3. SOMETHING IS ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF DENMARK(or never buy concert tickets from a man named Rocky) Neil Young - January 22, 1971 Shakespeare Theater - Stratford CT
Something seemed amiss from the moment I purchased four highly sought-after tickets to see Neil Young at the very limited-capacity Shakespeare Theater in Stratford, Connecticut.
Suspicious: Neil Young was at one of his highest levels of popularity, following the release of his third solo album, After The Gold Rush, and tickets were hard to come by.
Definitely sketchy: the person selling the tickets. Rocky (whose last name will not be revealed) was a somewhat shady character from my hometown of East Haven who approached me first to tell me he had “come across” some tickets if I was interested in attending. Growing up in a town that was 95% Italian, you come to an understanding pretty early that occasionally items fall off of trucks, and you don't ask questions.
So it was that I, my girlfriend and another couple headed out on a cold January night, excited to see Neil -- despite that fact that he would be performing solo when all three of his albums were recorded with full band.
As we were escorted to our seats, very close to the stage no less, I didn't really pay much attention to the police officer standing off to the side, just figuring he was routine security. But as soon as we got to our seats, we were descended upon by theater staff and the officer.
Turns out the tickets had been stolen, the four people who they were stolen from were there, waiting to claim their seats, and we were embarrassingly dragged (well not dragged, this wasn't an episode of Cops) out of the theater into the lobby. Pleading my case, I assured them we had not stolen the tickets but had purchased them from Rocky (the suddenly no longer nameless Rocky). I didn't need to be waterboarded to sing like a canary, and remarkably, not only did they believe my story, but they allowed us to stay. Amazingly enough we were seated in the side balcony, as close to the stage as possible. For the next 90 minutes, we were granted an up close view into the musical genius of Neil Young, as he alternated from guitar to piano, playing songs spanning his whole career, from Buffalo Springfield to his current record. Midway through the set, we were treated to two songs from what would be his next great album, Harvest, as he played back to back “A Man Needs a Maid” and “Heart of Gold.”
What could have been disastrous turned out to be a front-row seat to see a musical legend perform. I'm not sure what became of Rocky, but unsubstantiated rumors place him in a high level position at Stub Hub.
Long overdue, but finally this year the remarkable Nina Simone was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I had the honor of seeing her in concert once in my life, but that one time changed the way a young music lover with an unsophisticated 17 year old musical palate listened to music .
OOH CHILD (NINA JUST MADE THINGS EASIER)Nina Simone Newport Jazz Festival - July 11, 1970
In 1969, the organizers of the long running Newport Jazz Festival decided to change their usual format and sprinkle a few rock acts into what was normally a strictly jazz line-up. But by incorporating bands like Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull, Sly and The Family Stone, and Ten Years After into the mix, they transformed the normally peaceful, calm weekend of mellow jazz into… well, into a rock festival.
This resulted in a rock-festival-size crowd descending upon a concert venue not equipped to handle a huge amount of people.With it came the standard storming of the gates and tearing down of fences,think Braveheart on hallucinogens, turning it into a free concert for most of the people -- basically Woodstock without the bad acid, at least no bad-acid warning announcements from the stage.
Needless to say, when 1970 came around, nary a rock act could be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rhode Island, but a group of my friends and I decided to roll into Newport anyhow, piling into a rented U-Haul more suited for moving furniture than humans, two people in the front and the rest of us piled into the windowless back like cargo. It was Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters, east coast style, an old rented orange and gray U-Haul replacing the brightly colored psychedelically painted magic bus, minus the windows.
Unfortunately although the rock acts were gone, the atmosphere surrounding the concert grounds seemed anything but friendly. There had been reports of fights around what was called Festival Field, and early on Saturday, one of our group had a knife pulled on him.
Our vantage point from the hill overlooking the festival grounds did not exactly seem like a safe zone once the night session of the concert began, and for some reason my feeling was that most of the people around us on that hill were not exactly Herbie Mann fans. Jazz flautist Herbie was second on a three-act bill that also featured Nina Simone, whom I had never heard of in 1970, and The Ike and Tina Turner revue to close the show.
Whether it was cannabis-fueled paranoia, or anxiety from the events of the day, I was not exactly a picture of serenity when Nina Simone hit the stage. I really just wanted to get back into the windowless U-Haul and head home. On the stage,a solitary figure sat down at the piano and in the next minute, this voice, a voice that I had never heard previously, resonated through the night and into my soul. It was deep and soulful in a way that I couldn't describe -- not a Motown Top 40 Diana Ross kind of a soul or even an Aretha Franklin kind of soul. This seemed different, mesmerizing, it's effect forced me to focus on what seemed from a distance the almost frail figure on stage and as she played, the perceived problems surrounding me melted away. Every note she sang rang so clearly through the quiet night, there was pain in her voice, but a serene calmness as well.There was a depth to this performance that went well beyond anything I had experienced musically at that point of my life.
All of the anxiety and fear were washed away , and somewhere in the middle of the set , Nina made sure the night was going to be all right. To this point, I had not recognized any of the songs, but now a few familiar notes from the piano and then Nina was telling me, in the words of a current very popular Top 40 hit, “ooh child, things are going to get easier, ooh child, things will be brighter.”
Amazingly Nina was singing “Ooh Child” by the Five Stairsteps -- such a dichotomy to hear Top 40 coming from that voice, yet the effect of recognizing the song, combined with Nina's transcendent voice, turned the lyrics of that song into a reality, and yes, for this night, even in the darkness, things were easier and things were so much brighter. I will forever be grateful to the amazing Nina Simone for that moment.
There is a common thread that dominates most discussions about music among people of my generation, the central theme being, "today's music sucks". Although not without some evidence based merit, this is a mostly closed minded view, as if somehow the creative well dried up after 1980, and suddenly a whole generation of musicians were incapable of playing instruments, singing melodies, and writing lyrics.
It's mostly a generational issue, my parents thought the Beatles sucked, I'm sure their parents thought that young girls in bobby socks swooning over "Frankie" was just a teenage fad and the bow tied crooner would never amount to much. Who knows maybe even Beethoven and Mozart fans were disgusted by the adulation heaped on Tchaikovsky 40 years later. "He's no Ludwig" was probably muttered at many a late 1800's dinner table.
While I will admit that it is sometimes difficult to sift through the musical sludge to find the hidden gems, they do exist, as evidenced by the Boston based group who call themselves Lake Street Dive.
When dynamic lead singer Rachel Price strolled onto the stage Wednesday night at the College Street Music Hall in New Haven and stood, almost defiantly in front of her band with her hands on her hips , it not only felt like something very special was about to happen, it also felt like she might have been saying "tie this to your whipping post" to any skeptical baby boomers sprinkled throughout the audience.
I happened to be one of those baby boomers in attendance but I wasn't skeptical. I had been a casual fan prior to the show based mostly on watching their creative covers of classic songs on You Tube.
I wasn't familiar with any of their original songs and certainly hadn't yet listened to any of the 10 tracks off their week old album Free Yourself Up.
None of that mattered, the normal anticipation, the waiting for the familiar songs and big hits was not going to be part of the equation at this concert, and it didn't make a difference.The music coming from the stage was so infectious that there was never a moment when it felt like I was hearing these songs for the first time.
When watching Lake Street Drive(or as their cult like following of fans chant when the house lights go down..LSD) perform it's easy to get swept up and carried away by lead singer Rachel Price. As stand up bassist Bridget Kearney describes it, each song is a "vocal fireworks display" and it's an apt description. She is definitely the center of attention and it's her unique vocal style that drives the band, but this is a group of talented artists whose music is the sum of all of their parts, it's not just Rachel and the Lake Streeters.
Mike(McDuck) Olson, guitar and trumpet, drummer Michael Calabrese and keyboard player Akie Bermiss, along with bassist Kearney are all essential elements to the tight knit music this band creates. and the background vocals of bassist Bridget and keyboardist Akie Bermiss are essential to it's sound.
It's difficult to put Lake Street into any specific musical genre, they seem to run the gamut from funk infused pop, to torch song ballads, and even a touch of 60's girl group soul. Whatever the genre, Rachel's voice is able to slide comfortably into that pocket,her vocal style seems to meet somewhere at the intersection of Amy Winehouse and Ronnie Spector. Drummer Calabrese's assessment of the Lake Street sound is that they want their music to feel like The Beatles and Motown had a party together, and that seems just about right.
I had to do some post concert research to find out the names of the songs I considered highlights although the truth of the matter is, every single song was a highlight. As each song ended I couldn't wait for the next one to begin.
Ultimately the band only performed two cover songs, Shania Twain's Still the One reworked into a reggae infused soulful ballad , and the last song of the night, their own funky take on Hall and Oates Rich Girl.
Although never an overtly political band, in interviews after the album was released Rachel admitted that events since November 2016 did influence much of the new material.They opened the show with a new song titled "Baby Don't Leave Me Alone With My Thoughts" which focuses on the need for an emotional connection in a world gone crazy.
"An old man, an old man
has got his little hands on the button
feels like nothing anyone can do
people out there , cracking up cracking up
and I'm just trying to keep it together
notice that I feel better when I'm holding you"
They closed the first portion of the show with a song titled "Shame, Shame, Shame" another poke at the small handed occupant of The White House, prefacing the tune by announcing the presence of a group in the lobby of the theater who were there to register people to vote.
But mainly this show was all about the music, because that's what Lake Street Dive is, and as I write this now three days after the show, the music I witnessed that night is still resonating.The first encore, the title track from their 2014 album What I'm Doing Here, showcased everything that makes Rachel Price one of the most captivating singers I have ever seen. Accompanied by only soft piano, Rachel's remarkable voice echoed and resonated into every corner of the theater, crystal clear and note perfect, the emotional weight of the lyrics and her vocal making every nerve ending in my body tingle. At that moment it was clear that any discussion about the demise of current music was moot, it is alive and thriving and living in a dive on Lake Street.
My final entry into the "10 albums in 10 days" thread will be in the form of a short story, coinciding with my "guilty little pleasure" choice, possibly as a way of explanation.
On the last weekend of July, 1970, the Powder Ridge Ski resort had decided they wanted to emulate the scene that took place the previous summer on Max Yasgur's farm in usptate New York and stage their own version of Woodstock.
The line up of musicians scheduled to perform, while not quite as extensive as Woodstock, was nonetheless impressive, pretty much a who's who of popular bands from that era:
Unfortunately, the Middlefield townsfolk were not going to be quite as amenable to the notion of having long hair, drug crazed hippie freaks marauding across their lawns, and more importantly to this community, through their apple orchards. I'm sure the Lyman Orchards owners heavily influenced the decision to have the event cancelled just days before it was supposed to begin.
Side note- I have first hand experience that the task of finding your way out of those orchards while lysergically enhanced, is nearly impossible. Everything looks exactly the same, I'm not sure how long I wandered aimlessly through the MacIntosh maze, but eventually I started to contemplate how many green apples per day I would have to consume in order to stay alive.
Well the event may have been cancelled but the refugee like trek of rock fans from all over the country had already begun, so despite the lack of music, 30,000 people still showed up at Powder Ridge, and with no form of entertainment available other than radio and tape players, turned the event into a 3 day drug crazed zombie apocalypse.
Only one of the scheduled artists decided to show up, folksinger Melanie.She waded right into the middle of the madness, plugged her microphone and amp into the outlets of a Mister Softee truck, and thoroughly entertained the crowd that had gathered around her. I was already a fan of Melanie based on her Woodstock inspired hit "Lay Down(Candles in the Rain) from the previous year, but now I was transformed into a rabid fan, and for the next 5 years, my girlfriend and I followed her all over the New England, even attempting an ill fated trip to New Jersey in a Nor'easter to see her. That didn't work out quite so well.
So anyhow, it seems like a guilty little pleasure only because no one else I knew liked Melanie, Barbara and I were out there alone and stranded on Melanie Island.
In retrospect, Melanie's unusual vocal style is now somewhat the norm for many of the indie type female singer/songwriters of today such as Regina Spektor and Ingrid Michaelson.
So my guilty little pleasure is Melanie Safka, but instead of being guilty, I just like to think of it as being ahead of my time.
You probably don't know the artist who is performing the
above song, "God at the Races" but if you are a music lover,
then you probably should. Her name is Natalie Hamilton, and in a world that is
mired in mediocrity posing as music, she is an undiscovered gem. I am well
aware that the cracks are wide, and true artists slip through them all the
time, relegated to plying their trade in noisy restaurants and bars,
struggling to be heard amid the drunken banter and clinking glasses.
The end of each song punctuated by polite, perfunctory applause, or even worse, no applause at all, life altering songs like God At The Races reduced to
merely background noise.
But Natalie Hamilton, with her powerful composing and
musicianship is an artist that shouldn't have to be listened to while a
waitress discusses menu specials. She should be heard in an acoustically
perfect concert hall, to a rapt audience hanging onto every vocal nuance and
jazzy piano run, as well as every poetic lyric.
"it was hard to believe when he said
the angels weren't calling the dead
and I had fallen off
the wrong side of a golden fence
it was hard to believe when he claimed
I wouldn't be leaving today
I'd have to wait it out with the devils and the holy meds"
Lyrics like that should never be drowned out, they should be shouted out, or
better still, quietly whispered to a stone silent audience intent on listening.
I have always maintained certain guidelines when it comes to my musical heroes and
icons. They play the music, I listen to the music, and as the saying goes,
"never the twain shall meet" I have never harbored an interest in
personally connecting to the people that move me musically, seeking autographs
or gawking at them after a concert like a crazed fan. None of those dynamics
have ever been part of the equation, that chasm between artist and fan has
always seemed appropriate. It's a "pay no attention to that man(or woman)
behind the curtain scenario, or as Bruce Springsteen explains it, "never
let them see the magic trick"
So what happens when I am sitting in a diner, having coffee
with the artist Natalie Hamilton? Now I am right across from the magic trick,
able to question the process, get behind the curtain, get a sense of what it's
like to be able to sing, play piano, and compose music that can stand alongside
and even surpass many of the singer/songwriters I have admired throughout my
life. What makes a person capable of writing a song as complex and beautiful as
"God at the Races", a song about towing the line between sane and
insane, life and death, losing faith, losing God, losing
Self? Listening to it reminded me of the first time I witnessed Nina
Simone, my musical palate at 18 not yet sophisticated enough to fully
comprehend the complex beauty of what I was hearing. All I knew is
that her voice, and the sound of that piano raised goosebumps up and down my
arms, drawing me into a world of music that went well beyond anything I was
listening to at that point of my life. And when I first heard "God at
the Races" sitting at my computer, at work, I wanted to get up from my
desk and give a one person standing ovation. Great music always gives me chills
and sitting in my terminally frozen office, this song made the hairs on the
back of my neck stand up straight. For a true music lover there is no better
feeling. It's rare now that a new discovery can move me in such a fashion, but
when it happens, it's like mining for gold and finding a shiny nugget hidden in
the sludge.
The dichotomy playing out as we talk is , is it necessary for me to peek behind the curtain.? Do I really need or even want to know the story and meaning behind a lyric like;
"I
walked myself to the window
and watched as the rain
beat silent songs upon the
trees
I watched that window laugh at me."
What influenced her to
write a song like "Oh Emmanuel", which seems to be an amalgam of the artists she admires, Laura Nyro, Joni Mitchell, Tori Amos and even Stephen
Sondheim while remaining uniquely Natalie Hamilton .Well, given this rare
opportunity I of course want to know everything. So the first thing I do
is ask a million questions because my musical curiosity knows no bounds,
I want to know every detail of the process, what inspired her, what do the
lyrics signify, will she autograph my napkin? Okay, so I didn't ask for an
autograph, but talking to her about the incredible music she has composed did
have me teetering on that fence between the distance I have always maintained, and rabid, gawking, autograph seeking fan.
I don't know that I got the answers to any of these
questions. Natalie Hamilton remained a bit of an enigma to me, seemingly only
showing herself through the soul baring music that she writes. And shouldn't
that be enough? Isn't that the key element that separates us from the
artists that move and inspire us. A few years ago I was able attend a showing
of some of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings at The Yale Art Museum. I
didn't need to know the inspiration behind the art to appreciate the beauty of
what I was seeing. One of the key elements I took away from my time with
Natalie was the sense of frustration inherent in being a talented
musician in an era where more people are familiar with the names Justin Beiber
and Britney Spears than they are with Nyro, Mitchell, Sondheim and Amos
combined. A classic ballad like "Show Me Your Love", which I
guarantee would be known by everyone had it appeared on an Adele record, goes
virtually unnoticed, while the tabloid variety pop stars fill up the airwaves.
And yet, Natalie Hamilton struggles like Van Gogh, unable to sell a painting.
At least, not yet...
I will end this blog with the first song I listened to by
Natalie, a song that immediately gave me a sense that something unique was
happening here. Has there ever been a more dismissive break up lyric than
"you brush me off with the dust discreetly"
Unlike Sting's Every Breath You Take, Natalie tackles the subject of being stalked by an ex lover with a sunny sense of humor, almost like being stalked by her might be fun.
If given the choice I prefer it to Sting's brooding, lurking in the shadows Stephen King like approach,
"I know I must have looked a little bit funny
Straddling the fence right outside your family party
but just to be fair you looked a little bit odd
through binoculars duct taped to a tripod"
is a hell of a lot more cheerful than
"Every breath you take
every move you make
every bond you break
every step you take
I'll be watching you
I guarantee that if you take the time to listen to this incredible artist you will be touched and moved in a variety of ways, and cheerful will be among them. It's been a long time since I have found something new that has affected me in such a profound way. Like many people of my generation I tend to go back to old favorites, tried and tested songs that still affect me, but not in that chill inducing, goosebump raising way that something new will. The beauty of this is that I am still in the discovery phase with Natalie, she has two full CD's worth of original music, Carbon Cocktail, released in 2008 and 2011's Red Ball Rising. Like all great music and albums I seem to find a new"favorite" song among them every couple of days. Today's favorite is her cover of the Fleetwood Mac classic "Lanslide". Tomorrow I know it will be something different. I love when music does that to me.
My hope is that at some point Natalie achieves a measure of commercial success commensurate with the artistic success she has already achieved, and, unlike Van Gogh, is able to reap the financial benefits her music deserves. And even better still, she is able to achieve this with both of her ears intact.
Natalie is currently in the process of composing a musical, both book music and lyrics.You can get more information about this as well as listen to more of her music and find out where she may be performing locally at these websites.
My tendency to go off on tangents while writing these blogs is
the main reason why they seem to appear with the same frequency as the Hale
Bopp comet. There is no doubt that I am saddled with an alphabet soup bowl full
of undiagnosed childhood learning disabilities. When I was in school, there was never any discussion about ADD, or ADHD, although I'm pretty certain that my main
problem was probably an acute case of DGAS (didn’t give a shit). So I can be
writing about the Grateful Dead and next thing I know it has morphed into an
article about tracking the elusive Yeti. In any event, this will be my first
attempt at streamlining the process, trying to keep things neat, concise, and
on point, but always keeping an eye out for potential Abdominal Snowman
sightings.
For me music is and always has been about
magical moments, those shiver down my spine, little hairs rising up on the back
of my neck moments. As an addict in recovery I spent far too much time chasing
that feeling with drugs and alcohol, when in reality it was never farther
away than a turntable, radio, or concert venue. When I did
finally take those first few wobbly steps down a path of recovery and
sobriety, music was a constant and healing companion. As the fog started to
lift, I realized that I had turned my back on my one healthy addiction, an
addiction that was capable of bringing me the pleasure I spent a lifetime
seeking through unhealthy and destructive means.
Every addict knows the feeling, the constant daily chase for
the thrill of that initial high, as futile as a dog chasing its
tail. Music has a limitless capacity to bring me to that place, and the
beauty of it is that I never know when it will happen, the music decides.
The houselights go down as 20,000 fans rise up, Bruce Springsteen's voice cutting through the darkness, wondering if any of the
20,000 fans sitting in the Hartford Civic Center this night are alive. Yes we
are, and every single nerve ending in my body is on fire before a note has
been played. There is not a drug in the world that can produce the adrenaline
rush and goose bump inducing chill of that moment.
The above scene has played out at the start of every single one of the over 100 Sprinsgteen shows I have attended, and I can easily fill a whole blog with memories from those shows, or from the hundreds of other shows I have attended while supporting a three concert a week habit. For the sake of this article however I am choosing to stick with
the moments that have occurred after November 3, 2003, because music took on a
whole new meaning and dimension in my life as a sober man.
While many of my early concert memories have now become an
amalgam of clarity and purple haze, I have a clear and sharp focus from every
show I have attended while sober. The angelic voice of Lisa Hannigan, echoing
through the Mohegan Sun Arena. Ostensibly a backup vocalist for
Damien Rice, her unique vocal style added a depth and quality to Damien's
music that has been missing since she left to pursue a solo career. To be fair, neither artist has done very well without the other, which I guess is further evidence that romance and the workplace don't mix. In stark contrast, the headliner that night, Fiona Apple countered the almost whispered beauty of Lisa's vocals with ear bludgeoning primal scream therapy. Yoko Ono on steroids. Hey, not every
moment is magical, and I didn't stick around in hopes that a volunteer would be
summoned from the audience to saw her vocal cords in half. Now that would have
been magic.
The Webb Sisters, singing Leonard Cohen's musical prayer, “If
It Be Your Will, their perfect harmonies echoing to the rafters of the
Waterbury Palace Theater, punctuating what had already been an incredible three hours of music from the 74 year old Leonard. This concert, and encore performance have taken on greater significance with Leonard's recent passing at the age of 82. Leonard's spoken portion of the prayer/poem reduced the 3500 seat theater to pin drop quiet, the reverent stillness of the crowd enhancing the dynamic power of the Webb Sisters vocal. As the crowd filed out that evening, there was a sense that we all had just received a special gift. I know for me personally, it has been the seminal concert of my life, and I still get those same chills every time I watch this video.
Some of the best moments seem to occur when I least expect
it. Driving in my car, radio playing as usual, but I am more focused on
the law abiding doofus in front of me. He has obviously decided that 40
mph means 40 mph, failing to realize that I am late for golf. Just
as I’m thinking that this person had used up his allotted supply of the Earth's oxygen, a
song that had slipped through the fissures in my mind (they were once cracks
but have widened considerably as time marches on) is coming through the
speaker. As is often the case, it's a long forgotten Dylan song, and
suddenly the Amish guy in the horse and buggy in front of me isn't
as important as Dylan, in his distinctively nasal tone
singing to me about the "Tight Connection to his
Heart".
Now I am perilously close to rambling again, failing to live up to my promise of streamlining this process. Once I begin to relive these special musical moments it's very difficult for me to stop.
It was a thrill to see my good friend Sal Annunziato realize a dream by recording a CD of all original material, and in the process receiving a preview of each song as it was recorded. The finished product "Own Trip" is a testament to his musical influences and life long love of music. As I described it in a short review, it's modern themes behind a classic rock sound, produced beautifully by Sal and his friend Eric Lichter. It's pretty cool to be driving down the road with the music on full volume, and suddenly your friends voice is coming through the speaker, singing my favorite song from the CD "Something Better".
So I will end where I started, with Bruce Springsteen. My last Springsteen show was May 2014 at Mohegan Sun Arena, and joining the band for this tour was Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello.It was the usual intense and rocking three hour plus show, which of course for Bruce was not unusual.The shows at Mohegan were the last two shows of what had been a long worldwide tour, and despite the energy, to me, Bruce looked weary, understandably so. After sending what had to be an exhausted band off to bed, Bruce appeared solo, guitar in hand, for his final encore. For some reason at that moment I was filled with melancholy, the thought that after 42 years, this could potentially be my last Springsteen concert. Through the early E Street Band Shows, the early 90's "Other Band" tour, Seeger Sessions Band (still my favorite tour) , solo concerts, and then back with the reincarnated E Street Band, I had seen at least one show on every tour, usually multiples. There was never a moment after any show where I felt like Bruce didn't leave everything he had out on that stage. Hell, one of the reasons why I thought this might be my last Bruce concert was because at 61, I couldn't hang anymore, the three hour plus shows at my age are exhausting. Bruce is three years older, imagine how he feels.
The show ends with a song that seemed like a summation of his career for his lifelong fans, or maybe a pledge to his new ones. In any event, "I'll Work For Your Love" turned out to be that never broken promise from a clearly exhausted Bruce. The weary humble bow at the end of another marathon show seemed so poignant to me, a final acknowledgement to my 42 years of loyal fandom. If the rumors are true and Bruce does decide to tour again as a solo artist, I will be there. As long as I can sit my tired old ass down in a seat, I can listen to him all night long, because for me, no one has produced more magical moments than Springsteen.
I am 64 years old now, an age where I often hear people referred to as being a little long in the tooth. The truth of the matter
is that in terms of my teeth, they have pretty much remained the same size. My
ears and nose however have continued to mutate at an exposure to radium rate, attached to a face that has if anything shrunk a little, not an appealing
visual to be sure. As a good friend of mine often says, there is nothing pretty
about the aging process. Musically speaking though, I have attempted to stay young at
heart. I have tried to, and most of the time succeeded in keeping up with
current trends in music, kept my mind open and my tastes eclectic. I can just
as easily enjoy a performance by a young artist like Halsey”New Americana” as I
can listening to the classic artists that formed the soundtrack of my
youth. I have tried to guard against the” my generations’ music is the
best” mentality. All of this changed last Sunday night when I sat down in front
of my television to watch what is sometimes labeled “music’s greatest
night”, (now that’s an alternative fact that would make KellyAnne Conway
proud) aka, The Grammys.
I sensed trouble immediately when
the nominees for the first category "Best New Artist" were announced
and not a single name was remotely familiar. The award went to "Chance the
Rapper” who now will be listed among legendary former winners such as
"Crosby, Stills and Nash the Folksingers” and “John Legend The Pianist”. To be fair to Mr. Rapper, this category has produced some dubious
winners in previous years. From 1977 thru 1979 the winners were, Star
land Vocal Band, “Afternoon Delight” whose only claim to fame is their one
hit extolling the virtues of getting laid for lunch. In 1978 it was Debby
Boone darkening every music lovers life with “You Light up My Life which I now realize should have been a contender in a previous blog for worst
one hit wonder of all time. In 1979 it was A Taste of
Honey, Boogie Oogie Oggieing their way to a Grammy, probably the
worst decision in the history of this category given the fact that the list of
nominees that year included Elvis Costello, Toto, and The Cars.
I lasted another 45 minutes and then stuck one white
flag of surrender into each ear, in effect, giving up the fight and
stopping the bleeding at the same time. With this as a backdrop I have
decided to announce my own awards, culled from my many hours spent watching You
Tube videos.
So I am proud to announce the 2017 winners of the soon to be
prestigious music awards for old people "THE GRAMPYS"
I am the sole judge, and the categories will change on a
yearly basis, contingent upon what I find humorous or interesting.
There will be four distinguished honorees each year, or more realistically, this will be the first and last time Grampys are awarded..
Category 1)- BEST PERFORMANCE FROM SOMEONE'S
LIVING ROOM
Winner- Grace Sewell "Hell of a Girl" Live From Daryl's House.
Grace Sewell, sometimes known as just "Grace" is a
19 year old singer from Brisbane, Australia who had a top ten hit with her
cover of the Lesley Gore classic “You Don't Own Me”. She lists her influences
as Smokey Robinson, Janis Joplin, Shirley Bassey, and Amy Winehouse and in this
clip from Daryl's House you can hear a little piece of all four of those
artists. Daryl later explains to her that this song was written 30 years before
she was born, yet there is a smoky maturity to her vocal well beyond her years.
Daryl is obviously impressed and there are a couple of moments during her vocal
when you can see Daryl get those whole body chills that only great musical
moments can bring you. If you like Grace, then I strongly recommend all of the
videos from this episode of Live from Daryl's House, all of them are quite
good.
Category 2) BEST PERFORMANCE INDUCING A MUSICAL ICON TO BREAK KINGLY PROTOCOL.
Winner-First Aid Kit- "America" Live at Polar
Music Prize 2012
This may turn out to be a one year "niche"
category, unless of course I come upon another video where a head of state is
offended after a musical performance.
First Aid Kit are Swedish siblings Klara and Johanna
Soderberg, who performed the song "America" in front of Paul Simon at the 2012
Polar Music Prize award ceremony.
The Polar Music Prize, sometimes referred to as Sweden's
Nobel Prize for music, is given annually to one contemporary and one classical
musician. Former winners include Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen,
and Patti Smith.
The ceremony itself seems to be a fairly stuffy event;
the King of Sweden is always there in formal attire, looking appropriately pompous, surrounded by his equally constipated minions. Sitting in the front row in close proximity to the
honorees, his presence
seems to ensure that a good time will be had by no one. Despite his royal
stuffiness though, the music at this event is always quite good.
As you will see in the video, First Aid Kit's performance of
Simon & Garfunkel's America is filled with the same
beautiful harmonies that mark the original, the blend of female voices
instead of male adding a unique twist, further enhanced by
the addition of the symphony orchestra.
Paul Simon has always seemed like someone who is not easily
impressed but you can see that both he and his wife Edie Brickell are moved
by the performance.
At the song's end, Paul Simon rises and gives them a one
person standing ovation, an obvious break of royal protocol. No one stands
unless the King stands. The look on the King's face is priceless, and he seems
to be looking around to see if anyone else is equally insulted. It's that "who put the spoonful of dog shit under my nose" look that seems to be particular to offended royals.
Note to King: People give standing ovations after great
musical performances, if Paul Simon decides to stand up and honor a
performance, then get your stuffy uptight royal ass out of the chair.
Category 3) BEST PERFORMANCE BY A GROUP WHO HAD TO BE DRIVEN TO THE GIG BY THEIR PARENTS.
Winner-The Strypes- "What a Shame-David Letterman Show
Although there weren't many choices in this category, The Strypes win hands down with their rocking hybrid of Beatles meets Green Day. Letterman has always been a fan of hard driving straight ahead rock; The Foo Fighters are his favorite band. Letterman's reaction after the song ends is one of the reasons this video is so enjoyable. You can see how much he appreciated the talent of these four young kids. I love the look of pure joy on his face as he proclaims "how about these guys" to no one in particular. You can also see that the band didn't quite know what to make of Letterman, which was often the case with the musical acts that appeared on the show. As a side note , it was Letterman, crusty cynicism aside , who initiated the practice of giving a national platform to musicians who hadn't quite broken through yet. Now it's commonplace for late night shows to feature musical acts outside the mainstream, groups who most likely will not be winning a Grammy anytime soon. But they deserve to be heard and maybe even someday, like The Strypes, win the more prestigious "Grampy".
Category 4) BEST COVER OF A 50 YEAR OLD CLASSIC FOLK SONG BY A HEAVY METAL BAND. Winner-Disturbed- "Sound of Silence"
The acoustic rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" was originally recorded in 1964 for the duo's first album Wednesday Morning 3AM. . The song eventually reached number one on the Billboard charts two years later after producer Tom Wilson, without Paul Simon's knowledge, dubbed in electric music to help make it radio friendly. My personal preference is the original version. While the amplified guitars and drums make the song slightly more dynamic, especially in the final stanza, the pure beauty of the harmonies and the message of the lyrics get a little muted behind the pop feel of the dubbed in instruments. Commercial, success doesn't always translate into artistic success. What's interesting is that while Wednesday Morning 3AM was pretty much a bust commercially, this original acoustic version of the album's signature song has amassed 100 million You Tube hits. At a time when most music is acquired and listened to digitally, that amounts to platinum 100 times over.
Even more remarkable is that 53 years later the heavy metal band Disturbed has had similar success with it's dark and significantly more dramatic version of the song. 190 million hits for the excellent concept video and another 12 million for their live performance of the song on Conan O'Brien. I still prefer the original but I do enjoy the slow dramatic build of the remake, vocalist David Draiman's brooding voice over an solitary quiet piano for the first stanza, then guitar and orchestral strings added for the second and third stanzas. By the finish, it sounds more like The Sound of Silence symphony, timpani drums adding orchestral power to what is now a searing and angry vocal by Draiman. It could play out as overkill in the drama department but it works as both a video and a live performance, and given the fact that Simon's lyrics still ring true, seems as relevant today as it did 52 years ago. A clear indication of Simon's songwriting genius..
