It may be New Year’s Eve 2014 but this 2013 Arctic Monkey’s song has been rattling around my head since before Christmas.
The leadoff track from their mega-successful album AM, which featured a much more layered and lush R&B evolution of the Monkeys’ previously angular, singularly Anglo-Saxon sound, “Do I Wanna Know?” is a hook filled sugary delight while still retaining Alex Turner’s trademark verbal dexterity and straight-outta-Sheffield inflections. It’s also an unabashedly romantic paean, something else one might not expect from the usually acerbic band from South Yorkshire. And what better way to go into New Year’s Eve than by dropping the smart aleck pose and laying it all out there for the prize of a kiss?
Rock musicians are notoriously eccentric as a whole, particularly those whose heyday was back in the anything goes, drug-infused 1960s and 70s. But legendary drummer and wild man Ginger Baker stands out from the crowd in terms of pure insanity and fearsome ill temper. A very large redheaded man with a seriously bad attitude and a taste for mind-altering drugs, Baker is most famous for being one third of the best power trio of all time, Cream. Along with the late Jack Bruce on bass and primary vocals and the inimitable Eric “Slowhand” Clapton on guitar, Cream redefined the sound of heavy blues in the late 1960s and made an incredible impact on Rock despite the fact that the volatile trio could only keep it together for 2 years. The outstanding 2012 documentary Beware of Mr. Baker chronicles those heady days as well as the pure obstreperousness of its larger-than-life subject who left a trail of destruction in his wake across several continents in the years that followed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqrigN8jxj8
With his gaunt appearance, madman’s eyes and predilection towards random acts of violence and self-destruction, Baker makes an ideal subject for a film. Beginning in the present at Baker’s fortified South African compound and horse farm and tracing his life back to his boyhood during Blitz-ravaged London, Beware makes use of lovely interstitial animation to add graphic novel vividness to the biography and never flinches fromrecounting the legendary drummer’s troubled life starting with the loss of his tough father in WWII. Baker, who might today have been diagnosed with ADD as a boy, subsequently finds his special quality when he realizes that he has “perfect time” and becomes enthralled as a teenager with Jazz drumming. He was taken under the wing of Phil Seaman, the greatest of the English Jazz drummers in the Gene Krupa style, who turned Baker on to two exceptionally important things that would impact the rest of his life: African rhythms and heroin. By his late teen years, Baker was not only a smack addict but also one of the most preeminent and technically accomplished drummers in England or anywhere else. This naturally led to his contributing to the intense and percolating London R&B scene and he quickly established himself as a force to be reckoned with in The Graham Bond Organisation, one of those big-in-England-but-not-in-the-States-type groups. With an appetite for drugs even greater than Baker’s, Bond’s band soon collapsed but not before Baker fatefully met Scottish bassist and vocalist Jack Bruce. These two polar opposites somehow attracted and were soon to become the fiery odd couple of British R&B making Rock history in the process.
While Ginger Baker disparages Bruce throughout Beware (as well as pretty much every other non-Jazz musician on the planet except Clapton), it’s clear that despite their mutual antipathy the two men fed off each other to achieve the greatest of musical heights. When Eric Clapton tired of his purist exploits in John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers and chose to return to the heady world of amplified R&B, Bruce and Baker were a ready made fit for Rock’s first power trio, emphasis on power: The Cream. Continue reading →
I was surprised and delighted to find out the other day that 80s Indie stalwarts and coulda been contenders The Replacements had just played a sold out show out in Forest Hills, Queens apparently having lost none of their edge. It’s always somehow reassuring to see that the heroes of one’s youth are still kicking ass even if three members from their heyday have died, become too ill to perform or gone missing. But as long as the formidable Paul Westerberg still roams the earth I hope these guys will keep performing their hits with their characteristic ragged gusto and swagger.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZi-dw03fE8
And what hits they were. With a combination of pop sensibilities and punk ethos, The Replacements blew out of Minneapolis in the mid-80s like a bracing, whiskey-soaked wind of Rock on the rocks. Along with the harder-edged but excellent Hüsker Dü (who they aped unsuccessfully early on) and the almighty Prince, it seemed like 1985 was the year that put the Twin Cities on the map musically… if only for that fleeting moment that finds a city du jour that is not New York or LA ever so briefly anointed as the New Happening Place for Music™. It wasn’t to last, of course, and neither were The Replacements. But they made a hell of a heavenly racket while they did.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ar4bhxR4ZK0
Starting out as drunk punk wannabes, Westerberg was joined by brothers Bob Stinson on guitar and Tommy Stinson on bass with drummer Chris Mars pounding the skins, and the group rapidly developed a winning brand of punk-infused pop that wasn’t afraid to take on the more sentimental side of adolescent angst. Continue reading →
Before the excellent blue-eyed soul vocalist Paul Rodgers came to Top 40 omnipresence with 1970’s Crap Rock powerhouse Bad Company he was the frontman for English blues rockers Free. With a harder, less polished sound than Rodgers’ later endeavor and avoiding the easily parodied obsessions with American Western imagery, Free cranked out some of the best and most righteous hard rock of the early 70s. With the twin forces of one of the best vocalists in Rock history ably abetted by the superlative guitarist Paul Kossoff, Free reached their commercial zenith in 1970 with the smash hit that became an evergreen of Classic Rock radio, “All Right Now”.
Between the playful pick up banter of the lyrics over the tense staccato guitar licks giving way to a smooth flowing bass groove on the hooky chorus and the mid song break for Kossoff’s elegant, high hat-supported solo, “All Right Now” was five and a half minutes of irresistible good time music that put Free on the map on both sides of the Atlantic. But with nimble teenage bassist Andy Fraser and steady Simon Kirke on drums supporting Rodgers and Kossoff, Free was ever so briefly more than the sum of its parts and produced several stone classics that rival “All Right Now” even if they’re not as well known. Among those was the killer title track from the same album, “Fire and Water”.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7lso-vgRvw
Equal parts heavy licks and carnal yearning, “Fire and Water” pointed Free down the path of that most abused sub genre in Rock, the power ballad. But Free had the knack, whether through Rodgers’ beautifully gritty and emotive voice or the bands’ razor edge as a whole, to transcend schmaltz and deliver the softer stuff with real passion and expressiveness. The resigned sadness of “Soon I Will Be Gone” is one of the finest exemplars of their sensitive side in action.
But despite their skill and seemingly unlimited future success, Free imploded, like so many other bands, due to drug and ego problems. The great Paul Kossoff in particular developed a terrible heroin addiction that proved the real undoing of the band. After a breakup in 1971, reunion in 1972 and the release of the decent but not really Free Heartbreakerin 1973 (it was mainly Rodgers and Kirke with hastily assembled support when Kossoff couldn’t and Fraser wouldn’t go), the band finally called it quits for good. Rodgers and Kirke went on to even greater fame and fortune with Bad Company and Fraser eventually became one of the 70s preeminent songwriters for mainstream rockers. Sadly, Kossoff’s masterful licks were forever silenced in 1976 by a heart attack at the age of 25, undoubtedly caused by the ravages of his addiction.
But the music, as they say, lives on. In their brief and tumultuous existence at the dawn of the 70s, Free produced a brand of hard, bluesy Rock music that made most of what was to come in that genre look a like slick, soulless imitation. The outstanding compilation Molten Gold testifies to that excellence with its 30 standout tracks. “Molten Gold” was also one of Kossoff’s finest contributions even if it is technically a solo work, his valedictory as one of the best, if now sadly overlooked, of the great British rock guitarists.
There’s no arguing that The Yardbirds were one of the most important bands at the forefront of the British Invasion following the Beatles trans-Atlantic seismic smash-through. They were also an incubator of greatness. There is no other band in Rock history that can boast of having three of the most legendary guitarists grace their lineup at different points in its evolution. But with first Eric Clapton then Jeff Beck and finally Jimmy Page, The Yardbirds can stake exactly that claim. While they were somewhat eclipsed as a band by their illustrious members’ later fame and renown, it’s important to remember just how bloody good and groundbreaking The Yardbirds really were.
They started out by covering American Blues with an original lineup consisting of lead singer Keith Relf, Paul Samwell-Smith on base, Chris Dreja on rhythm guitar, Jim McCarty on drums and the short-lived Anthony Topham on lead guitar. When Clapton replaced Topham and the band took over the Rolling Stones’ spot at the famed Crawdaddy Club in 1963 the word was out in R&B-mad London that there was a new force to be reckoned with. But, much like the Stones and the Animals, The Yardbirds were not content with traditional Blues covers despite their proficiency and they rapidly branched out into offbeat, minor chord arrangements and a desire to push the Blues further into a heavy rock feel by utilizing distortion and feedback. It’s no accident that the last incarnation of The Yardbirds was actually the first coming together of Led Zeppelin in all but name only. It can be argued that there is a direct line from The Yardbirds fist pioneering improvised raveups circa 1964 to the heavy English Blues explosion of the later 60s that led to not just Zep but Cream, Iron Butterfly, Free, Deep Purple and a million other hard rocking white boys, eventually morphing into Glam and Heavy Metal.
With the charismatic Relf’s distinctive, somewhat ominous baritone and the band’s penchant for offbeat tempos and Eastern influences, The Yardbirds consistently produced some of the most interesting singles of the 60s, beginning with their breakout hit, “For Your Love.”Continue reading →
I have been playing this song lately as if it were brand new instead of nearly 40 years old. Between the hooks, the polished perfection of the band and the melancholy wanderlust, it feels like the ideal warm weather driving song. Here’s a primo live performance from ’77 with Randy Meisner singing his classic composition shortly before he quit the band.
Meisner didn’t write many Eagles tunes but “Take It to the Limit” is a beauty. The Eagles get a tough rap in “serious” rock criticism as being somehow too polished and slick, too SoCal for their own good, as if massive popularity somehow made the band unworthy of respect. But maybe all those millions of record buyers knew better than the critics after all. I think with the perspective of time and not hearing their songs every 10 seconds on the radio one can now appreciate just what kind of chops they had. Their lyrics are sharp, the vocal harmonies are Byrds-level good and the hits still sound fresh after all these years due to the super-crisp production. The Eagles gave the people what they wanted and they did it damn well. The next time you’ve got a long road trip go ahead and cue up Greatest Hits Volume I & Volume II. Despite the fact that it’s all the same band, the songs are so diverse I bet you’ll keep coming back for more on the way home.
There is nothing particularly revolutionary about the Hoodoo Gurus but they were one of the most purely fun bands to emerge from the often gloomy 1980s music scene (Depeche Mode they are not). Hailing from Australia and featuring a distinctly surf & garage influenced brand of guitar rock, the Gurus pumped out catchy hit after catchy hit for college radio even if they never quite hit the big time Stateside. The main asset for the HG’s was their chief songwriter and inimitably adenoidal, ever-so-slightly kitschy singer David Faulkner and his well-penned half sincere/half ironic tributes to 60s Americana, Australiana and disposable pop culture in general.
Perhaps the one essential album would be their extra strong sophomore effort, 1985’s Mars Needs Guitars, but really there are one or two great tracks on pretty much every Gurus album. So much so that I’d recommend tracking down the now out-of-print 2-disc CD compilation, Ampology. Because sometimes all you want to do is hear the hits and Ampology distills down the HG’s prodigious output to its essential pop-rock essence just as any well-chosen greatest hits collection should.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmwIZUR1Kl8
Not really a hard rock band but definitely a band that rocks hard without taking itself too seriously, the Hoodoo Gurus are well worth rediscovering and just in time for summer’s tasty waves and beach cookouts, as well. Soon enough you and your mates may well find yourselves singing “Like wow-Wipeout!” at the end of a pleasantly sunburnt day.
In the wake of U2’s burgeoning success in the early 1980s, a small Celtic music invasion took British and American radio by storm. With their unabashed passion, politics and anthemic rock, it was as if Bono and the boys pointed the way for other British Islanders to follow their road to success by bucking the synth-pop trend. Of course, U2 proved to have the staying power and artistic innovation that bands like The Alarm and The Waterboys could only dream of.
Arguably the “best of the rest” behind the Dublin superstars was the Scottish quartet, Big Country. Fronted by gifted songwriter, singer and guitarist Stuart Adamson, the band also featured the outstanding bassist Tony Butler, as well as second guitarist Bruce Watson and Mark Brzezicki on drums. After quickly building their reputation by opening for the Jam on their farewell tour, the band found near-instant success in 1983 with their debut album, The Crossing. With their trademark sound of chiming, almost piper-like guitars, soaring, declarative vocals and rock solid rhythm, their namesake single “In a Big Country” quickly became ubiquitous even as it went seriously against the grain of both the Depeche Mode/New Order/Cure style of dark electronica then dominating the Alternative airwaves and the slick, synthy, MTV-ready fare that Tears for Fears and Duran Duran were having such Pop success with. Nonetheless, The Crossing was a critical and popular hit, going platinum in England and gold in the States. Everyone seemed to agree that U2 had real competition for world’s best Celtic rock band. And with songs like “Chance”, about a love affair that ends only with unwanted children, Adamson proved himself a master of nuanced, evocative narrative balladry in addition to his beloved anthems.
It’s amazing how a great song can be interpreted by two major artists and be turned into two diametrically opposed versions that are still fantastic in their own way. Take “No Expectations”, originally recorded by the Rolling Stones in 1968 for theirBeggars Banquet album. This Jagger-Richards gem is conceived as a slow, mournful Robert Johnson-like ballad — Jagger called Brian Jones’ weeping slide guitar his last meaningful contribution to the band. So the bluesy melancholy of “Expecations” takes on even more layers knowing that Jones would soon depart the Stones and, shortly thereafter, this earth.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rIqBeMZAMc
Now fast forward 10 years to 1978 and the Johnny Cash cover of the same tune. One of the standouts on the grab bag of an album Gone Girl, where the liner notes admit that Cash was anxiously trying to come up with enough tracks to fill it, “No Expectations” is reborn as a hopped up Rockabilly travelin’ song.
With a vibrant live feel, chugging bongo beat and the glorious June Carter Cash backing up her man, the song is virtually unrecognizable save the lyrics. But within those profound lyrics of loss and resignation, the two versions point the way to differing ways of dealing with heartache. For the Stones it’s wallowing in the misery and ever so slowly coming to grips. For Cash it’s admitting defeat and getting the hell out of town ASAP. One great tune with two great versions to fit whichever way you feel like leaving those mean ol’ blues behind.
There’s something to be said for unabashed romanticism. And the accomplished Welsh band Super Furry Animals can certainly bring the love when they want to. It’s one of their many, many moods. A song like “Presidential Suite” from 2001’s hyper-ambitous Rings Around the World makes a virtue of beautiful horn-fueled, almost Bacharach-esque balladry — even if the lyrics are a scathingly sarcastic tribute to the foibles of 90s world leaders.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOPyzAsYajQ
Rings features the Super Furry Animals showing off a dazzling array of musical approaches, from growling techno-punk to historical story songs to funked up tongue-in-cheek message music. One old friend of mind compared it to a modern day White Album. All in all, there’s a ton of good stuff to choose from. But call me a sucker for sophisticated love songs (not silly, though, despite the album cameo by Paul McCartney — the song actually features legendary misanthrope John Cale). “Presidential Suite” always reminds me of the scene in To Catch a Thief when Cary Grant & Grace Kelly kiss and then we cut to that cinematic symbol for something more profound outside their posh Monaco hotel room — “There were fireworks in the sky/Sparkling like dragonflies”. Strange that a Welsh alternative band in 2001 could bring a comparison from Hitchcock from the 50s to mind but there it is. Must be the universal language of love — and cinema — by way of Cardiff.
