They're in the middle of their 50th anniversary tour. Unlike the Beatles, they didn't change music. Their role in the popular culture was to capture the California sun, surfer girls, and Thunderbirds in a musical simulacrum of adolescent angst that absolutely did that job, turning everyone who listened to it, gender notwithstanding, into a sixteen-year-old boy at the edge of beach almost having a girlfriend. In reality, the girls on the beach only seem to be within reach...
The music itself is a number of things, but most of all it's Brian Wilson. To call Wilson a genius is easy: he's the one who put all that stuff together, first in his head, then in the studio. But he didn't have an easy go of it. Brian Wilson may be a lot of things, but a quintessential beach boy isn't one of them. His mental sufferings have not made his life a particularly happy one, except, it seems, when he's doing the music. He hears voices, and doesn't want to. Sometimes it's been crippling, but now he's back on stage with the remaining Beach Boys and a big backup ensemble, and they have a new record coming out tomorrow that I have previewed and have no choice but to purchase immediately. Then again, I've bought every Brian solo album over all those years, the good and the bad, and some of them occasionally take off where only Brian can go.
The Beach Boys’ Crazy Summer is the best thing I've read on the reconstituted Beach Boys, and Brian, and the history of the group. At this very moment I'm listening to "Surf's Up" from Brian's solo reconstituted "Smile" album.
I've got to find a video!
poke poke poke
This one will do. Brian is looking awfully good on stage here. Not the Boys, but it does the job.
The Beach Boys are hitting their 70s. No, they're not boys anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. But music is still music, and we can only hope that there's more good music to come.
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In 2012, the Beatles are a given. The Baby Boomers were their first fans, and kids today eventually discover them (not by virtue of having to dig particularly deep) and they become fans too. I've had arguments with teenagers over what album a Beatles or Stones song was on, which is a fruitless exercise on their part, as I've been listening to that album for nigh on 50 years, and they bought some compilation or a couple of downloads and read something on Wikipedia and think they're experts. No, you're not. I also had this exchange once with a high school student, when a Beatles song came up on my iPod mix over the car stereo. "I like the Beatles," he said. "What albums do you have?" I was taken aback by this. "All of them," I responded. Like, which one wouldn't I have? I mean, they broke up in 1969; by now I've been able to scrimp and save to get them all. Sometimes you forget what it's like to be a working stiff.
When the Beatles first arrived, they were not a given. Rock and roll had been around, of course, and was regarded by the establishment as a necessary evil. It was for kids, it made money, and if you wanted to, you could ignore it. Rock was an offshoot of 50s culture; The Wild One and Rebel Without a Cause predated the debut of Elvis on network television. Mainstream culture could sneer at rock if it wanted, but it wasn't the main threat: it was teenagers, period, that were an upsetting phenomenon. It was the other way around in the 60s, where the popular culture became an offshoot of rock, and that all began with the Beatles. Their breakthrough marked a new music, an invigoration of rock via that music, a new look and style, and worse, it came from another country. Popular music was threatened by rock in the 50s; in the 60s, rock became popular music. And that was that.
The Beatles weren't alone in making this happen, but they were at the forefront. Their popularity was ridiculous, and the idea of Beatlemania, and teenaged girls going hysterical at concerts, must have been a little scary to the popular performers of the time, who had no one of any age going even mildly hysterical. In their days, folks like Sinatra had their hysterical followers, but at least they shut up during the performances of what it was they were hysterical about. Not the Beatle maniacs. They just never shut up until the Beatles finally gave up performing live. Who could blame them?
As the Beatles led their cultural upheaval, there was reaction. And if you think I'm exaggerating the extent of their upheaval, measure it by the extent of the reaction. From the mainstream to the depths, from Dean Martin to Homer & Jethro, the threat was clear, and the return fire fairly immediate.
I have nothing against Homer & Jethro, but please, guys, can't we just coexist?
The A.V. Club has put together The Beatles Just Got To Go?: 18 anti-Beatles songs, a roundup of reactionist music, mostly from the time, but a few a little later. I disagree with their interpretation of the Barbarians, but then again, Moulty, the one-handed drummer, was another story altogether. The collection just shows that the Beatles really meant change for a lot of people who didn't want that particular change.
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During a trivia night, I asked a group of teenagers to fill in the blank: "For I am the very model of a [blank]."
Blank indeed: blank stares all around.
Gilbert wrote the words, Sullivan wrote the music, and they were a big hit in their day. Patter songs, like that of the Major-General, were a feature in their operettas. So was patent silliness, like the encores in this trio. John Reed was a legendary G&S performer, and one imagines that his work with the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company is representative of how the shows were performed when they were originally produced.
I can't resist Todd Rundgren and Taj Mahal having their go at it, but John Reed was better.
We could go on. The movie of The Pirates of Penzance is a perfectly good starting point for G&S noobs, although fans of the Marx Brothers might prefer the 1920ish The Mikado with Eric Idle. It doesn't matter. Either way, don't think of these as dead old examples of an art form that is long dead. Today's musical theater is nothing more than G&S in modern dress: singing, dancing and joking around at a high level. And the music is wonderful, and the lyrics, for the most part, timeless.
"Ring the merry bells on board-ship, wend the air with warbling wild."
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Or, the best guitarist you've probably never heard of. He was born on May 31, 1955.
Emmanuel is Australian, but in one video I watched (and let me tell you, it was absolute torture to pick the videos for this post—life can be awfully nice sometimes) he claimed to now live in the US. I've only seen him live once, because he doesn't come around often, but in concert he is dynamite.
It wasn't until I was doing the research for this post that I discovered he has a brother, who also plays guitar! Talk about your sibling rivalries!
Not much video out there on Tommy playing with his hero. They have recorded together, though.
My favorite of his pieces tend to be the lightest. What a touch!
Happy birthday, Tommy. And please come back to the neighborhood. I need another concert.
I see something and begin to track down versions of a song, and before I know it, I'm lost.
I started with this article on The Mamas and the Papas, which was pretty interesting, because I've always liked the group, mostly because I'm a big fan of close harmony. But let's face it. This group was all about one thing, Cass Elliot's voice. The others are fine, but she was a treasure. Even Tommy Smothers hamming it up can't ruin it.
The Ms & Ps recorded the song, but it wasn't new. It was written in 1931 and first performed by Ozzie Nelson's band.
Pretty rinky dink, but cute in its way. So let's take the greatest duet team ever paired and hear what they did with it.
Lots of other people have at this sucker, with varying results. Diana Krall jazzes and smokes it up, for instance, but as much as I like her, I wasn't taken with the video I found of her doing it live. On the other hand, since this is 2012, and the ukulele has for all practical purposes replaced all other instruments as the ax of choice, I did feel it best to close with Sophie Madeleine, one of my new favorite people, to add to all these other favorite people. (She has a bunch of videos worth exploring, and watching enough of them will sooner or later convince you to start buying her music.)
For no reason whatsoever, three live versions of Lou Reed, 1973, 1986 and 1997. Reed is the coolest guy in the room, the year notwithstanding (except maybe for that sax player in '97, which is the best version musically, while the '73 version is best iconically).
Those of you who were in Baku recently are up on their Eurovision winners. Go Sweden! Except that winner Loreen (pronounced Lore - E - en) looks about as Swedish as Kermit the Frog. I saw some video where Swedish fans were over the moon because of their victory. Judge for yourself. The song sounds like every other song on pop radio, but she does dance a version of the Curly Shuffle that's sort of interesting.
I would describe Eurovision, but it's one of those things that you can easily figure out for yourself if you just watch a couple of entries. The Russian Grannies came in second, despite the fact that they've now incorporated an oven into their act, so they can bake and sing at the same time. Understandably, their contract insists that they be put up in digs with indoor plumbing (and I'm not making that up).
The competition has a big gay following, and the NY Times reported that Iran was on the alert for mobs of invading LGBTers from neighboring Azerbaijan. When the Iranians are not worried about their nuclear program, apparently they get their knickers in a twist over their total lack of homosexuals. And this despite that fact that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is the most gay looking head of state on the planet.
Anyhow, here's your what they call a preview video, from Romania. I offer it because it has the best footage of a band not playing its instruments, plus nice shots of traffic down the main road of Bucharest. There's one video of this group that opens with a bunch of people photographing ATVs splashing around on a road presumably outside of Bucharest. (I don't know my Bucharest all that well.) Driving seems to be big with the Romanians.
Here's a look at the competition from the newsy side. If you were questioning my assertion about the gay following for the event, they do mention former winner Dana International, a transsexual who took the prize in 1998, much to the dismay of many of her fellow Israelis, who were back in Jerusalem wondering how she got to be the official entry. (Ahmadinejad probably still gets a kick out of that one.)
You could spend the rest of your life watching Eurovision videos, provided you've got YouTube fired up. When you're done, your assignment is to write a 1000 word essay comparing everything you've seen to what we formerly used to think of as music.
The early career of Rosemary Clooney was fine. The late career was brilliant. Born May 23, 1928, she did movies, TV and concerts, had ups and downs (as discussed in the interview below), but mostly she sang. And somehow, the older she got, the better she got. The voice mellowed so well. Watch this:
There's a whole bunch of small-group records with Scott Hamilton. You should buy them immediately.
Of course, with a big band, her roots, she also shines. She worked with big bands practically up to her passing in 2002.
She seems so down in this interview, but her comeback was miraculous.
And, yes, George is her nephew.
I love Rosemary Clooney's voice so much. This is what singing standards is all about. Every word is felt, every note is right, and she can swing them or croon them. Thanks, Rosie.
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This is apparently the Jean-Luc Godard film of the same name (AKA "One Plus One") stripped of all the political stuff. I haven't seen this since it was originally released in 1968. What's missing is the step between the dull organ approach and the funky beat approach, but still, it's amazing to watch. For all practical purposes, they go in with an idea or two, including the lyrics, and beat it up until it comes out right. Keith on bass? Readers of his Life know that this was one of the rockiest times for the group, with Jones on the way out.
Normally we don't publish on Sundays, but for Israel Kamakawiwoʻole, we'll make an exception. Born May 20, 1969, he died way too young on June 26, 1997. Iz was a great supporter of Hawaiian rights and independence, and, of course, had one of the most wonderful singing voices of all time. When I went to find videos, it was very satisfying to see that he was getting hits of, for instance, 68 million for just one of them.
Well deserved. I wish there were more Kamakawiwoʻole music, but I am thankful for what we do have.
Liberace, born on this date in 1919, got there first. He invented it, polished it, and kept improving it. You knew if you were going to see Liberace, you'd see the outfits, you'd see the entrances, you'd see, in a word, a show. That's what Liberace was all about.
His piano playing wasn't a wow with the critics, but audiences loved him.
Vegas wasn't really the birthplace of the over-the-top performance. You'd have to go back to the old Ziegfeld days for that. But it was Liberace in Vegas that made it personal. Compare the Hendrix concert we posted a couple of days ago. Once upon a time serious rock was a reaction to all the Vegas-like hoopla. Nowadays most rock is nothing but Vegas-like hoopla. I will duck down under the desk for a minute after typing this, but who the hell goes to see Lady Gaga for the music?
If you dig into the Liberace persona, you'll find a real personal connection with his fans. Who doesn't wish that the Liberace Museum had stayed open? I'd visit it in a minute. When you go to Vegas nowadays you feel sort of empty knowing that it's not there anymore.
Happy Birthday, Lee. You made the world a more fun place.
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This may be the quintessential 60s concert. The band comes on and futzes around with their instruments for a while, and you wonder if they've ever heard of roadies. There's no (literal) fireworks, no changes of costume, no giant video screens. You get the feeling that the venue isn't particularly large (and you really wonder what they played for an encore, since they just sort of walked off and the emcee begrudgingly suggests that they'll do one more song but it's nine o'clock and time for—what?). The music isn't perfect. Drummer Mitch Mitchell just bangs away for an hour and you wonder if he'll pass out from exhaustion, and bassist Noel Redding could be playing along with anyone in the world other than, arguably, the greatest guitarist who ever lived.
And what about that greatest guitarist who ever lived? The music speaks for itself. But more important, watch the way he plays. Watch the way he treats his guitar (which, sadly, he never sets on fire, it not being that kind of a concert). It has been said that he makes love to the damned thing as he plays it, and I won't argue that.
Favorite fact: This band was once an opening act for the Monkees. In the Venn diagram of Monkees fans and Hendrix fans at the time, there was maybe one guy, and he was no doubt not entirely in full possession of all his senses. But according to Wikipedia, this may have just been a publicity stunt. That makes more sense than anything else. They only played together a few times. That was probably more than enough for the poor Monkees fans who were wondering what, exactly, they had bought into.
As I said, this isn't great. But it's amazingly real. And it is absolutely what concerts used to be in the early days.
All right, I admit it. I expected little, and was pleasantly surprised. The Eagles were never on my must-listen list; I didn't dislike them, but they didn't move the needle for me (although I have a real fondness for "Smuggler's Blues"). Not that I'd call this a needle-mover, but it's awfully good. A lot of rockers (does the name Rod Stewart ring a bell?) go into the classic American songbook and just sort of plop down and go nowhere with it. It's almost as if they've run out of their own music, and in order to keep the electricity bill paid back in the homestead, they decided they'll bring this gold down to from the hills to the rubes who've never heard it before. I pity the rubes. Some folks, though, approach it with an innate understanding, and do a fine job with it. Frey is doing that kind of fine job.
Brian Eno is really smart. He's obviously also a really good musician, having worked with just about everybody you can think of in the last few decades. But he's also a thinker. In this lecture he puts recorded music into its place in musical history, and he weaves a great narrative about recorded music and producers (like himself) and players. Then he goes into painting (he has an art training background), explaining abstract painting, for instance. It takes time to get started, and the introduction is in Russian, but once Eno comes on, you'll be in for the long haul: Brian Eno lecture on music and art
We have this vision of the old Delta bluesman, some poor guy just getting by, moaning the blues that reflect the horrors of his life. But the truth might be a lot different. This is what B.B. King wrote: “It angers me how scholars associate the blues strictly with tragedy. As a little kid, blues meant hope, excitement, pure emotion.”
The thing is, the performer, including the old Delta blues folk, was recognized as special. They probably did better than their farming kin, for one thing. And they were probably pretty good:
The bluesman traveled and performed alone or with a single companion. Audiences expected him to perform everything from traditional European social dances to blues and ragtime. He had to be able to provide enough rhythmic propulsion to move a dance floor one night and enough sensitivity to accompany storytelling ballads the next morning while busking on the street corner. A number of bluesmen even doubled as journeyman preachers, a topic pointedly addressed in Son House’s “Preachin’ Blues.” To survive, a bluesman had to be versatile, mobile, and cheap. And so did his instrument.
And what was that versatile, mobile and cheap instrument? The banjo had been the original instrument of choice, but it was eventually replaced by the steel string guitar, as sold by Sears, Roebuck! As Sears innovated, so did the performers, until the blues morphed into what we know today. Sears, in its way, is the source of the blues.
Delta Dawn, by Chris Kjorness, is essential reading for music fans.
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Chopin predicted great things for this young New Orleans-born pianist who came to Paris to study at the age of 13. Born May 8, 1829, he eventually became the first American virtuoso to travel extensively, first in Europe, then later in Latin America. He was apparently something of a roue, and he collapsed on stage during a performance in Rio, dying a few weeks later at the age of 40.
There is something quintessentially New World about his compositions (even when he's not quoting Stephen Foster). He was not terribly prolific, and he's not terribly well known anymore, but his his music is infectious. Try some.
Dick Dale was born on this date in 1937. Audrey Hepburn was also born on this date, in 1929, but she could never do this:
Dale is a great story. He really was a surfer (unlike, say, the Beach Boys, who seemed more to want to be surfers and wish they were with the girls of the beach, when in fact they were mostly spending their time fantasizing in their room) and he invented a music that would sound like what surfing was when he was doing it. Once he captured that sound, which as a left-hander he did upside now, rather than restringing the guitar, he also needed to project it, so he got some folks to invent an amp that could blast from somewhere in California roughly as far away as Cleveland. He claims to be the first person to set an amp at ten (or, actually, TEN!).
You know that line from Hendrix, "You'll never hear surf music again"? Dale got hit by rectal cancer in the 60s, and Jimi was sending a tribute to one of his own idols. Fortunately, Dale bounced back.
If you want, you can play Misirlou as part of Guitar Hero 2. And if you're wondering about the source of the guitar version of Saint-Saens on Disneyland's Space Mountain, now you know.
Happy birthday to a surfing and guitar-playing legend.
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