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Bootlegs or ROIOs* or fan recordings: however one wishes to label them, they play an often important and unappreciated part in documenting musical history. As Clinton Heylin<\/strong> explains in his excellent 1994 book Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry<\/em>, surreptitious and\/or unauthorized fan recordings have been responsible for capturing otherwise unheard performances of great historical import. Sidestepping his discussion of William Shakespeare<\/strong>‘s folios and moving to his focus on music, we learn that one Lionel Mapelson<\/strong> (the \u201cFather of Bootlegging\u201d) had recorded snippets of many operas staged at New York City’s Metropolitan Opera House in the years 1901-03. Without his (admittedly crude) efforts, today we’d have no idea at all \u2013 beyond written accounts \u2013 of what those now century-old performances sounded like.<\/p>\n Thank goodness that this surreptitious practice continues to present day. Without it we might not have all manner of important music preserved in any manner. While The Beatles<\/strong> will soon see a second volume of BBC recordings officially released (On Air<\/em> is slated for holiday season 2013), many collectors (cough cough) have long had a 13CD set of all extant Beatles BBC recordings.<\/p>\n And so it is with a one-off performance by the mercurial Alex Chilton<\/strong><\/a>, late of The Box Tops<\/strong> and Big Star<\/strong><\/a>. In 1997 he was booked to play a gig with his band at New York City’s Knitting Factory; he and band showed up on the evening of February 13, set up and readied themselves to play the second of a two-night stand.<\/p>\n Then the power went out. Club owners issued refunds to disappointed fans, most of whom left once it was clear the power wasn’t coming back on anytime soon.<\/p>\n But a hardy coterie of fans remained behind. And to appease them (or more likely, considering the man’s personality, to amuse himself<\/em>) Alex Chilton came out and took an acoustic guitar offered him by an attendee who just happened<\/em> to have one handy. (No, really.) Figuring he’d run through a few tunes and call it a night, Chilton steadied himself in the nearly totally dark room and launched into songs that were deeply embedded in his memory and\/or psyche. These weren’t hits \u2013 not most of ’em, anyway \u2013 they were songs that Chilton had lived, loved. A fan request to do Tammy Wynette<\/strong>‘s \u201cD-I-V-O-R-C-E\u201d was granted, a relatively obscure Johnny Cash<\/strong> tune (\u201cStep Right This Way\u201d) unearthed.<\/p>\n But then a funny thing happened: Chilton got into it. So rather than quit, he kept going. In all, he turned in seventeen songs, solo save for a bit of snare and brushwork by drummer Richard Dworkin<\/strong>. The lyrics of an even spookier than usual run-through of a Chilton favorite, Loudon Wainwright<\/strong>‘s \u201cMotel Blues,\u201d elicited surprised and\/or nervous chuckles from a female audience member who clearly hadn\u2019t heard the tune before. \u201cMy Baby Just Cares For Me\u201d was a relatively obvious choice, having featured prominently on Chilton’s bet-you-didn’t-see-this-coming album of standards, 1995’s Cliches<\/em>.<\/p>\n Less obvious were a reading of Joni Mitchell’s \u201cA Case of You,\u201d and the Gershwins<\/strong>‘ \u201cSomeone to Watch Over Me.\u201d And toward the end of this wholly impromptu set, Chilton reminded everyone of his abiding love of Brian Wilson<\/strong> (he’d covered Wilson’s tune for Jan and Dean<\/strong>, \u201cThe New Girl in School\u201d on 1995’s A Man Called Destruction<\/em>) with a three-song suite of Wilson originals: \u201cWouldn’t It Be Nice,\u201d \u201cSurfer Girl\u201d and the left-field Beach Boys Love You<\/em> oddity \u201cSolar System.\u201d<\/p>\n And it went on like that. Luckily a resourceful superfan named Jeff Vargon<\/strong> had thought to bring along a portable recording device; certainly he had no idea he’d be capturing for posterity one of the most singular concerts ever, something that couldn’t have come off nearly as well had it somehow been planned.<\/p>\n And while copies of unknown generation of this show have circulated among collectors for many years, it’s a delight to see official release of this set, perfectly titled Electricity by Candlelight<\/em>, on Bar None Records. Sourced from Vargon’s master, this recording sounds as good as it possibly can. It’s certainly not studio quality, but then that sort of polish would have been anathema to the night’s vibe anyway. Listeners will likely settle quickly into the sonics of the recording; it’s not at all shrill or an unpleasant listening experience.<\/p>\n Now, if someone would engineer official release of that great one-off studio session Chilton did in 1992 with Teenage Fanclub<\/strong><\/a>, the world at large could thrill to hearing Alex take the lead vocal on the TFC arrangement of the Flying Burrito Brothers<\/strong>‘ \u201cOlder Guys,\u201d and hear the Fannies back him up on a raucous reading of Bach’s Bottom<\/em>‘s \u201cFree Again.\u201d But in the meantime, Electricity by Candlelight<\/em> is a wonderful artifact of a once in a lifetime event that few had the honor of witnessing firsthand.<\/p>\n
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