Archive for the 'Imortality' Category

07
Dec
18

Lowell George “Thanks I’ll Eat It Here”

I picked up this record recently, having never heard it, and curious. I have always been a kinda fan of Little Feat—I bought one of their records in high school, liked about half of it, but loved a couple of the songs a lot. I might have bought some more stuff by them, including a live record, not long before I lost all my records. I was kind of fascinated with the band, but most fascinated with Lowell George—it seemed like what I liked most about Little Feat was him, and then he died tragically young (at the age of 34, in 1979, the same year this record, his only solo album, came out).

This is an alarmingly short record—nine short songs—which makes you think, did he just not record a lot for the sessions for this record, or is he kind of a perfectionist about what goes on the record? I don’t know, but I’m sure someone does—all I have to go by is the music here. These are some nice songs—though I’m not getting a feeling of any kind of thematic line running through them at first listening—so I’m listening to this record a few times. I like it, so that’s no chore. This could be one of my regulars, at least in this place, at this time. My favorite, maybe, is “Two Trains” (one of his compositions), in spite of it being undeniably a dreaded “train song.” I also like, a lot, “20 Million Things,” and “Find a River,” and Alan Toussaint’s “What Do You Want The Girl To Do”—which is the first song on the record, and just fairly irresistible.

I only noticed later that there are liner notes on the inside sleeve—quite a lot of writing, actually, all in the no caps, no punctuation style that kind of says, hey, I’m a musician, not a writer, but I got something to say here. Okay, it’s not liner notes, but lots and lots of album credits—kind of a funny way to present them, though. Likely scrawled by LG with a pencil on the back of a paper bag and transcribed by someone. A lot of names there, and even though a lot of these people have lots of career credits, you have to wonder if this one might have been particularly special.

The cover is a painting by Neon Park, who did most of the Little Feat album covers, as well as a lot of others. A very clean looking Lowell George is in the foreground wearing a blue bathrobe (that looks just like mine), and behind him there’s a park or woods with a lot going on, some of it probably containing secret meanings—or not so secret—what looks like a picnic lunch containing some cheeseburgers and a City Lights copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. And then some lounging people who look a lot like Fidel Castro, Bob Dylan with devil horns, and Marlene Dietrich (but a black and white version of her from The Blue Angel (though possibly wearing Dorothy’s ruby slippers). There’s a few b&w photos of LG on the back, one of which kind of portrays him as a rather moist drunk. But on the other side of the sleeve there’s a really nice photo of him fishing, after snagging some sea-weed. It’s a great photo—he’s really attractive, and it makes you think he probably had a good sense of humor—was likely a warm and genuine guy—one of those people you’d feel kind of elevated, just being in the same room with him. I always got that from his music, too, so I’m going to go on believing that.

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16
Nov
18

John Prine “In Spite of Ourselves”

This is a record I know well, since I made a cassette tape of it late in the last millennium, from the CD source—one of my favorite albums in recent years (last two decades)—but it’s the first thing I put on up here in the cabin, as I noticed there is a sticker on the record that says, “First Time On Vinyl!”—so apparently it was only available on CD before, and it’s reissued by OHBOY Records on 180 gram vinyl. If you thought your record collection was a bitch to move back in the old days, wait until everything is on 180 gram vinyl—your friends are gonna become scarce on moving day. One thing that bugs me sometimes when an album originates on CD and then is put out on vinyl, it retains the track numbers, like in this case, 1 thru 16, rather than side one, 1 thru 8, side two, 1 thru 8, etc. A small thing, but it’s another reminder about another facet about CDs that sucked.

This is a record of all duets, a great tradition of country and western music, where a man and woman can do something together more intimate than sex and no one gets divorced or shot (at least we hope). It’s also a covers record, with an incredible collection of great songs, some fairly familiar and some pretty obscure (at least to me, before this record). It makes sense that a great songwriter like John Prine would come up with an amazing group of songs to cover—and they are all songs that lend themselves to duets. One song by JP, “In Spite of Ourselves,” is maybe the best one on the record. My next favorite here is “Let’s Invite Them Over,” by Onie Wheeler, which is fairly twisted—you’ve just got to listen to it. John Prine’s distinctive singing voice really works well with these strong women singers, among them: Iris Dement, Connie Smith, Lucinda Williams, Trisha Yearwood, Melba Montgomery, Emmylou Harris, Dolores Keane, Patty Loveless, and Fiona Prine. The most and my favorite are with Iris Dement, not surprisingly, since she is my favorite living singer in this whole fragile world. My only complaint here at the cabin is that there’s not more Iris Dement records—I’ve spent more time searching for them than I have looking for hidden marijuana.

15
Nov
18

Grateful Dead “Workingman’s Dead”

I know less about the Grateful Dead’s discography than about fine wines—totally, exactly, nothing—but I’d like to know more, and I’d like to find a way to like them someday, because I feel like they could be an acquired taste—that is acquired through listening to them—but putting in the time might pay some kind of dividends consisting of a pleasurable knowledge and depth of appreciation. But for now, to me, they still sound like a bunch of annoyingly stoned commune hippies. What a great band name, though!—who was around on band naming day? I can never get a handle on their sound—I can’t pick out individual singers or musicians—its a large band, but they usually sound like just a few people are playing. This record is another one like that—it all kind of blended together like a way too healthy smoothie—the exception being the last song, which is that famous, “Ridin’ that train, high on cocaine,” song, which is named, “Casey Jones”—I never knew that.

The first time I ever heard one of their songs, that I’ve been aware of, was on this early-seventies collection I bought—sold to me by TV commercials—when I was like 11, and it had the song “Truckin’” on it, which pretty much fascinated me, the breezy style of playing and singing, but even more, the lyrics—something about a salt machine, and livin’ on reds, vitamin C, and cocaine. The lyrics are all credited to someone named Robert Hunter, which fascinated me, as he was not a musician in the band. I read somewhere (probably Rolling Stone magazine) that he was the Dead’s lyricist, which seemed so bizarre to me… though, same thing with Elton John and Bernie Taupin, right? But this Robert Hunter, what was he like? I wanted to find out more, but we were a long way off from having the internet, not unlike me here in the “North Woods”—and, in fact, it occurs to me that the perfect scenario would be for the Grateful Dead (I mean, in a perfect world where they were still together and all still alive) to join me here in this cabin and play for about 12 hours straight while I put this old turntable to rest for awhile. I suppose if that happened I’d become either a huge fan or the harshest critic, but I’m guessing they’d all be cool and we’d have a good time and I’d finally gain some crucial insight into this music.

30
Oct
18

Bob Dylan “New Morning”

I’m not exactly sure where this record fits in the BD timeline—it seems to be one of his Nashville records, produced by Bob Johnston, there’s studio musicians, and David Bromberg plays on it, and Al Kooper, and there’s a lot of piano. This is a great record; I kind of wish it was the first Dylan record I ever heard and then based my whole BD experience on the foundation of that experience. Somehow I’ve never heard much of it—though “If Dogs Run Free” somewhere came to me in a weirdness care package. I think it’s pretty likely that this record was released well after BD’s replacement with the new Dylan, but some of the songs here are from the original Dylan vault. That said, the new one is pulling off some pretty good replication of the old one, to the extent that I don’t even feel confident offering my track by track guess on who is singing. Somehow I never heard the song “The Man in Me” until I heard it in the movie, The Big Lebowski—and it’s a great song, and really important to that movie.

24
Oct
18

Link Wray “Be What You Want To”

In the half century that I’ve been alive and aware of appreciating awesome things, the fact that not one of my scores of friends and hundreds of acquaintances (not to mention all the rock critics and makers of the “best of all time” lists) had enthusiastically encouraged me to listen to this record points out a fundamental failure in my life. Or maybe I just don’t listen to people. I guess there is the likelihood that the failure is all on me. Whatever the problem was, it’s been resolved in regard to this Link Wray album from 1973. (Which I know I’ve said a hundred times is the most awesome year for culture in my life—though I haven’t figured out yet if it’s something about that year, exactly, or just my relationship to it—maybe because it’s the year I started drinking?) All of these songs have huge, overblown arrangements, some of which might have swallowed up the immediacy, but Link Wray’s singing has a way of not only cutting through all the instruments and production, but bringing it right back to the edge of a garage band. I might easily go on and on, but sometimes the less said the better—just heed my A+ and 5 Stars (of 5) and my rating of 11 on a scale of one to ten, and listen to the record, and if you don’t agree with me then go fuck yourself!

23
Oct
18

Bob Dylan “Nashville Skyline”

There is the theory that there have been two Bob Dylan’s, the Robert Zimmerman who made the music up through Blonde on Blonde, and then the one who “became” Bob Dylan after he was killed in the motorcycle accident (likely no motorcycle accident, but a more mundane or sordid death, and the motorcycle accident was an invented story for the time away, to recover, but there was no recovery, just death). The second Dylan is a guy, probably a talented but unsuccessful Nashville musician (who sings a lot like Jim Nabors) who looked like Dylan (a guy who “fit the jacket”—as in the Greg Brady fitting the jacket Brady Bunch episode) and could play, and saw this as a weird gig he’d be able to step away from eventually with some cash—but later realized it was actually the Devil’s Opportunity of the Century, and there was no escape until the escape of death, ultimately.

Which is a long way around of saying this record sounds like nothing that Dylan had done before, while sounding exactly like what he had done before—which is of course, keeping in line with what he (both of him) has always done. (Actually, the multiple Dylans in Todd Haynes’ movie, I’m Not There (2007) is a much better conspiracy theory, kind of like the Shakespeare being-a-collective theory—and I realize that movie is not a theory, it’s an innovative and brilliant approach to Dylan—but often from art arises not just metaphorical but actual truth.) Anyway, I think I heard this way back when I was in high school and I didn’t like it—the Jim Nabors voice freaked me out, and I didn’t like country and western, yet, at that time—but now, this is one of my favorite BD records, and “Lay Lady Lay,” a song I once couldn’t stand, is one of my favorites, as well as “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You.”

30
Aug
18

Mickey Newbury “Sweet Memories”

This is a 1985 LP put out by MCA Records of “previously released material”—there’s nothing wrong with that if the songs are good—but the presentation, the album cover, doesn’t feel like an artist’s album, but a record company product, which, again is okay, but I’m more interested in the LP as an art form that’s a direct extension of the artist from a certain time and place. This would be the ideal thing to find on cassette at a truck-stop during a nonstop cross country road-trip in a vintage automobile. This would be your 3am ’til dawn music. The back contains some concise liner notes written by Wesley H. Rose, president of Acuff-Rose Publications, and he calls Mickey Newbury one of the great songwriters of our time. You might not have heard of him, but if you were a Nashville old-timer, you certainly would have. I wonder what’s going to happen to Nashville. I’ve heard, repeatedly, lately, about how the population there is exploding. For whatever reason, it’s the place to move to. Which means, of course, that the people who are getting there now, or soon, are going to have a hard time finding a place to live, finding a job, making ends meet. I suppose many of those moving there are songwriters, trying to break into the songwriting, singing, playing, recording music business. Most won’t make it. Some will stay and work at the new microbrewery, or a call center, and some will go back to the town they came from, and some will try the next place. I wonder where the next place is, or going to be?

Anyway, this is a fine listening record, and maybe a good record to study a well-crafted Nashville style song, but I’m not going to focus on the songs right now because many of them are on other Mickey Newbury records I have and will write about later. This has the feeling of a post-career record (not the case) with a 7 inch single size portrait of him on the cover (with his great smile and hair) surrounded by an expanse of oppressive green background (a shade of green I’d call “basement rec-room”). I first heard Mickey Newbury just a few years ago during a WKCR NY radio country music marathon, and in particular, this one song (can’t remember what now) that struck me as being the kind of song I’d like to write. So then I got kind of obsessed, not recalling ever seeing his records—started looking for them and found them affordable, and before you know it, I have six of his LPs (from 1973 to 1979) plus this one. I’ll get around to writing about those records when they come up on my random review system. Let this be my introduction to Mickey Newbury and promise of more to come. In a quick perusal of his internet biography (which you never want to take as gospel) it sounds like he had great success as a songwriter at a relatively early age, but didn’t record until his late twenties (what some would consider “late”), but then put out a lot of records, until he suffered with health issues and died far too young. You can find quotes of the utmost respect for him by some great musicians and songwriters. I’ll look forward to really listening in depth to some of his records, here, in the near future.




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