WATCH OUT NOW…HISTORY IS ABOUT TO START COMIN’ AT YA’ FAST….

I don’t think I’ve ever tagged anything a must read on here, but this, from Glenn Greenwald,  comes pretty close. Turns out the Security State not only saw Donald Trump as the biggest threat to their hegemony since Jimmy Carter, and thereby resorted to operational tactics from the (long forgotten–by the media and the public at least) 1980 playbook–they even used some of the same people. If you don’t care to read the whole thing, the last paragraph will do.

It’s over folks. It matters not that Carter was a somewhat decent man and Trump a thoroughly indecent one. Nor that Carter was an Evangelical Democrat and Trump a Pagan Republican.

Because life’s just a Warren Zevon song now. Take your pick:

I GIVE MYSELF UP TO THE ROAD…THE ROAD GIVES BACK

Last week I made the four-hour drive to Monroeville, Alabama (home town of Harper Lee and Truman Capote) to meet my sister and her boyfriend for a holiday reading of Capote’s short story “A Christmas Memory,” (which I didn’t mind telling the folks, including the actress who One-Woman-Showed the story so beautifully, was the subject of the essay that won me the Freshman English Award for 1979 at Chipola Junior College, which sits a little less than half-way between me and Monroeville). It was a lovely experience in itself–the reading takes place every year in the courthouse where Lee’s father practiced law, which was meticulously copied for the film version of To Kill a Mockingbird. A good time was had by all.

But, for me, the arrival is mostly an excuse for the journey. For whatever reason, I never feel any music has proved itself fully until it proves itself on the road.

Here’s what proved itself last week:

Aftermath (UK Version) The Rolling Stones (1966)

I’ve always loved the American version of Aftermath, always thought it was the peak of the Brian Jones years and the first time Mick had his act together for an entire album. Imagine my disappointment a decade or so back, when I managed to score all the Stones’ original UK albums at Best Buy for bargain prices (if you want to know how fast the world moves, try and imagine anything like that happening at Best Buy, or any other box store now–such experiences have gone the way of searching the 45 and cutout bins at Woolworth’s and in less than half the time) and discovered that the UK version of my favorite from the Stone’s early period was missing “Paint It Black” not to mention the perfect running order of the US version, climaxing with the eleven minutes of “Going Home” one of the all time LP closers. Plus, the great, disorienting American cover–so in tune with the album’s sound–had been re-replaced by the much more generic cover it had replaced in the first place.

Aftermath (US Version) The Rolling Stones (1966)

I listened through dutifully, of course. Then I dismissed it to the shelves, where it had remained ever since. If I wanted to hear Aftermath, I got out my old US version on vinyl.

But a funny thing happened a few years ago. My replacement CD player–in every respect but one superior to the really old one that died–was supposed to be a stop-gap until I could afford a good one. Still waiting for that day (the cheap ones that are still readily available. in places like Best Buy, don’t have a cable hookup compatible with my head-phones…which are not cheap). In the meantime, I discovered the one respect in which my newer (still not very new) player was at a disadvantage compared to my old one.

Won’t play my Rolling Stones’ CDs before Sticky Fingers. (NOTE: From Sticky Fingers on, I have everything through Emotional Rescue, but issued on the Stones’ own label, rather than ABKCO and hence playable–what this means, in practice, is that I’ve been listening to a lot of 70s Stones, about which, perhaps more later. I also have one of their later albums. Talk about things that don’t get played.)

It also won’t play my Kinks’ albums and a few others (like ABKCO’s fine Animals’ comp). Annoying. I really need to find a solution.

Meanwhile, the one place I can hear those albums (other than my computer, which I’m not fond of using as a listening station–I have enough trouble concentrating as it is!) is in my car.

And I usually listen on long trips. Which I don’t take much anymore. You know, due to being broke.

But when I do take trips, I choose the music pretty carefully. Quite often, I take things I think might deserve some sort of second chance or closer attention than I’ve been willing or able to give them previously.

This time…Aftermath.

And Between the Buttons, which I’ve never really been able to get into–and which ABKCO re-released in its American version anyway.

But first…Aftermath.

In its UK version.

Which, I learned on the back roads of southwest Georgia and southeast Alabama, is great!

I’m still not sure I can ever make the leap and completely give myself over to an Aftermath which sticks “Goin’ Home” in the middle and denies the listener “Paint it Black,” but what’s there definitely makes its own statement…and makes me want to get that good CD player real soon!

After that, I was excited for Between the Buttons. And, just like always, I stayed excited through what used to be the first side.

Between the Buttons The Rolling Stones (1967)

After that, my attention gradually wandered. Just like always. I’m still not sure why. Is it because that’s about the time Brian Jones transitioned from inspiration to “problem?” Is it merely coincidence that I’ve still never heard the followup, Their Satanic Majesties Request (their last with Jones fully on board) in its entirety? I’ll want to correct that oversight some day, but you can see where it’s not a priority when it’s unlikely I can listen to it anywhere but the car.

Meanwhile…man was Aftermath a revelation!

Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player Elton John (1973)

And I will admit that Between the Buttons was still more engaging than Elton John’s Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player, which seemed too cute by half, starting with the almost great title. Has any piano player working a joint where he was likely to be shot at ever said “only” instead of “just?” Just asking.

Otherwise, Elton’s usual mixed bag. It did yield “Elderberry Wine” and “Midnight Creeper” which were new to me and hardly nothing. But south Alabama does not offer a lot of distractions. It’s not hard to concentrate on the music when it’s giving something back and, except for those two, and the inevitable radio classics (“Daniel” and “Crocodile Rock,” which I confess, though still fine, are not the most inevitable) I found it hard not to let my mind wander off through the pines.

Which brought me a little past the half-way point of the outward journey and this…

The Essential Tom T. Hall: The Story Songs (1988)

There was no problem with attention spans here. It’s quiet as death, first story to last. I’ve had the vinyl version for years but just recently acquired the CD. Been waiting for a chance to be alone with it. South Alabama seemed as good a place as any. The last hour of a drive to the birthplace of the author of In Cold Blood seemed as good a time.

It was almost too much. Taking in twenty of Tom T. Hall’s stories at once on a lonely stretch of southern highway with ghosts all around is like submitting yourself to three straight productions of Chekov–interspersed with a unique style of absurdist comedy, most of it of the quiet chuckle and shake the head variety, until all the moods merge in his scariest song, a tale of mass murder and the death penalty that creates a black hole even the Rolling Stones could never approach. To think he ever sang it on television is more surreal than L’Age d’Or.

it was probably just as well the outward journey came to an end just about the time “Before Jessie Died” closed things down.

As often happens, I was able to separate the journey from the arrival and thoroughly enjoy myself. But when I headed home a day-and-a-half later, I was glad I had brought something to continue the mood. Hated to leave all those ghosts just hanging about out there.

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead: The Anthology Warren Zevon (1996)

I think I probably just grabbed this one out of instinct. I’ve had it a while. I play it a lot. It goes a little slack in the middle of the second disc.

But something must have been nudging me, saying “you’ll need this.”

After Tom T. Hall and (speaking of Chekovian moods) “A Christmas Memory,” I needed it. It delivered, too, eased me right back into my Dr. Sardonicus mode, very handy for living and driving.

And then, right in the middle of that second disc that goes slack here and there (not so bad on the road, really–sometimes you can use a break from anything), Zevon started merging with Barry Seal. I started asking myself things like: Did Warren Zevon just decide at some point he was only going to write songs about Barry Seal…or did Barry Seal decide he wanted to live his life like a Warren Zevon song? it’s a legit question because, really, it could have happened either way. And once the connection was made, I couldn’t break it. The question rose, track after track: Could this be Barry? And the answer came back every time: You bet. And not always in obvious ways.

It was spooky. I’m not sure I can convey how spooky, even as it made me laugh like a loong. It’s possible I can never listen to this again. At least not without watching the movie too (whether before or after is something I’ll have to work on).

Well, you can imagine what kind of mood that left me in. The choice for the home leg was John Mellencamp or bootleg Dylan.

Bob Dylan Live 1966: The Bootleg Series Vol. 4 (Officially Released 1998)

Choice?

Come on. Barry Seal and Warren Zevon had just merged in my head. What choice?

And this is something I’ve been wanting to give a real chance, since it’s never really reached me. I never heard the famous bootleg that circulated for years, but I heard plenty about it, so being a big Dylan fan, and having been assured-to-the-point-of-annoyance by all in the know that I hadn’t really heard Dylan until I heard this, I snapped it up the minute it became available in 1998. After it did not survive the Great CD Selloff of 2002, I didn’t make a high priority of reacquiring it, but it wasn’t something I could safely leave alone, so I picked it up again a few years ago.

And had the same reaction I had the first time around, which was: Meh.

It happens sometimes. An album acquires so much mythic weight that, by the time you finally get to hear it, probably nothing could live up to the expectations generated by the intervening years.

Certainly not this….One CD of Dylan alone, breathing (as Greil Marcus would have it) ver-y-y-y-y softly. One CD of him and the band (the Hawks, soon to be the Band) assaulting their amps–and the crowd–with white noise. Plus English people shouting stuff you can’t make out without an interpreter.

But, being fair, I had never road-tested it.

And?

Sure enough, it kinda’ sorta’ revealed itself. Mostly by reversing itself.

Dylan’s real assault on his audience–the one in the hall (which, yes, we know, wasn’t the Royal Albert Hall that had been advertised all those bootleg years), and, by extension, the one beyond the hall, the one that had cheered his every move before dividing over his move to Rock and Roll–came in the “quiet” early part of the show.

That’s the part where he refuses to give anything at all. The singing is flat, even for his oh-so-sincere, folkie voice. There are no jokes, no repartee, no pronouncements, no attempt to be liked or disliked. Nothing. One song, breathed softly. Then another, breathed even more softly.

Let me tell you, divested of Dylan-being-Dylan, they mean less than you think, at least on the back roads of Alabama.

But the one thing about having the CDs queued up in the car is there’s no pause to switch the discs.

And it was only in that context that the white noise finally made sense.

Turns out, sucking all the life out of “Just Like a Woman” and “Mr. Tambourine Man” was prelude, a perfect setup. One can hear why people were shocked-to-the-bone by the juxtaposition (there must have been some sense in the hall, even if only subconscious, that Dylan’s sermon-straight reading of his most sacred texts had been a form of mockery….although I grant you a really determined folkie can miss a lot).

Quiet as a mouse, moment after moment for an hour. Then this…

And then on like that for most of another hour.

At least on the back roads of Alabama, nothing could live up to that first shock wave, not even the cataclysmic version of “Like a Rolling Stone” that closes the show.

But I finally got what all the excitement was/is about.

Whether I’ll ever want to listen to that first disc again, just so I can find out if the jolt at the top of the second transcends first experience, is a question I’ll have to leave for another day.

That’s what the road is for.

Happy Thanksgiving!

WHEN THE FRINGE WAS THE MIDDLE AND THE MIDDLE REFUSED TO BE THE FRINGE (Found in the Connection: Rattling Loose End #112)

I listen to Rhino’s old 2-disc Warren Zevon anthology I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead with fair frequency. Who doesn’t want to drift off to sleep to the sounds of “Detox Mansion” or “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” or “I predict this motel will be standing until I pay my bill?”

I don’t know why it is, then, that I never appreciated his version of “Raspberry Beret” (cut with R.E.M. posing as Hindu Love Gods) before this week. I mean, I always liked it and I always shared a wry smile with the ten thousand others who have noted how much “Raspberry Beret,” a hit for Prince in 1985, sounded like Warren Zevon, circa 1976. But it never really stood out before.

Maybe that’s because I never realized what a perfect song it would have made for a nineteen-year-old Elvis, if he had been born two generation later, walked into a studio around 1990 (when Zevon’s version was released, though it was recorded in 1987) and got some off-the-wall producer to listen to him goofing off with it. And maybe I never realized that before because, if Elvis hadn’t been born in 1935, Prince and Warren Zevon would have been about as well known in 1985 (or 1990) as Arthur Crudup and Bill Monroe were in 1954.

The Revolution (you know, the one that’s always deemed inevitable once someone makes it happen) would have still been waiting. (Yes, yes, debate the validity of alternate universes amongst yourselves, but rest assured my anonymous sources are unimpeachable.)

Would we be better off in 2017 if somebody scrambled the time-line?

Well….

Excuse me while I venture forth to commune with the departed shade of Philip K. Dick….He keeps telling me he knows all about this stuff. He just can’t tell me whether I’ll face eternal damnation if I bring the drugs.

Tricky situation.

Warren? Is that you I hear?….Say what?

HOW WAS I TO KNOW? (Everything I Really Needed to Know I Learned From Rock and Roll: Lesson #4)

From Greil Marcus’s latest “Real Life Rock Top Ten”(channeling the always relevant The Manchurian Candidate):

The United States has elected a white supremacist, a classic anti-Semite, and a man for whom women are commodities to be bought and sold. It may have also elected a Russian agent.

Fair enough. (I’ll just note that the United States has elected many a white supremacist, many a classic anti-Semite and several men for whom “women are commodities to be bought and sold” at least according to the non-literal, dog whistle standard upon which Marcus is clearly relying. It has also, according to both the late Senator Joseph McCarthy and a woman I heard proclaiming loudly on the subject of Obama in my local grocery store the day after the election in 2008, elected a Russian agent or two…but I digress.)

But if Trump can be a Russian agent, why not Greil Marcus? Isn’t he doing exactly what we would expect a Russian agent to do if, say, Hillary were the real Russian agent? And what about the CIA–or the CIA assets in the “mainstream media”–who are the source of all this speculation about Trump’s ties to Russia? Aren’t they, too, doing what Russian agents would do, if they were the real agents?

And what about me? In pointing out these possibilities, aren’t I doing exactly what you would expect a Russian agent to do?

And what about you? If you agree with me, aren’t you doing what the Russians want? If you disagree, aren’t you doing the same?

If everything is half-true, then isn’t everything also half-false? And who’s to say which is which?

The Russians?

I’m only thankful that somebody once explained all this to me, far better then the half-true The Manchurian Candidate ever could.

MY FAVORITE BO DIDDLEY COVER (Not Quite Random Favorites…In No Particular Order)

One Bo Diddley cover?

I need to have my head checked.

I’m excluding Bo Diddley covers that weren’t actually Bo Diddley covers, all those hundreds of songs (some as improbable as the Byrds’ cover of Jackie DeShannon’s “Don’t Doubt Yourself Babe,” some as obvious as half of George Thorogood’s career, about which more later) built around the beat associated with his name. Bo may or may not have originated that beat but he certainly inserted it into the American bloodstream, where it has done all manner of good.

From a list of thousands, then, most to mostest, favorite at the bottom, with a little comment on what makes each of these stand out a little:

Warren Zevon “Bo Diddley’s a Gunslinger” (1981)

From Zevon’s monumental live album Stand In the Fire. It’s unleashed at the end, where it reveals Bo as the secret force hiding in the shadows of the album itself and perhaps in the shadows of the performer’s entire persona. Zevon didn’t even have to sing the one that said “I’m just twenty-two and I don’t mind dyin’.” to get the message across. Don’t let his managing to see 56 fool you. He lived that line if anybody did…

The Gants “Crackin’ Up” (1966)

The secret, unholy post-war pact between the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners played out as deadpan comedy, right down to the disturbingly accurate soul scream at the top of the bridge. Just a little Mississippi frat-boy humor ya’ll.

Mike Henderson and the Bluebloods “Pay Bo Diddley” (1996)

Henderson was a cult figure who probably had some experience at not getting paid. He sounds even sorrier about Bo being shafted than Bo did. His guitar, on the other hand, sounds like it has come to collect.

The Yardbirds “I’m a Man” (Live on Shindig, 1965)

I might have put the studio version in the top five anyway, just on the basis of Jeff Beck’s famous string-bending (and mind-bending). But on this live version, everything–especially Keith Relf’s harp playing–is on fire. Which just means Beck’s soloing has to rise even higher to keep from being incinerated.

George Thorogood and the Destroyers “Ride On Josephine” (1977)

Leave it to a keep-it-simple sort like George to best understand the aesthetic that underpinned every element of Bo’s deceptively sinuous sound and his serio-comic faux resignation and thus produce my very favorite Bo Diddley cover.

And what was that aesthetic called?

What else.

Stomp!

NEXT UP: My Favorite Shangri-Las Record…Not By the Shangri-Las

DIAMONDS IN THE SHADE (David Lindley Up)

“Mercury Blues”
David Lindley (1981)
Did not make the American Pop Chart
Recommended source: El Rayo-X

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Lindley was a founding member of Kaleidoscope, one of those highly regarded west coast bands from the crazy sixties who, like Love or Spirit, struck deep with the few they reached (and, to be clear, Kaleidoscope didn’t reach as many as Love or Spirit). When that band broke up, he fell into the Jackson Browne/Warren Zevon orbit, backing them and others on various albums and tours. All of that won him the chance to do his own thing. El Rayo-X was his first solo LP and it sold about as well as Kaleidoscope. It, too, struck deep with the few who found it. Soon enough, he went back to making a living the old fashioned way–touring, session-work, film scores.

All in all, there was no particular reason he should have had any sort of big deal solo career. El Rayo X is a good album, maybe better than good. But it was never designed to set the world on fire.

Except for maybe the one time it struck pure lightning, a piece of nimble hard rock that harkened back to the founding, whence the tune itself (a fine, rather polite rhythm and blues number in its initial late forties’ incarnation by K.C. Douglas which was nonetheless sturdy enough to withstand the thousand covers that stood between it and Lindley, with the most notable probably being Steve Miller’s) had come.

I’m not even sure if Lindley’s version of “Mercury Blues” was released as a single–it if wasn’t that just proves you can never overstate the stupidity of record companies which is to say, if it wasn’t, it should have been. But if ever a record earned the right to fail just so the future could condemn the unfairness of a past filled with all the mistakes that led us here….

MY MORE OR LESS FAVORITE ALBUMS BY ARTISTS WHO HAVE NEVER BEEN NOMINATED FOR THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME (Volume Four: The Eighties)

Ross MacDonald once had Lew Archer say that as a man gets older, the women he’s interested in should get older too. For what it’s worth, the women in this little survey–the women of my own generation or the one right before it–have remained the women I’m interested in. Purely spiritually of course.

The early eighties, especially, were a breakout period for women in rock and roll that was unlike anything seen since the early-mid sixties. I’m sure the fact that music has been steadily shoved back to the sidelines in the generations since, assuring that such things happen no more, is purely coincidental.

I mention all this because it turned out well over half the records in this last installment were made by the women I’ve grown older with. Beyond that, I’ll let any obvious themes emerge on their own. This was fun.

Blue Angel (1980)

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The lead singer was a superstar in waiting. As one of rock’s last visionaries, she was ready here, her vocal style fully formed. The world would catch up a few years later. Through some combination of experience and nature Cyndi Lauper was already able to sing, “I’ll take it like a man,” and make the mighty Gene Pitney sound like a four-year-old, which, believe me, he wasn’t.

Pick to Click: “I’m Gonna Be Strong” (Television performance. Later on, she recorded another version for her first greatest hits package which actually got past this…but she’s the only one who could have.)

Warren Zevon Stand In the Fire (1980)

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Zevon rarely caught the reckless abandon of his lyrics in the studio. He captured it in spades here and sustained it for an album-long assault. He sounded like nothing so much as man who was raging against the dying of the light, like he already knew the ripped-and-torn seventies would be the last decade anyone ever missed.

Well, anyone who wasn’t part of the conspiracy anyway.

Pick to Click: “Jeannie Needs a Shooter” (alternate live take)

REO Speedwagon Hi Infidelity (1980)

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Everything anyone would ever need to know about the eighties in a sleazy album cover, a catchy title and a single genius line. The rest sounds real good to me, but, really, who cares what the rest sounds like?

Pick to Click: “Take It On the Run” (For those who may have forgotten, that’s the one that begins “Heard it from a friend who/Heard it from a friend who/Heard it from another you’ve been messin’ around.” Welcome to Hell.)

Robin Lane & the Chartbusters (1980) and Imitation Life (1981)

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At the time, pretty much everything written about Lane (L.A. born show-biz kid who became the leader of a Boston based punk band which ended up sounding fashionably New Wave on their albums) mentioned that she was an Evangelical or “born again” Christian. I only mention it here because nobody seemed to ever draw the logical conclusion about the black hole in her voice. Weird how the illuminati tend to forget (or is it ignore?) that a belief in God contains an inherent belief in the Devil.

Strictly on the formal side, there is an awful lot of what the Go-Go’s and, especially, the Bangles, got up to directly after.

If you want to know how good they had to be to make it, you could start by considering how good she had to be to not quite make it.

Picks to Click: “When Things Go Wrong” (Robin Lane…live) and “Send Me an Angel” (Imitation Life, sorry, couldn’t find “Pretty Mala”)

Rachel Sweet …And Then He Kissed Me (1981)

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Her major label debut and there’s some gloss on the basic concept, but she cut through it effortlessly. The commercial push was behind a duet with Rex Smith on the indestructible “Everlasting Love” which scraped the Top 40 and generated one of the great Devil’s Island videos.

But some idiot or other failed to see the potential in her greatest vocal and it was left for Pat Benetar to scoop and score with a just-fine version that wasn’t half as good. Two years later Sweet was out of the music business, yet another might-have-been. This was the best of her.

Pick to Click: “Shadows of the Night”

The Go-Go’s Beauty and the Beat (1981)

Go Go' Beauty and the Beat

On their way to cracking the code that had kept every female band from the International Sweethearts of Rhythm to the Runaways safely on the fringes, they made the rest of the New Wave bands sound like they weren’t trying. That was no particular shame on the New Wave, because the dirty little secret was that they made pretty much every pre-New Wave band sound like they weren’t trying either.

This took nine months to climb to number one on the Billboard Album Chart, at which point the general word was that we could expect a wave of highly successful all female bands.

Still waiting for that.

Pick to Click: “Can’t Stop the World”

Cyndi Lauper She’s So Unusual (1983)

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Hence the flood. One of a wave of mega-million sellers that made up rock and roll’s last gasp as a force that defined something more than itself. All of the others (Thriller, Born In the U.S.A., Purple Rain, Eliminator, Scarecrow, 1984, et al) were by well established acts who are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame long since.

Every one of them sure sounded like the present in 1984 and that’s exactly what they sound like now.

1984.

Despite a production style that’s as dated as any, Lauper still sounds like she’s singing about a future in which she would be the only one left standing. The future that is now.

It’s 2015 and there are individual cuts here and there on those other albums that sound great. This is the only one I still listen to at all…and I listen to it obsessively.

Pick to Click: “Money Changes Everything” (The album’s fifth hit single and probably the most radical recording to ever hit the Top 40 even before you take into consideration when it was released.)

The Bangles All Over the Place (1984)

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Honestly, I thought they sounded a little cold around the heart at the time. I was wrong. They were just coolly taking the world’s measure. As perfect a folk rock record as anyone’s ever made, up to and including Dylan and the Byrds.

Now, if only folk rock had still been a thing…

Pick to Click: “Silent Treatment”

Los Lobos How Will the Wolf Survive (1984)

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I mean, the rest of their career, at least as much as I’ve been able to keep up, suggests they’re archivists on some level, but this sounded like a deep well from the gut to me in its day and I’ve never stopped drinking from it. I forget it for a while, sure. But every time I pick it back up it sounds new again. I don’t need all my fingers and toes to count the albums I can say the same for. The album Donald Trump’s Republican rivals would be playing at every campaign stop if they had any brains (and, no, I have no idea if we should be glad that they don’t…I’m a pox on all their houses sort from way back).

Pick to Click: “Our Last Night” (live from 1987)

Minutemen Double Nickels on the Dime (1984)

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Revolt that had no chance whatsoever of coming into style. I bought it nearly thirty years ago and listened to it once, transfixed. I swear I’ll listen to it again some day. When I’m old enough to fully accept that it either is or isn’t what I hope it is.

Pick to Click? Er, no.

The Go-Go’s Talk Show (1984)

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Revolt going out of style. Those ugly, blocked lines separating them were more real than symbolic. They saved my life and then broke up. Can’t forgive, can’t forget. May write about it some day. Stay tuned.

Pick to Click: “Beneath the Blue Sky”

Todd Rundgren A Cappella (1985)

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A weird and compelling amalgamation of Brian Wilson’s brain, circa 1966, transmuted through Thom Bell’s melodic sensibility, circa 1973, and Daryl Hall’s larynx, circa 1977. Or something like that. This album could be an appropriate soundtrack for a teleconference on euthanasia, a street revolution, or a CIA sponsored convention on “Torture in the Third World, Effective or No?” Honestly, I don’t listen to it very often. But when I do, my mind ranges very far afield and I invariably end up with a slow, dreamy smile on my face which I’m convinced enhances my enigmatic appeal immensely.

Pick to Click: “Mighty Love” (unfathomable)

Katrina and the Waves (1985)

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I think it’s pretty obvious by now I like Power Pop a little more than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame does. This isn’t one of those acts who are worthy of Hall consideration, of course, but it just goes to show how thin the line is, because it’s easy to imagine this perfect little album being a springboard to a lot more than one hit single. It’s also easy to imagine it never being even that. Mysteries of life I guess.

Pick to Click: “Going Down to LIverpool”

Cyndi Lauper True Colors (1986)

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Backlash was inevitable. She was too…something. The nasty comments about her audacity in covering the by-then sainted and martyred Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On” obscured what she did with it, which was explode it from the inside, cast it into the future (This future, did I mention? The one where the wars never actually end? The one only the visionaries could see?) and segue it into “Iko, Iko.” That’s supposed to be what albums are for, especially if it sells seven million worldwide and all. Instead she got endless grief and a broken career which is now often deemed that of a mild underachiever because she only sold fifty million records.

Pick to Click: “Change of Heart”

Terence Trent D’Arby Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D’Arby (1987)

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Sweep and scope like nobody’s business. Star in the making. Took a few years off. Made another album. Walked away. Never walked back. Maybe said all he had to say. Sure sign things were falling apart. Guy like this having no more to say.

Pick to Click: “If You Let Me Stay”

House of Schock (1988)

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Oh, I guess what I said here (with links worth pursuing).

Other Pick to Click: “Love In Return”

Neneh Cherry Raw Like Sushi (1988)

FAVALBUMSNENEHCHERRY

There was a moment there when it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t be a major star. It didn’t happen, but this was a hip hop apotheosis and Madonna supposedly spent a whole lot of time obsessively breaking down a certain single…May as well close the eighties, and the series, with that particular mystery dance.

Pick to Click: “Buffalo Stance”

SERENDIPITY ON THE DOOM COAST, CIRCA 1979…(Found in the Connection: Rattling Loose End #54)

ROSSMACDONALD2

…Which, until now, I had always considered a much better year for Doom than for Serendipity. If you lived through the times, you know about the Doom. The Serendipity only happened to me personally. It also happened yesterday and went like this:

I posted my Ross MacDonald review.

Later in the day, as I often do, I went poking around my blogroll and visited a few sites, one of which was GreilMarcus.com.

The day’s post over there was a quote from Marcus on the late critic, Paul Nelson, who passed in 2013.

I remembered Nelson’s Rolling Stone obituary for Ross MacDonald, which I hadn’t read since MacDonald (real name Kenneth Millar) passed in 1983.

I decided to look for the obit on the internet as I remembered it being unusually heartfelt.

Never got around to tracking down the obit (I’m sure it must be available), but did come across this, from a lengthy post on MacDonald on the crime writer’s John Connolly’s blog in 2008 (you can access the whole thing here and I’ll add that, based on this, I look forward to checking out Connolly’s own books). The nut is this passage:

One incident in particular stands out for me in Macdonald’s life, perhaps because it represents a point of intersection between Kenneth Millar the writer and Lew Archer, the private detective that Millar created and who seems to have a particular empathy in the novels for the problems of the young. In 1979, Millar was contacted by Paul Nelson, a writer for Rolling Stone magazine. Nelson was concerned about his friend, the singer Warren Zevon, who had recently checked himself out of Pinecrest, a Santa Barbara facility that he’d entered to combat drug and alcohol problems. Millar had once briefly met Zevon in the course of a lunch in Santa Barbara at which Zevon, who idolized Millar and his work, felt that he had embarrassed himself by being over-enthusiastic in front of the writer. Nelson told Millar that Zevon was in bad shape. Nobody could convince him to return to Pinecrest, but Nelson believed that Zevon might listen to Millar if Millar was prepared to take the time to talk to him.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang at Zevon’s house. When Zevon opened the door, Kenneth Millar was standing there, like Lew Archer in the flesh come to deal with a troubled young soul. Millar stayed with Zevon for the afternoon, talking about music, telling him the names of the plants in Zevon’s garden, listening, offering what advice and understanding he could. Then he left, and Zevon never saw him again. Later, Zevon wrote to Millar to thank him for his intervention, describing him as “not only the finest novelist but the personification of the noblest qualities of your work.” Zevon dedicated his 1980 album, Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School, to “Ken Millar, il migliore fabbro.

It was pretty well known that Zevon was  big MacDonald fan (he had better taste in novelists than in television hosts). But I don’t remember seeing this anecdote before. If it was in that obit, I didn’t recall it.

Naturally, it got me wondering just how directly MacDonald might have otherwise affected Zevon’s work, either through artistic influence or that personal intervention. And, naturally, this came straight to the top of the list (no idea if it was specifically about Pinecrest, though I wouldn’t be surprised):

But, upon further reflection, it became pretty obvious that Zevon had already written his great Ross MacDonald song a few years before the above incident. The one where he got Carl Wilson to sing background.

See. Really. It all fits. This is clearly a key element in my ever-developing Theory of Everything.

It clearly all fits, even though (or maybe especially because) just about the pithiest thing Ken Millar, writing as Ross MacDonald, ever had Lew Archer say was that rock and roll was music for civilizations to decline by (which is every bit as pithy as the more famous “there’s nothing wrong with California a rise in the ocean level wouldn’t cure,” or even Zevon’s own, “I predict this motel will be standing until I pay my bill.”)

I know it fits, too. I really do.

I’m just still working on figuring out exactly how. Can’t wait to find out whether I’ll be allowed to tell.

warrenzevon1

Troubled? Who me?

WARREN ZEVON DOES ELVIS AND THEN WARREN ZEVON DOES WARREN ZEVON AND THEN DAVID LETTERMAN, ALAS, DOES DAVID LETTERMAN (Segue of the Day: 7/1/15)

Okay, enough with the sunshine and lollipops. A little YouTube trolling and I’m back to being curmudgeonly.

Warren Zevon was notoriously hard to pin down, so it’s hard to say if his first little number here was meant as an homage to Elvis’ famous intro to the ’68 “Comeback” Special or a high stakes game of one-upsmanship played straight against E’s corpse with a pair of deuces and a smile. But, as the lead-in to the best version of “Lawyers, Guns and Money” I’ve heard, (and, I think I can confidently say, the best version ever heard on network television) it works either way.

Then Dave Letterman walks in at the end and, by merely being himself, basically announces that he and Rock and Roll can’t both exist on the same planet.

Rock and Roll won that night. But we know who took the long game. John Lydon and Kurt Cobain weren’t really signifiers of the Apocalypse. They were just silly pawns in Dave’s game.

And, for all their celebrated friendship and what appeared, for so long, to be truly mutual rounds of epic ass-kissing, so was Warren Zevon.

The guys who are good at that sort of thing always do come out on top. Everybody else gets eaten.

 

LINDA RONSTADT…ECLECTIC WEIRDO (Found in the Connection: Rattling Loose End #47)

I’ve always thought the biggest mistake of Linda Ronstadt’s career (whether hers or her record company’s I can only guess) was not releasing “Roll Um Easy” as the first single from the next album after Heart Like a Wheel had transformed her from a huge talent to a huge star. It would have inoculated her against the criticism that she was merely mining oldies as a surefire commercial formula. It would have laid the “she can’t rock” nonsense to rest because the single that was released, a perfectly fine version of ‘Heat Wave” which plenty of people were predisposed to hate for any number of not very good reasons, would have stayed an album track and nobody would have cared about her admission that she had trouble getting a handle on it even if they had bothered to ask.

And, while there’s no way to know these things of course, I’m pretty sure Ronstadt singing “eloquent profanity just rolls right off my tongue” over that arrangement in ’75 would have been a sure-fire number one. (“Heat Wave” did just fine, reaching #5, but, for all the album sales and steady selling singles, she never quite recaptured the chart momentum “You’re No Good” and “When Will I Be Loved” had given her.)

I’ll always think it was a mistake, then.

But lately I’ve been revising my opinion on whether it was her worst.

Because, in purely aesthetic terms, not releasing a live album has it beat all hollow.

Though she could sometimes be a touch stiff and uncomfortable in the spotlight and wasn’t always visually compelling, she was generally looser and freer vocally on stage than in the studio.

Sometimes she even took chances.

I was taken enough with her live concert from Los Angeles in 1975 to make it the first thing I’ve ever downloaded for repeat audio consumption (there’s no video available and it makes it easier to hear just how good she could be).

But there’s nothing in that concert, or any of several others available (all excellent to one degree or another) that matches what she did here, making Dolly Parton and Warren Zevon stronger for each other’s company. It’s a measure of her vision and, believe it or not, not something just anybody could pull off, then or now, even if they thought of it:

And anybody who thinks Ronstadt wasn’t some sort of genius should check out her Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction, available en toto on YouTube, where, with her own voice stilled by Parkinson’s, a dream lineup of Carrie Underwood, Emmylou Harris, Bonnie Raitt, Sheryl Crow and Stevie Nicks were repeatedly overwhelmed by arrangements she once made sound as easy as breathing.

Somebody, please do a live box….or at very least a live single, on this woman. (And if she’s the one resisting, due to her well known obsessive perfectionism, somebody please talk her into it!)