The record is, tongue in cheek, Fripp’s most “commercial” offering and it begins with his comments to that effect. Just to show how “commercial” it was, Daryl Hall’s management and record label (RCA) refused to allow Hall’s voice to appear on several songs (in part) for fear of Exposure‘s lack of commercial appeal (on which see the Allmusic article here). I should say that a Fripp-infused Daryl Hall is a Daryl Hall I can listen too, and I’ll be looking for that Fripp-produced album this week.

Several things stand out from my repeated exposures to Fripp’s album in the past few days. The main thing is the way in which the entire album is united by theme, namely exposure to suffering. Interspersed throughout the album’s lyrics or spoken samples are either painful expressions of the inevitability of human suffering (as in Buddhism) or dire warnings of more suffering to come (as in the apocalypse of ancient Judaism or Christianity). This is done in an intriguing way both lyrically and musically.

There’s “You burn me up, I’m a cigarette” with a very down-to-earth expression of suffering in terms of relationships, “Exposure” with its terrifying screams, and Gabriel’s “Here comes the flood” with its apocalyptic warnings of the coming end (on flood imagery and ancient apocalypticism, go here; on Dylan’s use of similar flood imagery, go here). Spoken samples are also built into the songs, as when a scientist speaks of the coming of catastrophic floods in the near future and when someone (a follower of the Buddha?) speaks of the inevitability of suffering, at least in this world.

Perhaps most astounding is the way in which the music itself takes you on a roller-coaster ride that involves the listener in suffering and relief from suffering. The album runs the gamut of genres, from experimental new wave and heavy-metal to soothing ballads and ambient music (reminiscent of Fripp’s ambient work with Brian Eno — I’ll have to post on that soon, since I also managed to find a copy of the LP No Pussyfooting). Quite often, you are moved from harsh and jarring sounds in one track, to a soothing aural experience in the next. The heavy-metal style vocals of Peter Hammil are juxtaposed with the soothing R&B voice of Daryl Hall or the gentle (Joni-Mitchell like) vocals of Terre Roche on some tracks. Yet Roche’s screams of “exposure” found on the title track are both impossible to listen to and impossible to abandon, despite the torture. And one could not ask for a more calm and emotive performance of Peter Gabriel’s “Here comes the flood”, which is stripped of the somewhat over-produced sounds on Gabriel’s debut album and replaced with Gabriel and his piano along with the subtle guitar loops of Frippertronics. Also interspersed throughout are ambient songs which likewise use the Frippertronics tape-loop experimentation begun on Fripp and Eno’s No Pussyfooting.

This is one form of suffering I would recommend.

UPDATE: It seems that the vocal samples involving a scientist’s predictions of the coming flood and the quotation regarding the inevitability of suffering are both by John G. Bennett, a British scientist who combined his scientific views with Eastern religious ideas. Interesting combination.  He started up his own school to teach such things.

Bill Bruford, who is best known as the drummer of Yes in the early years and then of King Crimson (on which see my post here), comments on his involvement with Genesis once Phil Collins became lead singer in 1976 (after the departure of Gabriel, on which see my earlier post on Trick of the Tail). Bruford became Genesis’ drummer for the 1976 tour. Seeing that Bruford was, at one point, a member of all three of the most well-known progressive rock bands, it is interesting and somewhat humorous to hear his perspective.

First of all, he comments on how Genesis was viewed in the early days:

I think everybody in Yes and King Crimson thought that Genesis would never make it because they sounded like a combination of the two groups. We thought they might be too late — we’d been there and done it. We saw them along the lines of ‘Genesis are quite fun, but they’ve got a guitarist who sits down like Robert Fripp and a drummer who plays a bit like Bill; the Americans have already had that’. . . (p. 198)

Bruford also comments on the overall atmosphere of each of the three bands in connection with his own less orchestrated style:

I like to wing it a bit on stage, but Genesis were very, very precise. I’m much more accustomed to making it up as I’m going along. . . I’d learnt the tunes from the albums, and if it felt a little different from what Phil would have done, people would look at me and say, ‘Hey, Bill, could you make it sound a bit more like the record?’. . . [N]ot being much of the session type, I didn’t do terribly well at just delivering the parts. In fact, what finally drove me out of rock n’ roll was the repetition. That’s what had separated me from Yes. Why I had found King Crimson so attractive was because they were way more open: ‘Surprise us, go ahead, let’s improvise, terrific.’. . . (p. 198).

The mood in Genesis was such a contrast to the chaos of Yes, where nobody could agree what day of the week it was . . . How we in Yes ever got anything done, I still don’t know (p. 199).

Anyone who has heard an album like King Crimson’s 21st Century Schizoid Man knows what Bruford means by improvisation.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Motown and related (R&B, Soul, Funk) since getting back into vinyl, including the likes of Al Green, Supremes, Roberta Flack, Stevie Wonder, and others. Marvin Gaye has been one of the highlights. The three-disc Anthology gives a great overview of his contributions, including his performance of “I heard it through the grapevine” (1968) , which is definitely a strong point in his repertoire. (The song was also done by Gladys Knight and the Pips the year before.)

What I had forgotten about was perhaps the rockinest (to use my five year old son’s vocabulary) and longest (11 minutes) version of this tune, which, in my opinion, may top any version of the tune. I am referring to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s southern-blues-rock-soaked rendition of 1970 (on the album Cosmo’s Factory).

From the slow-moving bass lines and staccato drumming that initiate the tune to the ever-interesting, rough vocal treatment by John Fogerty and the fine guitar solos, this version keeps my musical interest throughout. The rhythmic interplay of the two basses together with the slow-train-coming beat of the refrain create a trance-like experience in listening to this tune (it helps that it’s 11 minutes long). The final guitar solo that accompanies this swamp blues onslaught brings the whole thing to a perfect culmination, in my opinion.

I am really beginning to appreciate CCR, despite the fact that I might have thought of their music as southern, “old-people” music at one point. Maybe this is because I am an “old person” (read: over 30) now.

For an excellent site about Creedence Clearwater Revival, including discography, lyrics, and guitar riffs, go here. Wikipedia also has some information here. The cover up and to your left is the cover of Bayou Country (1969), which has some other CCR classics including “Bayou country”, “Good golly Miss Molly”, and “Proud Mary”. That one happens to be my favourite of their albums.

Roberta Flack is perhaps best known for her influential performance of the song “Killing me softly with his song” back in 1973, recently re-covered by the Fugees (if 1997 is “recent” to anyone else). Flack’s early work, before the years of disco set in and had their deleterious affect, is particularly impressive in terms of her vocal performance and the overall emotional effect of the music. The music really captures you and brings you along for a ride. Flack injects new life into the songs she covers. (Flack herself did not write the music or lyrics, in the early days at least).

I recently picked up her second album, appropriately called Second Chapter (© 1970 Atlantic). And, no, I did not listen to it when I was one year old — but I do now! Flack’s warm, welcoming voice is a pleasure to listen to, and the jazz-soul instrumentation is excellently performed and produced on this album (in other words, the tasteful and understated cover of the album is indicative of the quality overall). Her version of Bob Dylan’s “Just like a woman” is a nice change from the original, as much as I appreciate Dylan.

The song you are listening to now is definitely the outstanding performance on the album, however. “Reverend Lee” was originally written and performed by Gene McDaniel’s in the early 1970s (read a story about him on the Wire). But Flack’s version makes all the difference!

This song tells the tale of a southern pastor struggling with lustful thoughts (in a dream) and, ultimately at least, winning the battle. Here lust is personified as a young woman, “Satan’s daughter”. The association of women with Satan and notions of the woman as temptress unfortunately have a long history in western civilization, which you can read a bit about here (including a reference to Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused”).
Here are some of the lyrics from “Reverend Lee”:

Reverend Lee, he went to the water
And he prayed to the Lord about old Satan’s daughter
It seems in a dream, child, while he lay sleepin’
She climbed in his bed, starts rubbing and weepin’
Oh, she was twistin’ and turnin’
She was beggin’ and pleadin’
lovin’ and burnin’, pantin’ and breathin’, haah haah
. . .
Reverend Lee, he lifted his arms high
Said, “Heavenly father, take me home to the sky.”
He said, “Lord please don’t test me, not down where she touched me.”
“Oh, my mind is so hazy, Lord, my body is hungry”, oh yeah.
God rolled the thunder, then hurled the lightnin’.
He seemed to be angry, oh, so it was frightenin’.
Thunder grew louder, louder, darkened conditions
Just then a voice said, “God cannot be petitioned.”
Just then the devil emerged from the water, and he said in a dry voice,
“Your God will not barter.”
Reverend Lee ran screamin’ from the water
He was hotly pursued by old Satan’s daughter
“Reverend Lee”, she said. “Reverend Lee, Reverend Lee . . . oh do it to me”.
“Reverend Lee do it to me” (by Eugene McDaniels; Longport, BMI).

Wikipedia has a useful article on Flack, along with a full discography. Roberta Flack has her own official website here.

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I have been a fan of Genesis for some years. Just now memories are coming back of earlier days, when I was 13 (1982-83), listening to Genesis on 103 PhD, coming out of Buffalo (for many years when someone referred to a “PhD”, I thought of that station, not some degree that an academic nut might get). That station had weekend “supersets” of three or more songs for each band played and I sat eagerly waiting to record the next set if a favourite came on (Yes, The Police, Pink Floyd, The Band, Foreigner, Led Zep, and others I still listen to were regulars on that station). Thank goodness my older brother, Stephen, had a half-decent stereo in our shared room (but he was beginning to get into Opera of all things!).

Still, in recent years my Genesis fixation had been primarily on the years when Peter Gabriel was lead-singer (the “true” Genesis as some say). There is a sense in which I too began to think of the Gabriel years as Eden and the post-Gabriel years as the Fall along with some others who preferred Gabriel (Gabriel wrote the majority of the lyrics during his time). Selling England by the Pound (1973) is perhaps my favourite among the Gabriel-Genesis albums, and still remains so.

But my views are changing somewhat now that I have been listening more often to later Genesis albums on vinyl (I’ve got just about all of them now, both good and not-so-good). In particular, the two albums immediately following Gabriel’s departure, which were both released in 1976, are consistently impressive and yet distinctive from one another. This is quite a feat considering that they were produced so closely together right after the departure of their lead singer. Both precede the shift from progressive rock to a more pop-based sound that emerged as the band went into the 1980s (the true “Fall”, if you want to put it that way). Memories of the progressive rock days begin to fade following Duke (1980).

Listen while you read: “Entangled” (audio snippet)

The first post Gabriel album, A Trick of the Tail (© 1976 Atlantic Recording Corporation; Atco SD 36-129), is cohesive and alive! The majority of the tracks are co-written by Rutherford, Banks and Hackett, but Collins is also included as co-composer of two pieces. The heavy, opening prelude that you listened to at the beginning of this post (“Dance on a volcano”) sets the stage for recurring themes that echo throughout the rest of the album and come to completion in the postlude (“Los endos”). The complicated time changes and dramatic movement (as well as some good, heavy drumming) in that opening track find echoes throughout the rest of the album in interesting variations.

Magically, the drummer, Phil Collins, who had no intentions of being the main vocalist, managed to take on the role of lead singer, seemingly without a glitch. At the same time there is not a high likelihood of confusing him with the unique vocal stylings of Gabriel (my wife gets them mixed up nonetheless). Collins may well hit the notes more accurately and cleanly, but Gabriel’s vocals had an unidentifiable mystery to them which few can capture. (For the interesting story about how Collins ended up in this role, see the Wikipedia article). Alongside the heavier tunes are rather calm and medieval sounding tracks, such as “Entangled”, which are reminscient of some more acoustic sounding songs on earlier albums. Overall, this blend of heavy and not-so-heavy provides an even balance for the album as a whole. The lyrics, too, keep things interesting as they return to the sort of fairy tale world of adventures with a medieval spin.

In many ways, the follow-up of the same year, Wind and Wuthering comes across as a darker, more moody, album in terms of both its sound and its lyrics. Still, it is also very impressive when it comes to the band’s overall performance and the intricacies of the music. Both of these albums are among the high-points of progressive rock, which was soon to fall out of vogue. Phil Collins ain’t so bad after all–if you can forgive him “Against all odds” and such (I kid: even “Against all odds” and “Sussudio” have a charm of sorts, at least for someone who grew up in the 1980s, such as myself).

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With Bruce Springsteen’s new studio album (Magic) due out on October 2nd, what better time is there to post on the boss’s songwriting (official Springsteen website).

I am a relatively new fan of Springsteen. This shift was thanks, in part, to my friend Dan. Dan and a few others of us were sharing a few beers at an academic conference about six years ago when the Manfred Mann’s Earth Band version of “Blinded by the light” came on (you know, the version you always hear). Dan stated (perhaps bet his life) that the tune was written by Springsteen and a debate ensued (I didn’t doubt Dan’s clear answer of Springsteen as much as some others did). This inspired me to look into Springsteen further. Sure, I had heard all of the “hits” from Born in the USA — I was fifteen in 1984, after all — and had since become familiar with some of the earlier tunes (Springsteen’s version of “War . . . what is it good for?” was a favourite of mine: my five year old son now breaks into that song out of the blue sometimes–a pacifist’s dream come true). But I did not yet have a full appreciation for Springsteen’s music and, especially, his writing.

That changed quickly once I started listening. I first picked up Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. (1973, © Columbia Records) and was quickly hooked. Little did I know that one of my favourite Bowie tunes, “It’s hard to be a saint in the city” was also on this first of Springsteen’s albums (along with “Blinded by the light”).

The thing that struck me most about the album was the raw and direct way in which Springsteen’s writing and performance draws me into the life situation of the “fictional” characters in his songs. In a realistic way, Springsteen can sketch out (or take on the persona of) a dozen or more characters or life-situations on an album (or sometimes in a song). His performance further brings out the emotions and, often, tragic experience of these characters. His ability to take on a persona and express that person’s life circumstances is impressive, even if this sometimes happens at lightning speed in terms of the lyrics.

“Lost in the Flood” is one of those fast-paced character sketches that nonetheless really pulled me in (something, but not all, is lost without hearing the entire performance by Springsteen himself, of course–do listen to the little clip, though):

That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced
races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy stock super eight
He rides ‘er low on the hip, on the side he’s got Bound For Glory in red, white and blue flash paint
He leans on the hood telling racing stories, the kids call him Jimmy The Saint
Well the blaze and noise boy, he’s gunnin’ that bitch loaded to blastin’ point
He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point
And there’s nothin’ left but some blood where the body fell
That is, nothin’ left that you could sell
just junk all across the horizon, a real highwayman’s farewell
And he said “Hey kid, you think that’s oil? Man, that ain’t oil that’s blood”
I wonder what he was thinking when he hit that storm
Or was he just lost in the flood?

Eighth Avenue sailors in satin shirts whisper in the air
Some storefront incarnation of Maria, she’s puttin’ on me the stare
and Bronx’s best apostle stands with his hand on his own hardware
Everything stops, you hear five, quick shots, the cops come up for air
And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they’re shootin’ up the street
And that cat from the Bronx starts lettin’ loose
but he gets blown right off his feet
And some kid comes blastin’ round the corner but a cop puts him right away
He lays on the street holding his leg screaming something in Spanish
Still breathing when I walked away
And somebody said “Hey man did you see that? His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud”
I wonder what the dude was sayin’ or was he just lost in the flood?
Hey man, did you see that, those poor cats are sure messed up
I wonder what they were gettin’ into, or were they just lost in the flood?

(© Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP) / Columbia Records)

These impressionistic descriptions go well beyond the individual characters to evoke images of an entire setting. I begin to have a feel for some real-life setting from these impressions and I wince when Springsteen utters the unfeeling statements of on-lookers (“that ain’t oil that’s blood”, “His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud”).

I soon went out and bought more CDs but I was more fond of the acoustic ones at first (Nebraska [1982] and Ghost of Tom Joad [1995]), where these character sketches were not comprimised, so to speak, by a band. Even with a band, I did find his memorial album to 9/11 victims, The Rising (2002) particularly evocative in terms of the many different perspectives it takes on this renowned event. His more recent Devils and Dust (2005) was a welcomed return to the more folky and evocative side of Springsteen.

Since I’ve been into vinyl, I’ve been keeping a hawk-eye out for more Springsteen. Born in the USA albums are a dime a dozen, so I had no trouble there. However, I was especially pleased to find a mint copy of the ground-breaking Born to Run (1975), which I will post on soon.

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I was browsing through the overload bins at the local record store and came across an intriguing cover with a lone, long-haired guitarist amidst a sea of dried mud. This image caught my attention and I began to wonder whether it was worth spending the .10 to experiment with this one–of course it was!

Shawn Phillips, who to me was an unknown when I picked up the album, was a platinum selling artist with this album in 1970. After looking him up on google, I now see that he continues to produce records alongside his full-time career as a fireman (Wikipedia article here, official website here). Phillips grew frustrated with record companies in the early 70s and decided to do something else with the majority of his time, despite his clear musical talent. The Wikipedia article also notes that he was originally cast as the main lead in Jesus Christ Superstar, but could not fill this role due to touring at the time.

Second Contribution (©1970 Dick James Music Limited) is a very well structured and performed piece, blending a variety of genres of music from basic folk to rock, blues and a little bit of jazz. There is a sense in which one could choose to categorize it as “progressive rock”. Phillip’s vocal range is also notable.

The opening piece (“She was waitin’ for her mother at the station in Torino and you know I love you baby but it’s getting too heavy to laugh“–his song titles can go on) which blends into the second (“Keep on”) illustrates the more full-blown blend of folk rock and orchestral arrangements that characterize a couple of tracks on the album. But I do not find this overdone. There is still a good balance in the music and we do not hear the “wall of sound” that was characteristic of Spector’s orchestral overdubs, for instance. The song builds in a slow yet sure way to its climax when it promptly transitions to the next track (when “Mama, I’m coming home” begins–here I have faded out the song shortly after this transition).

Listen while you read: The ballad of Casey Deiss (audio snippet)

There are also very subtle folk pieces such as “The ballad of Casey Deiss” which incorporates a progression of instruments, one by one (flute, bass, cello, vibraphone–it seems), alongside Phillips and his acoustic guitar. There is an overall calming, medieval atmosphere to the piece and Phillips’ vocals are permitted to stand out. Other pieces on the album further confirm Phillip’s creativity and musical intuition. The album as a whole, with its tracks blending together, has a coherency that is not often found in albums today, notwithstanding the likes of Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible.

I highly recommend this forgotten (to me at least) album.

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The times they are a changin’ endin’: Bob Dylan’s apocalypse

Satanic conspiracies of the 1970s and 1980s (dealing with the supposed and real cases of back-masking)

“Me and the Devil Blues”: Robert Johnson and the crossroads

Pink Floyd, Pompeii, and the Mysteries of Dionysos

Ok, I’ll admit it: I’m biased and the winner is a foregone conclusion. Through the luck of the draw, I recently ended up with two jazz guitar records from the same year (the first for ¢.10 and the other for a mere buck–both in excellent condition with almost no unwanted ticks or crackle).

In one corner (I know I’m mixing fighting metaphors but you get the idea) is George Benson with his album Breezin’ (1976, © Warner Bros. Records Inc.). In terms of Jazz guitar (of the easy listening brand) Benson is perhaps best known for the title track “Breezin‘” . His success with this and other tunes on this album made his crossover to R & B quite smooth and his albums increasingly included lyrics with Benson singing (see the wiki article here).

I don’t think any guitarist familiar with jazz would doubt Benson’s skill and consistency in playing, but this album is definitely heavily marked by its time and the string arrangements seem out of place. It brings me back to childhood in some dentist’s or doctor’s waiting room, in some ways, and you might even suspect you are in an elevator as it now plays. It does have some funky charm, however. In my opinion, Benson will not win this duel.

Listen while your read: “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat” (audio snippet)

In the other corner is Jeff Beck with his Jazz fusion album Wired (1976, © CBS Inc.). As a rock guitarist, Jeff Beck has a good pedigree, one could say (official Jeff Beck website). When Eric Clapton left the Yardbirds, Jeff Beck took the position and he was soon joined by Jimmy Page (of Led Zeppelin fame) (see the Rollingstone Yardbirds biography and discography here). The Yardbirds’ music can be considered a sort of psychedelic form of R & B. Beck had difficulty getting along with others in the band and was soon onto his solo career.

Beck primarily went the instrumental root and Wired was his second solo album. As a Jazz fusion album, this one rocks and the range of Beck’s guitar playing is outstanding. Among the calmer tunes is Beck’s excellent cover of Charles Mingus’ “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat“. The range of sounds that Beck can produce with a guitar are particularly noticeable here. The groove is definitely there as well.

Beck’s Wired will definitely remain a staple in my listening while Breezin’ may not (I haven’t taken the time to remove any ticks from Benson’s track as you’ll notice, which is a hint).

Who do you think wins the duel? Post a comment (top of entry) and let me know.

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Phil Spector’s influence on rock n’ roll cannot be underestimated. His production of several Beatles albums ensured this. Spector‘s style of production (by the mid-late 1960s) with heavy reverberation and very full orchestral arrangements mixed with the original performances and overdubs has sometimes been known as the “wall of sound”. Spector tunes also look like a wall when you see a wave file.

George Harrison’s “Beware of darkness” is a good case in point, since it is available in both fully Spectorized, “wall of sound” form and in more basic, quick run-through form on the CD re-release of 2001. I have mixed feelings about the “wall of sound” approach as my recent re-listen to All Things Must Pass (1970; CD remaster 2001; © Apple/EMI) reminded me.

On the one hand, you are overwhelmed by the fullness of the music and somewhat complicated instrumentation in the Spectorized versions, even if “Beware of darkness” is among the more modestly produced tracks. On the other, you start to yearn for a moment of hesitation or quiet in the music. I like french horns and orchestral arrangements as much as the next guy, but where is Harrison and his guitar? Where is the lyrical and melodic clarity.

Listen while you read: Beware of Darkness (basic) (audio snippet)

Thanks to the CD re-release you do get a taste of what “Beware of darkness” actually is. The more basic version — basic in a good sense, I would say — draws more attention to the emotion in the lyrics and Harrison stands out more fully. You still have the sense of a dramatic build in the song nonetheless. If you get a chance, pick up All Things Must Pass, which is excellent regardless of your view on what Spector did with Harrison’s great performance and writing.

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