Yet another track of the day: Wear A Long Frown

Track Of The Day: Just Get Me Through The Night

Album review of the day: Cucumber Castle (The Bee Gees)

Ah, the BEE GEES!

Or in the case of Cucumber Castle: the Bee Jeez! Or the Bea Geez! Or something besides THE BEE GEES! Robin isn't on this one, so The Bee Gees it isn't. Just look at Barry and Maurice on the cover. They look like they're about to take a group photo at the Renaissance Fair when Robin suddenly goes running off for the john and they're left standing there wondering why it's taking him so damn long! Turns out he had quite a revelation on the pot and split the scene with his own album to make (Robin's Reign) So, Maurice and Barry decided to take the damn picture anyway and get on with it just the two of them.

Was this a good idea? Do we miss Robin?

Of course we miss Robin. His nervous whine has always been a wonderful foil to Barry's stronger more masculine delivery. It's amazing how many key lines in mostly Barry carried songs were handed to Robin for sheer effect. So, yeah, it's a drag he isn't around, but who's really complaining when what we get is a truckload of truly awesome Barry leads. And I do mean awesome. No other singer (aside from Carl Wilson) can make the hairs strand up on the back of my neck quite like this guy. And I don't mean this in any homoerotic way. Or wait, maybe I do? Watching Barry's moves on the Gibb Brother's Top Of The Pops performance of "You Win Again" in 1988 is perhaps the most homoerotic thing I've ever seen. And this was OLD Barry. So, you can only imagine what a young, not quite so heavily bearded Barry can do to challenge one's sexuality circa 1969. If the first track on this platter doesn't wring a few tears, you might as well melt the puppy down to vinyl oar and use it to refinish your sofa or something. Barry sings about wishing he could keep him mind on anything else but you, and of course he can't. You listen to him wail about this problem and you wish you were there with him to lend some comfort. You know his beard will be scratchy and leave some marks, but you accept the circumstances fully. If this song doesn't kill you, they've got plenty more silver bullets to get the job done. By the time Barry's moaning about laying down and dying, you're screaming "No Barry! Please don't! Barbara Streisand will be even more insufferable without you"!.... This isn't to say there's not some goofy shit on this album as well. "The Lord" certainly qualifies, but it's catchy and fun all the same. "My Thing" is perhaps the creepiest song ever written about one's pet cat or goat or whatever the hell, but it remains a nifty left turn, and a chance to put your hankie away for a moment.

And what about Maurice?

His ragged but right musicianship is all over this album. Apparently the original Bee Gees band was on it's last legs here leaving Maurice to pretty much play everything but the drums. (Drummer Colin Peterson was fired and replaced during the recording) But who cares when Maurice has his mellotron cranked up and wobbling away to perfection?

Alas, the album was a complete bomb, struggling to gasp even a single breath on the charts while Robin scored a hit single ("Saved By The Bell") on his own.

Sooooooo, Robin's point was apparently well taken and he was back for the group's draggy next album "2 Years On". The Bee Gees wavered a bit for the next few years ("Trafalgar" being an exception) before coming back hard with 1975's "Main Course" and worldwide fame was to follow.

Cucumber Castle will forever remain an anomaly in the recorded annuls of Bee Gee awesomeness, but if you ever find yourself imagining a quiet night by the fire with you and Barry and a bottle of fine port: look no further!

Track Of The Day: Pop Dreams (A. Lay)

I play drums and do backing vocals on this one.

Aimee sings and plays guitar

Lisa plays bass

Album review of the day: The Greatest (Cat Power)

I have an admission to make: I really really can't stand 90's indie rock!

No one cares, but there.... I said it!

As steeped in it as I was at the time, 90's indie rock remains a dull, coal gray, and sexless little time period in the history of something that is usually a whole lot of fun.

Fun?????

Sure, it's safe to use that word now in 2011, but don't try blurting it out back in 1991 in the dank and stuffy basement where you and your Dicky worker-jacket wearing friends are angrily pasting together your little newsprint zine.

I'll never forget sitting in some awful burger joint in Lomita CA with my friend Tom and some fellow industrial band type guys, when a cartoon bubble suddenly goes up over Tom's head and he proudly proclaims "I think there should be a badge we make out, that says CERTIFIED! Like if you, like, have a band, or like, do a zine, you get to wear this patch." The other guys all nodded in smug agreement, and I was sitting there wondering how my dreams of rock n roll rebellion somehow landed me at a Hitler Youth rally.

It was the 90's and cred was king. Even if no one had a shred of a clue what the word cred even meant or how to apply it to their creative pursuits. Hair metal was dead. And just like the superficial assholes who played that type of music, a new breed of superficial asshole came along and stripped away all the superficial elements that made hair metal HAIR METAL. Namely, the HAIR, the spandex, the v-neck guitars, and the operatic vocals. Whew, so, we got rid of all that crap, so what's left? Ah, we've got some groove, some power chords, a nice back-beat, time honored rock n roll subject matter and melody! Well, shit, we could really usher in a new and great age of kick-assery, couldn't we???? Well, hmmmm, I guess, no, it would be best to strip away even the groove, the back-beat, the melody, all that crap! .....

..... so what do we have left?

...... A bunch of superficial assholes.

..... Really, that's all?

.... Oh, a bunch of superficial assholes and some musical equipment.

.... Ah, a good enough place to get started, right?

Well, get started, they (WE, to be fair) did. And the rest is, thankfully, history. In the beginning, there really was a sense of community and common goal. Los Angeles was a wasteland of pay-to-play brutality, but a couple of bright little lights managed to illuminate. Places like Al's Bar in Long Beach and Spaceland or Jabberjaw in LA proper, became virtual bug lights to disillusioned and stateless musicians/kids everywhere. I used to love going to Jabberjaw on any given night where just about any odd assortment of people would be onstage creating random havoc. This was great for a while, but soon enough the cred bullshit and snobbery crept in and you either had to be signed to a label like Matador Records, or Bomp, or be a band that toured with a group from such a label. Total bullshit considering that every happening band was running around bragging that they would never in a million years sign to a major label. Ha! You had countless broke assholes who couldn't support a goldfish, let alone pay their rent (that is if they weren't living with their parents at 30) being happy and proud to deny themselves a buck or two or to see all their efforts amount to any level of success. Oh, wait, but Matador isn't a major label? Yeah, yeah, it's a subsidiary of Atlantic, but, shhhhhhhh!

That very same conversation could very easily veer off into some endless tirade of insult heaping at a band like Sonic Youth who had committed the cardinal sin of signing to Geffen Records (or rather DGC: David Geffen's vanity "cool" imprint) and maybe affording to finally stock up on a supply of extra guitar strings. C'mon, those guys (and gals) had been at it for years and had mouths too feed. They probably still owe whatever advance money Mr. Geffen tossed their way, but it was a much earned step up the ladder at the time. In fact, countless bands got major label deals in the wake of such stories, including a few who swore they could never find it in their hearts to do such a thing. (anyone remember Jawbreaker) Often, their own fans revolted (one again, anyone remember Jawbreaker) sending such bands into a neither here nor there wasteland. No longer indie and cool, and freshly dropped by their major label saviors..... I'll never forget Buzz from the Melvins musing about being at a guitar center watching all the guys strapping on guitars and shredding, and realizing that he was easily the worst guitarist in the room, yet probably the only one with a major label deal.... An insane time indeed.....

Spaceland was still a beacon in the night for some time after, but then Beck brought a leaf-blower onstage (a clip of which turned up in his "Loser" video) and suddenly, the place was too cool for school. (Beck, quite wisely moved on)

I was in a band who recorded for the Kill Rock Stars label, and I must admit, I've never had a more miserable time playing music. The shows were packed and sweaty, but there was nary a smile to be found. I remember playing the Hong Kong Cafe in Chinatown with Bikini Kill, and how the dead seriousness of the whole affair just depressed me to no end. That night, a group of old-school punk rockers came out of the woodwork and lit off some smoke bombs and smashed some windows before being run out in a hail of "scene" defending insults and genuine tears. It was a pathetic attempt at disruption but at least some real rock n roll had attempted an invasion. I couldn't help but wonder how many of the lunch-pail gripping buzz heads in attendance had momentary flashes of fleeing off into the night with these punks. I'm telling you, those guys most likely slithered away to much more fun.

So, somehow this all brings to a one Mrs. Chan Marshall, herself a Matador Records stalwart. Chan of the gorgeous skin tone and mesquite smoked voice, initially fit right in with this whole shebang. She'd show up with her hair in a tussle, obscuring her model looks, and breaking down on stage. I remember watching her collapsed in a heap at the front of some stage while the little girls in the pit petted her back like an overgrown and lazy cat. It was talked up as indie diva posturing, which might have been so, but anyone who actually listened to her music would be hard pressed to lend that sort of talk much credence. Chan was a mess and her music was really probably the only thing she had to grab a hold of. Then having to go out and please people with must have been something of a challenge, and she wasn't having much of it. Most people in her situation seemed to have become messes BECAUSE of the music and what bringing it to the people with whatever variety of success had wrought upon them. Chan hadn't even gotten half as far before collapsing in the doorway. But still she kept at it, releasing a string of good albums, that if, yeah, pandered in places to the groove-less/sexless times, showed enough sparks of brilliance to keep her fans hanging in there. And this isn't even considering her voice!

..... and what a voice!

Has the generation in question produced even one other voice of such a stature? I mean, where are all the new Dusty Springfield's, or Evie Sands, or Roberta Flacks? Well, 90's indie rock certainly didn't provide any (nor has R&B of late). Chan was ALWAYS a fantastic singer, but it wasn't until 2006's The Greatest that she really seemed to accept her greatness as such. Her previous album (You Are Free) saw Chan bringing in guys like Dave Grohl for no good reason and doing donuts over the same old indie AstroTurf as before, only this time, with a back slapping rotation of superstar, cred-swollen, guest stars. It was all fine and good, as Chan still showed up and brought the goods, but it was damn well time to do something different.

.... So suddenly Mrs. Marshall is standing alone (guitar in hand) next to a tree somewhere for a static-shot DVD reading of some rambling songs, and shit, things are starting to get interesting!

Flash forward a couple years and Chan is encamped in the legendary Ardent Studios (Memphis Tennessee) leaving a trail of empty scotch bottles in her wake. She's ditched any trace of indie queen pretension (not that there ever really was much of that) and is working with a crack team of session luminaries and bringing the best material of her career to dazzling life. There are no cover songs this time and her voice is at it's most lived-in and human. She's singing about having lived in bars, some guy named Willie, horses galloping, looking for living proof, and if you can't glean any real idea of what these songs are about, you sure as fuck believe every word she sings. The Memphis session crew are in perfect harmony with the woman. They underplay perfectly (unique for such a large and experienced ensemble)and punctuate each foggy notion with grace and sincerity. The guy on trumpet will bring tears to your eyes. On a song like Willie, he plays only a few key notes. And plays these notes over and over as the simple melody drones along in comforting repetition. You have no goddamn idea what this is all about, but it tugs at your heart, with an eventual emotional arch being somehow wrought from the sheer physicality of the players. Chan seems to often lose herself in the sounds that envelope her and her songs. It's rare that such a great singer will leave so many spaces available for interpretation. It's a beautiful thing to behold and you know at once, the likes of which will never become commonplace.

I could go on and on, but you really must immerse yourself in this giant feather bed of sound on your own. Chan's become something of a professional cover artist in recent years, though her powers as a song interpreter are humbling to behold. Let's hope she gifts us again soon with another perfect offering of original material, to further prove my 90's indie rock nightmare scenario might indeed have a savior.

Album review of the day: Flick Of The Switch (AC/DC)

Why this album?

Because the little motherfucker ROCKS! That's why!

Just like the little motherfucker depicted on the cover about to pull down some monstrous power lever, the whole think just rocks your lights out.

And why am I calling it a little motherfucker as opposed to some giant monolithic motherfucker along the lines of Back In Black? Or the millions selling follow up For Those About To Rock? Hmmmmm, well, because in comparison it IS a little motherfucker, but a motherfucker nonetheless. It sold next to no copies, all things considered, and the band hasn't played a single track from it live since maybe 1985?

We all know the story of Back In Black. No need for a rehash. Most of us know For Those About To Rock suffered from inflated expectations and, though it sold like a bastard and hit the number one spot in the US chart, a lot of people felt it kind of rather sucked. I mean, "c'mon, man, I put on side one and didn't instantly hear Hells Bells part two? What is this shit?"

.... Anyhow.... by the time the boys rolled back into Compass Point studios to bang out their next billion seller, they'd ditched Mutt Lange and pretty much any commercial pretensions. All they really wanted to do was be left alone to plug in and rock. Brian Johnson was still in his vocal prime so they really needed to hurry up and simply DO IT!

People may proclaim (however affectionately) that AC/DC simply recorded the same album over and over. As true as this might possibly be, nothing in their catalog shakes the floor quite like this one. Sure it might not feature the band's best songs, or any hits at all (let's remember: AC/DC IS a hit singles band) but it leaves you bruised and grooving when you're done. Ah, yeah! AC/DC can really groove, can't they? And this might have been the biggest problem with For Those About To Rock. That was a much slower (some might say plodding), evil sounding record. And as good as it may have sounded, there was really nothing there to tear up your carpet to ala "Givin The Dog A Bone" or Gimme A Bullet To Bite On". But it did one thing for sure, and this is mainly thanks to Brian Johnson: it firmly established that AC/DC was never going to be some 70's relic and could stand tall and compete with/kick the asses of the current heavy metal screamers who were dominating the airwaves and the hormones of pot smoking, D&D playing teenagers everywhere.

And speaking of Brian Johnson: I'm a huge huge Bon lover, but I have to admit, by Highway To Hell, he was beginning to give me the creeps. He seemed to have gone from a lovable, perverted uncle to a flat out scary rapist. On Highway To Hell he was singing about walking all over some chick and shoving steel out her back, and blood everywhere. It all rocked, of course, but the whole thing had a nervous edge that hadn't been there before... I'm not happy how history laid itself out, but when Brian came into the picture, the fun came back. At least for this 8 year old who rode his bike to the local Fed mart to purchase Back In Black: his very first record decided upon and bought all on his own.

Brian puts on a hell of a performance for this one. And his lyrics are pretty damn cool too. "Nervous Shakedown" made me really not want to end up in juvenile hall. My folks might have had the courtesy to at least send a thank you letter, but no!!

For a young kid, boy did this record make me fear what was in store for me as a teenager and an adult. Brian sings about picking up some girl who uses his body for abuse, leaving him to wake up alone and in pain the next morning. There are songs about the cops beating the shit out of everyone at some concert, throwing a party and having some asshole accidentally set your house on fire, a rebellious teenager losing control of his car, either being a male hustler or a hit man (not exactly sure), selling your soul to some awful romantic partner who keeps you shackled in chains and deep in the hole, a song about going around with a gun and being an all around asshole, and then ending up with some woman who's basically suicide but oh, so much fun!

Ah, if only the ensuing years had been half as eventful ;)

And what of the band? Damn, does Angus really shred on this one. Never has his guitar seemed quite so angry. And Malcome is really cranked up in the mix this time out. I tell you, the two guitar AC/DC attack is at it's all time peak here. Cliff Williams is still back there banging away on his (now headless) bass. And Phil is as steady and heavy as ever. Shame this was his last album with the band for quite some time. It seems Phil was having some big time problems with Malcome, drinking too much (even for a rock star) and seeing goblins coming out of the walls. Things came to a boil and he was put on a plane headed in opposite direction and to who knows where.... (ask him and Mark Evans: I guess you really don't cross the Young brothers) But he came back at the right time, and the story continues happily on to this day.

But back in 1983 they got some guy named Simon Wright and it just didn't feel the same. How come drummers who can play it simple, straight, and right ala Phil are the rarest breed and the most useful, yet not the ones anyone seems to admire or aspire to be? .... Anyhow, AC/DC soldiered on through a few lean years and a couple not so awesome albums. For Fly On The Wall, Brian's voice was shot and it sounds like they recorded the whole thing with him locked outside studio, screaming his voice dry trying to get someone's attention. Five minutes later some scumbag named Richard Ramirez went around singing their songs while murdering his way through the stifling hot summer of 1985, causing too many parents to toss their kids AC/DC records into the grinder. Of course they came roaring back in 1990 with some giant bald guy on drums and a couple huge hits. And from here on out the seemingly invincible AC/DC juggernaut became a happily accepted fact of life. However, Flick Of The Switch: this little bastard child of an album seems to have forever fallen into a crack.

Such is life :(

Track of the day: The Other Way

Because everything has two sides and you always have a choice. Good or bad, lightness or dark, left or right.