Posts Tagged ‘saxophone

12
Feb
20

Boots Randolph “Boots with Strings”

I’m not sure where this record came from, but if I bought it, it was on the strength of the cover photo, a moody closeup of a guy looking into the bell of his saxophone like he’s trying to figure out what got in there. One presumes it’s Boots Randolph. He plays in that style that sounds like he’s trying to get it out, whatever it is, somewhat forcefully—which is okay, just not my favorite use of that horn. With anything you blow into, there’s a lot of danger involved, and there’s a fine line between passable jazz horn and melodica atrocity. Boots Randolph was close to my dad’s age, which doesn’t really put anything in perspective or anything, but he is a Midwestern guy, too, and put out his first record the year I was born. This record came out in 1966, the year my first car was built (it was a VW Squareback). He put out “Country Boots” the year I first smoked weed, and “…Puts a Little Sax in Your Life” the year I graduated from high school. The dude put out a lot of records. He’s got a Wikipedia page, no surprise, but the weirdest thing there is the sentence: “Early in his career, he often billed himself as Randy Randolph.” Which refers back to nothing, and “Randy Randolph” is BOLD—and why? It’s not a link. I’ve never seen anything bold on a Wikipedia page—just the name of the page—so maybe it’s just when it’s someone with two names? Anyway, the fatal flaw here is (and this is entirely subjective, but then what isn’t?)—there’s not one but two Lennon-McCartney songs, one on each side, so they lie there like queasy little time-bombs. I love John and Paul and the Beatles, but there was a time period when it seemed like everyone had to include one of their songs—in everything from a bar mitzvah to a creepy garden serenade—and the most overplayed ones, no less. Rarely if ever do you hear an inspired cover of a Beatles song—in fact, it’s so rare, when you do hear one, fresh, inspired, or in some way better than the original, it’s worth making a great big point of it. Not here, I’m sad to day. My favorite song on the record is “Days of Wine and Roses” which starts with a little choir bit, which comes back later, and the sax lays back, more or less, just kind of squeezing out like a tube of toothpaste.

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.




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