George Harrison – 33 & 1/3

After listening, for the first time in a while, to the album 33 & 1/3 (George Harrison's musical offering from 1976), a few thoughts came to mind.

My first thought was how frustratingly easy it is to forget what a great album it is. The funky energy of "Woman Don't You Cry" and "It's What You Value"; the joyfully exuberant "Beautiful Girl"; the celebratory reverence of "Dear One"; the haunting contemplation of "Learning How To Love You"; the moody soulfulness of "Pure Smokey"; the biting sarcasm of "This Song" (buoyed on a sea of good humor, lest it become simply mean spirited); the swinging, subtle tempo changes that allow the harsh reality check of "See Yourself" to go down smooth as candy-coated medicine; the unexpectedly cheerful rendering of Cole Porter's "True Love"; the childlike playfulness of "Crackerbox Palace" – all combine to make 33 & 1/3 one of the best solo albums by any ex-Beatle. (And I highly recommend listening through some good headphones, because there is a lot of cool – and often subtle – stuff going on.)

 For some reason,this album has never gotten the respect I've always felt it deserves. Perhaps because it is the first of his more pop oriented albums – and sitting, as it does, between the comparatively dark and sombre Extra Texture, and the light and airy George Harrison, it is too easily overlooked or dismissed by folks who prefer his more “serious” efforts (e.g., All Things Must Pass, Living In The Material World). But he really sounds fully engaged on 33 & 1/3 – more so, I think, than on any subsequent album (until, perhaps, Cloud 9). There is that sense of urgency that is so important, no matter what kind of music you're making. I think George kind of started to coast after this one, but he definitely wasn't coasting here.

 And, unfortunately (due in some part, no doubt, to his lack of enthusiasm for self-promotion), it is also too easy to under-appreciate his skill as a guitarist. I still sometimes forget what a great slide-guitar player he is (in fact, I think his slide playing far outshines his regular lead playing). His slide playing on 33 & 1/3 is impeccable. His regular lead playing is top notch, too (just listen to the exquisitely tasteful acoustic solo on "Learning How To Love You". I first heard this album in 1976, when I recorded it off the radio (yep, WPFM played the whole thing). I used a K-mart tape recorder, which I set in front of the radio. The quality of the music was in no way compromised, nor was the enjoyment of it diminished, by the sub-standard recording conditions through which it was acquired. Which only goes to show that it must take a lot to ruin great music (the Sgt. Pepper movie – starring the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton – comes instantly, and painfully, to mind).

 Now, nearly thirty-five years later, 33 & 1/3 still hasn't lost any of its original shine. Heck, even digital technology and a better stereo haven't hurt it. Ain't life grand?!?!?!

If you haven't listened to it in a while – it's been too long.

If you don't have it – shame on you.
 

 
Happy just to dance,
Ricky
 

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Van Gogh - "And We Are"

Since I posted this on my other blog, I figured I might as well post it here, too (seeing as how this is a music blog).

The song is from our (Van Gogh) album, Gravity. The video was done by Robby. The audio is not as full sounding as on the CD (because of the compression), but I hope you dig it nonetheless.

Enjoy!






[Ahem...It's even better in HD at YouTube. Click HERE. And be sure to watch it in 720p.]

The Yellow Brick Road to Pepperland

I first heard Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album on 8-track tape at a cousin's, sometime in 1974. I was talking to her while she cleaned up her room, and she asked me if I liked EJ. I said I didn't think I'd ever heard him. So, she stuck in one tape (it was a two cartridge set) and handed me the other, so I could look at the pictures on it.

The title track played first. It gave me goose-bumps, as it sent shivers down the back of my neck. It was magic – the instrumentation, the arrangement, the melody, his voice, the backing vocals. I was instantly hooked.

I got the GBYBR album for Christmas that year. Wow! I can't believe I didn't wear it out from playing it so much. The variety of styles was astounding, yet there was a cohesiveness to it all. It seemed as though I discovered something new with every listen.

Then, the following February, my mother took me to Gibson's department store, to let me pick out an EJ album for my birthday gift. And after much gut-wrenching deliberation, I finally decided on the Don't Shoot Me, I'm Only the Piano Player album.

But, then...

On the way to the check out I glanced to my left, towards a rack of albums, and my attention was immediately arrested by four mop-topped faces staring at me. A flood of thoughts tumbled over one another as they raced to get into my mind: First, I thought, "Hey, they look pretty cool"; then I noticed the title, The Early Beatles – which immediately brought to mind a friend's The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles album that we used to listen to over and over as kids; then I noticed the song titles listed just under the album's title, and recognized several of the songs as having been on that Chipmunks album; and I remembered how much we loved those songs, and how we had always wondered what the real versions of the songs sounded like (slowing the LP down to 16 RPMs didn't help [kids, ask your parents]). All these thoughts came upon me in a flash.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I walked (I could walk then) over to the album and picked it up. Here indeed was an unexpected dilemma.

Seeing that I had stopped, my mother asked me what was wrong, and I told her the story of the Chipmunks album (probably assuming, as most teenagers do, that she wouldn't or couldn't understand).

I was truly torn. I knew I wanted the EJ album. And yet I knew I wanted – almost felt I was supposed to have – the Beatles album (even though I had no real idea what they sounded like).

Then, in one of those mystical moments of parental magnanimity, I heard my mother say, "Well,...since it's your birthday,...I guess we could get you both of them."

Suddenly, the horns of my dilemma had become horns of plenty. If the heavens had opened, and angels had started singing, I would not have been surprised. As we left the store, my feet didn't touch the ground (it's a wonder I didn't bump my head on the top of the doorway).

Playing The Early Beatles album gave me the same shivers down the back of the neck chills that GBYBR had (their voices, their harmonies, the melodies, the sense of urgency). To borrow a quote from C.S. Lewis, "I knew that I had crossed a great frontier." I would never be the same.

The music of EJ and The Beatles changed my life in a remarkable way. The desire to write songs was awakened by them. And what's amazing is that the feelings stirred by their music has never gone away. I still get the same rush when I hear great music. And I still get the same joyful/agonized thrill, when writing songs, that I got when I first started out.

Elton John and The Beatles awakened my desire to write songs (it turned out that lyrics were my strong suit, while music composition was my brother Robby's). However, it was the music of The Moody Blues (mainly their core 7 albums) that seemed to free me up to write the kind of lyrics I would eventually pen. But that's another post....

The Fireman – Electric Arguments (2008)

Paul McCartney has been having himself quite a productive streak these last dozen or so years. Starting with 1997's wonderful Flaming Pie (on which he reasserted himself as one of pop music's pre-eminent tune-smiths).

A couple of years later, he released Run Devil Run, a raucous collection of covers from the 1950s (which had Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour, and Deep Purple drummer Ian Paice onboard for the fun). The album also included three McCartney originals that showed he was still able to let loose and howl with the best of them.

2001 saw the release of Driving Rain, which received mixed reviews, but clearly showed that Paul was still willing to try new things. And even if not a perfect album, it was still head-and-shoulders above most of his early '80s to mid '90s output (those were the wilderness years, for most fans).

Nobody was quite prepared for 2005's Chaos and Creation in the Backyard. Its understated elegance made it too easy for some (including me, I'm ashamed to admit) to overlook what a masterfully subdued meditation on doubt, loss, and mortality it is. There is great beauty to be found in the tracks – and many subtle, yet powerful, musical moments that reveal themselves almost shyly to those who take the time to listen. In some ways, it's an unusually sober record – revealing a vulnerable side that the usually guarded McCartney rarely lets us see – but it makes for a moving listening experience.

Whereas Chaos and Creation... was mostly comprised of understated songs, 2007's Memory Almost Full was just the opposite. Here Paul unleashed the full force of his considerable talent, and it's quite an adventure – and truly a feast for the ears. It's like the flip-side of a coin with the previous album: rocking, upbeat, epic (even grandiose) at times.

Amongst the aforementioned releases, Paul also found time to release a couple more classical albums. He also started collaborating with producer/musician Youth on some experimental ambient instrumental music, which they released under the moniker The Fireman. And though 1994's Strawberries Oceans Ships Forest was somewhat repetitious (mostly variations on the same theme) – 1998's Rushes proved to be much more interesting, musically. But neither release could have prepared listeners for 2008's Electric Arguments.

Each of the 13 songs on Electric Arguments was written and recorded in a single day (though the 13 days were not consecutive), which gives them a looseness and energy that is invigorating. It's also the first Fireman album to feature lyrics – most of them ad-libbed, stream of consciousness verses and phrases. Like a kid who will take more risks when he puts on a costume, The Fireman project allows Paul to give free rein to his creative impulses. He and Youth can just let loose and do whatever feels musically right, without any pressure for it to be a big seller.

This is definitely an album to be listened to through a good set of speakers – or better yet, headphones (not earphones, HEADPHONES!). There are so many layers and textures to the music that a little pair of earphones just wouldn't do it justice. And Paul lays down some great bass playing, proving he hasn't lost his mojo (he plays most of the instruments, with Youth handling samples, loops, and other electronica).

Stylistically, the songs are very diverse. From straightforward blues, to acoustic folk, to hard rock, to soaring pop, to techno-trance, to ambient psychedelic, yet it all fits together seamlessly. Some songs are instantly accessible, while a few are what used to be called “deep album cuts” (they may require a little extra effort, but are more than worth it). There is a kind of progression to the album, with the more experimental tracks stacked towards the end (perhaps to ease the potentially less adventurous listener into the experience).

“Nothing Too Much Just Out Of Sight” serves notice, right out of the gate, that this Fireman album will be a much more assertive creature than its elder siblings. It kicks things off (literally) with some raucous foot-stomping howling blues, that feature Paul at his most guttural. Maybe it's all the pent-up feelings from his divorce finally being vented, but the man absolutely tears it up. Harmonica, muscular basslines, gritty slide guitar – you work up a sweat just listening to it.

“Two Magpies” is an abrupt (but by no means unpleasant) change of pace. Finger-picking an acoustic guitar, the chord changes have a lazy, jazzy feel, as Paul sings in a whimsical voice about watching two birds at play, and of coming away from it with a resolve to “face down fear”. It's a short, pleasant song that sounds like Paul could be singing it sitting in your living room.

“Sing The Changes” has an intro that reminds me a little of something Brian Wilson might have done, then kicks in with an irresistible, swirling, echoing, (even Spector-esque) wall of sound that brings a smile to my face every time I hear it. I don't know how anyone could fail to get caught up in this musical celebration. Paul sings the same verse or two over and over – but, rather than feeling repetitious, it just adds to the building sense of “child-like wonder” the song mentions.

“Traveling Light” is moody piece that makes you feel like you're moving. It's like when you're on a long trip, and as the evening approaches you get in that contemplative frame of mind, and just sit staring out the window, taking it all in. This song feels like that. It features a flute Mellotron that gives it a dreamy feel. And Paul sings the first verses in a deep, almost detached or meditative voice. There is a haunting quality to the arrangement and Paul's backing vocals. And just when it seems to be winding down, a steel guitar glides in to pick it up and carry it around for another verse or two.

“Highway” breaks the reverie of the previous song, with a heavy beat and a fat sinewy bassline. And, like the album opener, it also features some prominent harmonica, but with a lot more going on around it. There's a gritty quality to this one, too – like something one might encounter just off the highway, in a long forgotten small town or truck stop. It builds and builds, until it sounds almost tribal, with it's gang chorus and throbbing beat. Towards the end of the song, it sounds celebratory and threatening at the same time – then finishes with Paul breathlessly blowing the song's refrain on the harmonica (like he's been using it to keep the shadows at bay).

“Light From Your Lighthouse”... Southern gospel? That's what it sounds like (and, after that last song, it seems only natural). This would feel right a home in a lot of churches in the deep South. Paul accompanies himself, singing low and high vocals. Very straightforward. Very catchy. At 2:31, it's just a quick inspiring little pick-me-up.

The second half of the album (side two, anyone?) is where it starts to get a little more experimental – but first, a couple of pop gems prepare one for the journey.

“Sun Is Shining” starts with some heavily reverbed picking that (like the intro to “Sing the Changes”) makes me think of Brian Wilson. Once the song gets going, it's catches/sweeps you up and dares you not to sing and dance along. It's 5m 11s, but it never seems that long. You just get swept up in the flow, and lose track of the time. Wonderfully melodic basslines in this one. The instruments all seem to weave together to create a quilt of sound to lie on while the “Sun Is Shining”.

“Dance 'Til We're High” is another big, uplifting, joyful celebration of a song (and there's that wall of sound, again). Melodic, moving, irresistible. I can picture this being played in some big cathedral (the chimes and orchestration give it a majestic quality). It's a shame these songs didn't get played on the radio. Paul sounds like he's having a lot of fun on this album. And the rapturous exuberance of songs like this one remind me why I fell in love with music in the first place.

“Lifelong Passion (Sail Away)” has a middle-eastern vibe to it. It makes you feel like you're somewhere exotic. And, like a lot of the songs on Electric Arguments, it seems something spiritual is being hinted at here. It's vague, but unmistakeable, presence gives some of the songs a sense of longing. It reminds me of how I often felt before I became a Christian – like a deep longing for something vividly undefined – so I appreciate the sentiments of those still searching. (Whether Paul is still genuinely searching, or just reflecting the search of others, I guess only God knows.)

“Is This Love?” builds slowly, from just a wooden flute, into a dreamy ethereal soundscape that one just floats away on. Very meditative. Kind of reminds me of something the Moody Blues might have done back in their heyday (even down to the haunting falsetto, à la John Lodge).

“Lovers In A Dream” starts with an effects laden cello that sounds like humpback whales singing, the music evolves into a pulsing beat which is wrapped in a mélange of swirling instrumentation that ebbs and flows, rises and falls, almost hypnotically, buoying the repeating refrain of “Lovers in a dream / Warmer than the sun”. I guess this one is the closest to the kind of techno-trance music that Youth is better known for – but it also brings to mind some of Pink Floyd's early, more experimental, work.

“Universal Here, Everlasting Now” begins slowly, with a melancholy piano playing, dogs barking, birds singing, voices whispering, electronic swirls and echoes, until an insistent beat propels an acoustic guitar being picked, some ad-libbed vocals, all dancing along with a discreet playfulness, then back to the melancholy piano. I doesn't sound like much, but it works. It's kind of got a hypnotic, contemplative quality, as if inviting the listener to see the extraordinary in the ordinary things around us, and to be ready for life to surprise us when least expected.

“Don't Stop Running”... “Silent lovers / Silent lovers / Angels smiling / Don't stop running” is the repeated refrain as the music slowly builds till it gallops along with a mildly psychedelic vibe. Even the songs that are basically repeating a refrain manage to avoid sounding repetitious by introducing different sounds, effects, or vocals each time around.

There are 2½ minutes of ambient music that occurs after a few minutes of silence at the end of “Don't Stop Running”. It's not unpleasant, but I'm not sure it qualifies as a song. It's mostly echoing electronic noises over a bed of droning Mellotron (I could hear it as the outro on a new Moody Blues album, if they were still making interesting albums).

I love this album. It's nice to see that, even as he approaches 70, Paul is still inspired to explore new musical territory. He seems to enjoy making music with Youth, so here's hoping it's not another 10 years until the next Fireman album comes along.

First Of All...

Because I've done such a bang-up job at my other sorry-excuse-for-a-blog, I've decided to start another. This one, however, will focus only on music, or things music related.

I'm not even going to pretend it will be either interesting or informative (heck, I can't even pretend it will be coherent). It is simply an attempt to release some of the thoughts about music that keep rattling around inside my gargantuan, cavernous cranium.

I've been writing songs (mainly lyrics) for over 30 years. I've been writing songs I wasn't completely embarassed by for about 29. I've done most of my writing with my brother Robby (who composes the music) since December 1980. Our most recent creative endeavor was the band Van Gogh, in which we released 5 full-length albums (I've thrown a few songs on my MySpace player here). We also contributed to various other projects, soundtracks, and artist tributes. Declining health (we both have muscular dystrophy) has seemingly put an end to anymore live performances (though I'd love to get one more album done).

What you won't see here:

A scholarly approach. I could usually figure out how to play any instrument I could get my hands on, but had very little formal musical education (a semester of guitar lessons in 8th grade), so don't expect any deep musings about music theory and such. I can sing all kinds of vocal harmonies, but can't tell you what part I'm singing ("Are you singing the fifth there?", "I have no idea.", "No, but seriously.", "I am serious – I have no idea.", blink...blink-blink...blink...). The advantage to no formal training is that we never learned what we couldn't do. The disadvantage: I sometimes have trouble getting ideas across to other musicians.

Also, I've never been attracted to anything simply because of it's technical sophistication. The worst thing I could ever imagine being called was a musician's musician (or band). I love music because it moves me. It may be technically sophisticated, but that's not a prerequisite to me diggin' it. I just think good music should move you on some level; I think there should be an urgency to it (whether it be a fast or slow song); but what moves me may not move you, which is one of the fascinating things about it.

And, for better or worse, I've discovered that I don't seem to be a huge fan of any particular genre per se. I just seem to like certain artists' music – but that's no guarantee that I'll like other artists in the same genre (even if they seem very similar to the one I like). I don't know why this is the case – I also don't know why I didn't realize it a lot sooner than I did.

I thought I loved progressive rock – but that was only until I heard a whole weekend of progressive music on the radio. Apparently, I just like certain progressive bands (e.g., Yes, The Moody Blues, Magic Pie, Proto-Kaw, et al).

Likewise, I thought I loved the music of the British Invasion. So imagine my surprise, when I found that I just couldn't get that into most of the British Invasion stuff (most of it just seems kind of weak next to The Beatles, I'm afraid).

And classic Hard Rock? I have some '70s era Uriah Heep – but no Led Zepplin, Black Sabbath, or Deep Purple (and I doubt I ever will have anything by them). But I love Alice Cooper! I dig just about everything he's done, except for most of his late '80s hair metal stuff (“Poison”?...yes, it certainly was).

There seems to be no rhyme or reason to what I will or won't like. I love Elton John's old stuff, but don't like Billy Joel. I love The Call, but find U2 to be hit and miss. The Galactic Cowboys? Yee-hawwww! Metallica? **yawn**

Hip-Hop? I don't like it.

Modern Country? I don't like it, either.

So, my musical tastes are suspect (at best), but that's not the worst of it. Worst of all: I...like...some..."Christian Bands" (to use an unfortunate label). Take a minute to let that sink in. I REALLY love some of those bands' music (and I'm sure there will be at least a post or two on the subject). So, if you're one of those people who gets that condescending smirk on their face, at the mere mention of a band's members being Christians, then there will probably be something said on here about you that you'll find really offensive. I promise. So, all you "open-minded" Christophobes have been warned.

I decided to try this several months ago, but the universe decide to relieve itself on my life, so the plan got delayed. Since deciding to do this, I've discovered there are music related blogs out there that are better (and more entertaining) than anything I'll be able to pull off here, but I'm too stoopid to let a little thing like that deter me.

Also, with all the crap that's hit us during the last couple of years, I keep rediscovering just how powerful music is. Good music is like medicine for the soul – it comforts and heals. Thank God for good music.

Well, so much for trying to explain this inexcusable little waste of time. To quote an Adam Again song: "it is what it is what it is". So,...

A-one,...an' a-two,...an' a-one, two, three, four....