I had put off watching David Bowie’s “Lazarus” video for several days because I had a feeling it would disturb me on many levels.
It did.
But it also moved me, in ways few music videos have. Many people have observed over the last few days that his new album Blackstar was a final “gift” to his fans. Perusing the comments for the YouTube posting confirms it was (I only made it through a few before I lost it).
In the song, Bowie laments: Look up here, I’m in heaven/I’ve got scars that can’t be seen. But for a parting refrain, he lays a reassuring hand on our shoulder: Oh, I’ll be free/Just like that bluebird/Oh, I’ll be free/Ain’t that just like me? Yes, David, you sly devil…it’s just like you.
The emotional impact of the video reminded me of this swan song:
I am also reminded of Warron Zevon, who released The Wind, just 2 weeks before his death from mesothelioma in 2003 (he had received the diagnosis several weeks before work began on the album.). Not surprisingly, mortality is a running theme through most of the cuts; in “Keep Me in Your Heart” (the album’s closer) Zevon also seems to be offering his fans an epitaph and preemptive grief counseling.
Like Bowie, Zevon begins with impending doom: Shadows are falling, and I’m running out of breath…but finishes: These wheels are turning, but they’re running out of steam/Keep me in your heart for a while.
On the up side, we’ll always have their music. As Jim Morrison sang:
Well the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on January 11, 2016)
1947-2016
Live to your rebirth and do what you will
(Oh by jingo)
Forget all I’ve said, please bear me no ill
(Oh by jingo)
After all, after all
(Pushing through the market square, so many mothers sighing…) I woke up this morning to get ready for work, turned on the Today show (…news had just come over, we had five years left to cry in) and saw the lead story (…news guy wept and told us, earth was really dying…cried so much his face was wet, and I knew he was not lying). No, not him! Fuck!
When one is at a loss for words after a great artist dies, it’s not uncommon to default to the old standby that “(he or she) meant so much, to so many people.” Of David Bowie, it may be more accurate for one to say that “he was so many people, who meant so much.”
Bowie invented the idea of “re-invention”. It’s also possible that he invented a working time machine, because he was always ahead of the curve (or leading the herd). He was the poster boy for “postmodern”. Space rock? Meet Major Tom. Glam rock? Meet Ziggy Stardust. Doom rock? Meet the Diamond Dog. Neo soul? Meet the Thin White Duke. Electronica? Ich bin ein Berliner. New Romantic? We all know Major Tom’s a junkie…
This one is hitting me hard. I’m 59 years old, so I’m getting a little used to watching the musical icons I grew up with dropping like flies…but this is one is hitting me hard. We’re talking Bob Marley and John Lennon; this is a significant loss to the music world.
Favorite Bowie album? For me that’s like choosing a favorite child. If pressed, I’d have to say my favorite Bowie period would be the Mick Ronson years (Space Oddity, Hunky Dory, The Man Who Sold the World, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Alladin Sane, and Pinups). There was something magical about the Bowie and Ronno dynamic; right up there with Daltrey and Townshend, Plant and Page, Ozzy and Tony, and Jagger and Richards. Luckily, this era was captured for posterity in D.A. Pennebaker’s 1973 concert film, Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars: the Motion Picture. Visually, the film is less than spectacular, but the performances are mesmerizing.
I’m sure his family had understandable reasons for keeping mum on his illness, and I respect that; but I can’t help but speculate on whether or not Bowie’s highly-developed sense of theatre prompted him to choreograph his demise into a sort of farewell installation piece. Consider: his final album (which he had to know was going to be his swan song) was released on his 69th birthday January 8…2 days prior to his death. It’s as if he anticipated the great sense of loss amongst his fans; it’s a reassurance, a form of grief counselling: “It’s alright. I got my affairs in order; came up with a few odds and ends here to leave you with…it’s OK. Enjoy! It’s only rock’n’roll. After all, after all…”
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 12, 2015)
I met a girl who sang the blues And I asked her for some happy news But she just smiled and turned away…
-from “American Pie”, by Don McLean
“I got treated very badly in Texas.”
-Janis Joplin, on her formative years
Let’s face it. We’ve all been bullied at some point in time (ah…school days!). And we know how humiliated and debased it makes you feel. Thankfully, most people are able to take the philosophical road; dust themselves off, get over it, and move on with their lives. Besides, as Michael Stipe posited: “everybody hurts,” right? Welcome to the human race.
But there are some more sensitive souls who never quite recover from such trauma. At best, they trudge through the rest of their lives plagued with doubts, anxieties, and low self-esteem. At worst, they meltdown at some point and go on a tri-county shooting spree.
Happily, there is a middle ground; particularly for those with a creative bent. They tend to gravitate toward the performing arts…becoming comedians, actors, and musicians. That’s because, when you’re on stage (and I speak from personal experience) there’s nothing more redeeming than the sound of applause. And when you’re having a really good night, truly connecting with an audience and “feeling the love”? It’s better than sex.
Of course, the downside is that those moments are ephemeral; you can’t be “on stage” 24/7. As soon as you come down from that high in the spotlight, you’re back to your life…and all those doubts, anxieties and feelings of low self-esteem creep back in. For such souls, that love and adulation acts as a powerful opiate; and when they’re not getting their fix, they scrabble for proxies, and (as Joni Mitchell sings in “Coyote”) “…take their temporary lovers…and their pills and powders, to get them through this passion play.”
“On stage, I make love to twenty-five thousand people; and then I go home alone.”
-Janis Joplin
In Amy Berg’s new documentary Janis: Little Girl Blue, we see a fair amount of “Janis Joplin”, the confident and powerful cosmic blues-rocker; but the primary focus of the film is one Janis Lyn Joplin, the vulnerable and insecure “little girl blue” from Port Arthur, Texas who lived inside her right up until her untimely overdose at age 27 in 1970.
“She” is revealed via excerpts drawn from an apparent treasure trove of private letters, confided in ingratiating fashion by whisky-voiced narrator Chan Marshall (aka “Cat Power”). This is what separates Berg’s film from Howard Alk’s 1974 documentary Janis, which leaned exclusively on archival interviews and performance footage. Berg mines clips from the same vaults, but renders a more intimate portrait, augmented by present-day insights from Joplin’s siblings, close friends, fellow musicians and significant others.
You get a sense of the Janis who never fully healed from the psychic damage incurred from the mean-spirited ridicule she weathered growing up in a small (-minded) Texas burg; shamed for her physicality, unconventional fashion sense, and for harboring aspirations that were atypical from “other chicks”. She once said, “I always wanted to be an ‘artist’, whatever that was, like other chicks want to be stewardesses. I read. I painted. I thought.” We see how she made her breakthrough and found her own “voice” by channeling the soulful essence of her idols Bessie Smith, Leadbelly, Odetta and Aretha.
Despite undercurrents of melancholy and genuine sadness, and considering that we know going in that it is not going to have a Hollywood ending, the film is surprisingly upbeat. Joplin’s intelligence, sense of humor and joie de vivre shine through as well, and Berg celebrates her legacy of empowerment for a generation of female musicians who followed in her wake. On one long dark night of her soul, that “ball and chain” finally got too heavy to manage, but not before she was able to wield it to knock down a few doors.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 5, 2015)
Bob Dylan: Don’t Look Back – The Criterion Collection Blu-ray
This 1965 documentary (arguably the “granddaddy” of what we now routinely refer to as “rockumentaries”) is a textbook example of the right filmmaker (D.A. Pennebaker) hooking up with the right artist (Bob Dylan) at the right place (London) at the right time (1965) to capture a zeitgeist (“The Sixties”) in a bottle. Pennebaker takes a “fly on the wall” cinema verite approach to his subject, as a mercurial Dylan (and entourage) turn the tables on the British Invasion with an ecstatically received series of sold-out London performances.
While there is a generous helping of concert footage, the most fascinating events occur between shows; at press conferences, in dressing rooms and hotel suites. I’ll confess I’ve never been a huge Dylan fan, but there’s something special, palpably electric about his (for wont of a better term) “aura” in this film that is compelling beyond description. Criterion’s Blu-ray is choked with extras, including additional short films by Pennebaker and an illuminating Patti Smith interview.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 5, 2015)
The Beatles 1+ (1 CD + 2 Blu-ray edition) – Capitol
Your degree of enthusiasm for this 3-disc CD/Blu-ray combo set from Capitol depends on what kind of Beatle fan you are. If you are a casual fan, it might be a bit too extravagant; but for completists, it’s a treasure trove. Admittedly, the CD holds no surprises, as it is a straight up reissue of the eponymous 2000 27-track collection of the Beatles’ #1 hits. While the CD tracks are “newly” remixed, I can discern little difference from the belated catalog-wide remix/remasters that were done a few years ago. It’s the Blu-rays that make it worthwhile. One disc contains the official music videos of the CD cuts, and the 2nd disc features alternate versions of 7 of the #1 hits, plus B-sides and deeper album cuts. This disc is a combination of live performance clips, original promotional films and a few more “official” post Beatle era video workups. Audio and image quality are outstanding on both Blu-rays. Totally gear!
The White House, 1970: Two great recording artists meet at last
I’ve never been a huge Elvis fan, but like most ‘murcans who have strolled this planet since mid-century last, I have a sizable portion of his catalog burned into my neurons (how do I know all these lyrics?). But the people who are really into Elvis? They are really into Elvis.
I can’t deny that he’s an icon. Some have suggested he literally is:
The Statue of Liberty thing is spooky; some point even further back:
I digress. This crossed my desk at the radio station the other day:
The sticker on the shrink wrap read: Elvis is back! Really?! You mean all that Weekly World News stuff wasn’t complete and utter shash? The cover photo was obviously archival, but I flipped over the jewel case and sure enough, there it was: copyright 2015, RCA Records. 14 tracks, spanning Elvis’ career, but remixed with the addition of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Conceptually, it’s a comedy premise:
I was intrigued enough to give it a spin, and…it sort of works, depending on the track. For example, “Burning Love”, does not work; “Hunka hunka burnin’ love” and “lush string arrangement” should never appear together in the same sentence, much less the same mixing console (ditto the cover of James Taylor’s “Steamroller Blues”).
On the other hand, “Love Me Tender” is beautiful; the reflective ballad transforms here into lovely chamber pop, in the vein of The Beatles’ “Yesterday” (or George Martin’s orchestral enhancement of George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” demo for the Beatles Love remix). Unfortunately, the deeper you go into this collection, the more exploitative and schmaltzy it feels. Rabid fans will likely adore it; speaking for myself …let the man rest in peace.
If I Can Dream-Elvis Presley with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 17, 2015)
The Kinks came up with one of my favorite album titles, Everybody’s in Show Biz. True dat. Everyone wants to be a star; movie star, rock star, top dog, grand vizier, whatever. Of course the reality is that everyone can’t be. And those that do make it to the toppermost of the poppermost rarely get there on raw talent alone. One of the secrets? Good management; particularly evident when one considers the pantheon of rock ‘n’ roll.
While The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were certainly destined to make great music, it’s fun to speculate how differently their careers might have played out had they never hooked up with Brian Epstein, Andrew Loog Oldham and Peter Grant (respectively) at the right place and the right time (Tonite: Puppet show and Spinal Tap!).
Which brings us to another iconic rock act, The Who, four gifted but somewhat (initially) rudderless blokes who arguably had the most to gain from bumping into the right handlers at the right time. Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp may not be household names like Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon and John Entwistle, but for all intents and purposes, they were (for a crucial formative period) the 5th and 6th members of the Who.
In his cheeky and absorbing documentary, Lambert and Stamp, which slipped in and out of theaters this past summer and is now available on home video, director James Cooper draws from a trove of archival footage, adding latter-day interviews to recount this unique creative partnership which on paper, should not have worked out as well as it did.
The two men could not have been any different in social background and personality makeup. Lambert was gay, cultured, privileged; the son of a famous composer-conductor, he spoke with what the British refer to as a “posh” accent. Stamp, on the other hand, was straight, working class, the son of a tugboat operator, an East Ender replete with Cockney h-dropping.
Together, they created a formidable entity; like the Who themselves, the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. Cooper gets much mileage from that disparate personality quotient; drawing parallels between Lambert and Stamp’s dynamic with that famously volatile “push me-pull you” tension that made The Who…The Who.
A lot of the story is one happy accident after the other, so I won’t spoil it here. It wasn’t all sunshine and lollipops; Cooper gives us the ups and the downs. Stamp was still alive when Cooper began working on his film (he died in 2012), so we get the benefit of his latter-day perspective. Stamp’s famous acting sibling Terrence (“Kneel before Zod!”) is also on hand to add a few observations.
Unfortunately, Lambert died in 1981, so he is relegated to archival snippets. This obviously robs him of the luxury to share benefit of hindsight, and entrusts his legacy to the comments of associates like Townshend and Daltrey, who help fill in some of those cracks. While not the best place to start for neophytes, hardcore Who fans will appreciate Cooper’s fresh angle on familiar material.
So Lambert & Stamp may not be for everyone; here are 3 Who flicks no one should miss:
The Kids Are Alright– Director (and super fan) Jeff Stein’s 1979 labor of love is not only the ultimate Who film, but one of the best rockumentaries I have ever seen. It’s a truly amazing compendium, curating every worthwhile archival performance clip extant, from the band’s earliest TV appearances in the U.K, to The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, and feature films like Woodstock and Monterey Pop. Stein also folds in a generous helping of archival interview snippets.
There’s no traditional narration; Stein cleverly edits the footage in a manner that essentially enables the Who to tell their own story. His only acquiescence to the tradition of adding “present day” perspective was (in hindsight) a prescient move; a concert staged exclusively for the film in 1977, beautifully shot in 35mm (the band tears it up with rousing renditions of “Baba O’Reilly” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again”). Sadly, this turned out to be the final filmed performance of the original lineup; Keith Moon died in 1978 (footage of the band’s entire set was restored and released on Blu-ray as The Who at the Kilburn 1977).
Quadrophenia– The Who’s eponymous 1973 double-LP rock opera, Pete Townshend’s musical love letter to the band’s first g-g-generation of most rabid British fans (aka the “Mods”) inspired this memorable 1979 film from director Franc Roddam. With the 1964 “youth riots” that took place at the seaside resort town of Brighton as his catalyst, Roddam fires up a visceral character study in the tradition of the British “kitchen sink” dramas that flourished in the early 1960s.
Phil Daniels gives a James Dean-worthy performance as teenage “Mod” Jimmy. Bedecked in their trademark designer suits and Parka jackets, Jimmy and his Who-loving compatriots cruise around London on their Vespa and Lambretta scooters, looking for pills to pop, parties to crash and “Rockers” to rumble with.
The Rockers are identifiable by their greased-back hair, leathers, motorbikes, and their musical preference for likes of Elvis and Gene Vincent. Look for a very young Ray Winstone (as a Rocker) and Sting (as a Mod bell-boy, no less). Wonderfully acted by a spirited cast, it’s a heady mix of youthful angst and raging hormones, super-charged by the power chord-infused grandeur of the Who’s music.
Tommy– There was a time (a long, long, time ago) when some of my friends insisted that the best way to appreciate The Who’s legendary rock opera was to turn off the lamps, light a candle, drop a tab of acid and listen to all four sides with a good pair of cans. I never got around to making those precise arrangements, but it’s a pretty good bet that watching director Ken Russell’s insane screen adaptation is a close approximation. If you’re not familiar with his work, hang on to your hat (I’ll put it this way-Russell is not known for being subtle).
Luckily, the Who’s music is powerful enough to cut through all the visual clutter, and carries the day. Two band members have roles-Roger Daltrey is charismatic as the deaf dumb and blind Tommy, and Keith Moon has a cameo as wicked Uncle Ernie (Pete Townshend and John Entwistle only appear in music performance).
The cast is an interesting cross section of film veterans (Oliver Reed, Ann-Margret, Jack Nicholson) and well-known musicians (Elton John, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner). Musical highlights include “Pinball Wizard”, “Eyesight to the Blind” “The Acid Queen” and “I’m Free”. And you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ann-Margret, covered in baked beans and writhing in ecstasy! Raucous, garish and gross…but never boring.
And we just have enough time left for a quick one…
While I abhor the concept of tossing creative artists into the gladiatorial pit (art, prose, poetry, music and film are not competitive sports), my sworn duties as a pop culture critic occasionally require me to add my two cents worth of bread, in regard to such circuses.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has announced their 15 nominees: The Cars, Chic, Chicago, Cheap Trick, Deep Purple, Janet Jackson, The J.B.s, Chaka Khan, Los Lobos, Steve Miller, Nine Inch Nails, N.W.A., The Smiths, The Spinners, and Yes. Worthy artists all, but (this is what I hate about “contests”) how do I justify my 5 picks (the Hall’s yearly limit for new inductees) without seeming to denigrate the rest? By doing my job and plowing forward (alphabetically):
Cheap Trick– The “newest” artists on my list stormed out of the gate in 1977 taking names and kicking ass as the missing link between the Beatles and punk. While they could be seen as direct descendants of melodic power pop pioneers like Big Star and The Move, they weren’t afraid to turn the Marshalls up to “11” and rage like balls-to-the-wall rockers . I think that’s why they’re one of those rare bands (like AC/DC and The Ramones) that metal, punk, new-wave, alternative and pop fans can all get together on. And if you ever get a chance to see them live…do not pass it up!
Best 3 albums: Cheap Trick, In Color, Heaven Tonight
2. Chicago– While I’m not fond of their schmaltzy (if chart-topping) descent into “adult contemporary” territory from the 80s onward, there is no denying the groundbreaking nature of those incredible first three double albums Chicago Transit Authority (1969),Chicago II and Chicago III (what I call their “Roman Numeral Period”). Those early albums were (for the time) a bold fusion of hard rock, blues, soul, jazz, and Latin styles, fueled by the late great Terry Kath’s fiery guitar and accentuated by a tight horn section. Not to mention an impressive catalog of radio hits over the years. Let ’em in, already!
Best 3 albums: Chicago Transit Authority, Chicago II, Chicago III
3. Deep Purple– It’s criminal that this seminal hard rock outfit hasn’t been ushered into the pantheon yet. They’ve been around since the late 60s, and had a major influence on the genre. There were many lineup changes over the decades (chiefly involving lead vocalists and lead guitarists), but the quality and power of their music never faltered. The most well-known lineup featured one of rock’s great screamers, Ian Gillian on lead vocal, and maestro of the whammy bar Ritchie Blackmore on guitar. Ian Paice (drums), Roger Glover (bass) and Jon Lord (keyboards) completed the classic team. I must mention the worthy contribution of the excellent (if less-heralded) 1975 Purple lineup that produced Come Taste the Band, featuring the late great Tommy Bolin (guitar), Glenn Hughes (vocals and bass), and future Whitesnake front man David Coverdale (lead vocals).
Best 3 albums: In Rock , Machine Head, Come Taste the Band
4. The Spinners– I was also a bit gobsmacked to learn that these guys have not already been inducted. For god’s sake, they’ve been around for nearly 50 years, and should be considered (at the very least) as the godfathers of “smooth groove”. Their classic period was the 70s, when they became the ambassadors for the “Philadelphia Sound” through their fruitful collaboration with songwriter-producer Thom Bell. If “I’ll Be Around”, “Could it Be I’m Falling in Love”, “Games People Play”, or “The Rubberband Man” comes on the radio while I’m in my car, I’ll still crank it up without hesitation and sing along at the top of my lungs (with my windows rolled up…as a public service).
Best 3 albums: Spinners, Mighty Love, Pick of the Litter
5. Yes– Long before MTV (or YouTube), my teenage self would while away many hours listening to Yes with a good set of cans, staring at Roger Dean’s art, envisioning my own music videos (special effects courtesy of the joint that I rolled on the inside of the convenient gatefold sleeve). Good times (OP sighs, takesmoment of silence to reflect on a life tragically misspent). Anyway, why this band hasn’t been inducted yet is beyond me. Complex compositions informed by deeply layered textures, impeccable musicianship, heavenly harmonies, topped off by Jon Anderson’s ethereal vocals; an embodiment of all that is good about progressive rock (I know the genre has its detractors, to whom I say…”You weren’t there, man!”). R.I.P. bassist/vocalist Chris Squire, who we sadly lost this year.
Best 3 albums: The Yes Album, Fragile, Close to the Edge
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 3, 2015)
When former British PM Margaret Thatcher died in 2013, Digby did a great post about how the populist backlash against Thatcherism provided fertile ground for the Agit Punk movement in the UK (I wrote a companion piece on Thatcherism’s likewise effect on film makers). One of the best bands of that era was The Jam.
Formed in 1976, the three lads from Woking (guitarist/lead vocalist Paul Weller, bassist/vocalist Bruce Foxton, and drummer Rick Buckler) exploded onto the scene with their seminal album, In the City. The eponymous single became their signature tune and remains a punk pop anthem. While initially lumped in with contemporaries like The Sex Pistols and The Clash, the band was operating in a different sphere; specifically regarding their musical influences.
What set Weller and his band mates apart was their open adulation of The Beatles, The Who, The Kinks, The Small Faces and the Motown sound. At the time, this was heresy; as astutely pointed out in The Jam: About the Young Idea (a rockumentary that premiered on Showtime this week), you had to dismiss any music released prior to 1976, if you wished to retain your punk cred.
In the film, Weller recalls having a conversation with Joe Strummer of The Clash, who told him (in effect) that all of Chuck Berry’s music was crap. “Oh Joe…you don’t really mean that,” Weller replies rhetorically into the camera.
Also on hand are Foxton and Buckler, who still register palpable sadness while recalling their reaction to Weller’s unexpected announcement to them in 1982 (at the height of their greatest chart success) that he was quitting the band to pursue new musical avenues.
Weller is philosophical; he argues it’s always best to go out on top (as Neil Young said, it’s better to burn out than fade away). Director Bob Smeaton (The Beatles Anthology) does a marvelous job telling the band’s story, sustaining a positive energy throughout by mixing in a generous helping of vintage performance clips. This is a must-see for fans.
