Lockwood & Summit

Albums of My Life - 1980 - AC/DC "Back In Black"

2009-07-13T14:32:00.003-05:00

by Steve Pick

The me of 1980, a cocky 21-year-old who knew there was a lot yet to learn but was willing to believe that what he already knew was probably the most important anyway, would probably hate the me of 2009. How could I take a year which featured such incredible records as Elvis Costello's Get Happy, Magazine's The Correct Use of Soap, the English Beat's I Just Can't Stop It, or the debut from the Pretenders, and decide that one of the two or three biggest selling albums of all time deserves to represent it?

Well, I still listen to all those records, and many more besides from what was a pretty darn good year, but there is something singular about Back In Black which moves me in ways no other music does. Put quite simply, Back In Black is the record which most sounds the way it feels to have a raging hard-on.

Rock and roll and sex share a long history - heckfire, the term was originally slang for doing the nasty. The rhythms, the wild dances, the innuendos, the double entendres, and the downright obvious seductions were reason enough to hate it for those who preferred to pretend young people never get those special feelings. And, there's no question that, like virtually everything else in the popular culture, rock music was most often assuming a male point of view on the subject.

Basically, I'm saying there were forebears for the sexuality of AC/DC, but this band took it to the next level by virtue of a single-minded commitment to the metaphor of rock and roll as orgasm. And, yes, there are those who will insist that AC/DC perfected their sound and subject matter in the years before 1980, when the late great Bon Scott was writing the lyrics and screaming the words. I love the guy, and I can thrill to most of his songs, too, but it was somehow the perfect storm of newcomer Brian Johnson taking over after Scott's death just as Angus Young created his most memorable of many unforgettable guitar riffs and producer Mutt Lange figured out how to squeeze all this sound into the riffs with more power and passion than had been heard before.

The feminist in me is never going to defend lyrics such as "Oh she's blowing me crazy / Til my ammunition is dry" in the extreme "Given the Dog a Bone" or "Let me cut your cake with my knife" in the literal "Let Me Put My Love Into You." But, dammit, these songs sound just like it feels when such actions are being undertaken, and if those aren't the thoughts which pop into my head at that moment, I'm not saying my dirty words are any more clever or thoughtful. And when Johnson expresses his admiration for the skills of his partner in "You Shook Me All Night Long," it's even kind of tender to hear him say, "But the walls were shaking / The earth was quaking / My mind was aching / And we were making it and you / Shook me all night long."

Not that I'm going to pretend AC/DC is about tenderness. They're not. They're about waving their big dicks in the air and shaking them like they just don't care. They're about the most perfectly placed rhythms in all loud rock, as guitarist Malcolm Young (the older brother of lead guitarist Angus, who gets all the attention on stage) is about the most rhythmically intense player I know. Angus may write the riffs, but it's Malcolm who puts them into your groin, aided, I admit by the rumbling bass of Cliff Williams and the dynamite right foot of drummer Phil Rudd.

Side one begins with "Hell's Bells," one of the most thrilling album openers I know (so much so that most, if not all, of the times I've seen them live, this has been the first song. As that bell intones its warning, the band revs up slowly until reaching full throttle, from which they don't let down again until the record is over. Now, I'll admit the rest of side one is merely average AC/DC, which is to say it's nasty, it's sexy, and it grinds real good. But side two is a masterpiece which gives this album its place in my personal pantheon.

"Back In Black," that stuttering rhythmic delight; "You Shook Me All Night Long," which taught Mutt Lange that big money could be made by combining pop melodies with heavy metal thunder; "Have a Drink On Me," a song which still sounds like sex but is really more about fellowship; "Shake a Leg," the weakest link on the side and yet a pretty powerful number; and finally "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution," perhaps the best of their long-time crusade to demonstrate the way they felt at age 25 would be the way they would always feel.

At 21, I understood a little about music making me feel good, but my head was still ruling my heart when it came to breaking a tie. I was convinced that sex was a demeaning subject for a music which had made so much of it for so long, and I was equally convinced that guitar solos shouldn't go on for very long (not that Angus Young ever overstays his welcome - his blues-based licks are always entirely appropriate comments on the riffs and chord-changes at hand). I wasn't willing to accept the possibility that a record this ubiquitous - according to Wikipedia, the best selling album ever by a band - could possibly be good. But, listen here, you silly, pompous 21-year-old - eventually, you came to the conclusion that feeling good is its own reward, and Back In Black feels really, really good.

I Saw Bill Kirchen Right Here in Euclid Records

2009-07-07T16:33:00.000-05:00

Just three guys stood up there on the stage at Euclid Records last Friday afternoon. Well, properly, one of them was sitting behind the drum kit, chopping up rhythms into neat, orderly patterns, with a love for and knowledge of his cymbals beyond what many drummers have. The bass player stood, though, and he was a master of varied walking bass lines, the kind which have anchored country and blues and old-time rock'n'roll for decades. And the guitarist/vocalist was Bill Kirchen. That was more than enough.

Kirchen was the guitarist in Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen back in the 1970s. Pretty much everything written about Kirchen has to include that reference, and certainly, there were people in the store to see him who had treasured memories to share about seeing the Commander all those years ago. But, the guy has been making excellent solo records, and touring frequently for at least a dozen years.

For roughly 40 minutes in the store, Kirchen showed us why he's a contemporary artist worth hearing. Most of the songs he played were his own originals, though one could easily be forgiven for thinking they were obscurities from the early 60s. Kirchen's voice a perfectly comfortable baritone which knows how to deliver a honky tonk or rockabilly style. And his guitar playing is a grab-big of licks either lifted or derived from the playing of every great six-string expert, or at least those who played between 1950 and 1980.

For me, the highlight of the in-store performance was a driving and brilliantly vital cover of Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A-Changin'." Imagine if Dylan had decided to use this song as the announcement of his shift to electric rock music at Newport in 1965. It really did sound remarkably like that band, especially the drumming. (The drummer denied to me after the show that he had that in mind at all; perhaps it's just the perfect approach for such a rocking take on Dylan's style of that period.) I tell you, I got goose bumps; after all these years, and with setbacks every step of the way, believing in the positive nature of those changes hasn't always been easy. But, while this version didn't exactly sound like a victory march, it at least felt like the battle was being waged again.

The performance was recorded, and there will be a 7" culled from it released later this year as part of the Euclid Sessions series.

Albums of My Life - 1979 - Graham Parker and the Rumour "Squeezing Out Sparks"

2009-07-06T09:12:00.003-05:00

by Steve Pick

Three weeks ago, when last we checked in with Graham Parker in this series, he had just released his debut album, Howlin' Wind, and revealed a fresh voice in a highly rooted pub rock approach. Now, two studio albums and one strangely enervated double live album later, we come to Squeezing Out Sparks, in which Parker discovers his voice to be even more exciting when applied to his own sound.

During all this time, Graham Parker and the Rumour - Brinsley Schwarz and Martin Belmont on guitar, Bob Andrews on keyboards, Andrew Bodnar on bass, and Stephen Goulding on drums - developed into one of the most torrid live bands walking the earth. I saw them in summer of 1979, touring behind this album, and to this day that 45 minute opening set remains a standard of comparison for any rock show I ever see.

For Squeezing Out Sparks, Parker turned in ten spitfire songs full of intense observation, anger, and dense wordplay. The titles alone evoke the intensity of the music - "Passion Is No Ordinary Word," "Don't Get Excited," "Nobody Hurts You," "Love Gets You Twisted." And the music kicks the titles in the butt.

Where to start? Bodnar and Goulding are on fire on this album, never content to lay in the pocket as perhaps they did sometimes (to great effect) on earlier records. Here, they play as if they are the focus of the music, with Bodnar's bass lines often providing highly effective counterpoint to the crackling rhythm guitar and Parker's melodic catch-phrases, and Goulding driving the choruses to greater and greater levels of intensity with constantly surprising invention on his kit.

Bob Andrews left the band after this, perhaps because he was feeling less important to the overall sound, but his keyboards, mixed behind the other instruments much of the time, add evocative colors and emotional nuance to what could otherwise be roars of power. Schwarz and Belmont, meanwhile, have worked out a perfect connection - Schwarz contributes almost as many guitar hooks in his brief but incandescent leads as Parker does vocal hooks, while Belmont's overdriven chorused guitar chords chop and throttle the rhythm parts.

Which brings us to Parker himself, spitting out lyrics fast and furious, never stopping to let us ponder such bon mots as "I draw a blank every time I think the football crowd is going to give me a boot" or "We're dying to be invaded and put the blame on something concrete." Parker is at heart a moralist who demands the world live up to his ideals, and if that sometimes puts him on the side of those who can't see complexity, it also puts his heart and soul into attempting to force passion into a world which often settles for going through the motions. Graham Parker wants to make us feel what he feels, and Squeezing Out Sparks is just about the most emotionally riveting rock album I know.

I'm not going into the politics of "You Can't Be Too Strong," the ballad from whence the title of the album derives, because the subject is too divisive, and my opinions on it don't effect my opinions of the album as a whole. Graham Parker and the Rumour never sounded more exhilarating than they do throughout Squeezing Out Sparks, and anger never sounded more alive.

Albums of My Life -1978 - Bruce Springsteen "Darkness on the Edge of Town"

2009-06-28T11:15:00.004-05:00

by Steve Pick

In this, the 21st installment of the series writing about one album for each year of my life, we reach the point where I start buying them in real time.

In 1978, something drew me back to music in a big way after a few years of merely dabbling. I started buying records as often as possible, and I listened to the radio all the time, and I read rock magazines. Creem and Rolling Stone, mostly that year. I was learning that things were happening which hadn't happened in a long time, that rock music was saying things which mattered again, and that there were new sounds which fell squarely in the rock tradition while shattering all the rules of the day.

In addition to discovering the New Wave (in part because KADI FM played Elvis Costello and Patti Smith in heavy rotation), I discovered Bruce Springsteen, a kindred spirit albeit a horse of an entirely different color. I remember actually making the purchase of Darkness on the Edge of Town; I bought it at Peaches in Dellwood, and the clerk, a former neighbor of mine, complimented me on my taste.

I remember dropping the needle on the record and thrilling to the tom tom intro of "Badlands" before suddenly the sky opened up and the full throttle force of the E Street Band burst from my speakers. I remember playing the record over and over, knowing that this was something special, even if I didn't quite yet know why.

To this day, Darkness is my favorite Springsteen album. It remains the defining E Street template, even though obviously those guys could drop some serious science on songs dramatically different from the ones contained here. But, here we have the force of the E Street Band, the astounding invention and power of drummer Max Weinberg, the thick sound and rhythmic perfection of bassist Gary W. Tallent, the unobtrusive yet essential keyboards of Danny Federici, the array of melodic commentary from pianist Roy Bittan, the penetrating full-blown tenor sax of Clarence Clemons, and the dynamic blasts of Springsteen's own guitar (or is that Miami Steve Van Zant? I never know who plays which part).

And there's Springsteen's voice, which he pushes to extremes he never did before or again. Listen to the way he screams from the gut on "Adam Raised a Cain," or the way he sounds so intimate and well, horny on "Candy's Room," or the rich expression he brings to "The Promised Land." He sounds rawer, and he sounds more varied, as though each song required a specific new vocal approach to deliver the emotional content.

The emotional content of Darkness is pretty much a frenzy of hope and pain and drudgery and release and desire and love and passion and revenge and retreat. The characters in these songs are not simple, are not symbols but very specifically drawn human beings with complicated experiences.

"Racing in the Streets," is one of the most mocked of all Springsteen songs because of it's opening lines. "I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396 / Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor" was ripe for satire by those who thought Springsteen's songs were simply love poems to cars and girls. But the man in this song is trying to be in love with life itself - "Some guys they just give up livin' / And start dying little by little piece by piece / Some guys come home from work and wash up / And go racin' in the streets."

The catch is, he's torn between the thrills he needs from cheating death itself - for racing in the streets isn't exactly a guarantee of safety - and the pain he knows he brings to the woman he loves, who has shut herself down to a shell of the lively girl she had been. "Tonight my baby and me we're gonna ride to the sea / And wash these sins off my hands." It ain't easy to ask forgiveness when you believe the very sin you're committing is what keeps you from dying. This will be a baptism that doesn't seem likely to lead to Heaven.

Ah, well, Springsteen challenges perceptions and conventions. He sings of working class people not as heroic stereotypes, but as human beings faced with the challenge of finding meaning in life. When Springsteen sings "I believe in the promised land," at first it seems something akin to "Born to Run," when he wants to take his woman and break on through to the other side. But, there is an awareness here of a contradiction - "Blow away the dreams that tear you apart / Blow away the dreams that break your heart / Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted." Isn't the promised land itself such a dream? And yet, the song sounds so full of hope, so cocksure that the singer (and those of us who listen and sing along, either in our heads or at the top of our lungs at his concerts) can actually defeat the forces arrayed against him, and find the life he wants.

Ultimately, it is the awareness that the fight itself, or rather the experience of making a life out of the individual moments we live, which matters. "Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop / I'll be on that hill with everything I got / Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost / I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost / For wanting things which can only be found / In the darkness on the edge of town." Not a simple moral, but a complex desire to wrestle with the powers that be, to keep searching til it's understood that these badlands are treating us good.

Cover Me - The Good, the Better, & the Best

2009-06-22T09:01:00.002-05:00

Last week I made my way through the heartland of America headed to New York City. As is my custom I try and break up the monotony by hitting the flea markets and small record stores along the way. I was rewarded this trip with three cover, one good, one better and one is simply THE BEST!

GOOD:
The first is a record of sacred songs from The Chuck Wagon Gang. I thought they just served up vittles, but what do I know. The photo on the cover is so wholesome it makes Wally and the Beaver look like Hell's Angels.

BETTER:
The second is from an Ohio based Gospel group The Evangelaires. The description on the back tells of a vocal group that is exciting (no), artistic (certainly not), different (I don't think so) and imaginative (nope). But all these adjectives can only describe the cover. I'm assuming that they played a little dress up for the photo shoot, at least I'm hoping. Otherwise the bald guy with the lollipop, the farmer, the waiter and the old fashioned lady might want to watch there backs when the leave, 'cause the hunter and his dog are looking like they're out for blood.

BEST:
This one is a crown jewel. A cover so astounding I nearly dropped it when I spotted it at a flea market in Indiana. It's The Best of The Crusaders (no, not those Crusaders). Originally a trio made up of three gospelaires that, on looks alone would be enough to feature in this blog. But The Crusaders, who by the way record in "ultra sonic sound", added the suave and sophisticated former auto racer, pro wrestler and now at 46 inches "the smallest gospel singer in the world" Little Buddy Dee. In the liner notes it says "to see and hear Buddy as he teams up with the Crusaders is an unforgettable experience". I'm sure, but this cover will definitely suffice thank you very much.

Albums of My Life - 1977 - Television "Marquee Moon"

2009-06-21T18:35:00.003-05:00

by Steve Pick

Nearly 25 years ago, a very good friend of mine got to spend a few months living in Paris, and inevitably, she found herself wandering around in the Louvre one day. When she came across what I had always thought was the most famous statue in the world, the Venus de Milo, she suddenly burst out laughing. For the first time, she got the joke, as she had somehow lived her whole life to that point not realizing that this Venus had no arms any more.

The joke is in the second song on Television's impeccable Marquee Moon. "And I fell / Did you feel low? / No,not at all. / Huh? / I fell right into the arms of Venus de Milo."

Well, it's funny, but it's not merely a joke. The song exists on the border between feeling alive and aware of a future, and empty and lost and not caring about anything. Tom Verlaine's character seems to dance across the city of New York, encountering strangers on the Bowery, actors from Broadway, and an old friend who urges him to take a needless risk. He is aware of all these things, but none of them affect him; Verlaine holds on to the memory of astounding beauty, a statue so perfect that even with all the loss it has sustained over the years, it remains an ideal of artistic excellence.

And, then there are the guitars - honestly, as great as Verlaine's lyrics are, and everything about the way he delivers them, it is the guitar interplay between Verlaine and Richard Lloyd which elevates this album into the pantheon of greatness which it occupies. The liner notes take great pains to tell us which one plays which parts, but I've never really bothered to think too much about that. Instead, I prefer to think of the two of them melded into one mind, where rhythm guitar and lead guitar combine to create some of the most beautiful, eloquent, dirty, and hard-hitting sounds in all of rock.

I'm not a believer in any kind of God, but there is a passage in the song "Marquee Moon" which feels to me like a manifestation of the divine. It's a mysterious song, with images of darkness doubling, of lightning striking itself, of Cadillacs pulling in and out of graveyards, and of standing underneath a moon which feels like a marquee. All of this is sung, spat, delivered in Verlaine's exceptionally unconventionally pretty yet precise vocals, as one guitar chugs a rhythm, another guitar dances filigrees around it, the bass thuds in counter-rhythm, and the drums, as always on this record, are filling in astounding rhythmic details few would think of trying, let alone actually attempting.

Then, about four and a half minutes in, the filigree guitar takes off. The song is modal, and two chords alternate four measures of two beats each, giving the lead guitar enough time to slowly climb up the fretboard again and again every eight measures. But that's not doing enough justice to what happens here - there are explorations, inventions, melodic delights aplenty over the next few minutes, as the rhythms subtly speed up, the dynamics get louder, and the solo becomes more and more intense. This is the sound of searching, of attempting to find meaning, or God, or whatever profound secret one is interested in. And then, after climbing as high as possible, the piano delivers the sound of a rushing stream, and the guitar, now gently plucked with some effect pedal adding light resonance, gives the answer long sought. It is the beginning, the Word made Sound, and it brings calm to my soul every time I hear it. And then, it all starts over, the band returns to the rhythm, and Verlaine sings again, "I remember when the darkness doubled." The first verse leads to a fade-out, indicating that the answer is never enough, the quest must always continue.

Marquee Moon gives us eight songs, five of which are easily among rock's masterpieces, and the other three are merely exceptionally good. I didn't hear it in 1977 - few outside of New York and the rock critic intelligentsia of the time did. I really have no memory of discovering this record, but it had to happen sometime in the next few years. I also have no memory of ever not knowing and loving and thrilling to what more than deserves every accolade it has accumulated in all this time. If you know it, you know what I mean; if you don't, you will not believe what you have missed.

The Biggest A-Holes in Jazz

2009-06-20T14:55:00.002-05:00

by Joe Schwab

Keith Jarrett (renowned A-hole) picks on the audience at the Umbria Jazz Festival for taking his picture.

I would be remiss if I didn't also include A-hole hall of famer, Mr. Buddy Rich.

Albums of My Life - 1976 - Graham Parker - "Howlin ' Wind"

2009-06-15T09:55:00.002-05:00

by Steve Pick

I started listening to FM radio in 1976, and in St. Louis, that usually meant KSHE, the rock station which dominated the local market to a degree unimaginable to those who didn't live through it. At that time, if you were under 25 years old, and you didn't wear a KSHE pig shirt, you were looked on with the same suspicion John Birch Society members viewed Hollywood actors and union leaders. You were not "one of us."

Well, I listened to KSHE, though the contrarian in me listened to rival KADI even more. My point here is I know I heard "Don't Ask Me Questions" fairly often on the radio in 1976, and I really want it to have been on the biggest station at the time, but I can't swear to it. I wasn't yet reading rock journalism, wasn't at all aware of what was bubbling up in England and New York. I do remember loving "Breakdown" by Tom Petty and "Don't Ask Me Questions" more than anything by Journey or Styx, though not so much more that I was ready to renounce the latter.

Now, I can't imagine not realizing "Don't Ask Me Questions" is a Bob Marley homage, but then, I wasn't hearing reggae as anything unusual. This was the way this song sounded (as I mentioned a few posts back when writing about Jimmy Cliff's The Harder They Come). And, as much as I enjoyed the song on the radio, I don't think I even considered looking for the album in stores - I certainly had no idea this Graham Parker guy had such short hair.

Eventually, of course, I shifted gears and formally aligned myself with the New Wave and Punk Rock movements. Graham Parker wasn't actually part of these, but he was on the periphery, and I grabbed all of his albums as fast as I could (easy in those days, as most of them seemed to be sitting in the cut-out bins ripe for the picking). Here was a guy with short hair, short songs, short guitar solos, and more hooks than you could hang Heidi Klum's clothes on. I played his first four studio albums to death back in the day.

Howlin' Wind is album number one (and actually, the second record, Heat Treatment, also appeared in 1976, and comes close enough to this one that I briefly considered covering the both of them as if they were a double LP). Now, I can hear the heavy Van Morrison influence which colors this record - Parker doesn't have the deep sonority of Morrison's voice, but he nicks some arrangement ideas, especially on "Gypsy Blood" and "You've Got to Be Kidding." And, having heard enough live renditions of many of these songs over the years, either in concert or on live records, the album seems a little more sedate than I remember it.

But, my goodness, it's still a great one - song for song, Howlin' Wind remains one of the most impressive debuts of any songwriter I've ever heard. Parker's skills are not necessarily in crafting complex melodies, but my goodness, he knows how to pack a punch in the chorus. Short verses, clever guitar or keyboard or horn hooks, and the catchiest, most singable choruses to come from one mind - that's the formula established here, which Parker has mixed together again and again for 33 years. I'm not saying he's ever matched his first four records, but he's never fallen so far away from those standards that you don't want to keep hearing him.

The backing by the Rumour deserves to be mentioned, as well. I saw these guys with Parker in 1979, and again with Garland Jeffreys a few years later (though keyboardist Bob Andrews had left by then), and there has rarely been a more talented and intense ensemble. You can hear the beginnings of their sound develop here - Brinsley Schwarz would step more clearly to the forefront on guitar later, and Martin Belmont would develop a rounder, deeper rhythmic approach. But already, they were in synch with Parker's songs, working the dynamics which such a repetitious style required.

Graham Parker wasn't revolutionary, a la the Ramones, whose debut album deserved consideration for representing 1976, but which was ultimately a little too cartoony, and a little less than perfect even in regards to their own role in music - the next two albums would do that. He was obviously a record collector who wanted to mix the soul, blues, rock, reggae, and country he had heard into a new and vibrant creation of his own. Still, for a conservative take on rock'n'roll, Howlin' Wind remains one of the most exciting and inventive records I know.

Twangfest - Four Days of Musical Parties and Adventures

2009-06-09T15:59:00.003-05:00

Euclid Records has been proud to sponsor Twangfest, the annual big tent series of concerts held in St. Louis, for years. This year, things kick off tonight, June 10, with a don't-dare-miss-it show at the Pageant. Headliner Alejandro Escovedo hasn't played St. Louis in a long time, and he remains one of the most powerful of musical performers. Also on the bill is the Hot Club of Cowtown, a delightful band of fiddling country swing, and Amy LaVere, whose sweet and sultry vocals are highly recommended.

Tomorrow night, June 11, Twangfest moves to the Duck Room in Blueberry Hill, and four excellent performers. Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys return to Twangfest after an absence of a few years, and they'll headline over country singer-songwriter Bruce Robison, the eclectic singer/songwriter Eileen Jewell, and the St. Louis act the Brothers Lazaroff.

Friday night, June 12, the Duck Room will feature the acoustic sounds of the Asylum Street Spankers, the manic soul of Andre Williams, the ethereal and incandescent rock of Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles, and the pop/rock of St. Louis's own Jon Hardy and the Public.

Finally, Saturday night, June 13, Twangfest keeps the party alive with former Drive-By Trucker Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, the roots rock of Daddy (featuring Will Kimbrough and Tommy Womack, and who will be playing a live in-store at Euclid Records at 4 pm), the country rock of the Deep Vibration, and the St. Louis acoustic band Theodore.

Pick one, two, three, or four nights, and tell them Euclid Records sent you. This is music that will satisfy your soul. You'll be glad to hear it.

Carmen Meets EW&F & the Coop

2009-06-09T11:27:00.003-05:00

by Joe Schwab

I love Carmen McRae. So first and foremost, nothing in this post should be construed as making fun of her. We clear?

Okay, for those of you that have not been initiated, Carmen’s career really took flight in the 50s when she recorded for the Decca label. Though most of these albums were mostly in the ballad and pop song interpretation category, her bluesy feel and daring manner clued you in to what this woman was capable of. Carmen was a musician first and a song interpreter second. Along with Sarah Vaughan, Betty Carter, Cassandra Wilson, Nina Simone, and Anita O’Day, she was a musician’s musician. All these women were piano players (even if they rarely performed it on stage), and they really understood song structure. They could hear beyond the sound of an arrangement, and really know the true power of a song. Some, like Betty Carter, might stretch a standard, but others like Carmen were able to find the beauty in pop songs, some that dominated the charts, and others that were merely album tracks.

This brings us to our feature. Despite my love of all things Carmen, I’ve avoided this record over the years. My reasoning was two-fold. First, it was on the 70s Blue Note label, a time when much of its output was not of great interest to me (though in retrospect, Donald Byrd and Bobbi Humphrey had some good moments). Second, the songs were made up of commercial hits from the likes of Gilbert O’Sullivan et al. But when I finally listened, I found many of these tracks have a certain soul that goes way beyond interpretation. Carmen really made them her own.

The title track, “Can’t Hide Love,” is originally an Earth, Wind and Fire song. Carmen’s bluesy, talking, bitchy-type singing works beautifully with her natural feel.

Then there’s Alice Cooper’s “Only Women Bleed,” a song about the power and heartache of a woman scorned. People used to wonder what the wall was Carmen up to singing a song by Alice Cooper. But after hearing her version, I can only ask, what the hell was Alice Cooper singing this song for?

While researching allmusic.com for dates and song titles on this LP, I read the short, seething review of the album by Scott Yanow who picks out these two songs in particular to say they don’t fit Ms. McRae’s style at all. Well, I respectfully disagree. Mr. Yanow, you may go on to the next blog, but everyone else should give these a listen and let us know what you think.

Albums of My Life - 1975 - Bruce Springsteen "Born to Run"

2009-06-07T10:59:00.004-05:00

by Steve Pick

By 1975, all the younger practitioners of rock'n'roll music had no memory of a time without rock. Bruce Springsteen was 26 when he released Born To Run, which means he was 6 when Elvis Presley burst into the nation's consciousness. Thus, his reference in "Thunder Road" to a radio with Roy Orbison singing for the lonely seemed as natural as his wholesale appropriation (and 64-track modernization) of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound.

Things were happening in 1975. Jon Landau had said a few years before that "I saw rock'n'roll's future - and it's name is Bruce Springsteen." Landau was two years older than Bruce, but he had grown up to rock'n'roll, and he was aware that the next exciting thing to happen was going to feature very clear, very specific nods to the previous two decades. Rock was now a form with a history, and the more aware a musician was of what had already happened, the more likely something new and exciting could emerge.

Meanwhile, down on the Bowery, the New Wave was being born. Patti Smith released Horses, with its mystical reinterpretion of Them's "Gloria," while she also punked up the Who's "My Generation" for a single. The Ramones eliminated everything but Black Sabbath's bar chord rhythm guitar and frenetic energy, while fusing melodies derived from girl groups and other early 60s pop hits. Blondie was revisiting the clean sonic thrills of all those same influences. The future was coming, and it was all of a piece with what had gone before.

The Dictators played CBGB's as well, and they produced one of my most revered 1975 landmarks, The Dictators Go Girl Crazy. Here was a band capable of matching contemporary metallic mores, while covering "California Sun" by the Rivieras, and while coming up with a Beach Boys pastiche called "Cars and Girls." The Dictators knew rock'n'roll's history, but they also thought of it all as trash, and mixed it with an ironic love of trash culture - wrestling, White Castles, drive-in movies. While "Cars and Girls" could have been an appropriate subtitle for Springsteen's album, he eschewed irony in favor of redemption and hope. As much fun as I've had over the years listening to the Dictators, it is the seriousness of Springsteen, the sense of potential and desire and delirium he provides on Born to Run, which makes the year such a watershed to me.

What more does a young man need than a woman to love, a car to take him places, and an idea that moving on through life will lead to something better? Sure, it's a myth - the women of Born to Run are defined more by their roles as accessories to Bruce than as people with hopes and dreams of their own, the cars constantly need repairs and upkeep (and in "Meeting Across the River," they don't even exist as a possession), and the truth about life is that it will always lead to something different, but different isn't necessarily better or even worse, merely a change. But the myth sounds so thrilling, especially when pumped up by Max Weinberg's incendiary drums, by Roy Bittan's melodically enticing piano, by Gary W. Tallent's dancing bass lines, by Clarence Clemons soaring tenor sax, and by Springsteen's clanging, powerhouse guitar.

Eight songs, only two clocking in over four and a half minutes, and nothing less than brilliant. "Thunder Road" sets the tone, a roaring Spector-derived monstrosity as Bruce pulls out all the stops trying to convince Mary that, unlike all those losers she's known before, he is the one who can give meaning to her life, by climbing into his car and riding into the unknown. He's breathless, excited, thrilled by the image he has of Mary by his side, and yet going back and forth between offering her an image of her future with him and deriding her past as empty and worthless. It's not the nicest of seduction techniques, but I can see why she was ready to go with him; "I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk." The whole E-Street Band is talking with him here.

"10th Avenue Freeze-Out" sounds more like the looser, slightly jazzy songs Springsteen had recorded on his first two fabulous records. Here, as on many other songs, David Sanborn of all people lends a sultry baritone sax to the mix, and Bruce sings of the ways women can knock him off his feet just by being so gosh darn beautiful. Hey, it happens, and if it leads to music this exciting, may it continue to happen.

"Night" is more of the same, only a full-tilt Spectorized rev of the E-Street engine. I remember when work was something in the way of what felt like real life, going out at night and showing off and seeing all the people who made me feel like this was the important part of the day. I remember not always knowing where I was going, but knowing that getting out and finding what was happening was simply the only thing I wanted to do. That's what Bruce is singing about here, with the apparent New Jersey caveat of driving around in his car, the extension of his soul which would find the woman of his dreams.

"Backstreets" closes out side one with a bang. It's densely packed words recall his older material again, but the first two albums, "Rosalita" aside, never punched you in the gut with the power and the passion of this song. Bittan's one minute plus piano intro is gorgeous, and then the band kicks in and Springsteen starts to sing of a time when he was younger, in love, experiencing a bit of the dream he searches for in other songs, and then he lost it. That discovery that he and his lover were like all the rest, were capable of failure, is gutwrenching, and it lends this song a sense of terror which vies with the overall sense of hope of the album.

The title track kicks off side two, and it is without question one of the glories of rock'n'roll. It's again the same theme - Bruce works by day, rides with his girl by night, and dreams of a time when this exhilaration will be all there is. But, oh, the urgency, the passion, the thrills - "I want to die with you Wendy on the streets tonight in an everlasting kiss," then "Ughhhhh!" and that rumbling Telecaster joined by Clemons saxophone as we feel the sexual excitement build, release, and then start again. This is everything rock'n'roll had been - raw, sexy, energetic, loud, thick, free - regenerated into something that sounded (and still sounds) like a fresh discovery, an experience of life's greatest moments.

"She's the One" is an interesting contrast. Here, Bruce seems to be a little afraid of the woman's power over him, a bit convinced that he might be better off without her. Is he trying to win her or trying to escape her? Either way, she's calling the shots in his life, and the Bruce Springsteen character of this album is anything but comfortable about anybody else being in control. It's the last rocker of the album, which only lets up briefly during the first six songs.

"Meeting Across the River" features a quiet, jazzy piano part, a moaning jazzy trumpet, and Springsteen inhabiting a different character, something of a loser who dreams of hitting it big (with only $2000, even in 1975 a fairly small haul for whatever it is he's going to do). He needs a ride from his friend Eddie to meet a man who will use him in some way, and pay him money which will show his girlfriend that he is somebody, and allow him to walk out on her, instead of the other way around. Springsteen has always had a gift for creating characters and situations which could easily be fleshed out into more detail, but which would almost always be lessened if they were. We don't need to know what this character is trying to do, merely how empty his gestures are. There is sympathy here, but there isn't much hope.

"Jungleland" is an epic, a far deeper, more concise and sadder take on West Side Story. For the last time in his career, Springsteen lets his arrangements stretch into cinematic (or balletic) scenarios, with musical juxtapositions, and a thrilling middle instrumental section which perfectly describes all the action we're missing from the lyrics. It's an elegy for the people Bruce left behind (or at least knew existed, even if he wasn't one of them), for the images of early rock'n'roll toughs, for the idea that the future didn't matter as much as the present. Again, Bruce Springsteen was firmly grounded in the musical and cultural experiences of his youth. At the very end, there is a wordless "woooh" which rises up and out of the despair of the song. It's not exactly a sense of hope, but it echoes the possibility of same at the end of "Born to Run," borne on the sound of doo-wop exhilaration from his youth.

Bill Kirchen Is Coming! Bill Kirchen Is Coming!

2009-06-03T15:08:00.002-05:00

If you remember the classic early 70s hit single of "Hot Rod Lincoln" by Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen, you should be excited about Friday, June 26. Bill Kirchen, the man whose electric guitar chops fired up that record, will appear at 5 pm right here on our stage in Euclid Records for the next in the popular Euclid Sessions Series.

Kirchen has been releasing terrific albums of his own for years, and his songwriting has come to be as much fun as his guitar playing. He says it's "country-flavored music as well as western swing, rockabilly, bluegrass, country tear-jerkers, and truck-driving music," and there's nothing we can add to a description so accurate.

The Euclid Sessions Series is going quite well - this will be eighth live performance since the series began last Fall. The first three sessions - Steve Wynn and the Miracle Three, the Hard Lessons, and Terry Adams - have already resulted in 7" singles which are selling fast. More will be coming in July. $1 for each of the limited-edition runs of 300 copies will be donated to the New Orleans Musician's Relief Fund.

Oh, and if you want more Bill Kirchen, he'll move down the street to the Gazebo in Old Orchard for that night's Gazebo Series of concert / film pairings outdoors. He'll play down there at 7 pm.

Albums of My Life - 1974 - Richard and Linda Thompson "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"

2009-05-31T09:46:00.000-05:00

by Steve Pick

I imagine if I had actually heard Richard and Linda Thompson's first album when it came out in early March of 1974, and if I was as perceptive at age 15 as I would be a few years later, I would never have believed it possible to improve upon anything contained within it. And yet, despite the seeming perfection of the ten songs on I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight, almost everything could be done better.

Look no further than "The Calvary Cross," the second song on side one. Yes, that middle-Eastern solo guitar introduction is extremely cool, and the cold intonation of the three chords, ringing like mournful church bells in the distance, throughout the song is evocative and chilling. The lyrics are mysterious and dark, the vocal delivery simple, straightforward, and rhythmically light against the ponderous instrumentation. The drums push and pull at the beat, with a precision and simultaneous sense of random placement. The guitar reels off a few intriguing patterns to comment on at all. And, it's over in less than four minutes.

If you buy the current version of Bright Lights with its three live bonus cuts, or if you refer to the 1976 double LP of odds and ends, Guitar, Vocal, or any of a large number of authorized or unauthorized live albums, you'll see very quickly that the original version of "Calvary Cross" only hinted at the power contained within. For live, Richard Thompson stretched this song to the ten-minute threshold, with some of the most powerful, enigmatic, delirious guitar playing anybody has ever performed. (And, even that could be bested by some of the solos he would come up with in the 80s.) By 1974, Thompson was unquestionably one of the greatest guitar players in the world, though he deigned on this record only to support the songs with invigorating short passages and supple rhythm chords.

Or take "The Great Valerio," a stunningly beautiful modal composition sung by Linda with inviting grace. Comparing common life to heroic, godlike behavior, the song seems something of a footnoted precursor to Thompson's later "Walking on a Wire." It seems there was much more which could be done with the image of a tightrope walker than at first appeared.

I'm willing to grant that nobody, not Thompson or any of the most miserable, unhappy songwriters in history, has ever written gloomier material than either "Withered and Died" or especially "End of the Rainbow." I remember in 1982, when I saw Elvis Costello for the second time, he introduced his solo cover of this song as "the most depressing song ever written." "Life looks so rosy in the cradle / I'll be your friend and tell you what's in store / There's nothing at the end of the rainbow / There's nothing to grow up for any more." With a haunting melody perfectly attuned to the pain and suffering described in the words, Thompson managed to convince many that his worldview was one of the sharpest cynicism imaginable.

I'm still picking this album as my representative for 1974 over the closest competitor, Big Star's Radio City, because despite the fact that Richard Thompson and his wife Linda could and would do even better, Bright Lights is one of those records that never fails to live up to its own majesty. From the opening chords of "When I Get to the Border" to the closing acoustic guitar filigrees of "The Great Valerio," the Thompsons brought a clear love and relationship for folk music to a new rock sensibility which would only grow in coming years. It just might be the best blueprint in rock history.

Albums of My Life - 1973 - New York Dolls "New York Dolls"

2009-05-25T11:20:00.004-05:00

by Steve Pick

The missing link between the Shangri-Las and the Sex Pistols,the New York Dolls had almost no commercial impact in 1973, a time in which rock music was divorcing itself from the Top 40, and slowly but surely finding ways to become a market-friendly mass product. The Dolls had a somewhat marketable image, to be sure, but it took the far less dangerous concept of Kiss to make money off the general idea of guys in makeup, wild outfits, and platform shoes.

As I entered high school, I had no idea any of this was going on - my spare money was going back to another fling with comic books instead of music, and while I still knew what was being played on KXOK, I didn't become very passionate about anything I heard at the time. I often wonder what my life would have been like if I'd fallen into the right crowd to hear the New York Dolls at the time, but honestly, I doubt I was ready for it.

When I discovered punk rock in 1978, I quickly learned that the Velvet Underground, the Stooges, the MC5, and the New York Dolls were important influences on most of my fave bands. The Dolls were the first of these that I found, scoring sealed copies of both their albums at Wuxtry (the forerunner to Euclid Records in the West End) for the unheard-of prices of $7 and $5 each. I already knew singer David Johansen from his masterful debut solo album and the KWUR radio hit "Funky But Chic" so I was properly stoked.

To this day, when I hear the opening riff to "Personality Crisis," and then that roll down the piano keys that kicks it into high gear, I mentally pump my fist in the air and fire up a shitload of adrenaline. That is rock'n'roll to me, an anthemic, aggressive, joyous burst of enthusiasm, raw and dirty and exhilarating. And, it's just the first burst of an album that barely slows down for one and a half ballads before it's done.

There are shout-outs to girlgroups, Del Shannon, and Bo Diddley (they cover the latter's "Pills," amping up both the amphetimine-fueled energy and the delight in taking the drugs). There is a hint of early Rolling Stones bluesiness, and some rockabilly influence, especially in "Trash." But, mostly, the Dolls took all their love for old records and created something new and entirely their own - a trashy, sonic fire that burns away all the cares of the world.

Johansen is not a conventionally great vocalist - his range is extremely limited, and his melodic invention virtually non-existent - but he's got a tone and an attitude that can't be denied. As he's shown over the years on solo projects and even with his Buster Poindexter persona, Johansen's strength lies in his enthusiasm for what he's doing, and in the gruff but lovable sound of his voice. As he and guitarists Johnny Thunders and Syl Sylvain were masters at conjuring up vocal hooks, all you needed was a frontman who could sell them as something worth shouting along with. Johansen fits the bill.

Thunders was never my favorite guitarist, but man oh man, his tone, established full-blown on every song here, is exquisitely dirty. Nothing sounded like that guitar before; it was raw, nasty, penetrating, deliriously provocative. It still sounds that way, even though there have been hundreds of people over the years imitating what he came up with. And, though he doesn't sing a lot on this first album, there is an ache in his voice which works as a perfect foil to Johansen's assurance. In the same way, Sylvain's rhythm guitar work, far more conventional yet rock solid, is a perfect counterpart to Thunders' aggression.

Then there is the rhythm section. Arthur "Killer" Kane was the balance in the band, the guy who knew that somebody had to avoid calling attention to himself and simply hold down a role to solidify the songs. His bass lines were always perfect, yet never complicated. And Jerry Nolan, who had only just joined the band shortly before the recording of this album, is enormously inventive throughout. Propulsive, to be sure, but also capable of clever and delicious commentary through the use of his toms and cymbals.

The songs themselves remain perfect prequels to punk rock. There is no attempt to create complex masterpieces, simply short, punchy, hook-filled anthems with fun chord changes. Now, I have nothing against complexity, but when you get something this basic with this much je ne sais qua, well, you have a record worth playing the rest of your life. This is rock'n'roll for the heart, the head, the gut, and the feet.

Hard Lessons Play "Graveyard Shift"

2009-05-21T11:07:00.001-05:00

This is the b-side of the limited edition 7" single we released a couple months ago as part of the Euclid Sessions series. The Hard Lessons played in Euclid Records last Fall, we recorded it, put out the single of "Gateway City" b/w their cover of Uncle
Tupelo's "Graveyard Shift," with proceeds going to the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund. There are still a few copies remaining in the store and online.

We videotaped the performance, and here it is:

DADDY coming to Euclid Records

2009-05-20T10:22:00.002-05:00

One week before Father's Day, come out to see DADDY (featuring Will Kimbrough and Tommy Womack) at 4 pm, Saturday, June 13 right here in Euclid Records. Kimbrough and Womack have teamed up from time to time over the years, first in the bis-quits, then in this off-and-on project DADDY. The guys are pretty busy with their solo careers, and Kimbrough is one of the most in-demand session and touring guitarists - you may have caught him just last year playing with Rodney Crowell.

Daddy takes the skills of Womack and Kimbrough to new levels, as the two talented guitarists feed off each other and drive each other to greater heights. And, they lose none of their usual songwriting chops in service of the guitars. The band is rounded out with Paul Griffith (one of Nashville’s most sought-after session drummers), Dave Jacques on bass (John Prine, Emmylou Harris) and John Deaderick (Dixie Chicks, Michael McDonald, Patty Griffin) keys.

Here's a nice sample from earlier this year:

Albums of My Life - 1972 - Jimmy Cliff in "The Harder They Come"

2009-05-17T11:42:00.004-05:00

by Steve Pick

In 1972, I heard my first reggae song - "Double Barrel" by Dave and Ansel Collins. I had no idea actually that it was part of a genre. For some reason, this was a minor top 40 hit that year, and all I knew was it sounded cool and different and totally got under my skin. I think it was more than a dozen years before I finally heard it again on a Jamaican reggae compilation, and learned that I was hip at a much earlier age than I thought.

When Paul Simon came out that same year with "Mother and Child Reunion," I wasn't smart enough to connect it to "Double Barrel." At the age of 13, you just soak up music, you don't try to figure out what makes this song a different genre from that song. All you know is whether it's got a good beat and you can dance to it, and these reggae songs definitely fit that bill.

Flash forward to the end of the 70s, and my punk rock / New Wave obsessed self learned from reading interviews, hearing cover versions, and talking to friends that if you were down with the Clash, the Police, Elvis Costello, and many more of my faves, you should probably also be listening to reggae. I bought a budget compilation I found, This is Reggae Music Vol. II, which sounded pretty good, but it was my second reggae purchase which really hit me with the island sounds.

We'll get to that in a second, but first, for those of you under the age of 30, let me tell you about a time before there was cable TV, before there was the internet, before there was even video rentals. Movie theaters generally only had one screen, and they would often host the same hot films for a couple of months, as long as people kept coming. Repertoire flicks would revolve in a couple of small places, notably the Tivoli Theatre on Delmar, where you would have the chance to catch a different double feature every night.

So, when my friends started telling me about this Jamaican movie with a reggae soundtrack starring the singer Jimmy Cliff, I had no opportunity to see it for a long time. "The Harder They Come" was popular enough at the Tivoli to be shown once a year, and I was thoroughly entranced once I saw it, even though I was far too naive to understand its themes of rebellion against authority and the outlaw as hero. I just knew it was showing me Jamaica (and even had scenes of Rastafarians, which at that time was like a sighting of a UFO to me), and the songs were unbelievably great.

I bought the soundtrack to "The Harder They Come" for $1.00 in a cut-out bin in a little record store in Northland Shopping Center, sometime in either 1979 or 1980. Since that time, it has remained my all-time favorite reggae album. Jimmy Cliff sings a half dozen of his greatest songs, and the record is peppered with classics from the Maytals, the Melodians, and Desmond Dekker.

These songs were not the roots reggae that Bob Marley, Burning Spear, and others were doing to transform the music into a much deeper style. They were much more like soul music with intriguing rhythms. The title track, sung by Cliff, is a radical manifesto, basically dismissing the idea of waiting passively for a Heavenly reward, and instead urging people to live life to the fullest while they can, right here. "I'd rather be a free man in my grave, than live life as a puppet or a slave." And, it's sung with the sweetest, most lilting and undeniably joyful melody you can imagine.

Jimmy Cliff sings all of his songs here with that pure and easy tenor. "You Can Get It If You Really Want" is a lively self-affirmation; "Many Rivers to Cross" a hymn to loneliness and desire; "Sitting In Limbo" could've and should've snuggled in next to the likes of Bill Withers on American pop radio.

And then there are the other Jamaican hits. Two of the Maytals' greatest records, featuring the astounding gravelly vocals of Toots Hibbert are here - "Sweet and Dandy," one of the most exhilarating dance songs I've ever known (and I danced hard and crazy every time the St. Louis band the Felons covered it in the early 80s), and "Pressure Drop," which I learned originally from the version done by the Clash. The Melodians' masterpiece is "Rivers of Babylon," adopted from the book of Psalms, is a song of worship and peace which never fails to move even the staunchest unbeliever with its sense of hope amidst despair. Scotty does "Draw Your Brakes," a toast over an amazing cut by Keith and Tex called "Stop That Train." Desmond Dekker delivers his usual ska /rock steady magnificence with "007 (Shanty Town)."

I know 1972 was a major year for rock and soul, with stunning records from the Rolling Stones, Roxy Music, David Bowie, Big Star, and Al Green, just to name a few. There are certainly days I could argue that any of them deserves to represent the year, but The Harder They Come gets the nod because it still thrills me with that same sense of discovery and delight I got when I first heard it, even if I heard it a few years after it came out.

Oh, and the reissue available nowadays has a bonus disc of even more early reggae classics, including the aforementioned "Double Barrel."

Pictures For Your Exhibition - Stan Getz

2009-05-13T09:14:00.000-05:00

by Joe Schwab

This week we dig further into the Bernie Thrasher archives for a peek into the life and times of Stan Getz with three photos taken from around 1961. Two of these were taken in performance at The Glass Bar (Peacock Alley) where Getz would often take up one week residence. The other shot is Stan and son Steve Getz from the St. Louis Zoo. If you've ever read the Getz biography "A Life in Jazz" by Donald Maggin, you'll know that Stan's life was filled with liquor, drugs and depression, but this picture captures a wonderful moment between father and son, leaving all the sordid details of a life of excess behind.

Upcoming Live Music in Euclid Records

2009-05-11T17:20:00.003-05:00

Two dates you'll want to mark in your calendars: next Tuesday, May 19, at 5:30 pm, Jon Ginoli of Pansy Division will be performing a live acoustic set of some of his best-loved songs, while Saturday, June 13, we'll have a live set from Daddy, the new duo featuring beloved alt-country-rock singer/songwriter/guitarists Will Kimbrough and Tommy Womack.

We'll have more details on Daddy in the next couple weeks, but for now, let's talk a bit about Ginoli. In 1991, Ginoli and Chris Freeman did what hadn't been done before - they formed a rock band with an explicitly gay theme to all their songs. Whether funny or serious, Pansy Division spoke of experiences rarely mentioned in rock songs of the past, and they built a fairly large audience through extensive touring in the 90s.

The band continues to record and release records, but touring has been cut way back. Ginoli has just published a book, "Deflowered: My Life in Pansy Division," which is just what the title tells you it is. He'll be performing an acoustic set, and then read from the book. This is an excellent chance to catch a musical pioneer in an intimate environment, so come on out and enjoy.

Here's a nice interview with Ginoli.

Albums of My Life - 1971 - Rod Stewart "Every Picture Tells a Story"

2009-05-11T09:52:00.004-05:00

by Steve Pick

For most of 1971, I was 12 years old. You know how some years of your life just stand out more brilliantly as you look back, in a way that you can almost smell what you smelled, see what you saw, hear what you heard? Well, that's one of those golden years for me. New discoveries - girls, music, baseball, hockey - came close to eliminating my single passion of five years standing, comic books.

I came to the radio searching for the Partridge Family, which was my gateway drug to a life of musical excitement. KXOK was the local top 40 station, and I had that thing going every chance I got - it was funny how when my dad would leave me in the car, his easy listening station disappeared, and my rock, soul, and pop was suddenly taking over.

Many of the albums released in 1971 - only one of which I actually bought that year, as 45s were my much more affordable option - remain favorites of mine because of the songs I heard on KXOK. The Who, Who's Next. The Rolling Stones, Sticky Fingers. Marvin Gaye, What's Going On. Sly & the Family Stone, There's a Riot Going On. T. Rex, Electric Warrior. Paul McCartney, Ram. John Lennon, Imagine. Carole King, Tapestry (the one I bought, and one I had memorized by hearing it played in every record department of every store in the St. Louis area for three months before I saved enough to purchase it for myself).

And, of course Rod Stewart's magnificent Every Picture Tells a Story, which featured "Maggie May," one of the most popular songs of a very good year of popular songs. Listening to this song 38 years after falling in love with it, I can only quote another cut from the record, "Mandolin wind couldn't change a thing, because I love you."

It's so hard to understand what happened to Stewart over the years. In the Jeff Beck Group, and Faces, and as a solo artist, he was one of, if not the single greatest rock vocalist of his time. And then, he simply didn't sound as if he cared any more. And then he cared even less. And this fall-off continued far beyond what anybody could believe was possible. In 1978, Greil Marcus (or was it Dave Marsh?) wrote that nobody had sunk further from the heights of ability than Rod Stewart, and from our current vantage point, we look back at "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" as a pretty darn good song.

But, I've come today to talk not about his fall, but about his greatness, and Every Picture Tells a Story is as great as they come. An album immersed in life's riches and experiences, its pains and its joys. Whether backed by the Faces or by other session players, Stewart sings with such conviction, such passion, and such vitality. Obviously, he has a voice not too dissimilar from that of Sam Cooke, but he took Cooke's emotional power and amplified it with the developments in soul and rock after Cooke died.

Every song is a definitive masterpiece (including covers of "That's All Right," "(I Know) I'm Losing You," "Tomorrow Is a Long Time," and "Reason to Believe" which match or even improve upon the versions by Elvis Presley, the Temptations, Bob Dylan, and Tim Hardin. (The latter was the first song I wanted to cover when I got into a band where I played guitar back in 1984, never mind the fact that we were pretty punk and I got the chords wrong.)

Stewart sings of love discovered when he wasn't looking for it (the rollicking title track, fueled by the most exciting drum track in all of rock, played by one Mick Waller, who knows how to whomp), of love lost when he desperately wanted it to continue ("Maggie May" and "(I Know) I'm Losing You"), of love so deliriously exhilarating and then heart-breakingly foreshadowed ("Mandolin Wind"), of love so intense and unconditional that the worst sins imaginable could be forgiven ("Reason to Believe"). And, at all times, he sounds absolutely in the moment, convincing us that he is actually living these songs as they exist.

I've listened to this album for 37 years (my younger brother actually got it for Christmas in 1971, so I've had access to it almost since it came out), and have never failed to be moved by it. Every time I hear the whole thing or any individual song from it, I become that 12-year-old who was just discovering the possibilities of expression, who was learning what it meant to move beyond what he already knew. And, as I've aged, I've put whatever my own life experiences have been into these songs as well; I feel Stewart's joys and pains more richly with each passing year.

I really don't ever want to be stranded on a desert island, but in answer to everybody's favorite question, this is the record I'd take if I had to go there.

Albums of My Life - 1970 - Derek and the Dominos "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs"

2009-05-03T11:13:00.003-05:00

by Steve Pick

I'm not a big believer in confessional singer/songwriter type stuff. Songs can come from life experiences, of course, but I don't always need the back story to understand what's going on. In that regard, it doesn't really matter just how big a torch Eric Clapton was carrying for Patti Boyd, the wife of his best friend George Harrison. That self-imposed pain is there in every song on the one and only Derek and the Dominos album, but it turns into a universal cry of love and anguish and unrequited imagination.

Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs is the crowning jewel in Clapton's career. Everything he did before it (Yardbirds, Mayall's Bluesbreakers, Cream, Blind Faith, Delaney & Bonnie, assorted guest appearances) was great, but wasn't the revelatory perfection of this album. Nothing he did after it came even close to matching its emotional power.

It was also the last time Clapton worked as part of a team. He and Bobby Whitlock wrote most of the originals and bounced off each other as vocalists; he and Duane Allman challenged each other for most of the guitar parts; he and that rhythm section of Carl Radle and Jim Gordon locked in all the grooves.

There is a delightful yin yang between a ramshackle feel to these recordings and an impeccable sense of perfect arrangements. Much of that comes from Clapton and Whitlock's attempt to imitate Sam and Dave on vocals; they traded off lead vocal lines, they harmonized without ever coming close to each other's phrasing or timing, and they challenged each other with frequent flights to falsetto which thrill me every time I hear them do it. Meanwhile, Gordon on drums, Radle on bass, Whitlock on keys, and Clapton on rhythm guitar create tightly constructed arrangements of riffs and grooves which leave plenty of space for the constant stream of lead guitars.

Oh, yes, the lead guitars are exquisite. Allman isn't on every cut, but his spirit is there, pushing Clapton to create the most emotionally devastating solos of his life. Knowing that Allman was playing his heart out all over the record must have freed Clapton to get past any filters he may have had as a guitarist; this is a record of two guys with chops beyond belief using them only in service to the emotional core of each song.

There are only a couple of instances on the double LP where the guitar solos move away from being integral parts of the song structure. For the most part, they stay locking in, commenting on each other, on the vocals, on the groove, and always on the exquisite sadness being expressed. Strangely, though, there is ultimately a feeling of joy which comes from hearing so much sorrow; it may have been John Lennon who talked of primal scream therapy, but it was Derek and the Dominos who figured out a way to reach inside a man's guts and come to terms with the pain as a source of undeniable beauty.

Live Music and a Flick For Free Under the Stars

2009-05-02T11:39:00.007-05:00

The Old Orchard Merchants Association has announced this summer’s schedule for its Fifth Annual Gazebo Series of free, live concerts and outdoor movies. The fun-filled event will be held on Friday evenings this summer from June 12 to July 3 at the Old Orchard Gazebo Park, Big Bend Boulevard at Oxford. This year’s event features two local and two national acts.

Bill Kirchen says, “I’ve always considered myself a folk musician, though I tend to be one that plays too loud and too fast.” That spped was evident in the song that made his style famous: it’s his fretwork which powers the classic “Hot Rod Lincoln” recorded by Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen. Kirchen played with the Commander from 1968 to 1976, helping to bring country and rockabilly sounds to rock’n’roll fans across the nation. Bill’s current band Too Much Fun plays American roots music and features Johnny Castle on bass and Jack O’Dell on drums. Kirchen explains their music this way: “country-flavored music as well as western swing, rockabilly, bluegrass, country tear-jerkers, and truck-driving music.” They put it all together into a unique, tradition-based sound they call “dieselbilly.” Bill Kirchen lives up to his billing as “a one-man living history museum of the coolest rock guitar licks ever performed.”

After 35 years with the eclectric rock, jazz, blues & country stew of NRBQ, Terry Adams has set out on his own, most recently here in St. Louis with his Rock and Roll Quartet. Those who have witnessed his performances at Off Broadway, Lucas School House, and and Euclid Records will be sure to return with all their friends for Terry’s Gazebo performance this year with the Crazy Trio, featuring Scott Ligon on bass and original NRBQ drummer Tom Staley, along with special guest saxophonist Jim Hoke. Terry and gang will be performing later that same night just down the road at the Hwy 61 Roadhouse. Terry’s new CD Holy Tweet has received rave reviews throughout the world including a glowing review from the New York Times. Two songs from Terry’s November performance at Euclid Records were just released in April on a 45 RPM benefiting the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund.

June 12 - Music: The Fabulous Jazz Vocals of Anita Rosamod
Movie: The Sandlot

June 19 - Music: Superb World Music of Farshid Etniko
Movie: Ferris Bueller's Day Off

June 26: Music: Roots Country Legend Bill Kirchen
Movie: City Slickers

July 3: Music: From NRBQ - Terry Adams' Crazy Trio with Saxophone
Movie: Viewers Choice (Voted on at the events and on-line at
www.oldorchardwg.com)

Albums of My Life - 1969 - The Velvet Underground "The Velvet Underground"

2009-04-27T09:34:00.005-05:00

by Steve Pick

Part the twelfth of Steve's 51-part weekly series examining one album from each year of his life; he's almost but not quite to the years when he started buying record albums.

I was a proclamatin' mofo back in the 80s. You could have stopped me on the street at any time, and asked me any question in the world which required an opinion, and despite the fact that I was only in my 20s and hadn't had ten percent of the knowledge or experience that I do now, I would have proclaimed an opinion that nobody, no matter how intelligent or possessed of expertise, could have argued me out of.

One of my proclamations heard frequently in those days was that the Velvet Underground's third album was the greatest record in the history of mankind.

I no longer believe this to be true. In fact, I'm not sure it's still in my top 100, if I was to sit down and proclaim a list of that sort. But, of all the great albums released in 1969 - Abbey Road by the Beatles, In a Silent Way by Miles Davis, Let it Bleed by the Stones, the first two Led Zeppelin albums, Neil Young Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, The Band by the Band, Arthur by the Kinks, Stand by Sly & the Family Stone, Dusty in Memphis by Dusty Springfield, Liege & Lief by Fairport Convention, the Stooges first album, on and on and on - the Couch Album was and is the most important to me personally. Even though I've barely played it in years, I've still heard it more than any other record I just named.

While busy proclamatin' the album's greatness overall, I particularly declared "Pale Blue Eyes" to be the greatest song ever written. Something about the romantic ache of this gorgeous, simple little tune with that liquid, cascading guitar line wrapped around it, and lyrics like "It was good what we did yesterday / And I'd do it once again / The fact that you are married / Only proves you're my best friend / But it's truly, truly a sin" got inside me at an impressionable age. See, it's all about forbidden desires and guilt and passion that can't quite be properly felt. It still washes over me, making me want what I can't have, or making me think I could do what I shouldn't do, and I don't even have anything forbidden to seek. Imagine how powerful it was when I was young and hoping some girl would look at me the way I looked at her.

The first two Velvet Underground records were dramatically different from this one. The first one was all decadence and sexuality and heroin; the second one was all noise. Both featured John Cale's classical music and art aspirations, and both were brilliant. The Couch Album - if, by the way, you don't know why it's called that, look at the cover again - was quiet, yearning, searching for connection in a world that never quite gave it. "I'm set free to find a new illusion." That's the best you can hope for. "If you close the door / I never have to see the day again." That's the answer to loneliness in a crowded room.

Doug Yule had joined the band in Cale's place, and I've never really learned (or if I have, I've forgotten) whether he's playing the gorgeous lead guitar or if it's Sterling Morrison. Whichever one plays bass is also brilliant - Lou Reed's rhythm guitar is magnetic, too, and some of his songs have chord changes to die for, "What Goes On" in particular. They obviously had so much fun playing them - and Reed kept finding new ways to keep the groove going while varying his rhythmic approach - that there's an instrumental coda of nearly 90 seconds.

I haven't even mentioned "The Murder Mystery," a brilliantly experimental track in which Reed and Yule intone two separate but equal poems at the same time on different channels, while the band kicks up a stirring drone on organ and guitar and what sounds like a kettle drum but which is probably Mo Tucker's bass drum on its side. It's trippy and mysterious and totally immersive; don't try to make sense of it, just experience the ride.

The Velvet Underground had one more real album in them, an perfectly successful attempt at making a mainstream rock'n'roll record, Loaded. All four of their records wound up influencing half the rock bands of the next twenty years. I can't imagine 80s American rock without this album, for instance - R.E.M., for example, pulled a lot of its songwriting approach from the way Reed leapt into simple melodies and propulsively hypnotic grooves.

So, I'm not gonna proclaim this will change anybody's life, or that you're crazy if you don't think it's the greatest thing ever. But, if you trust me at all, and you haven't heard it yet, well, The Velvet Underground will give you a lot of pleasure and perhaps an emotional ache or ten.

Pictures For Your Exhibition - Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers 1957

2009-04-25T19:09:00.003-05:00

by Joe Schwab

Here are more photos from the Euclid jazz archives. Photos taken by Bernie Thrasher.
We take you back to 1957 and Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers made there way to St. Louis' Peacock Alley.

This edition of The Messengers included Bill Hardman on trumpet and Jackie McLean on alto. I believe the rest of the band included Sam Dockery on piano and Spanky DeBest on bass. This was an interesting time for Blakey, as he was recording for a number of different labels including Pacific Jazz, RCA and his collaboration with Thelonious Monk on Atlantic. All this while taking a hiatus from Blue Note.

The first picture is a nice head on shot of Blakey with his Gretch set up.

The next shows Blakey along with Hardman, McLean and DeBest.

The bottom shot is Blakey telling the audience (as was his custom) to buy 2 Jazz records every week at your local record store. This of course is
something that we whole-heartedly endorse!

Record Store Day More Fun Than Anybody Has Ever Had

2009-04-21T13:11:00.010-05:00

Photos by Jim Varvaris, except Troubadour Dali by Cat Pick

We knew this would be a good day. We had expectations of people coming in to see the bands, eat the food, take advantage of the sale, and grab some of the Record Store Day exclusive releases. But, we were overwhelmed with delight when we realized very quickly that Saturday, April 18, 2009 would go down in history as the best and biggest day Euclid Records has ever had.

We're here every day, and we know record stores are significant cultural resources. It was so very nice to see how many people are willing to celebrate what we bring to the St. Louis area. Thank you from the bottom of our collective hearts.

And a big thank you to all the musicians who came in to support Euclid Records by performing throughout the day. Many of them are pictured below, and all of them did a great job adding to the energy and excitement of Record Store Day.

Bob Reuter's new band, Alley Ghost

The Trip Daddys

The Trip Daddys

Bent

enraptured crowd watching Bent

Troubadour Dali

Jason Ringenberg

The Bottle Rockets

The Bottle Rockets

Future Record Store Day customer watches through the back window