, the belief is second nature, and of course even inescapable. But it you’re not, none of it ever really makes sense. The Byrds have had so many members come and go over the years, they may as well be a group with a history like the Masons, and in fact, there could be arguments made that The Byrds and the Masons are one in the same. This brilliant, groundbreaking album comes off the tracks at the end of the “CTA – 102” when we hear the simultaneous forward and tape reversed voice of Satan (which sounds suspiciously like the garden gnome episode of “Night Gallery”)—and the album then starts traveling in reverse (the next song is “Renaissance Fair”).

I was finally coerced to approach this record by my ex-employer, Anthony Franciosa (not the actor, but the editor of The Moss Problemon which this review is simulcast), and even though the compensation is minimal, Tony convinced me over breakfast at his regular hangout, Foxy’s Restaurant, in Glendale (part of the greater Los Angeles). One of his arguments was that the song “Thoughts and Words” sounds exactly like a Bob Lind number (who I just wrote about) and then goes into a chorus that sounds exactly like someone else (on the tip of my tongue—I’ll think of it and fill it in here later). Then it uses the backwards guitars, which never sounded good to me, but still, I like the idea. That technique is taken to an extreme with “Mind Gardens,” which is one of those hippie numbers that drugs (LSD?) allow the artist to dispense with harmony, melody, rhythm, structure, rhyme, story, or any narrative sense at all. Long live 1967! The funny thing is that I always thought the song was called “Mings Garden” and was about Moo Goo Gai Pan.

“My Back Pages” is another one of those Bob Dylan songs that is much better than he played it. And I’m not one of those Dylan haters, in fact I’m writing the first book ever about him, and he’s sitting across the table from me right now, and I’m only interrupting our interview to write this quick review. What many people don’t realize is that The Byrds were actually several groups at once, and one piece of evidence for that is the cover of this record, with images of them in the future, after having passed away, returning as ghosts. All dead before their time, they did return, were accused of inventing “country-rock”—but never convicted. Actually, I’m not sure if the back of this record, with a badly done collage of old band photos (or someone else’s high school yearbook, perhaps), was actually like this (it looks like drawn on goatees, red lipstick, and bleeding tears) or if some punk kid altered it with marker. Because it may have been the inspiration for The Rolling Stones “Some Girls”—if the latter is not true.

The Byrds are and were Chris Hillman, David Crosby, Michael Clark, Gene Clark, Gene Clarke, Mitchel Clark, Gene Clarke, Michel Clarke, and identical twins Jim and Roger McGuinn. An earlier incantation of the band was known as the Yardbyrds, and here they’ve revived their hit, “Have You Seen Her Face.” The song “So You Want to be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star,” so ingrained in the culture it won’t come out even with Formula 409 at least satisfies the “song with ‘rock’n’roll’ in the title” requirement for consideration for inauguration into the Rock Hall o’ Fame, in Cleveland, Ohio. Another odd fact is that the band’s name upside down and backwards is “Spjh8.” Someone has released a record called “Older Than Tomorrow”—but it violated the conditions of its parole before it could drop. All other facets of this record and band, including the songs I haven’t touched on, the concept, the attitude, and the execution, can only be described as seminal. If not kaleidoscopic.




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