Mark Eitzel “Hey Mr Ferryman”

I admire when someone has all the records by their favorite artist(s)—they’re that kind of a fan—as well as going to great lengths to see them live. As much as I love the music of quite a few—I don’t have all of it by anyone—I’m neither that deep-pocketed nor dedicated—even though I do consider myself a fanatic (when it comes to music I love). I’m not even going to count up the releases by Mark Eitzel or his former band, American Music Club—but I have a hodgepodge, incomplete collection—digital, CD, cassette, and very limited vinyl. I used to have all the early AMC albums—another casualty of moving, I guess. I don’t listen to him all the time—you have to be in the proper mood—but then, I don’t listen to anyone regularly—it’s always mini-periods of obsession—or else whenever my random system calls on me to write something—and that’s the case today. And I rarely see anyone live anymore—can’t tolerate bars, or crowds—and crowded bars—no. But imagine, if you will, an opportunity arises to see your favorite artist (one who has the unique quality of being very different live and on record—but taking both to some kind of singular extreme). And the show is affordable, on the bus line, and limited to an intimate group of sane people—in someone’s living room. That transpired, a few years back, not long after this 2017 record came out—if I remember correctly. Part of a unique touring system put on by a collective called Undertow—how does this even work? I mean, some acts are too popular, too loud, too avaricious—won’t work. And I’m sure some audiences would find this kind of thing weird (for me, I’d pay just to visit the living rooms!)—but where there’s a sweet spot, I guess—the fans benefit. I was kind of shocked it worked with Mark Eitzel, as the last time I’d seen him was with a band at a good-sized theater. And he is, after all, currently the best working songwriter of popular music out there (that’s my opinion, but you’re free to agree). Also, I (as a person who is decidedly not a concertgoer) have seen him about once a decade, starting with the late Seventies. Can that even be? Those shows were all unique and memorable. He’s maybe overly attuned to the audience—he feels volatile—and like you could potentially alter the very show by your audience presence/honest reaction. He’s also personable, inspiring, and as funny (I’m not saying like a clown) as anyone—often hilarious as he is heartbreaking.

Now, as far as this record—it’s so-so as an object—but I’m just not crazy about contemporary vinyl—why? As a generalization—too expensive, too heavy, too thick, no liner notes, uninspiring visually—and that includes the minimalist labels. But I’m happy I bought this one—it’s an inspired collection of ten songs that I’m still trying to get a handle on. I won’t compare it to other Eitzel and AMC releases (but it’s right up there). I’m going to approach it—right now—in a way that’s fun for me—song by song. I’m not, however, going to list the names of the songs (or quote the lyrics, exactly). 1. The “Ferryman” in question doesn’t take long to make an appearance—the catchiest song on the record—but he’s taking the singer to his rest—which means? Not good. Or maybe at peace? 2. Next is the prettiest (and saddest) song on the record—and he is addressing that you—who—I think—seems to be beyond reach. I’ve already noticed that the sung lyrics don’t match exactly to the lyric sheet… which I find… kind of exciting. Not even close. 3. Another bar, and more hopelessness. 4. This next one, I think, a beautiful song about love—but love is never mentioned—though a chain is mentioned… a lot. 5. A really grim song about gambling—whether literally, or gambling as a metaphor—does it matter? Kind of left me on the ledge, but… side two is sure to… 1. Well, this first one is devastating. And it’s also really, really funny. But devastating. When someone says how can you go on, it doesn’t usually refer to the second song on side two of a record. But I go on. 2. Mr. Humphries appears to be a specific reference that I don’t know—but want to, because he seems singularly heroic, the way the song builds, then reduces to near nothing, then builds again, very emotional. 3. Another disturbing reference I don’t get (and feel like I should—yikes) (no internet)—but it makes for a blood, wine, more blood, rocker.  4. A love song—when was the last time someone asked me if I believed in love? Seemed to stop after a while—but maybe that’s not everyone’s experience—so, yeah… refer to this song. (Interesting, there’s a song on the lyric sheet that’s not on the record. Really good lyrics, too—well, it’s out there, somewhere.) 5. One more—a lullaby. And that last verse! After all that utter devastation, he gives us this last, quiet, poem—to continue to stumble along with.

Arthur Lyman “Love for Sale!”

That album cover! —you can almost feel the razor burn—and get a nose full of smellgood. Lifesize, closeup, in-focus, photo of… either Arthur Lyman or someone who looks even more like Arthur Lyman than Arthur Lyman—bigger than life! I was going to say the portrait photo is larger than human scale, but I measured his head—ten inches from chin to scalp—and then measured my own—the same! Also, his fingernails are the same size as mine—so I guess this is exactly life-size! And this is before photoshop, so you’ve got to hand it to his skin care team—just the proximity alone to whatever gel he’s got molding that black hair would be enough to get most people’s pores competing with the volcano eruptions pictured on the covers of many other Arthur Lyman records. People had guts back then—didn’t let a few nose hairs or out-of-control eyebrows bother them. I’m joking, but I find him quite attractive, and I’m sure, as well, did the many Arthur Lyman fans who fell in love with this, his 12^th or so LP. After all, the record is called “Love for Sale!”—and there’s a theme going on—11 of the 12 songs have the word “love” in their titles. (One of the songs is called, “Love.”) The odd man out, then, is “Sentimental Journey.” Which makes me think of something.

On Pere Ubu’s 1978 debut LP, “The Modern Dance” (one of the best records of all time) there’s a song called “Sentimental Journey,” as well—it’s a great song. (Coincidentally, among the other songs on the record, none of them have the word “love” in their titles.) Was Arthur Lyman an influence on Pere Ubu? To me, it sounds like everything went through the Ubu influence grinder. But this imagines a direct exotica-to-Pere Ubu connection. Another thing to consider… the song “Sentimental Journey”—when lyrics are present—such as the Doris Day version—rhymes journey with “yearny.” But you won’t find that here. The only singing here is the jungle animal sound effects. Are there any exotica records with vocals? There must be, but I don’t know enough of them to be able to say for sure. I do have a few exotica records—and have had a few in the past that I lost—and I can/could put them on at any time, always enjoy them. But for all that, I don’t have any kind of sense who is my favorite—or which records are my favorites. I mean, it doesn’t all sound the same, of course, but I just haven’t gone into the exotica that deeply. I like this record as much as any I’ve heard, I guess. It’s not exactly stripped-down, but it’s also not overly busy, and there’s a lot of dynamics, and some really quiet, mellow moments. The band is a four-piece, and Arthur Lyman’s vibes are at the front of everything—occasionally getting really bizarre—going into outer space. Talking about outer space, the three paragraphs of uncredited liner notes are fine, but just subtly weird enough to make me feel like I’m on drugs. (I refuse to excerpt, sorry.) Or… if the drug thing is too harsh—maybe someone who is just learning a new language. What language? The language of love.

Elvis Costello and The Attractions “Live at Hollywood High”

Where did this record come from? It’s a three-song promo 33 1/3 seven-inch that came as a bonus with the “Armed Forces” LP—in 1979. Much later, a full-length recording of the show was released. This one, dated 1978 (the date of the show), consists of the songs: “Accidents Will Happen,” “Alison,” and “Watching the Detectives.” There isn’t much to recommend this little record (except that it’s little)—unless you like live recordings (I don’t, generally). It’s got a paper cover with a bold, primary-color, paint-spatter design—that all these years haven’t managed to foment, for me, anything in the nostalgia bin. Speaking of which—I’m still tired of two of these songs—heard them too much—and probably always will be. And they’re fine songs—just heard them too much. The exception is “Alison,” which has always been my favorite Elvis Costello song. The loud, fast, aggressive, and angry stuff doesn’t age well—at least not to me—but a lovely sounding pop love song does—and this is a particularly good one. Well, it’s angry, too, but also sad, and there’s some ambiguity among the lyrics. And there’s definitely some sadness and regret—which goes really well with just how totally pretty the song is.

K-Tel presents “Together – Today’s Love Hits”

I found this 1979 K-Tel radio love songs hits collection somewhere, and kept it, and even listen to it occasionally—even though it plays like it’s been wedged in someone’s couch cushions for a few decades. Call me Krazy—I still enjoy it. Maybe it’s all the “K’s”—lately—watching that Blade Runner sequel, reading Kafka and Kurt Vonnegut. Also, I based a character on Calvin (K Records) for something I’m writing (it’s a secret), and I saw a box of GF Rice Krispies for $14 and said, “this marks the end.” I always thought K-Tel was affiliated with Kmart—kind of understandable to think that—but not so. I recently found the K-Tel children’s songs collection unlistenable, in spite of the best cover ever. For this one, I have no cover, but I oddly find it quite listenable. (I found the cover online—kind of creepy—single rose on white, silk sheets—no loss there.) I guess I have a soft spot for the odd collection records (especially ones advertised on TV in the Seventies). These songs are from the musically weaker, latter half of the Seventies—stuff I heard on the radio during the end of high school—and, for the most part, either ignored or actively despised. Now, believe it or else, on this well-worn vinyl, most of these songs sound really pretty good. If I had to match the songs to the bands, however, I would have scored a pathetically weak 1 out of 15 (I knew Commodore’s did “Three Times a Lady”). Since I don’t have an album cover to follow along with, it’s hard to comment on each song—so I’ll just say, some do sound as insipid as ever, but even so, I’m finding them as a whole… kind of nice. I’d say this was nostalgia talking, but I was never nostalgic for music I didn’t like—this is kind of reverse nostalgia, if that makes any sense (it doesn’t). Anyway, I’m just feeling a bit of warmth and luv for once, for the Little River Band, England Dan & John Ford Coley, Heatwave, Dr. Hook, Peaches & Herb, Bobby Caldwell (surprisingly good, but then I’ve gone smooth-jazz lately), Gene Cotton & Kim Carnes, Rita Coolidge, Ann Murray, Commodores, Melissa Manchester, Ambrosia (that “How Much I Feel” song—not bad), Eric Carmen, Firefall, and the real shocker, Gino Vannelli—in that I had one of his albums in high school and it was definitively not for me. But this “I Just Wanna Stop” song sounds kind of great to me right now.