Music – Page 6 – converselyspeaking

Faces, Long Player, Warner Brothers, 1971

I liked Every Picture Tells a Story and Gasoline Alley, so when I saw this in a used record store I took a chance. I’m always interested in hearing Big Bill Broonzy songs, and I’d heard Had Me a Real Good Time on the radio and hoped it could be part of my philosophy of life. It isn’t bad advice: I was glad to be here, I’ll be sad to go, as long as I’m here I’ll have me a real good time. That will do for retirement. The problem with the album is that there’s nothing as good as Cut Across Shorty, much less Maggie May.

For years I was hoping to find a song about going to Jerusalem I‘d heard in the dorm in 1968. When I saw Jerusalem was on this album, I thought I had a chance. Not close, but I finally found it thanks to the Innerwebs. It was by Hello People, named (As, I Went Down to) Jerusalem. There’s a scratchy version on YouTube.

Johnny Cash, The Legend, Sun, recorded 1955-58, compiled and released 1970

Cash had a weekly television show for about two years starting in 1969. It was a big step for him on his path to The Man in Black. He’d had at least three brushes with the law, as they say, in the mid ‘60s. News magazines said he had problems with diet pills. It was time for him to straighten up. Bob Dylan was a guest on his first show. Dylan needed to buff his image as well. He hadn’t released a record in a while; the news magazines speculated he’d rehabbed a heroin habit. They sat down and did Girl from the North Country. It was exciting to see them together; they certainly hadn’t rehearsed too much. This record of Cash’s old material was released to take advantage of the popularity of his TV show.

The songs are in blues format, but Cash doesn’t seem to feel them. The lyrics to I Walk the Line are soul-felt, but Cash’s delivery seems matter of fact. (Ring of Fire isn’t on this record for comparison.) Folsom Prison Blues is stiff compared to the live version he released later.

Vinyl LPs have so much more than CDs and streaming. Some of it is big, such as album covers. What caught my attention about this double record it that the first disc has Side 1 and Side 3; disc 2 has sides 2 and 4. I puzzled about that for a bit—it’s for the all-in-one record players. Put Side 1 and Side 2 facing up on the tall spindle, move the arm over, and hit play. When the second record is done, turn them over and repeat. You’ve played them both in order with no fuss. Me, I had to either put the first disc away to play Side 2 or play the sides out of order. I saw a Spirit album cover today that featured a phone booth prominently. Times and technology change.

Sea Train, Sea Train, A&M, 1969

I saw Sea Train in Cleveland in 1968—they did everything very well but nothing made me want to get up and dance. They had an odd origin story. The Blues Project wanted to break up, but they owed Verve Forecast another record. Those folks who were there at the end recorded Planned Obsolescence (funny, I think), then made this record as Sea Train. Their second album was named Seatrain (one word). That’s just confusing. Their music checked every box. Blues—heck, they were the Blues Project, doing Two Trains Running and Louisiana and mojos. Jazz—they were playing fusion before it was cool. Prog rock–they opened for Traffic on one tour. Let The Duchess No sounds like Bob Wills—Richard Greene was an excellent fiddler. I have thought I heard their stuff in the ‘70s as intro for local news shows and as a soundtrack for low-budget documentaries.

Funky Fifties!, various artists, Harlem Hitparade, compilation

I like doo wop or old-school rhythm and blues, whatever you call it, so there will be more. Rockin’ Robin has lyrics that simulate birds’ chirping—tweedle-lee-dee-dee-dee, twiddle-dee dee dee. I remember the song from my childhood, but I could never get those lyrics right. That pretty little raven at the bird bandstand taught him how to do the bop—I didn’t understand that line. For years I wondered why the robin had to compete with the buzzard and the oriole; today I decided that they didn’t symbolize anything, it was just to fit the meter. Love Potion No. 9, sorry to say, was done better by the Searchers than the Clovers. Muddy Waters had songs about love charms—this one is an innocent tale. The YouTube version refers to going back for No. 10. Hey Little School Girl is a frequent theme in r and b. ‘Pretty little girl walking down the street/you look so fine, look so neat/Hey little girl will you be mine/I wanna love you all the time’—when the Paragons sing it, it isn’t the least bit salacious. Something I didn’t know—the song is on Herb Alpert’s album with the cover featuring a young woman wearing nothing apparent except whipped cream.

Red Octopus, Jefferson Starship, Grunt, 1975

I wanted to get to this for Valentine’s Day. Miracles is a wonderful love song—I don’t have any doubts despite the ‘if only’ construction for getting by. It means that’s all we need: believe in ourselves and each other. That’s easy enough. It is about the same in Tumblin’—Don’t be blue/I’ll stand by you/and we’ll get that feeling. Ai Garimasu (more or less There is Love in Japanese) says because you gave me your love, I know exactly who to call. Sweeter Than Honey contains ‘warm as a piece of the sun, softer than starlight’ as well as ‘you’re the best thing I’ve ever had.’ There Will Be Love is a bold declaration: Even when I close my eyes, all I see is you. (I am an old softie, and even I think that is sappy.) Play on Love asks the listener to put the books down and live love; I think Grace Slick took that from Catullus, a great source. It’s up to you and up to me/Come down yelling ‘Timber!’ through the burning trees—that is as high energy and as chaotic as rock and roll.

There’s a good saxophone break in Miracles and two decent instrumental songs, one of which is named for an archangel who has his feet on the ground and his head in heaven (thanks, Wikipedia).

Chuck (Berry) and Friends, Brookville Records, 1974

The album cover says Brookville; the record labels say Aristocrat. It’s a three-record set. Record 1 has 13 of Berry’s hits, including his only #1 song in the U.S., My Ding-a-Ling, as well as the first Chuck Berry tune I ever heard, Roll Over Beethoven. (Even Wikipedia omits the comma before the name of a person being addressed. My mother would be sad.) A Cleveland radio station had a battle of the bands in late 1963 (as I recall). One of the songs they played by the Beatles was Roll Over Beethoven. The Beatles lost. They were not a good Chuck Berry cover band.

Chuck Berry deeply understood teenage anxiety and driving with no particular place to go. Carol, Maybelline, and Little Queenie, to name a few, are immortal. How could it be that Berry’s biggest hit was a novelty song about masturbation? My modest conspiracy theory is based on Watergate. June 17, 1972, was the night of the bungled break-in at the Democratic National Committee office. The story didn’t go away. And so the cover-up crew in the White House got involved. They wanted to distract the media with an outrageous story that would create controversy. The song was released in July and it made #1 in October. That didn’t seem to help Nixon any, but the news coverage—people wanted it banned!—must have helped sales.

Dick Clark, 20 Years of Rock ‘n’ Roll (compilation), Buddah Records, 1973

This was a chance for Buddah to get some more mileage from their backlist and for Clark to put another cog in his humongous media machine. He started producing the Rockin’ New Year’s Eve and kicked off the $10,000 Pyramid at about the same time.

The songs on this record from 1964 to 1972

Shangri-Las Leader of the Pack

Sam the Sham & the Pharoahs Wooly Bully

Righteous Brothers You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling

McCoys Hang On Sloopy

Lovin’ Spoonful Do You Believe in Magic

Young Rascals Good Lovin’

Van Morrison Brown-Eyed Girl

Otis Redding Dock of the Bay

Tommy James Crimson & Clover

Edwin Hawkins Oh Happy Day

Melanie Candles in the Rain

Curtis Mayfield Super Fly

Al Green So You’re Leaving

It was a great time to be a teenager.

Neil Young with Crazy Horse, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, Reprise Records, 1969

I’ve enjoyed Neil Young’s music since his Buffalo Springfield days (Mr. Soul, for example), but I was shocked to see that this record was platinum and on various lists of best LPs. I wonder if folks confused it with After the Gold Rush, which is really good. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere is insipid. A Chicago DJ mocked Cinnamon Girl with ‘I want to live with a Kennedy girl.’ It’s a bad sign when I remember a parody I heard once nearly 50 years ago as clearly as a song I played a hundred times.

Down by the River (nine minutes of forgettable guitar work) includes some regrettable shooting-one’s-baby imagery from Hey Joe and Four in the Morning. Wikipedia quotes Young saying we shouldn’t be so literal. ‘It’s a desperation cry.’ I guess. The song Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere offered me some relief as a college student with too much to do racing the other rats with its description of life where it is cool and breezy. Turns out it was about how show business—being a rock star!—is mostly day-to-day running around. Cowgirl in the Sand uses ‘change your name’ to mean get married, a phrase that seemed dated to me then.

Wayne Kramer died

I’m disappointed it isn’t being covered more. He was co-lead guitar player for the MC5. If you were a fan of fast loud guitars in the Midwest in 1969, he was a giant. The band was founded on the principles of revolutionary politics and drug use; it broke up (the write-ups frequently say ‘shattered’) in 1972. Kramer became, in his words, a small-time Detroit criminal. He went to prison in 1975, and I lost track of him.

Turns out his is an inspiring story of redemption. In prison Red Rodney, who played with Charlie Parker, took Kramer aside, teaching him about music and how to straighten up. When Kramer was released, he worked with dozens of punk bands live and in the studio. His obituary said he played with Was (Not Was)—I’d never heard that. I’ll get to that when I play their four records from my collection. He played a concert at Sing Sing. He was involved in antiwar protests. He founded and led Jail Guitar Doors, a charity bringing instruments and instruction to help rehabilitate prisoners. Rest in peace, Wayne.

Here’s my favorite, Ramblin’ Rose. It ain’t Nat King Cole.

Sonny Boy Williamson, More Real Folk Blues, Chess, 1966

Close to Me is such a good love song I wanted to run this before Valentine’s Day. How close did Sonny Boy want to get? Like white on rice, like spots on dice, like water to wet, cold is to ice, fire is to smoke, like Chinese (now conjoined) twins, and (ugh) hair on sheep. My father was never so eloquent as when he described hating sheep shearing. Moon Dance is the best song to play on a first date, but if you should ever find someone who warms up to ‘white on rice,’ never let them go.

The album also has Decoration Day, which Wikipedia stiffly says is the former name for Memorial Day. My grandfather was born around 1900, and that’s what he always called it as we drove to the cemetery to put irises on loved ones’ graves. More history shows up in Trying to Get Back on My Feet. The lyrics are If I ever get my hand on a dollar again, I’ma hold it, hold it, hold it till the eagle grin. The date for the writing of that song is 1963, but Peace dollars were in wide circulation in the 1920s and ‘30s; that’s when people were familiar the large bald eagle on the back of the coin. Plus, the idea that a dollar was very hard to get hold of would have been from the Great Depression in the 1930s.