This is absolutely insane, seeing double, face-melting stuff. If you didn’t believe me with all the flowery superlatives about how good Ryan Adams’ Berkeley show was last month, just listen to the way he closed the set, with “Shakedown on 9th Street” (from Heartbreaker) flawlessly into “I See Monsters” (from Love Is Hell).
Both songs could stand alone in their own right as excoriatingly blistering performances here, but the way they flow one into the next, like standing on the edge of a precipice as Shakedown ends, drawing in a sharp intake of breath on the four cymbal crashes — and then we hold our breath and plunge into I See Monsters.
The entire Ryan Adams show from 7/24 in Berkeley is now up for download and streaming at the Live Music Archive as well. Thanks to the tapers for making my day.
In 1973, Yoko Ono kicked John Lennon out. She sent their personal assistant May Pang off with him, with the instructions to “be with John, help him, and see that he gets whatever he wants.” Together Pang and Lennon moved to Los Angeles, a period dubbed “The Lost Weekend.” It was a weekend that lasted from 1973-1975, during which Lennon passed the time with Phil Spector, recording material that would eventually be released as part of his Rock ‘n’ Roll LP. He also caroused through the town with musician buddies who informally called themselves the Hollywood Vampires: Harry Nilsson, Keith Moon, Micky Dolenz and Alice Cooper, and he was known to have recorded songs with Mick Jagger, Elton John, and David Bowie during that time frame as well.
The track he laid down with Mick Jagger was, for a long time, just mythical. In 2003, a London record store owner put an unlabeled record up for auction which he claimed had come originally from Ronnie Wood (guitarist for the Stones) and contained a collaboration cover of Jagger singing the old Willie Dixon blues song, “Too Many Cooks” with Lennon on guitar. Some reports also place Ringo Starr on drums and date the recording to London 1974. That unlabelled acetate (made directly from a master tape, and found in a stack of records) sold for £1,400, and Mick admitted that he had forgotten it existed for a number of years.
Now Mick is going to release that recording on his upcoming compilation album, The Very Best of Mick Jagger [October 2, Rhino]. The album collects material from all four of Mick’s solo albums, recordings from various points throughout his career, and will include three previously unreleased tracks, including the collaboration with Lennon.
It seems to me that Jagger may have recorded an earlier version of this same song in L.A. in 1973 during the Lost Weekend period with Lennon only producing and not playing? The band for this session is credited to include Harry Nilsson on backing vocals, Beatles collaborator Jim Keltner on drums, Stones sax player Bobby Keys, Cream bassist Jack Bruce, and Al Kooper on keys (you may remember him from the hesitant Hammond B3 playing on Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone,” if you’ve seen the Scorsese documentary).
So essentially, I am driving myself crazy trying to nail down the slippery provenance on this specific version. It’s the history sleuth in me. I guess we’ll find out October 2 if Lennon is playing here or not. It’s a cool, funky, brassy song either way.
It’s kinda Guest PostCentral around here lately with a few fine folks taking my place for a day. This is a very good thing for you, the reader, because all my friends have excellent musical taste. Obviously.
A few weeks ago I got a package from Chris out in North Carolina who made me not just one or two but SIX CDs full of genuine marvelousness that I am still digesting. Chris sends me some humid North Carolina greetings, and writes the following; “I often (morbidly) tell my wife Janet that if anything ever happens to me, she must check out your site to update her musical stylings.”
Due to flattery like that (ha!) and the sheer enjoyment I derived from his mixes, today I am going to share five of Chris’ picks with you off his first themed mix, along with his comments. There’s probably several other posts in the coming months from the stuff he sent me; honorary guest residency status out of this batch. I never tire of hearing the world through someone else’s ears.
ROCK OF AGES MIX (sort of a loose collective of Rolling-Stones-disciple tunes)
The Figures of Art – Spoon I saw Spoon open for a friend’s (kinda crappy) band in a tiny Mexican restaurant in Chapel Hills 10 yrs ago when they still wanted to be the Pixies. Love the Stonesy-intro riff here, and I’m thrilled they decided they’d just rather be Spoon.
Too Bad – Faces Speaking of The Stones, I really don’t get how FM radio in the Midwest played the hell out of the Stones, but missed out on everything by these guys except “Stay With Me.” I cannot think of anyone in modern history who has had access to more good, clean, hedonistic fun than Rod and he sings like it.
Bohemian Like You – The Dandy Warhols If you have not caught DiG, it is a must-see ["A documentary on the once-promising American rock bands The Brian Jonestown Massacre and The Dandy Warhols, and the friendship/rivalry between their respective founders, Anton Newcombe and Courtney Taylor"]. Brian Jonestown Massacre is such a compelling story of a band and they obviously loved the Stones too, but they’d think it was beneath them to play quite so accessibly. I don’t care if it is a ripoff with at-times insipid lyrics, it rocks anyway.
Don’t Look Back Into The Sun – The Libertines Much like my favorite band The Replacements, I do not see how the Libertines decided which songs to leave off their albums. This b-side is by far my favorite of their tunes.
Ca Plane Pour Moi – Plastic Bertrand European Vacation featured this song way back in the day and I’ve always thought of it, perhaps unfairly, as a French Ramones song.
BONUS, as I love the mixery technique of sandwiching in a little dialogue snippet or something cool between the songs; Chris used this as track 8: “Do You Feel Your Music Is Racist?” – This Is Spinal Tap
You all are The Hottest. I so enjoyed reading the batches of summertime recollections submitted for the contest to win the soundtrack and book for The Hottest State. It deeply pleases me to have such literate and aware and appreciative readers who can share wonderful memories that took me away to dozens of different locales along with you.
Here were the two randomly out-of-a-hat selected winners: a survivor of a sweaty Amazonian summer, and a tale of covert summertime swimming that reminds me of my own first kiss (and subsequent rent-a-cop bust) experience many Augusts ago — don’t worry Mom, with more clothes. Congrats to both winners and I need address info for you guys.
I encourage the rest of you to take a few minutes (and a mini-vacation) by reading all the great impressionistic memories of warm and sticky days.
Favourite hot summer memories have to do with my summer in the Amazonian rainforest… falling asleep in hammocks listening to the monkeys, bathing and doing laundry in the river, fishing for piranhas (take that, you nasty little fish!), sweating like crazy (small price to pay for my first acne-free summer since puberty), picking fresh guavas, drinking guarana, enjoying a tarantula infestation…. (Pardon me while waves of nostalgia break on the shores of my memory.)
I’m a faithful Fuel/Friends reader, so I’ll know it if you randomly choose me. (^_^)
At August 11, 2007 11:22 PM, Sal said… On an unbearably warm summer evening in South Florida, my girlfriend and I stripped down to nearly nothing, hopped a fence, removed the rest of our clothing and skinny-dipped in a golf course community’s private pool. Of course, security arrived shortly afterward and found us hiding in the pool behind a bush. Forced to leave, we asked the security guard to turn around so my girlfriend could get into her one piece of clothing – a short Detroit Red Wings hockey jersey. I then put on my boxers, and with our heads held high, and her tugging down on the jersey, we marched out the gate. The guard took down our information, and we were forever banned from the pool. But fortunately this was Florida, and all it took was crossing the street to find another pool to escape from the heat. And maybe the next security guard won’t pretend he doesn’t wish to be young again.
Part of my birthday celebration of special things to do yesterday involved getting a little spur-of-the-moment fifteen minute “Traditional Chinese Massage” at the mall from a spry little Asian man for $12.
I thought he was all going to adjust my feng shui and tap my meridians, but instead he just wailed on my back (and pinched the back of my ankles – what is that?). I felt like I was going through a car wash — you know the part where the floppy brushes whap and whap and whap your car windshield and you think just for a moment that it might break? Yeah, like that. I am actually sore this morning, feeling like I got jumped into Fight Club with none of the fun.
It was a beautiful Colorado summer day yesterday, replete with a warm afternoon rain and a fiery sunset. Three things that made me happy as I celebrated: a) trying on a hot pink one-piece strapless terrycloth jumper/track-shorts thingie that made me feel like a full-fledged member of Three’s Company b) going out to a lovely birthday dinner at our local brewery with a few girlfriends I am lucky to know and c) really ridiculously enjoying some fresh cold watermelon from our local farmer’s market. Simple pleasures of an August birthday.
It’s hard to believe that I am 28 now. I moved here when I was 25, and turned 26 shortly thereafter, but somehow the leap from there (right in the middle of my twenties) to 28 seems a long one, since one year from today I will be a year shy of thirty. Sheesh. I still feel maybe 15, 16. I am officially in the twilight of my youth, I’ve been told. It’s a good life, a wonderful life, and I have no complaints, but how did 28 creep up on me?
Here’s something that makes me feel urgently 15 again:
Take Care Of Us Star Spangles This is absolutely my new favorite album of the moment. I’ve been a fan of these gritty NYC rockers for about two years now [previous post], but I’ve been out of the loop and their newest release Dirty Bomb (2007, Tic Records) slipped right past me. The Westerberg-meets-Malin-meets-Clash blend percolates to a perfect urgent richness on this newest effort and it is addictive, melodic, catchy rough-edged rock. If you buy it over on this newfangled Amie Street thingie you get 3 extra tracks and the whole thing will only set you back like $6. It’s the deal of the summer for this much goodness.
Basketball Rogue Wave I picked up this excellent charity benefit CD while I was in San Francisco this past February for the Noise Pop Festival and completely forgot to write anything about it. At The Crossroads is a benefit for homeless youth in the City by the Bay, and for a mere $12 you get a perfectly balanced blend of bands you’ve heard of and bands you haven’t, all bringing their A-game to the comp. Artists include Calexico, Creeper Lagoon, Scissors for Lefty, Elephone, Bettie Serveert, Scrabbel (who I saw open for Cake the night I got this CD) and The Faint. A few of the tunes are fun covers (Morrissey’s “Please (x3) Let Me Get What I Want” and U2′s “Seconds”). Good music for a good cause, this song is summery and shimmery — I am glad Rogue Wave offered it up for this compilation.
Night Windows Weakerthans I’ve been excited to hear the upcoming Reunion Tour album from The Weakerthansafter hearing effusive praise from a few pals who have given it a spin already — and after hearing this track I see why. I have a penchant for sharp lyrics, and this is an area where Canada’s The Weakerthans [previous post] stand out. Their incisive, introspective feel will probably remind you a little bit of Death Cab For Cutie if you haven’t listened to The Weakerthans before; they are a richly nuanced group that I really enjoy. This song could undeniably be the most perfect summer night driving song ever recorded. You can almost see the yellow lines flitting past, feel the warm summer wind rushing in the open windows. Reunion Tour is due September 25 on Anti-/Epitaph Records.
Fa-Fa-Fa Datarock A DJ friend of mine in Seattle raved about these guys, and holy cow just hearing the opening twenty seconds of this indeed makes me want to get up and dance, in his club or in my living room. We’re talking an inexorable pull, with those James Brown teasing guitar licks meets Talking Heads shouts. Apparently Datarock is a duo from Norway that have a penchant for matching track suits (hey, kind of like that time I saw Devo!) and make their own brand of urgent dance-punk-electronica. Those awesome Norwegians. This is off their 2005 album Datarock, and I just learned that this song will also make you want to drink cola beverages, or so hopes Coca-Cola in their newest commercial.
Complete Shakeup Travel By Sea My pal the Aquarium Drunkard has his own little record label dealie going on (you know those cool L.A. types) called Autumn Tone Records and is slowly building a quality catalog of mostly alt-country and folk releases. Travel By Sea is a lazy, sun-flecked, swing in a hammock on a late summer day band that hails from a California/Colorado long distance collaboration between Kyle Kersten and Brian Kraft. Their beautifully crafted-album Shadows Rise is now being re-released on Autumn Tone, with a new album expected any day now.
Clearly intended as a birthday gift for me (it’s tomorrow), the first Eddie Vedder solo song from the Into The Wild soundtrack has now been posted on the Into The Wild website. This initial listen sounds well-suited to what I understand the movie is about (note to self: get the book!) — a journey into the great wide open, wanderlust, sweeping vistas, solo strength.
It builds from an organic acoustic/tambourine affair to a heavier, fuzzier, driving thing of beauty by the end. It is apparently a cover of an obscure song by Canadian musician Gordon Peterson under the name Indio, from the 1989 album Big Harvest. Searching for information on Peterson is near impossible, as he seems to have all but vanished since the album was released, but the original song apparently features backing vocals from Joni Mitchell.
Ed’s version ramps up the Middle-Eastern influences and reminds me of Pearl Jam songs like “Who You Are” or “Face of Love,” a bit exotic. Sleater-Kinney punk goddess Corin Tucker duets, taking the part that Joni filled 18 years ago.
The soundtrack album of solo material from Eddie Vedder will be coming out one month from today on J Records, and the Sean-Penn-directed movie opens in U.S. theatres on September 21.
I am deeply in love with the music of The Damnwells now more than ever. I’ve been on a kick lately, and as far as I reach in, they meet me there with their music. As my friend Scott wrote, “[Lead singer/songwriter Alex] Dezen uses the pen like a rapier to carve little bits out of your heart and soul.”
Yesterday marked one year since Air Stereo (2006, Rounder Records) was unleashed upon us unworthy masses, and if you don’t own it yet, why not? Why, oh why not. I discovered this in 2007, so it doesn’t get to go into my top list of the year that I’ll put out this Deccember, but that’s just a technicality. This is undoubtedly one of the best albums of my year, one I’ve listened to the most, sang my lungs out to in the car, and spent time alone with on my iPod.
The great news this week is that Alex has revealed some juicy details of work commencing on a new album. He writes, “The Damnwells will be going back into the studio before the end of this year to record a new record. I’m thinking a self titled affair. Really, when you consider all the pressure and nonsense—both existential and metaphoric—we always had to deal with every time we went into the studio, this will be the first Damnwells record we will ever be able to just make. ‘No pressure,’ Paul, our A&R guy at Rounder says. ‘Make the record you want to make.’ What a crazy idea! Not like we were ever making anyone else’s records, but there was always compromise.
Where art and commerce meet, there has to be. Your mixed-medium, six foot canvas doesn’t fit in the six by three inch display case at Wal-Mart, and no amount of dieting or exercise is ever gonna fit your square peg in that round hole. Compromise is a part of life—at least the kind that includes a roof over your head and food on the table. So now that we’re supposed to make this record, the one we want to make, without the pressure and nonsense, I think I may be feeling a little Stockholm syndrome coming on. How the hell am I supposed to do that?
Guess we’ll find out.”
In the spirit of Damnwells love, I’ve unearthed some more demos from their early days and they are heartbreaking, insanely good, wrenching, melodic — some of the best stuff I’ve heard in months. I love the ferocious romanticism of The Damnwells, and that’s a kind of romanticism that can be manly too (not talking like bubble bath romantic, more like bleeding out in the backcountry following your dream romantic).
Information about these is incredibly scant, and my normal methods of reconaissance are failing me. If you can confirm anything else about these demos, I’d love to hear it. Far as I can tell, these are mostly demos for the PMR (Poor Man’s Record) + 1 EP, which you can still buy over at CD Baby. There are two demos from the Heart Hazard EP which was a self-produced, hand-stamped job that I can’t find a trail on either.
A friend of a friend shot the following video when Damien Rice was here in town on Cinco de Mayo (I was wondering WHY WAS I NOT AT THIS, but then I remembered I was busy taking shots to the mouth in the Kings of Leon pit).
It’s a fantastic little snippet; I love how defiantly Damien sings the lines, almost as if he is taunting or daring courage to teach him to be shy. It also has the grainy look of an old-time film reel somehow. Enjoy, I did:
[last picture ever taken of Elvis, 12:28am, Aug 16, 1977]
Tomorrow marks thirty years since the memorable (and sad) moment in music when Elvis Presley was found dead in his Graceland bathroom at the age of 42, the day before he was to start a new tour. For years he had been sadly deteriorating from the fresh faced, doe-eyed, swivel-hipped innocent of the Fifties, all enlisting for the Army and being photographed in his tightie-whiteys; so average, so loveable.
In recent years his music was swirling to new heights of camp (albeit, camp that I absolutely adore – “I’m just a hunk-a hunk of burning love?” That opening drumbeat? “The flames are now lickin’ my body?” Fantastic):
(pretty sure that’s like an early music video; studio cut, live images)
By 1977, Elvis was in really bad shape, and that ferocious swagger and cocky snarl you see above in the glitz and glimmer was all but gone. It was a feat just to get him through every show, propped up on bloated legs by a combination of amphetamines, barbiturates, and sequined bell-bottoms. Guralnick writes in his 2000 book Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley, “There was no longer any pretense of keeping up appearances… The idea was simply to get Elvis out onstage and keep him upright for the hour he was scheduled to perform.” His final concert would be the night of June 26, 1977 in Indianapolis.
The last recording Elvis made was a vocal overdub on “He’ll Have To Go” done on October 31st, 1976 in the “Jungle Room” at his home at Graceland. The last song Elvis performed in private was a rendition of “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain,” done on his piano in Graceland hours before his death. [ref]
The morning of August 16th, his fiance Ginger Alden found Elvis dead in his Graceland bathroom with fourteen drugs detectable in his system, ten in “significant quantity.” According to the medical examiner, Elvis had stumbled or crawled several feet before dying. What a sad ending to such an amazing, epic life that gave us some of my favorite music ever. No one can cast a bigger cultural shadow than The King. Through a combination of musical virtuosity, that irreplaceable voice, and something in the DNA of our culture – the fabric of my musical knowledge – he was without equal. Elvis is just Elvis.
I found myself at bit melancholy at watching a few more videos of the Elvis from the Seventies, starting with when he actually looked kinda hot in that white jumpsuit (ha! never thought I’d say that):
ELVIS: IN THE GHETTO (1970)
ELVIS: ALWAYS ON MY MIND, NOV 1, 1972
Some extras because I absolutely love this song and never tire of it: Always On My Mind – Ryan Adams& The Cardinals [bonus track, Jacksonville City Nights. 99% sure this is a duet with Norah Jones] Always On My Mind (live on NPR) – Iron & Wine/Calexico
ELVIS: UNCHAINED MELODY, JUNE 21, 1977
“Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.”
Several months ago I got an album in my mailbox with this depressed looking chap on the cover, submerged fully-clothed in his bathtub. When you feel like doing that you are probably not in the happiest of mindsets, so I first dismissed it as sad sap break-up music and I’ll admit that I tossed it into a pile of “To Listen On A Day When I Am Sadder” albums. I was doing myself a disservice by not listening to this gem immediately.
The 2005 album is called Broken (and other rogue states) by Canadian Luke Doucet, and I am wondering why I had never heard of his solo work before. This is a wry album that reminds me of excellent artists like M. Ward and Ryan Adams, with a bit of Wilco or even the self-effacing half-spoken zingers of Cracker on songs like “One Too Many.” Doucet brings alt-country inflections, a rich voice with a slight rasp to it, and stunning lyrics that read like wicked clever poetry.
Above all else, those lyrics are what elevate Doucet above the dozens of other singer-songwriter albums I’ll listen to this year:
“I left a trail of Lucky Strikes on the way up to your room in case the sun went down I’d find my way home Now one and one half years have passed and it’s time for me to go But the smokes have all been kicked away I’m blazing a new trail from your cold, cold heart.” -From “Lucky Strikes”
“It takes a uniquely fucked up man to break his own heart And the right girl at the wrong time to make him do it . . . So bring me cigarettes, bring me alcohol, bring me heroin, make me feel again You were never my whole world you’re just one of many girls . . . Maybe I’ve had one too many“ -From “One Too Many”
Or how about this song TITLE (also the extent of the lyrics) for track #10: “if i drop names of exotic towns that you’ll never see, in the songs that i write, it’s that that’s all i have when i miss my girl and you’re taking yours home tonight”
Doucet intermittently wallows in his sorrows, flagellates himself for his loss, lets fly some pretty harsh barbs (“You don’t need a heart to have a swollen head”) and warns the womenfolk about himself. The last song on the album is a rough and fuzzy 1:42 stomper called “Keep Her Away From Me”: “Keep her away from me, keep her away from me, ’cause I’m not man enough to keep my hands where I can see them.”
Doucet has woven an album that manages to be sweepingly cinematic and completely unpretentious at the same time, a visceral soundtrack to his life experiences. One of my favorite pairings on the album is a short 1:14 track called “Stumbling Gingerly Back To Emily’s Apartment” – a drunken flamenco-tinged waltz that feels exactly like what the title says. It brings him unsteadily to the front steps of her apartment and flows seamlessly into the shameless grovel of “Emily, Please” — “Emily please don’t send me packing in this dilapidated state.” He swears he’s “on the brink of being sober — this was to be my last drink” and asks her to please not tell his mother.
Even though he’s shameless, you still want to believe him.
Doucet is the former guitar player for Sarah McLachlan (I thought I’d heard the name somewhere), and has released several previous solo albums. One reviewer had the following to say, and I couldn’t put it better: “Although Doucet is clearly an exceptionally talented guitarist, Broken (and other rogue states) is not your typical guitar player’s record. His songs are not vehicles for his solos, and when the Canadian does let slip his six string skills, it’s to complement his songs and to emphasise his emotional themes, not to draw attention to his penis.”
He has crafted an absolutely lovely, scathing, bittersweet, alcohol soaked chronicle of love and loss — it is definitely one of the most solid albums of my year so far. Buy Broken (and other rogue states) and pour yourself something that burns a little on the way down.
Name: Heather Browne Location: Colorado, originally by way of California Giving context to the torrent since 2005.
"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part..."
—Nick Hornby, Songbook
"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel." —Hunter S. Thompson
Mp3s are for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you'll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends. Rock on.
This is absolutely insane, seeing double, face-melting stuff. If you didn’t believe me with all the flowery superlatives about how good Ryan Adams’ Berkeley show was last month, just listen to the way he closed the set, with “Shakedown on 9th Street” (from Heartbreaker) flawlessly into “I See Monsters” (from Love Is Hell).
Damnwells will be playing 
Name: Heather Browne
