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Album Review: Blue Öyster Cult — Imaginos

Friday, May 17th, 2013

Imaginos has a tortured history. The eleventh studio album released by Blue Öyster Cult (they had by this time released no less than three live albums), Imaginos was comprised of material that had been around for quite some time. Way back in the 1960s when most of the band were together in an outfit called Stalk-Forrest Group, they recorded the original version “Gil Blanco County,” one of the better tunes in this set. And “Astronomy” (yet another Imaginos highlight) first appeared on 1974′s BÖC album Secret Treaties.

But drummer Albert Bouchard – working with BÖC’s sometime producer Sandy Pearlman – had a project of his own gestating in the background for years called Imaginos, and these two aforementioned songs somehow fit into the narrative, a story that is (maybe) about a Zelig-like character who pops up at notable events throughout history. (The Imaginos story line is both thin and impenetrable; just enjoy the music.) In fact Bouchard cut demos of the entire project (plus a couple songs that didn’t make it onto the finished album) sometime in the early-to-mid 1980s.

After toiling as a very successful live act who didn’t do quite as well with album sales, BÖC had hit the big time with 1981′s Fire of Unknown Origin, with its hits “Burnin’ for you” and the much-loved deep cut “Joan Crawford.” But in many ways Fire of Unknown Origin was a last gasp: it was followed by the band’s third live album in seven years (Extraterrestrial Live) and two desultory albums (1983′s The Revolution by Night and 1986′s Club Ninja), both of which found the personnel thinning out. By Club Ninja, only three of the band’s core members remained (vocalist Eric Bloom, bassist Joe Bouchard and Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser).

So in a let’s-get-the-band-back-together effort worthy of This is Spinal Tap‘s third reel, producer Pearlman and departed drummer Albert Bouchard enlisted the aid of the three remaining members plus returning keyboard player Allen Lanier. But buy the time of the official Imaginos sessions, much of the work had been done. As a result, the credits for the 1988 album read like a who’s who of 80s sessioners: bassist Kenny Aaronson, keyboardist Tommy Zvoncheck, ace guitarist Joe Satriani, and several others. In fact The Doors‘ Robbie Krieger lends lead guitar to two tracks, “Blue Öyster Cult” and “Magna of Illusion.” So in some ways, though Imaginos is presented and positioned as a BÖC album (and sounds like one), in a sense it’s more of a Bouchard solo outing with help from his friends. In fact, the finished tracks – with the exception of the vocals – sound quite a lot like the unreleased demo tape that circulates among collectors (cough, cough). With the exception of some incidental music done for a film soundtrack, Imaginos would be the last BÖC album of new (sic) material for a decade; 1998′s Heaven Forbid features three of the core members, but neither of the Bouchard brothers; neither would return.

Better than its convoluted history might lead you to expect, Imaginos doesn’t have the hooky staying power of the band’s prime-era material, but it’s a worthwhile outing, one that has gone largely unheard in the years since its release. Reaching only #122 on the Billboard charts at the time of its release, the album deserved better. The 2013 reissue of Imaginos on Real Gone Music presents the original album (no bonus tracks) plus a helpful essay by Scott Schinder. Tastes were changing by the late 1980s, and BÖC’s brand of intelligent, hooky, smart-ass metal was (briefly) falling out of commercial favor. But removed from the context of its time and considered on its own musical merits, it’s sure to please those who enjoy the band’s more well-known material.

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Album Review: Ant-Bee — Pure Electric Honey

Monday, May 6th, 2013

Though it far too often is the case, avant garde music need not be chilly and foreboding. Sometimes it can be warm and inviting, while still maintaining its outré, weird-and-wonderful characteristics. That’s the case with Pure Electric Honey, the 1988 debut album from Ant-Bee, reissued on CD in 2013.

Pure Electric Honey certainly bears few sonic hallmarks of the late 1980s. Some sonic touchstones include Frank Zappa‘s late-sixties music; the legendary SMiLE sessions from Brian Wilson; and (relatively) more modern artists such as The Residents and – most notably, I think – Elephant 6 Collective artists Olivia Tremor Control. Now, Ant-Bee (essentially Billy James and a large cast of other musicians) recorded Pure Electric Honey long before OTC cut their debut long player Music From the Unrealized Film Script, Dusk at Cubist Castle, but the two acts are clearly kindred spirits, even if they arrive at sonically related destinations via different pathways.

The willfully playful and obscure liner notes on the 2013 reissue of Pure Electric Honey offer little in the way of actual information about the genesis of these recordings. What little we know is gained through listening to the music itself. From the opener (“Intro”), it’s clear that Ant-Bee is concocting a sonic stew that mixes equal parts Beach Boys “Our Prayer” with the studio trickery of inside-the-piano found sounds of Lumpy Gravy.

But while “My Cat” might initially feature backwards tapes of a bagpipe, with ghostly vocals smeared atop them, when the song launches into its “rock” section, the result is closer to a pop reinvention of The Residents, with a bit of spooky Third-era Big Star thrown in. Later in the track, gonzo/atonal guitar work takes center stage. The thrilling “Evolution #7” is reminiscent of some of the more musically exciting parts of The Who‘s Tommy, with bonus of some snappy electric sitar and dollops of creamy vocal overdubs.

Beats fade in and out of the mix. Though James is primarily a drummer/percussionist, the tracks on Pure Electric Honey are by no means drum-centric. Using the studio as an instrument, James’ cut-up approach sounds like the result of recording many sessions, cutting the fruits of those sessions into into very small bite-size chunks, tossing them on the floor, and then carefully reassembling them into something entirely different. But that assembly is by no means haphazard; the dream-like texture of Pure Electric Honey is carefully arrived at by its creator.

During “Black and White Cat, Black & White Cake,” a snippet of a straight-ahead pop song fades in briefly. But then it’s gone, leaving behind a murky, echo-laden slab of musique concrète. And so it goes throughout Pure Electric Honey. Those looking for a toe-tapping good time are urged to look away from this record: it won’t please you. But those who appreciate the unusual – especially the sort of unusual that is pop-based and not at all pretentious – are strongly nudged in the direction of Pure Electric Honey.

Garage/psych enthusiasts might be surprised to learn that the original (vinyl) release of this album was on Greg Shaw‘s VOXX label. The sounds on Pure Electric Honey might at first blush seem to be outside Shaw’s area of interest, but a clear love (and understanding) of the sweet spot at which psychedelia, pop and the avant garde all intersect is a hallmark of this album. In that light it’s less surprising that Shaw would have appreciated it.

Oh: I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention this as well. If you investigate Pure Electric Honey and wish to delve further into its brand of madness, I would also recommend a much later Ant-Bee work called Electronic Church Muzik. It features a number of “name” artists assisting James in his bizarre musical goals, but it’s even more out-there than the Ant-Bee debut.

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Album Review: Captain Beyond — Live in Texas: October 6, 1973

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

Way back in my high school days, I developed an abiding interest that developed into a lifelong hobby. Though these days its intensity level is much lower than, say, a decade ago, my fascination with bootleg recordings remains. I have long believed that bootlegs, or ROIOs (recordings of illegitimate / indeterminate origin) can and often do provide a unique window into understanding of the work of an artist. With the filter of what-should-come-out removed, the listener gets to hear the artist at his or her most raw and direct. Setting aside studio bootlegs (a fascinating category all its own), live bootlegs – free from post-production sweetening – can show us how the act actually sounded onstage.

Live sound reinforcement was none too subtle in the 1970s; there were pretty much two settings: OFF and LOUD. Clearly the latter was the one most often chosen. And as rock’s audience grew, it meant that (unlike today) one rarely got to see their favorite band onstage in a venue designed for music. No, sports arenas and big ol’ open outdoor spaces were the venue of choice in those days. So sound quality wasn’t all that splendid to start with.

Add to that the fact that mobile recording equipment (the amateur kind, not the Rolling Stones Mobile Truck kind) was not very sophisticated, and those who wished to sneak recorders into shows often had to be very inventive.

The result of all this is that bootlegs of the 1970s are rarely in what modern day listeners would call excellent fidelity. But their historical value often trumps that, at least for bootleg aficionados such as this writer. We’d much rather have that warts-and-all live tape of The Paul Butterfield Blues Band onstage in 1966 at a coffeehouse in Boston than not have it at all. Especially when it comes to lesser-known and/or semi-forgotten rock acts, bootlegs are a rare chance to learn more about an act we didn’t know all that much about to begin with.

Captain Beyond is the kind of act that falls into this category. A supergroup-of-sorts, the band was formed by veterans of other well-known acts. Singer Rod Evans had been in Deep Purple during their “Hush” era. Bobby Caldwell had played drums with Johnny Winter, and briefly with Keith Relf‘s post-Yardbirds outfit Armageddon. And guitarist Larry “Rhino” Reinhardt and bassist Lee Dorman had been in Iron Butterfly, though only the bassist had been on board when they cut “In-a-Gadda-da-Vida.”

Signed to Capricorn Records, Captain Beyond was (for that reason and/or others) not destined for the big time. But their mix of vaguely progressive stylings with hard-hard rock, 70s style made a pretty exciting recipe. Their prime-era albums (a 1972 self-titled debut and 1973′s Sufficiently Breathless) are overlooked gems from the era, and make the point yet again that a lot of good music slipped by relatively unnoticed in rock’s heyday.

But now in 2013 comes a live album, Live in Texas: October 6, 1973. It’s certainly in that warts-and-all sonic quality category; the harsh, brittle and occasionally whooshy sound won’t win any engineering awards. But then, that’s not the point. Live in Texas is a rare document of a relatively unknown band, onstage at their peak, giving it all they’ve got. And for that reason alone, it’s worthwhile.

The music’s pretty good, too. And once the listener’s ears acclimate to the sound quality, it’s an entertaining listen. Like many acts of the era, Captain Beyond are introduced by a taped introduction featuring ominous, slowed-down vocals (I don’t know what he’s saying, but it sounds very important). After rocking out for a half dozen tunes, the band moves into a gentle, subtle piece in which Evans sort of reads poetry. “Pandora’s Box (It’s War)” is either pretentious, humorous, or both. It’s enjoyable in a Spinal Tap sort of way, and Reinhardt’s guitar noodling behind Evans’ emotional reading is inventive. One does wonder how the audience reacted to all this: the audio document suggest they stood in dumbstruck silence during the “reading” portion, and then roared and whistled when the cacophonous rocking part kicked in, sounding a bit like Pink Floyd‘s “A Saucerful of Secrets.”

Being that it was 1973, this probably won’t surprise you, but the live set at this Arlington TX show included tracks called “Guitar Solo” and “Drum Solo.” These are pretty much what you’d expect: technically impressive, of great interest to hardcore aficionados and/or musicians, and shamelessly overlong. And on “Guitar Solo,” Reinhardt displays his prowess with the Golden Throat, a little device that would find worldwide notoriety a few years later when stuck in into the pie hole of one Peter Frampton. But the songs from their two albums are exciting and well-played, full of that unique balance of prog and (I mean this in a good way) good old lunkheaded, unsubtle heavy rock. The show wraps up with a faithful reading of Jimi Hendrix‘s “Stone Free.”

This set has been around for awhile, as it happens. It made the rounds for years as a bootleg, of course. (Captain Beyond was opening for King Crimson, of all things, on this date.) While this 2013 release on Purple Pyramid doesn’t provide any documentation as to the recording’s lineage, our friends at Wikipedia tell us that the band has endeavored to release and/or clean up this recording for release a few times before. Adjectives used by Wikipedia contributors to describe the tape’s sound quality include “bad” and terrible.” You have been warned.

Balance that against the fact that no other live recordings – bootleg or otherwise – of Captain Beyond are known to exist, and that Reinhardt and Dorman both passed away in 2012. So it’s either this or nothing. With those caveats, it’s still a recommended listen, but you’d also do well to track down the band’s first two studio albums; one has been reissued on Purple Pyramid as well; both are quite rare on original vinyl (my preferred format) so I don’t have them yet, but have enjoyed them via Spotify.

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Album Review: Nektar – Remember the Future

Friday, April 26th, 2013

Album reissues can be funny things. Not haha-funny, but perplexing-funny. Take, for example, the case of Nektar’s breakthrough 1973 LP Remember the Future. Their most commercially successful album, it ranks among their best and was released amidst a string of creative high-water-mark albums. It reached #19 on the Billboard album charts, and is a good exemplar of what we might call second-string progressive/hard rock of the era. I say second-string not because of any aesthetic shortcomings, but rather due to the fact that Remember the Future was released into a marketplace that included The Dark Side of the Moon, Houses of the Holy and Yessongs, to name but three.

But the album is fondly remembered, and clearly numerous record-company types believe there remains a market for it: according to allmusic.com, Remember the Future has been reissued on CD by at least nine(!) different labels since the start of the 21st century. And here’s where the perplexing part comes in: as recently as 2011, a tiny boutique label called It’s About Music reissued the album as part of its The Nektar Deluxe Editions series. A two-CD set, it featured the original album (it was two vinyl-side parts of a self-titled piece) plus a two-track live run-through of the entire album. (The latter’s date and venue is left as a mystery.) A second disc, subtitled “Vivo Niteroi,” documents a live Nektar concert from 2007 (with, it should be mentioned, two members from the 70s lineup: leader/guitarist Roye Albrighton and drummer Ron Howden). The second disc doesn’t really have anything to do with the first, but it’s a nice enough performance, surveying songs from throughout the band’s long history.

Yet in 2013 – less than twenty-four months later – Remember the Future has again been reissued, this time by Purple Pyramid, a label that (delightfully) revisits all manner of those second-string 70s releases (Captain Beyond, for example). Also a 2CD set, the contents of this release are quite different. The digipak set (a much nicer packaging than the It’s About Music release) includes the original album on the first disc; there is nothing in the liner notes suggesting that it’s a new remaster or anything such as that. The undated live version is not included, giving the disc a pretty-darn-short runtime (under 36 minutes). The second disc includes some radio edits of pieces from the album-long suite (Nektar was never a “singles band,” but these might have helped get their music on the radio.) And then the second disc features a set of music dubbed The Boston Tapes. What’s slightly strange is that this material had also been reissued in 2011, appended then to another It’s About Music release, Nektar’s A Tab in the Ocean. Pairing the 1970 demos – which sound quite unlike the band’s official canon – with Tab made some sense, seeing as A Tab in the Ocean was Nektar’s official debut; combining the two into a set showed how the band altered its style rather quickly.

I’ve covered The Boston Tapes as part of my original A Tab in the Ocean review from 2011. Remember the Future is quite good as well, though not quite up to the quality level of 1972′s Journey to the Centre of the Eye. Still, for fans of long-form, suite-type heard rock with elements of progressive rock (and even a bit of funk), Remember the Future is worth seeking out. And despite the confusing flurry of re-reissues, I would direct interested parties to this latest Purple Pyramid reissue first. It’s probably the easiest to find, the packaging is nice, and though the bonus material is somewhat unrelated, it’s very good. So until the next reissue offers up something different yet again, this is the one to get.

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Album Review: Cat Mother and the All Night Newsboys — The Street Giveth…and the Street Taketh Away

Thursday, April 25th, 2013

When it comes to James Marshall Hendrix, there are any number of “fun facts,” little tidbits of trivia that may or may not add to one’s understanding of the man and his music. For example: before he became famous, he played the chitlin’ circuit. He was part of the early 60s r&b/rock scene in the Pacific Northwest. At the urging of Micky Dolenz, he opened for The Monkees on one of their concert tours. He played guitar on a Timothy Leary album, with a pick-up band that also included Stephen Stills.

Perhaps lesser known than any of those morsels is the fact that he produced an album for another act. Now, don’t get your hopes up too much: despite the fact that – as many critics have observed – Hendrix was one of the prime exponents of studio-as-instrument, his work on The Street Giveth…and the Street Taketh Away by Cat Mother and the All Night Newsboys bears little if any of Hendrix’ sonic fingerprints.

In fact there’s nothing Hendrixian about this album at all. But that should not be taken to mean that it’s not a fun ride. The band’s “Good Old Rock’n'Roll” was deservedly a hit in 1969. The song is little more than a spirited medley of early rock’n'roll chestnuts (“Blue Suede Shoes,” “Chantilly Lace,” and four others) strung together with a brief chorus about, well, good old rock’n'roll. Such was the vogue at the tsil-end of the 60s, when many heavy rock music purveyors had briefly grown weary of the heavy sounds of the psychedelic era. (The Beatles‘ Get Back project, resulting in the Let it Be album, is perhaps the most well-known back-to-basics example of the era, but music from Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Band and many others also followed that aesthetic.)

But as luck would have it, the rest of the Cat Mother album is even more interesting. “Favors” features some memorable vocal harmony work on the chorus, a driving funky beat, and stinging lead guitar work. With its Procol Harum-like organ work (and some lovely fiddle work), “Charlie’s Waltz” sounds like the work of a different band yet again. It would be an overstatement to compare Cat Mother’s approach here to The Turtles‘ classic Battle of the Bands, but the band’s versatility is on full display on The Street Giveth…

The stylistic variance continues on “How I Spent My Summer.” Here the band sounds a bit like Peanut Butter Conspiracy crossed with The Five Man Electrical Band. Accessible, tuneful and catchy, the track balances hooky riffs with a strong rock sensibility.

The sound of a scratchy record has been used to great effect by many acts, from Moby Grape (Wow‘s “Just Like Gene Autry: A Foxtrot”) to Matthew Sweet (Girlfriend), and Cat Mother got in on the game too with “Marie,” in which they evoke memories of Sopwith Camel crossed with (believe it or not) The Grateful Dead.

Some manic tack piano work forms the basis of “Probably Won’t,” a number evocative of Northern California acts such as The Charlatans. The song’s la-la-las and cha-cha vocalisms make it a spirited singalong (and the lyrics implore listeners to do just such a thing).

The slower funky-tunk approach of “Can You Dance to It?” features some appealing Wurlitzer electric piano and cowbell, sounding very much like the country-influenced rock that Moby Grape was putting out. The gentle “Bramble” sounds like the Dead with an actual singer; melancholy violin work adds some texture.

“Bad News” is dramatic and dynamic; with its Vanilla Fudge-like descending riff, it’s one of the record’s strongest tracks. A lengthy violin solo on the outro is a highlight. “Boston Burglar” combines a jugband vibe with wah-wah pedals; the effect is odd but appealing.

The record closes with a lengthy, winning organ-centric instrumental, “Track in ‘A’ (Nebraska Nights)” and it’s perhaps the most musically diverse tune on the entire record. In places it sounds a bit like The Allman Brothers. One can only think that this big finish would have left listeners of the day anxious for the follow-up record.

“Good Old Rock’n'Roll” did make the Top 40, and the album rose to #55 on the Billboard charts, but the album eventually disappeared from record shelves, and three follow-up albums for Polydor failed to match the debut’s modest chart action. Original copies can be found online, but the 2013 CD reissue from Real Gone Music will suffice for most listeners; John Platt‘s liner notes (in which he calls The Street Giveth…and the Street Taketh Away a “minor classic of the era”) give curious listeners a bit more background on this relatively unknown band. The Hendrix connection here is nothing more than trivia, but the album is successful on its own merits, Jimi or no. Ignore reviews that insist The Street Giveth… is noteworthy only for its producer. Recommended.

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Album Review: Jeremy Steig — Wayfaring Stranger

Wednesday, April 17th, 2013

In the very late 1970s – or perhaps it was the very early 80s; after so many years, I’m not entirely sure – I picked up a used copy of Lillian Roxon’s Rock Encyclopedia. I was (and remain) a voracious consumer of that kind of thing; not long after I became a rock fan, I became a fan of rock journalism. Roxon’s 1969 book was one of the first long-form serious treatments of rock music, and while it’s quite dated now, it remains an absolutely fascinating read. (Ed Naha‘s mid 70s update of the late Lillian Roxon‘s work is a disaster to be avoided, except in a compare-and-contrast sort of way.)

Roxon made a point to include a number of bubbling-under artists, including several whom (at the time of the book’s first printing) hadn’t even released albums. Thus readers can learn about a new group “out of Detroit” (sic) called The Psychedelic Stooges. Another group that merits mention is a jazz-rock outfit (the hybrid was quite new and novel at the time) called Jeremy Steig and the Satyrs. Their sole album (a self-titled LP released in March 1968) is, in Roxon’s estimation, jazz aimed at a rock audience. Predictably, it didn’t shift major units and is largely forgotten (despite a small-label CD reissue in 2009). But Steig himself was then a fairly highly regarded jazz flautist, and he remains musically active today, now based in Japan.

A couple of years after the Satyrs LP, Steig released an album called Wayfaring Stranger (named after the traditional folk classic). As the liner notes in the album’s new reissue (on the estimable Real Gone Music label) explain, in those days Steig “was signed to a manager who tended to trade him around to record companies like a major league ball player,” and as a result he ended up on Blue Note for the 1970 album.

Steig’s band is small and configured in a traditionally jazz-styled manner. Bassist Eddie Gomez was already quite well known as Scott LaFaro‘s replacement in The Bill Evans Trio, and Don Alias (drums) and guitarist Sam Brown were highly regarded in the jazz world as well, both with extensive pedigrees.

“In the Beginning” is a spare piece in which Steig’s flute carries the tune, with subtle yet funky support from Gomez and Alias (if Brown is on the track at all, his contributions are minor). Toward the song’s fadeout, some vocalizing a la Ian Anderson works its way into Steig’s attack, though Pat Thomas‘ liner essay asserts that the then-new Jethro Tull wasn’t an influence upon Steig’s playing. Of course others (notably Rashaan Roland Kirk) used similar breath techniques.

In some ways the vibe created within “In the Beginning” is continued in “Mint Tea.” While the band hits a bit harder – and Steig’s playing becomes more forceful – the tracks continues unfolding in a catchy/funky manner, but not one that will find listeners with a hook-laden melody stuck in their heads thereafter.

Sam Brown’s electric guitar makes its first audible appearance on the title track, easily the most melodic and accessible of the record’s six tracks (it’s perhaps worth noting that the other five are either Stieg compositions or co-writes with Gomez). In the tried-and-true jazz tradition, Steig states the melody, and then restates it in mutated fashion, then more so, then he’s joined by countermelodic work from his cohorts. The track goes on some eleven minutes, but never fails to sustain interest; each player takes his turn to shine, albeit in a muted fashion. It would be a disservice to characterize this music as background music, but in a pinch it could serve that function quite well.

Things take a welcome turn toward the funky with “Waves,” in which Gomez’s upright bass takes a more prominent role; the counterpoint between his assertive yet subtle acoustic playing and Steig’s breathy, precise flute work is a highlight of the record; Alias’ drumming – with plenty of subtle snare and cymbal work — makes it even better.

The lengthy “All is One” builds from a spare Steig solo showcase into something punctuated by Gomez’s moody bass plucking. Five-plus minutes in, Steig adopts a more fluid, lyrical style, while Gomez plucks way ominously (Brown and Alias are wholly absent on this track). Eight minutes or so along, Steig blows what might most accurately be called psychedelic flute.

Wayfaring Stranger wraps up with “Space” (as with most Real Gone Music reissues of forgotten/lost treasures, there are no bonus tracks on the CD reissue). Gomez takes up the bow and plays his bass like a cello, playing higher on the neck, well up into the treble range. The result is a lovely (if melancholy) duet between the bassist and Steig. The musical dialogue between the to truly feels like a conversation, and is perhaps the most evocative piece on the album. (Evocative of what, you can decide.) Toward its end, “Space” gets truly weird in an avant-garde kind of way, perhaps presaging Steig’s work with Yoko Ono a mere year later, on her Fly LP.

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Album Review: Grateful Dead — Dick’s Pick’s Volume 24

Wednesday, April 10th, 2013

Say what you will about The Grateful Dead – heaven knows I’ve been harshly critical of them, and stand by every one of my written remarks – even at their worst, they possesses an undeniable charm. And no matter what era of the band one focuses upon, there’s always something there to recommend. But then it’s just as reliably saddled with some sort of flaw that keeps things from being perfect (and yet of course that’s an unfair standard). So it is with the latest reissue of a Dead archival set, Dick’s Picks Volume 24: Cow Palace, Daly City CA 3/23/74.

First the upsides: the sound quality is stunning. The band was debuting its use of the “Wall of Sound,” a massive array of speakers designed to deliver the cleanest, most precise live sound imaginable. (Photos of the wall are included in the CD set’s liner notes.) And equal care went into capturing that sound onto tape; few live recordings from nearly forty years ago sound this clear.

Another (qualified) plus: though Donna Godchaux is with the band at this point, for the most part she doesn’t seem to do much. And that can only be good; in retrospect one cannot help but wonder what they were thinking letting her onstage. Bad-bad-bad, like a Bonnie Bramlett minus any sense of pitch or subtlety (which of course leaves nearly nothing).

Beyond all that, it’s standard-issue Dead. They start strong and relatively tight (tightness is measured on a sliding scale when we’re talking about The Dead) with “U.S. Blues,” and for most of the first hour they play actual songs. Only “Weather Report Suite” goes on over ten minutes.

By the second disc (second set) it’s noodle time. An aborted take of “Playing in the Band” (the mics were off, it seems) leads into a few moments of aimless fiddling, but then the band drones into an equally aimless reading of the song. That, however, segues into a surprisingly Just Like the Record reading of “Uncle John’s Band,” followed by a string of longer pieces. Then back to jamming; it’s probably transcendent if you’re a deadhead; it’s dull otherwise.

1974 was a period of Mickey Hart‘s estrangement from the band, so this is one of relatively few tours during which the band had only one drummer (Bill Kreutzmann). So if you don’t count Donna (and I don’t), the band is a mere five-piece here. One might think that would make them a bit more musically straightforward, but close your eyes and the difference isn’t measurable.

Like most every other Grateful Dead show recording, it’s ragged-but-right, rarely rocking, and relentlessly redundant. Not for nothing did the band title one of its live albums For the Faithful. As the saying goes, if you like or love The Grateful Dead, you’ll enjoy this one, especially for the sound quality. If you find them monotonous and lacking in energy, there’s little within the grooves of Dick’s Picks Volume 24 to change your mind.

I came away from the hours spent listening to this set – nothing to dislike here, really, and plenty of enjoyable moments – with one major thought: It’s too bad that any number of other bands — far better ones, in my estimation — couldn’t have had (and used) such stellar mobile recording equipment to capture their shows. Instead we get out-of tune guitars, croaky vocals and Donna Godchaux in brilliant, top-notch audio quality.

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Album Review: Barbara & Ernie – Prelude To…

Monday, April 1st, 2013

I truly admire the people at Real Gone Music. They continue to unearth music from ages ago that is in some cases long-cherished. In other cases it’s long-forgotten but worthwhile. And in yet other cases, the music never got much of a hearing to begin with; you can’t forget what you never knew.

And it’s into that last category that Prelude To… falls. Credited to Barbara & Ernie, it’s a 1971 one-off collaboration between Barbara Massey (vocals, keyboards and autoharp) and Ernie Calabria (vocals, guitar, electric sitar and some bass). Backed by some ace sessioners, the duo and their album sank pretty much without a trace, despite being on Cotillion (the same Atlantic Records subsidiary that released Emerson, Lake & Palmer‘s debut LP in the USA).

Though it’s credited as a duo, Massey’s voice is the most prominent instrument on the record. And she has quote a set of pipes. Not only can she sing whatever sort of material she wishes – ballads, soulful numbers – but her singular style means that she can sound like herself while strongly evoking other top-notch vocalists. The musically ambitious “Play With Fire” finds Massey sounding like some sort of cross between Grace Slick and Julie Driscoll. On the gentle, stately J.S. Bach-influenced “Prelude,” Massey sounds very much like Laura Nyro. And in other places she may remind listeners of Carole King or Karen Carpenter. And so on: witness “Listen to Your Heart,” in which she sounds uncannily like Elaine “Spanky” McFarlane.

Barbara & Ernie’s cover of Jefferson Airplane‘s (or The Great Society‘s, if we’re being picky) “Somebody to Love” is very much in the style of Driscoll’s work with Brian Auger; Massey’s finely-timed strums on autoharp will make you forget The Lovin’ Spoonful.

The players are certainly no slouches, either. Calabria’s subtle, jazzy guitar work on “Searching the Circle” is a delight, and the horn charts on that tune (and a few others) are subtle and thrilling at once. (Aside: I’ve read that “Searching the Circle” has been sampled for breakbeats and grooves on hip-hop tracks, but can’t tell you which ones.) And with orchestration by a pre-disco Eumir Deodato, this is one of those albums that rewards close listening.

Listening to this shortish album in 2013, the biggest mystery may be why it didn’t chart; everything about it: writing, singing, performance, arrangement, production – is exemplary, and it’s a varied (but not too varied) collection of songs. One supposes that the “just too much other good stuff at the time” argument might explain it. But thanks to Real Gone Music, the time for Barbara & Ernie’s Prelude To… is now. It’s a gem worth discovering.

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Album Review: Albert King – Born Under a Bad Sign

Thursday, March 28th, 2013

Here’s one often reliable method for discerning whether an album is an important one: when you first hear it, do you recognize several of the songs via popular cover versions?

I didn’t grow up with the blues; I’m the product of a white, middle-class suburban family; any “ethnic” music I heard growing up in south Florida in the 60s (and Atlanta in the 70s and 80s) was mostly soul or r&b that had crossed over to the pop charts. But as my interest in (and knowledge of) rock music deepened, I started hearing a lot of cover material performed by some of my favorite artists. One of these was Cream‘s “Born Under a Bad Sign” from their 1968 double LP, Wheels of Fire. And another favorite LP of mine was released a year earlier: John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers‘ Crusade, featuring the first recorded work of Mick Taylor. That LP included “Oh! Pretty Woman.” And then in the early 80s, I saw Eric Clapton onstage for the first time, touring in support of his Money and Cigarettes album. That record included an old tune called “Crosscut Saw.” On the LP and tour, Clapton was backed by some members of Memphis legends Booker T & the MGs.

Which, finally, brings me back to my original point. In 1967, Stax Records released an album by blues legend Albert King, a record called Born Under a Bad Sign. The formidable guitarist/vocalist was backed by all four members of The MGs, (on selected tracks) by one Isaac Hayes on piano, plus The Memphis Horns. Born Under a Bad Sign might not have represented the first-recorded versions for all of the aforementioned songs, but King’s versions – original or not – certainly informed a generation of blues rockers to a great degree.

Albert King’s approach on Born Under a Bad Sign was something of a hybrid: the beefy, assured and (dare I say) macho stylings more common to the blues’ Chicago variant, coupled with the slightly more down-home Memphis approach. And it worked. The title track (written for this record by Booker T. Jones and William Bell) is taken at a measured pace, making it more menacing than it would be had it been rushed a bit. Clapton’s guitar work on Cream’s version (cut mere months later) is closely modeled on this version. “Crosscut Saw” is built atop a clickety-clack, loping drum pattern from Al Jackson, Jr. The vocals are oddly muted on this track; The Memphis Horns are out front, as is King’s stinging electric guitar.

A reading of the rock’n'roll chestnut “Kansas City” follows; while King’s version isn’t definitive, it fits well within the context of the record. “Oh! Pretty Woman” is a swaggering blues that’s every bit as heavy as anything Cream (or, later, Led Zeppelin) would ever hope to turn out. A King-penned original, “Down Don’t Bother Me” is built around a familiar blues pattern, but the alternating phrases – King’s voice, his single-note-at-a-time guitar licks – strongly recall the approach of another King, BB King. Again, The Memphis Horns provide sympathetic support.

“The Hunter” (a composition credited to most of the personnel present for the session, save King himself) sounds less like a blues and more like the sort of southern r&b Stax was known for in those days, but even in this context King sounds right at home. The tune’s Lascivious lyrics make it even better. He takes a rare turn at balladry on “I Almost Lost My Mind,” a c&w weeper more than anything else; but some jazzy flute work enlivens the tune and takes it in a very unexpected direction. “Personal Manager” is a come-on in the proud tradition, and features some tasty piano fills from Hayes. And when King tears out the song’s solo – one of the longest on the album — The Memphis Horns initially engage in a lively call-and-response with him. But eventually they give up; the indomitable King wins this round. (An amusing side note: the LP’s original liner notes – reproduced in this 2013 reissue on Stax/Concord – the song is described as “funk at its best.” Who am I to argue?

Isaac Hayes gives the 88′s a workout behind King and The MGs on “Laundromat Blues.” In fact (according to Stax historian Rob Bowman in his book Soulsville U.S.A.: The Story of Stax Records) it was this song that led to King being the first blues artist signed to Stax. He had wandered into Estelle Axton‘s Satellite Records on McLemore Avenue, trying to get a deal with Stax. Axton suggested he cut “Laundromat Blues,” and the single would become his second charting single ever (r&b #29).

Hayes returns to tickle those keys even more expertly on the slow, slow blues of “As the Years Go Passing By.” As on many of the cuts on Born Under a Bad Sign, the stereo separation plays off the dialogue between King and the horns. (Production “supervision” is credited to Jim Stewart, suggesting that Steve Cropper may well have been in actual charge of the session.) The original album wraps up with “The Very Thought of You,” the closest King comes to playing in “standards” tender crooner mode. When The Memphis Horns take their instrumental break, he implores them to “play it pretty,” and they oblige.

The 2013 reissue appends the original eleven-track’s running order with five previously-unreleased tracks: four alternate takes plus an untitled instrumental that’s essentially (and happily) a two-minute excuse for Albert King to tear into an extended guitar solo. A pair of liner note essays (one by Michael Point, from the 2002 reissue, plus a new one by Bill Dahl) provide the historical context for which Concord releases are justifiably known.

Born Under a Bad Sign is an essential addition to any comprehensive album collection that focuses at all on rock, blues or Stax r&b.

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Album Review: Shuggie Otis – Inspiration Information / Wings of Love

Thursday, March 7th, 2013

There are many stories in pop music history centering around artists who – for one reason or another — never quite fulfilled their potential. More often than not, those reasons tend to fall into one (or both) of two categories: substance or psychological issues, and/or management that was bad, inept or (at worst) malevolent.

Whatever the particular reason or reasons, Shuggie Otis‘ career stopped in its tracks when he was barely 20. Son of the legendary Johnny Otis – the Greek-American r&b bandleader who often “passed for black” – Shuggie began his career as a young teen, playing guitar in his dad’s band. And young Shuggie was a dizzyingly impressive talent; not only could he spin tasty leads on his electric guitar, but he applied his inventiveness equally between covers – adding new interest to old songs – and his own original material. He also played a wide variety of instruments and sang. His 1970 solo debut Here Comes Shuggie Otis is an overlooked gem, and its opener “Oxford Grey” is an exemplar of Otis’ synthesis of styles.

The man born Johnny Alexander Veliotes, Jr. released a mere three albums in his brief career: after the debut there was the highly-regarded Freedom Flight in 1971, a record that contained his most well-known song, “Strawberry Letter #23” (later a hit for The Brothers Johnson), and then – after a longish break – 1974′s Inspiration Information. But after 1974, no new music has been released by Shuggie Otis. Until now.

In 2013 Epic/Legacy is reissuing Otis’ third and final album, along with an additional disc of material called Wings of Love. This bonus disc contains music that Otis has been working on – true solo material – over the last thirty-nine years.

Inspiration Information
The reissued Inspiration Information is a flawed treasure. While not quite up to the standard of his first two records, it features many ace tracks. The title song (and album opener) sounds very much like Hall & Oates (though of course it’s the other way around). The smooth-yet-funky sounds of “Island Letter” are a treat, and “Sparkle City” sounds like a way-funkier Steely Dan.

On the tantalizingly brief “Happy House,” Otis aims successfully for a sort of r&b answer to Todd Rundgren‘s one man band excursions. And he shows off his ability to mimic other guitarists throughout the record: “Rainy Day” has a Wes Montgomery feel. But while Otis’ interest in (and reliance upon) the Rhythm King – an early drum machine – might have been fascinating on record in the mid 1970s, today it gives the songs a frustratingly unfinished demo-like quality. Even when juxtaposed with soaring string arrangements (as on “Aht Uh Mi Hed”), the clip-clop drum machine sounds detract from the overall quality of the songs. With its lounge organ and effects-laden guitar licks, “XL-30” sounds like a good idea for a song, but it never develops fully into one. Even though “Pling!” has some sultry sax work, the drum machine keeps it from being effective. But the varied “Not Available” wraps the album up in style; when Otis has real drums, the quality of his material seems to rise dramatically.

The bonus track “Miss Pretty” is a funky track that wouldn’t have been out of pace in a blaxploitation film. Another bonus, “Things We Like to Do” is a rarity: an Otis track with drum machine that actually works. The hypnotic percussion blends nicely with some extremely tasty woodwind work and stacked vocals. “Castle Top Jam” feels kinda funky but doesn’t really go anywhere. As a whole, Inspiration Information is a slightly frustrating mix of soaring highs and disappointing lows, but well worth hearing.

Wings of Love
The bonus Wings of Love disc attempts to answer the where’s-Shuggie-been question. And the answer is: somewhere a bit odd, somewhere out of time. “Special” is layered with strange vocal overdubs that upset the flow of the song, and an odd riff that also doesn’t seem to fit: there’s polyrhythm and then there’s this. Fans of Prince might enjoy it, though. The staked guitar leads of “Give Me something Good” are catchy, but in terms of style, the slightly discofied track seems pinned to, say, 1977. The Rhythm King returns on “Tryin’ to Get Close to You,” which is otherwise an effective track featuring some funk-poppin’ bass lines.

“Walkin’ Down the Country” sports a higher level of production values, and finds Otis in a smooth, romantic mood. It’s among the strongest cuts on Wings of Love, and shows that Otis has improved as a singer as he’s grown older. Sprightly horn chart s are juxtaposed with frenetic Rhythm King backing on “Doin’ What’s Right.” With real drums this could have been a contender.

Strings, lovely piano glissandi, gentle plucked/strummed Spanish guitar, and sounds of seagulls paint a lovely aural intro on “Wings of Love.” It’s a terrific track, again subtly echoing Todd Rundgren’s more soulful work.

“Give Me a Chance” and “Don’t You Run Away” sound like a commercial bid circa 1980, with dated synth and guitar sounds. In that context, neither is too bad, but the cuts are not especially memorable. Despite its nth-generation tape dub feel, “Fireball of Love” showcases Shuggie’s guitar work in a funk-shuffle context, with a nice organ bed.

“Fawn” sports a n appealing melody,but could have been done by any number of slick, identikit 80s r&b acts. “If You’d Be Mine” is bogged down with dated synth sounds. But then things change drastically: “Black Belt Sheriff” features Shuggie Otis live onstage with an acoustic guitar; it’s evocative and reminiscent of another long-lost artist, Sixto Rodriguez. The set ends with a commercial-sounding (if highly derivative) number called “Destination You!” Yet again, the cheesy percussion detracts.

Wings of Love would easily qualify as a three-star album had it immediately followed Inspiration Information; as it is, it’s a document of an artist with plenty left to say, but who (as heard on this disc) is saying it using outdated forms. One can hope that its success will lead to new material from Shuggie Otis (currently mounting a tour), and that he’ll get ahold of a real drummer and some modern keyboards to back him up.

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