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EP Review: Tin Cup Serenade — Tragic Songs of Hope

Thursday, May 9th, 2013

As I’ve chronicled elsewhere, my awakening to the charms of jazz is a relatively recent phenomenon. And as I wade into the deep waters of that genre, I find that certain sub-styles move me more than others. Hard bop, swing, big-band, soul-jazz and some of the more out-there fusion: those are the styles that speak to me, even if I don’t always (ok, almost never) understand what exactly they’re saying.

But other styles of jazz do little for me, and in fact I’ve developed – or maintained — an active dislike for them. For example, the appeal of most jazz vocalists eludes me: so while I can appreciate and honor the vocals of Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker and the like, I’d sooner just admit their importance than actually have to listen to them. It’s just me.

That’s also mostly true for Dixieland jazz (or what the British call “trad jazz”). And the sort of jazz that involves straw boaters, garters on the arm and shit-eating grins…well, whatever you call that, it’s my least favorite. There’s a band I’ve seen locally that features a front woman who – this may seem unkind, but it’s inescapably true – looks uncannily like Olive Oyl from the old Popeye cartoons; that band is quite good at what they do, but it simply brings me no joy.

So with all that baggage – hey, I’m a critic, so being opinionated goes with the territory – why on Earth would I set about writing a review of Tragic Songs of Hope, the new 10” vinyl EP by Tin Cup Serenade? Especially when I have a pretty firm policy of not writing negative reviews about relatively unknown artists and/or music?

I’ll tell you why: because it’s very good.

I hadn’t planned to review it. In fact, after a cursory reading of the press kit accompanying the record, I had all but decided it wasn’t for me. But in keeping with another of my policies, I gave it a spin on my turntable: everything sent to me deserves the respect of a listen. Maybe not a beginning-to-end listen, but a fair hearing.

And right after the needle-drop, I found Tragic Songs of Hope intriguing. Unclassifiable, the songs aren’t easily pegged into one style. The titles telegraph some of Tin Cup Serenade’s eclecticism. “Limbo Jazz” certainly has elements of Latin flavor, but not in that bossa-nova way that exploded on the scene in the 50s. No, the band’s primarily acoustic sound is heavy on percussion, folding in some sultry sax and clarinet. The tune is a 1962 Duke Ellington number, with new lyrics penned by Tin Cup Serenade’s leader Rolf Wilkinson. The up-close production style – the record was mostly recorded live-in-the-studio – suits the songs well. “Lament for Javanette” feels like Cab Calloway officiating at a New Orleans street funeral. (It’s another example of Wilkinson putting lyrics to another song from Ellington’s repertoire, in this case a Billy Strayhorn/Barney Bigard number.)

“Sunny Oakland Day” will bring a smile to the most jaded listener (trust me). The song’s extended sax solo from Pete Cornell is a highlight. “Fragments of You” has a subtle calypso/gypsy flavor (yeah, like a lot of TCS’s songs, it’s hard to pin down.)

After those four songs, it’s time to flip the record over. By this point, listeners will have decided whether they like Wilkinson’s mannered vocal style (I do). “Money is King” leans heavily in a Cuban jazz style (rock-oriented listeners, think of Joe Jackson‘s “Cancer” from his 1982 Night and Day for an idea of the texture I’m endeavoring to describe). And in a departure from the other lighthearted or melancholy songs on the disc, this one concerns itself with Wall Street greed, 21st-century style.

“The Ballad of King Tigger” feels like Louis Armstrong, but with jazzy acoustic guitar as the central instrument supporting Wilkinson’s tender vocal.

The pace picks way up for “Here is Love,” one of the few tracks to feature more than one horn (here it’s clarinet and trombone). Eric Garland is still playing his kit with brushes, but it’s in a loose-limbed, spirited manner. It’s my understanding that swing dancers flock to Tin Cup Serenade gigs in the Bay area, and I suspect this brief tune ranks among their favorites.

“Empty Pocket Waltz” is a successful combination of the waltz beat, jazz stylings and a subtle blues feel. And the blues is more overt on “Yaya Blues,” the EP’s closing number.

This is music best enjoyed in subdued light, with a nice glass or three of a full-bodied red wine. But if you can’t arrange those conditions, just play the record in whatever way you can, and enjoy.

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Record Store Day is April 20

Friday, April 19th, 2013

Record Store Day has grown since its inception in 2007; these days it’s a high-profile event. All manner of record labels now release special limited-edition records to independent stores on Record Store Day. For me, nearly every day since my childhood has been a record store day; I frequented shops as a kid, worked for one in my college days, and continue to visit and shop indie record shops today. And when I travel to other cities, I almost always make a point of visiting the shops there, especially the ones that carry used records.

Below are a few links to relevant books etc. about the subject. On my desk at the moment, I have two DVDs – Last Shop Standing: The Rise, Fall and Rebirth of the Independent Records Shop and Brick, Mortar and Love. Look for reviews of both titles soon.

More soon, as always.

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Book Review: Vinyl Lives II

Monday, March 4th, 2013

James Goss‘ 2010 book Vinyl Lives was built around a series of interviews the author conducted with owners of independent record stores around the country. Woven together, these individual stories painted a picture of the state of this niche market. Consistent themes developed; chief among these was the idea that owning and operating a record shop was more of a calling – something these people were compelled to do – rather than a means toward financial riches. And of course an abiding love for music was shared by all of the interviewees.

Now, a few years later, Goss has returned with a second volume. Between his introduction and the narrative that develops through these contemporary interviews, Goss lays out and explores some of the changes that have arisen in the marketplaces since his first book was published. Vinyl sales are on the rise, and while they will never gain serious market share, they’re no longer a blip on the screen.

Vinyl Lives II: More Record Stores and Record Collectors expands its focus a bit to include collectors as well; many of these individuals are connected to one or more of the shops profiled in the book. And Goss wisely showcases the fact that record collecting is no longer a wholly male-centered activity; several of the collectors he interviews are female, and one is even quite young.

And some of the shop owners Goss talks to have expanded their focus as well: some stores sell books, comics, “smoking accessories” (like the old days), and other related merchandise. One point that most store owners seem to agree upon is that whatever profit opportunity exists is centered on the sale of used – not new – vinyl. This point is illustrated via a few humorous quotes; one store owner explains his argument for buying used vinyl cheap. Paraphrasing – I don’t have the quote handy – the store owners responds to a protestation from a would-be seller: “But I heard this album is worth $20!” The owner responds (again I’m paraphrasing), “Right. That’s why I’m buying it from you for $5. So I can sell it for the $20 it’s worth.”

Two fascinating threads are woven throughout many of the interviews. The first is the shop-local movement, known under a variety of labels including “Local First” and “Project 3/50.” These are, at their core, a response to the encroachment of big-box retailers, but the approaches are built around common-sense, practical steps consumers could take. These are not ivory-tower, elitist concepts; the store owners are in general a clear-eyed, realistic lot with their feet firmly on the ground.

The second thread is discussion of the Occupy movement. Perhaps it’s a function of the timing of the interviews; the Occupy Wall St. protests were a high-profile news item in every day’s headlines when Goss was speaking to these shop owners. But I suspect it’s more than that; not to paint these store owners with a broad brush, but their independent mindsets seem to have led them to focus on the Occupy movement, and they all have interesting things to say about its ramifications and what it might mean to their business overall.

Throughout the book, I found myself making mental notes: should I ever again visit Pittsburgh (a city I found oddly – and surprisingly – dull when I traveled there on business a few times in the 90s), I will now make it a point to include a several-hour visit to Jerry’s Records, where, Goss tells us, I will find two million clean records, mostly in the $3-$5 range. Just reading that makes my heart beat a little faster. Goss also discusses the internet’s role in some of these retailers’ success, and readers will find a number of new online sources through which they might locate their ardently-sought rarities.

By any measure, but especially for a self-published book, Vinyl Lives II is quite well-edited. My few criticisms of the book are exceedingly minor. Some photographs would have made a good book even better, and Goss’ choice of type face and size make the book feel a bit less professional than it might otherwise have been. But neither of those things detracts from the quality of Vinyl Lives II in an appreciable way. If your idea of a good time includes hours spent poring over used vinyl in a dusty, poorly-lit shop off the beaten path, then a few hours spent with Vinyl Lives II: More Record Stores and Record Collectors may well be equally as enjoyable.

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Essay: For the Love of Vinyl

Friday, February 15th, 2013

“May I have your mailing address? I have some vinyl I’d like to send you.” That brief message from a music publicist landed in my inbox yesterday, and brought a huge smile to my face. You see, like many people, I am a vinyl fanatic.

I started buying LPs around 1973 or so (I was nine); prior to that I had amassed a handful of cassette albums that I played on my portable Norelco deck. I had a couple of Carpenters albums, some Partridge Family, some Jim Croce and a Sonny & Cher live set. Not very rocking, I admit; the rock side of my interest was confined to my radio listening at that stage. But when I inherited my uncle’s hi-fi, it was time to start getting records.

The hi-fi was a curious thing. It looked like a really sturdy suitcase. The speakers unlatched from each end, hinged outward, and could be unhooked and moved away from the main piece. The audio cable – about four feet long, if I recall – was stuffed into a hole in the back of each speaker. At the top of the case was a metal button; when pressed, it released the front panel, which came crashing down like a Murphy Bed in a screwball comedy, revealing a turntable. Three knobs were also revealed: volume, tone and balance. Tone, of course, related to bass/treble, and since in those early days my hearing hadn’t been wrecked by years of live rock’n'roll, I adjusted it judiciously. Balance was almost pointless; this unit was a hi-fi, not a stereo, so the output through each speaker was identical.

But it was enough. I started buying LP records as soon as I could afford them. In those days a record on sale went for about $4.99 – still a lot of money for a ten-year-old – but I bought them as able. My earliest records were mostly 45rpm singles, though when my aunt and uncle came to visit, they went out and bought me Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Of course that set the bar pretty high: “So,” I probably thought to myself at the time, “I guess albums all come with lyrics on the back, a gatefold sleeve, and an insert with cutout moustaches and the like.” Subsequent purchases did little to dispel that notion: when I bought Wings‘ Venus and Mars, I got – again – the lyrics and the gatefold sleeve, plus two (count ‘em, two) posters and two stickers! Plus the record was really great.

I still have both of those LPs, and nearly all the singles I had bought previously. I say nearly because – even though I lean ever-so-slightly in an OCD direction and can count on two hands all the physical objects I’ve lost or misplaced my entire life so far – a pair of singles seem to have disappeared on me. And it was only earlier this week that I finally came up with a possible explanation. The two 45s that went missing from this young boy’s collection were Ray Stevens‘ “The Streak” and C.W McCall‘s “Convoy.” So, dear reader, what do you suspect happened to them? Yup. I think my parents took them away and destroyed them. They were surely sick of hearing the novelty songs played loudly and incessantly, and probably felt they were doing me a favor. In retrospect, they probably were. I must ask them about this when I talk to them this weekend. No hard feelings, Mom and Dad.

These days I still buy vinyl. About a week ago I went onto Spotify and listened for the first time to Shuggie Otis. Even as a teenager, he was turning out some amazing guitar work. His album Here Comes Shuggie Otis is an amazingly varied affair, and the production on it is often no less than thrilling. I immediately went onto eBay and found a good used vinyl copy for a few bucks. I “bought it now” and it arrived yesterday. I’m spinning it as I type this. The few crackles don’t bother me a bit; they’re sort of auditory “comfort food, “ like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, and other staples of my childhood.

My ex-wife sent an email a week or so ago, alerting me to an upcoming “record fair” here in Asheville. She copied my adult kids on the email, too; both have vinyl collections numbering in the hundreds. So that’s where I’ll be tomorrow. Six thousand LPs and counting, and no end in sight. Maybe they’ll even have a C.W. McCall single I can pick up cheap-like.

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Album Review: The Cleaners From Venus – Living With Victoria Grey

Monday, January 28th, 2013

I sometimes wonder if Martin Newell gets tired of all the Ray Davies comparisons. I mean, the man (Newell) has released something like thirty or forty albums (many of these on cassette, back in the 1980s) as Cleaners From Venus, Brotherhood of Lizards, and under his own name. While many of these were zero-budget, decidedly homespun affairs – whether he wears the crown proudly or not, Newell is, along with R. Stevie Moore, a true godfather of the whole DIY music movement – Newell’s innate sense of melody always shone though.

While the pop(ular) music landscape of the late 1980s was pop(ulated) by the likes of Dire Straits and their appealing-enough-but-not-exactly-groundbreaking peers, Newell’s band (usually just him and Giles Smith) enjoyed what looked at the time like a big break: they got a record deal, and a budget for “proper” recording. Now, the label was small – and would eventually go belly up, as labels do – and the budget was tiny, but the fruits of this relatively brief era were the best of all possible worlds. The music – sometimes new songs, sometimes re-recorded version of tunes from the Cleaners’ cassette catalog – kept its hooky charm, and avoided that deadly whiff of sellout-commercialism that cult fans fear when their favorite act makes it “big.”

That period of the Cleaners’ history has been anthologized a number of times, owing both to the high caliber of the songs (something true of pretty much all Newell’s work) and the relative polish of the production, the latter of which makes it more accessible to mainstream-attuned ears. A pair of CDs came out on the tiny Tangerine label (no relation to Ray Charles) in the mid 90s: Golden Cleaners (1993) and Back From the Cleaners (1995); both drew form this “accessible” period of the Cleaners’ vast catalogue. And both were utterly fantastic, filled with Newell’s wry vignettes of workaday life in England (well, the twin Englands of reality and his vivid imagination/memory).

A few years later, Cherry Red compiled Cleaners and Newell solo material (close your eyes and the sonic differences are negligible between the two) on a ’99 set called The Wayward Genius of Martin Newell. Now, you might think, why so many collections of material by a guy few have even heard of? The answer is simple and twofold: one, it’s that damn good. And two, the stuff isn’t easy to get ahold of, having been issued on all manner of small and/or short-lived labels, mostly on the Continent.

So once again, in 2004, Cherry Red took a crack at compiling the highlights from the “big time” [sic] era of The Cleaners from Venus, with Living With Victoria Grey: The Very Best of the Cleaners From Venus. Sure, there was a good bit of overlap with those Tangerine discs, but good luck finding those anyway.

Or the Cherry Red one, for that mater. But here’s the great news for 2013. Living With Victoria Grey (titled after one of the very best Cleaners tunes) is out again, reissued by boutique label Optic Nerve. But wait: it’s on vinyl! And not just any vinyl…it’s on that heavy stuff, lovingly pressed in splatter-colored grey (grey…get it)? A wonderful gatefold sleeve and a lavish full-size booklet full of photos and wry essays by both Newell and Giles Smith make it even better. You can enjoy the booklet, but my suggestion is to leave it alone while the music plays; the rich, timeless pop that is Cleaners From Venus music deserves your undivided attention. Once the records are done – eighteen tracks on the pair of LPs – you’ll have time to enjoy the entertaining written words of these two wordsmiths. (Aside: I’d strongly recommend you track down Smith’s book Lost in Music; it deals in great and amusing detail with his Cleaners-era experiences, and is laugh-out-loud funny to boot.)

No, Newell doesn’t sound at all like Ray Davies. But his body of work does indeed deserve mention in the same breath – in the same rarefied air – as the Kinks‘ leader. Track down this new, limited-edition set Living Victoria Grey, and in so you’ll be doing your small part to help rescue Newell and his music from that bittersweet situation known as “undiscovered genius.”

The limited-edition vinyl (500 copies!) of Living With Victoria Grey: The Very Best of The Cleaners From Venus is available from Optic Nerve Recordings.

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Old (But Previously Unreleased) Jazz, New Vinyl

Thursday, December 27th, 2012

Recently, I devoted an entire week’s worth of coverage to vinyl releases. But as it turns out, a clutch of recent jazz releases on the new-but-already-venerable Jazzhaus label are also available on vinyl. The full review of two of these new albums of music from Zoot Sims, Dizzy Gillespie and my personal favorite Cannonball Adderley (the last isn’t covered) is here, but their vinyl counterparts deserve mention.

Housed in study, creatively-designed two-color sleeves, these three albums are of superb quality. Pressed onto 180-gram vinyl, the albums also include mp3 download cards. The sound on the discs is just what you’d expect: warm, crystalline-clear. Even though these master recordings are old (1958, 1961, 1969) the care applied to the SWR archives means that the recordings are fresh and bright.

It’s true that each of the vinyl albums hold less music than the CD counterparts; the physical limitations of vinyl don’t permit the squeezing to too much more music into the grooves (volume loss is the first caualty when this is done). But the choices of what to leave in / what to leave out are good ones.

Anyone who appreciates jazz from its classic era should pick up these albums (especially the Adderley one, with Joe Zawinul on electric piano). And if you own a turntable, the warmth of these recordings will come through nicely on the vinyl versions.

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Reviews: 7″ Vinyls from The Fire Tapes and Concrete Blonde

Monday, December 17th, 2012

Concrete Blonde – “Rosalee” b/w “I Know the Ghost”
There are countless bands whose most well-known songs end up creating an identity for the act that is (at best) an inaccurate portrait of them or (at worst) wholly at odds with what they’re really about. Somewhere netween those two poles is the commercially-successful but often critically-maligned song “Joey” by Concrete Blonde. The success of that 1990 single (#49 on the Billboard 200) gave some listeners the idea that Johnette Napolitano and her band were just the latest Heart-come-latelys.

Not true, of course. Though the group released only one album between 1994 and the new century, Napolitano’s performing, composition and lyrical skills have continued to evolve.

The latest from Concrete Blonde is a lovely 7” white vinyl 45rpm record, “Rosalee” b/w “I Know the Ghost.” The a-side (Napolitano describes it as “an old ’30s cowboy song that I imagined Willie Nelson doing”) has a Cowboy Junkies vibe to it; the spare, skeletal arrangement conveys a haunted, melancholy spookiness that suits the lyric well. Napolitano’s voice, a sole electric guitar and a pair of tom-toms are all that are used (and all that are necessary) to get the song across. Despite the fact that “Rosalee” is nearly eighty years old, there’s nothing old-school about Concrete Blonde’s reading of it.

The b-side is something else entirely. “I Know the Ghost” is an amped-up, raving, snarling punk song. Though the vocals are more spoken than sung, you’ll likely be as out of breath listening to it as Napolitano and James Mankey were cutting the song. There’s a clear lo-fi aesthetic at work, and that intimate, direct, no-b.s. approach suits the song – a mix of campfire vibe and X-styled hardcore punk snottiness – perfectly.

No word at the moment on a pending full-length, but plans are underway for a European tour. No doubt these two songs (a DVD of which is also in development) will go over well live onstage.

The Fire Tapes – “Skull Xbones” b/w “Elements”
The Fire Tapes first came to my attention earlier this year. Their album Dream Travel is informed by the work of Television, Dream Syndicate and other heavyweights, but they have a distinct personality all their own. That individuality came out clearly when I met them and saw them play onstage last summer, and it’s on even more prominent display in the form of their latest release, a green 7” 45rpm vinyl single, “Skull Xbones” b/w “Elements.” Dialing back the shoegazey vibe of Dream Travel just a bit, “Skull Xbones” rocks really hard; there’s an exciting tension between the soaring, gauzily-produced lead vocals of Betsy Wright and the taut, wiry, fret-buzzing guitar interplay between Todd Milton and Wright. “Skull Xbones” displays a knowledge and appreciation for rock traditions that include the work of Neil Young and Black Sabbath just as prominently as the later underground artists. A slowed-down coda adds even more texture to the song.

“Elements” places even more emphasis on melody and the band’s trademark guitar dialogue; there’s a subtle Chris Isaak vibe to some of the guitar work. This track is both hypnotic and alluring, and it’s slightly reminiscent of the paisley underground sound of groups like Rain Parade.

Dobson tells me that both cuts are early versions of songs from their upcoming full-length, due in Spring 2013. He says of the single, “We think it’s a significant improvement both musically and production-wise.” Not to take anything away from Dream Travel, but I’m inclined to agree.

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The Record Collector Interview (of me!)

Friday, December 7th, 2012

Tables have turned: today I humbly present an interview that appears in the current issue (December 2012) of Record Collector (UK). It’s a Q&A hosted by celebrated (as in, way more well-known than me) music journalist and author Joel McIver. The interviewee is me. It was a lot of fun to be asked to do this. You can find the current issue here.  – bk

 

People are either amazed or bored to tears with Bill Kopp’s encyclopedic knowledge of the last 50 years of popular music. A rock/pop music historian, Bill has written for the now-defunct Skope (where he was Editor-in-Chief for two years), Billboard, Trouser Press, Ugly Things, Shindig!, and many others. He lives in a century-old house in Asheville, North Carolina with all his records and CDs, a vintage motorcycle and way too many synthesizers. Kopp also sings and plays keyboards in a 70s glam-rock cover band called The Glampas. His blog can be found at www.musoscribe.com.

What do you collect, and why?
Maybe it’s a matter of semantics – I’m a writer/editor, after all – but I’ve never considered myself a collector per se. To my mind, collectors buy records in part because of their market value; if I won’t enjoy listening to a record, I won’t acquire it, no matter what it’s worth.

But as far as what I do collect, that changes over time. If a record I like was originally released in the vinyl era, I prefer to have it on vinyl. As a result, I do have some overlap in my CD and vinyl collections; what’s a bit odd is that in those cases I generally got the CD first. I was a late-adopter as far as CDs: I bought my CD player in 1993. These days I have about 6000-7000 CDs and CDRs.

When I started out as a kid, my collection was Beatles albums, some Wings, a bit of John and George, and Ringo’s Blast From Your Past. Then I expanded to other things. By the late 70s I was picking up the occasional bootleg LP (on TAKRL, Wizardo and the like), and – like so many of us – in college I got into prog, Zappa…that sort of thing. These days I visit yard sales and used record stores mostly looking for 60s psych and garage, 70s powerpop and prog, and 50s/60s jazz on Blue Note or Verve.

How big is your collection?
I haven’t done a count in awhile, but it’s just over 6000 LPs, I think. A handful of so-called duplicates are generally mono vs. stereo copies, or import versions.

What is it worth?
I have absolutely no idea. Every now and then, I’ll look one of my records up on Musicstack.com. They list completed sales, so those sometimes give me an idea. Because while you can list a record for a million dollars, that doesn’t mean anybody’s going to buy it at that price.

How do you store it?
Back in the 70s and 80s I had them in melon crates (American collectors know what those are). You can’t find those any more, and they aren’t sturdy enough to lift when full, anyway. In the late 80s my dad and I built a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit. We made the whole thing out of 2×4′s, but had to use more expensive fir, because pine would buckle under the weight. It’s more than four feet wide, and is bolted into the wall. It ran out of room a couple of years ago, and records now fill various nooks and crannies in my home. It’s about time to build another shelving unit, though I haven’t any idea where I’ll put it. My house is small. I am ashamed to admit that at present I have about 100 records stacked flat. Oh, the dishonor.

In the months after my 2006 divorce, I moved several times. I wore out my welcome with my friends; did you know that a 12x12x12 box of records weighs about 78 pounds? They know. And they’ve asked me never to call again should I move.

What’s the rarest item in there?
I found the first two Big Star albums (#1 Record and Radio City) as “new old stock” in a store in the mid 80s. Those are pretty rare. Probably my most valuable pieces is a pristine copy of the Percy “Thrills” Thrillington (aka Paul McCartney) record; it still has the used-bin sticker on it: US$1.50. About a year ago I bought a lot of about 50 records from a guy online, sight unseen of course. It was mostly duplicate copies of American Beatles LPs – I gave most of those to my college-age son – but the guy threw in a near-mint copy of John and Yoko’s Two Virgins. I hadn’t asked for it, and he had no idea of its value. When I thanked him, he realized what he’d done and was quite upset. He no longer speaks to me.

I think my mono copy of the Rolling Stones’ Their Satanic Majesties Request with the 3D cover is somewhat rare. And a couple of months ago I found a great condition copy of Godley & Creme’s Consequences, in the box with the booklet and everything.

What’s that elusive gem you’re still looking for?
Caravan stuff from the 1970s. Here in the southern USA, one never sees any Caravan LPs. There was an interview record George Harrison did around the release of 33-1/3; I used to see it everywhere but never picked it up. I’d like to have that.

How do you track stuff down? eBay, shops etc?
Last year I did a big story (published in Ugly Things) about Brotherhood, an obscure band that spun off from Paul Revere & the Raiders. I found all three of their records on eBay. I do hit the local used record shops, and when I visit other cities, if time permits, I visit shops there. Every American city seems to have its own character as expressed through what’s in the used bins. Yard sales were a major source in the 90s, but these days those yield diminishing returns. You never know, though. If I’m seeking a specific title, Musicstack.com is my go-to site.

How often do you listen to your collection?
Nearly every day. There might be an occasional CD-only day, but those are rare. I work at home (in a small outbuilding) and I have a full component stereo system with turntable in my office, as well as another in my house.

How will you eventually dispose of your collection?

I joke with my kids – both of whom have component stereos and hundreds of LPs themselves – that they will be the curators of the museum. What’s more likely is that they’ll pick and choose and split the collection up after I peg out. Neither of them digs prog, so I can only wonder what will become of my autographed copies of Discipline and Welcome Back My Friends to the Show That Never Ends.

What’s your all-time favourite record, regardless of rarity?
That answer changes daily. Today it’s King Crimson’s Red, the American Magical Mystery Tour LP, the first Marshall Crenshaw album, or Genesis’ Selling England By the Pound. Tomorrow it might be Marquee Moon, The Tubes’ What Do You Want From Live, Music for Airports, or The Plimsouls’ Everywhere at Once. Or the Nat Adderley Quintet’s Soul Zodiac.

As told to Joel McIver.

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45rpm Roundup

Wednesday, October 31st, 2012

The 45rpm vinyl format isn’t dead. In fact, I see more of those little seven-inchers in my mailbox these days than I did even a couple of years ago. Here I take a look at four recent submissions. None is at all musically like the others, and seven out of the eight songs are highly recommended.

D A W N S – “So Help Me God” b/w “Camouflage”
Reading about this one, I was expecting some sort of Americana-oriented sounds. In fact the press sheet sent along with the disc (actually a 33rpm record) notes that the “touring band is an eclectic six-piece outfit with upright bass, cello, lap steel, bow saw and percussion…” But that’s not the vibe they conjure on ”So Help Me God.” They stomp through the song, sounding like a more melody-oriented Arcade Fire with better songwriting and a singer whose voice doesn’t grate on me. The flip, “Camouflage,” does present a slightly more acoustic-flavored approach; the haunted and breathy vocals, shimmering guitars and sparse, echoey production recall Big Star‘s Third. How can that not be great? And the direction the tune takes in its final minute is an unexpected treat. Plenty of shade and light on this record; if it’s a teaser to a forthcoming long-player, I’m all ears. White vinyl.

Rick Berlin w/the Nickel & Dime Band – Always On Insane (“Summer Roof” b/w “I’m Jes’ Sayin’”)
Ska in 2012? Well, okay. Sounding like some bizarre cross between Warren Zevon and Mental As Anything, “Summer Roof” features peppy horns and a fun, shouted chorus. But the song detours into a lovely midsection that’s as far from bluebeat as one can get – it’s singer/songwriter-ish, even – before launching back into an exuberant yakety-sax solo. Loads of fun, this one. The flip “I’m Jes’ Sayin’” has a relaxed, jazzy vibe with some soulful vocals backed by some lovely, creamy oohs. As the song unfolds, it’s reminiscent of Pete Yorn‘s work circa Nightcrawler. This song could easily be the work of a different band, but since it’s not, I’m left to think that Berlin has an impressively wide stylistic palette.

Smash Fashion – “Blame It On the Brandy” b/w “Marionette”
Calling to mind the fun, sleazy and swaggering era that brought us Sweet, Alice Cooper and Suzi Quatro, “Blame it On the Brandy” makes no concessions to modernity: it’s timeless in its approach. Handclaps, a straightforward earworm riff (albeit one that owes more than a little to “Bony Maronie”) and plenty of power chords all come together to remind you that – Gary Glitter be damned – glam rock was a helluva lot of mindless fun. Some dual lead guitar work on the outro is a not-so-subtle hat-tip to Thin Lizzy. The flip, “Marionette” is every bit as good, sounding as it does like a lost prime-era Elton John track without the piano. Some Queen-like guitar heroics are icing on this glammy cake. Woo-hoo indeed. Full album, please…stat.

Dr. Manhattan – “Hot Sauce” b/w Dormlife – “Weak Sauce”
A lo-fi vibe and a slightly dorky campfire feel provide the basis for Dr. Manhattan’s song that seems to be mostly about smokin’ that shit. With a musical approach that’s a little bit like Violent Femmes, it’s fun in a rickety-jalopy sort of way. I can’t help picturing these guys in vests and fedoras, smirking their way through this barrelhouse romp, but it’s fun enough for what it is, in a modest sort of way. The flip from Dormlife is much stronger: it features tight’n'lovely vocal harmonies, a jittery stop/start melody, taut drum work, some aggressive acoustic guitar strumming and bursts of rubbery bass. Hard to pin down stylistically, it’s a sort of tuneful rethink of Red Hot Chili Peppers. Or something. Something good. Verdict: the “hot” song is relatively weak while the “weak” one is tasty stuff indeed. Clear red vinyl.

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Album Review: Yes – Open Your Eyes (vinyl reissue)

Thursday, August 16th, 2012

For some bands, personnel changes are the mile markers by which we chart their history. Members come and go, and (usually) each time, the character of the group changes in some measurable way. For whatever reason or reasons, progressive rock bands seem to engender the most frequent lineup changes; are prog players more difficult to get along with than others?

Recently I’ve engaged in a few lively debates with fellow music journalists (plus a number of just plain music fans) on the topic of what is or isn’t the “real” [insert name of band here]. The initial impetus for the discussion centered around my purchase of tickets to see The Who this coming fall, a tour during which they’ll perform Quadrophenia in its entirety. The “they” this time around includes Pete Townshend (aka the guy who wrote the songs), Roger Daltrey (aka the guy who sings most of ‘em), but of course does not include the Who rhythm section of John Entwistle and Keith Moon, both deceased. My own argument – in that case at least, is that it’s The Who as long as Pete and Roger say it is.

Others clearly disagree. Which brings me to the knottier case of Yes. Few other bands have seen members come and go (and come and go again) as often as has this British progressive group. Only bassist Chris Squire has been in every incarnation of the band since its formation in 1969, and while Squire may or may not be the de facto leader, he’s no autocratic man-with-the-inflexible-vision such as another prog group has (I’m not mentioning names; last time I did, said guitarist complained about me on his blog.)

The thing is, the Yes “sound” has gone through a number of changes in the band’s lengthy and convoluted career, and those changes haven’t always corresponded to the arrival or departure of the musicians one might expect. When ace keyboardist Rick Wakeman left (the first of, like, three times), his replacement Patrick Moraz arguably didn’t change the band’s sound all that much. And when Jon Anderson jumped (or was pushed; accounts vary), his replacements – Trevor Horn in the 80s, Benoît David, and now a Jon Davison – traded in a very similar vocal style.

No, the biggest sonic change with regard to the Yes sound came when Steve Howe exited the group, to be replaced (so to speak) by South African guitarist Trevor Rabin. When Rabin came on board, the band’s commercial fortunes were raised; thus began the 90125 era. But that version of the band often sounded very little like “classic” Yes; in places (such as the smash single “Owner of a Lonely Heart”) they sounded instead like a cross between The Art of Noise and The Police.

The band’s history got really complicated in the 90s. At one point there were essentially two Yes bands, and when they made up, the result was the Union era, a product that some found great, others gruesome. Toward the end of that whole era came the 1997 album Open Your Eyes. What’s especially odd about this record (re-released in 2012 as a double vinyl LP in a gatefold sleeve) is that while it features four of the “core” members (Anderson, Squire, Howe and Alan White) plus multi-instrumentalist Billy Sherwood, musically it’s more of a piece with the Rabin era. Howe conceded as much in an interview with Chris Welch; as quoted in Close to the Edge: The Story of Yes, Howe admitted, “[T]he tracks on Open Your Eyes were basically initiated and put together by Chris [Squire] and Billy [Sherwood]. It’s not really Yes music. We had to grin and bear it and add a few bits and pieces.” Whether it’s completely accurate or a polite (and intra-band political) fiction, all tracks on Open Your Eyes are credited to all five members of Yes.

That shouldn’t be construed to suggest that Open Your Eyes doesn’t have some good music. While the opening track “New State of Mind” sounds like a Big Generator outtake, the titles track displays the trademark Yes balance of high-flying, muscular music. And the vocals on Open Your Eyes support an argument I’ve long made: that particular vocal sound that we’ve come to think of as “the Yes vocal sound” is every bit as much Chris Squire as Jon Anderson. This explains why non-Anderson albums such as Drama (1980) and Fly From Here (2011) still have that classic Yes feel. But on Open Your Eyes, Squire’s vocals are pushed just a bit more forward in the mix.

“Universal Garden” features Howe’s expressive Spanish guitar, but in the end the the song feels like two separate song fragments that don’t quite fit together. The lyrics of “No Way We Can Lose” display that curious hippie ethos unique to Yes; it sounds like a rock arrangement of a song they might have sung around the campfire at a Yes summer camp. “Fortune Seller” has the feel of 90125-era Yes, and again sports some musical ideas that – each taken on their own – are compelling, but together don’t seem to blend. “Man in the Moon” is a catchy number, but alas, it’s the sort of track some would hold up to prove that the music on Open Your Eyes doesn’t sound like classic Yes. In particular, the track’s lack of interesting keyboard flourishes is emblematic of the musical approach throughout the album.

“Wonderlove” has flashes of that classic sound, but they’re shot through with a plucky rhythm guitar part that explicitly recalls “Owner of a Lonely Heart.” The brief “From the Balcony” is acoustic-based but doesn’t sound a whole lot like Howe, even though the guitarist is dizzyingly versatile and adept at any number of styles; it’s just that this song sounds like none of those. (Maybe it’s Sherwood.) “Love Shine” is one of the catchiest, successful tracks on Open Your Eyes. No lightning bass runs from Squire, and still leaning in the direction of “modern” Yes, but it’s still a pleasantly memorable track. “Somehow…..Someday” (why five dots in the ellipsis? I dunno) is pleasant enough, but musically seems to cover the same ground as most of the previous cuts. A few melodic lines within do vaguely recall Close to the Edge, however.

The entirety of Side Four of the 2012 vinyl reissue of Open Your Eyes is (theoretically) taken up with “The Solution,” a 24-minute piece. But it’s a curious concoction, even by Yes standards. The basic song runs a few minutes, and is a slight cut above most of the other Open Your Eyes tracks. But the number fades out at its end, followed by a long stretch of silence. Then some ambient noises – tweeting birds, waves crashing on a faraway shore, etc. – come in, punctuated ever thirty seconds or so by a cappella snatches of other tracks from the album. Interesting, to be sure, but not the sort of thing one listens to with any regularity. Overall it has the feel of a “Yes vocal remix” novelty track. It sounds as if someone got access to all the master tapes from the Open Your Eyes sessions and decided to have a bit of post-production fun with them. One suspects that the process of assembling the cut was more fun that sitting through a playback of it, however.

Packaging on the new vinyl reissue is exquisite: the thick vinyl and heavy stock paper gatefold sleeve help make the whole affair feel very substantial; the stark graphics – a giant Yes logo set against a black background – unsubtly put across the point that this really truly…no, really truly..is a Yes album. Not a single band photo is included, but the inside of the gatefold does include all the lyrics. In total, Open Your Eyes doesn’t rank among the top half-dozen Yes albums, but neither is it a total disaster. It’s worth hearing for anyone who enjoys the band, but new listeners are advised against expecting to wander in and finding some heretofore undiscovered gem.

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