Originally posted May 4, 2009
“Ohio” by Neil Young, at Toronto’s Massey Hall, January 19, 1971
Originally posted May 4, 2009
“Ohio” by Neil Young, at Toronto’s Massey Hall, January 19, 1971
Originally posted April 9, 2009
Off to YouTube!
Here’s a clip of Otis Redding performing “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” during the 1966 Stax-Volt European Tour. (The individual who posted the clip asked the question: “Did he cover the song from the Rolling Stones or did they cover it from him?” The correct answer, of course, is that the Stones wrote it and recorded it and Otis didn’t just cover it. He took it right away from them. But then, he did that with a lot of songs.)
Here’s one of the better performances of “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” that I passed by on Tuesday: Neil Young at the 1992 concert celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of Bob Dylan’s first album.
I was hoping to find something by Gypsy, whose self-titled debut album I reposted this week. What showed up is a video that uses the album’s opening track, “Gypsy Queen, Part 1,” behind a collection of archival film and photos showing the group during 1970 or so. The quality and coherence of some of the visuals is questionable, but it’s still a pretty cool package.
And here are a few more reposts:
New Routes by Lulu 
Original post here.
Melody Fair by Lulu 
Original post here.
Ambergris by Ambergris 
Original post here.
With Friends and Neighbors by Alex Taylor 
Original post here.
Originally posted December 23, 2008
Peace, In All Its Forms
“We Got to Have Peace” by Curtis Mayfield from Roots, 1971
“Peaceful in My Soul” by Jackie DeShannon from Jackie, 1972
“Give Peace A Chance” by Joe Cocker (Leon Russell on piano) from Mad Dogs & Englishmen, 1970
“Peace of Mind” by Neil Young from Comes A Time, 1978
“Peace Begins Within” by Mylon Lefevre from Mylon, 1970
“I Wish You Peace” by the Eagles from One Of These Nights, 1975
Originally posted September 17, 2008
Wandering around the movie channels at the high end of the cable offerings last night, I watched the last forty minutes or so of National Lampoon’s Animal House as I munched on a late-night snack.
I’ve seen it before, of course, generally in bits and pieces like last night. In fact, I think the only time I saw the movie all in one serving was when it came out in 1978, most likely on a date in St. Cloud before my lady of the time had moved to Monticello. If my memory serves, she wasn’t amused; I was.
To a degree, I still am. Yes, it’s sophomoric and very often in bad taste. Portions of it are still very funny, though, or at least diverting enough to hold my attention while I nibble on a bowl of tortilla chips late at night. And seeing it is a random thing: I don’t check the cable channel to see when it’s going to be aired. But if I run into it while climbing the ladder of stations, I’ll watch it for a few minutes.
A couple of things cross my mind pretty much every time I see a snippet of Animal House these days:
First, the relatively large number of cast members who went became prominent in other films or other endeavors: Tom Hulce (who woumd up playing Mozart in Amadeus), Stephen Furst, Tim Matheson, Karen Allen, Kevin Bacon, Robert Cray (as an uncredited member of Otis Day’s band) and musician Stephen Bishop (as the earnest folksinger whose guitar is broken against the wall). There are others as well, I’m sure, but those are the folks who come to mind this morning.
Then there’s John Belushi. His brilliant, over-the-top performance as John “Bluto” Blutarsky is always tinted by the awareness of his self-destruction less than four years later. And then I mentally shrug as I change the channel or the credits roll.
Here’s some of the music that was around during the year the Tri-Delts amused at least some of us:
A Baker’s Dozen from 1978, Vol. 3
“Thornaby Woods/The Hare In The Corn” by Magenta from Canterbury Moon
“I Can’t Do One More Two Step” by LeRoux from Louisiana’s LeRoux
“Leaving Louisiana In The Broad Daylight” by Emmylou Harris from Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town
“Human Highway” by Neil Young from Comes A Time
“You Don’t Need to Move A Mountain” by Tracy Nelson from Homemade Songs
“Waiting For The Day” by Gerry Rafferty from City To City
“Feels So Good” by Chuck Mangione, A&M single 2001
“Is Your Love In Vain” by Bob Dylan from Street Legal
“Cheyenne” by Kingfish from Trident
“Loretta” by Townes Van Zandt from Flyin’ Shoes
“Ouch!” by the Rutles from The Rutles
“Hold The Line” by Toto, Columbia single 10830
“Little Glass of Wine” by Jesse Winchester from A Touch On The Rainy Side
A few notes:
Canterbury Moon was a British folk-rock group very much in the vein of Steeleye Span but much more obscure. With vocal harmonies centered on three female voices, the group’s sound is unique.
LeRoux combined R&B, funk, jazz, rock, and Cajun music into a tasty stew that sold a few records back in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Still active, the group had a couple of pretty well-known songs: “New Orleans Ladies,” from Louisiana’s LeRoux, and “Nobody Said It Was Easy (Lookin’ For The Lights),” a single that went to No. 18 in 1982.
I’ve offered three Baker’s Dozens from 1978, and each time, a track from Neil Young’s Comes A Time has popped up. That’s just fine with me: It’s one of my favorite albums.
A while back, the album version of “Feels So Good” popped up during a random selection. Now, here’s Chuck Mangione’s single, which went to No. 4 in early 1978.
Dylan’s “Is Your Love In Vain” kind of plods along, almost as if it’s way too much work to get too involved. A lot of the Street Legal album was like that, loaded down with horns and background singers and never really taking off. And that’s too bad, as some of the songs on the album – “ Is Your Love In Vain” among them – were as good as anything Dylan had written in years. Cryptic, yes, and I think especially of “Señor (Tales of Yankee Power),” but good.
Kingfish was a San Francisco band that originally featured Grateful Dead member Bob Weir. By the time the band recorded Trident, Weir had left, and the band’s sound had become more mainstream, although there are still echoes of the rootsy, countryish folk rock sound that the group’s earlier albums presented.
Originally posted August 7, 2008
Got lucky this morning. Within a few seconds of sliding around YouTube, I came across a video of Linda Ronstadt singing “Long Long Time” on a 1970 episode – or so the notes say – of the Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour. It’s a good version, dampened only by her dropping the last verse of the song.
So I went looking for “All That Heaven Will Allow.” Here’s a performance by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band from an April 17, 1988, concert in St. Louis, Missouri:
And here’s Neil Young at Farm Aid 2007 with a strong performance of Ian Tyson’s classic song “Four Strong Winds.” (Keep your eyes open for Willie Nelson.)
Originally posted August 6, 2008
Boy, I gotta pay attention to what I write.
I was wandering through the cyberattic last evening, seeing if any of last spring’s posts needed reviewal or brought up something more to write about. And I found a post in which I listed my three favorite singles.
They were “Summer Rain,” a 1967 single by Johnny Rivers, “We” from Shawn Phillips, released in 1972 , and “Long, Long Time,” Linda Ronstadt’s 1970 minor hit. That was on May 24.
Then, less than three weeks ago, I offered up the Association’s “Cherish” as the perfect pop-rock single.
Now, there may be a difference between a favorite single and “perfect” single, but it would be slight. What the comparison between the two posts means is that I’ve been in the process of refining my views, and when reminded of another possibility – or when recalling something I’ve forgotten for a short time – I can modify my views. For some reason, when I was writing the May post headed by “Summer Rain” – sparked by a discussion at a bulletin board – I didn’t think about “Cherish.”
Why? Because I forgot about it. I wrote the bulletin board post that sparked my post here off the top of my head, and the Association record slipped my mind. But as I look at the four songs in question – the three from the May post and “Cherish,” I realize that they all do come from a list I did put together some time ago, a list of songs guaranteed to tug at my heart. They don’t all have memories of young women attached to them, although some of them do. But every one of them – when it pops up on the radio or the RealPlayer – will make me slow down for a moment or two, during which the bartender of my soul serves me a cup of bittersweet wine.
So, after excluding “Cherish,” and Bob Dylan’s “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” as I posted both here fairly recently, here are the thirteen best songs remaining on that list:
A Baker’s Dozen for the Heartstrings
“I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” by the Supremes & the Temptations, Motown single 1137, 1968
“Summer Rain” by Johnny Rivers, Imperial single 66267, 1967
“It Don’t Matter To Me” by Bread, Elektra single 45701, 1970
“Long, Long Time” by Linda Ronstadt, Capitol single 2846, 1970
“Hey Tomorrow” by Jim Croce from You Don’t Mess Around With Jim, 1972
“I Honestly Love You” by Olivia Newton-John, MCA single 40280, 1974
“Turn Around, Look At Me” by the Vogues, Reprise single 0686, 1968
“We May Never Pass This Way (Again)” by Seal & Crofts, Warner Bros. single 7740, 1973
“We” by Shawn Phillips, A&M single 1402, 1972
“All That Heaven Will Allow” by Bruce Springsteen from Tunnel of Love, 1987
“Sentimental Lady” by Fleetwood Mac from Bare Trees, 1972
“Cobwebs and Dust” by Gordon Lightfoot from If You Could Read My Mind, 1970
“Four Strong Winds” by Neil Young from Comes A Time, 1978
A few notes:
Most of these, I acknowledge, are pop or singer-songwriter stuff, pretty mellow tunes for soul-searching in the dark hours, but the opener, well, even when the performers at Motown were baring their souls, they did so with a groove. The opening drums (has to be Benny Benjamin, I think) and then the low horns, followed by the horn chorus, well, all I can still say, forty years after I first heard it, is wow! My reference books are all packed away, or I’d credit the producer. I may be wrong, but it doesn’t sound light enough for a Smokey Robinson session. Maybe Holland-Dozier-Holland, or possibly even Berry Gordy himself. Anyone out there know? Whoever did it, they got it right.*
Bread recorded “It Don’t Matter To Me” twice. The first version, on the group’s first, self-titled album in 1969, sounds flatter than the single version that was released a year later. That’s likely recording technique instead of performance, and my preference for the single instead of the album track is likely based on familiarity, but the single version does seem the better of the two.
I expect a summons from the Taste Police – a term I’ve borrowed from fellow blogger Any Major Dude – regarding the Newton-John selection. Well, I’m guilty! Cuff me and lead me away! Make me listen to Ambrosia and Air Supply! “I Honestly Love You” is a good song (Peter Allen’s work) and a good recording. And I think it’s by far the best thing Newton-John has recorded in a long and indifferent career.
All of these have lyrics designed to make one sigh or worse, but the best lyric here might be “All That Heaven Will Allow,” with Springsteen’s working man taking us through three uses of the title phrase with three different meanings. A neat trick, and the Boss makes us believe it.
Fleetwood Mac should have had a hit with “Sentimental Lady” when Bare Trees came out in 1972. As it turned out, a remake by writer Bob Welch reached No. 8 in 1977, but the original is by far the better version of the song.
*As it happens, “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” was not produced by any of those luminaries I mentioned, but by Frank Wilson, about whom I know nothing. Note added and post revised slightly July 27, 2011.
Originally posted July 23, 2008
Every once in a while, I come across a book that I just have to tell people about.
(And it’s a good thing I have outlets with which to do so – this blog and my monthly meeting of Bookcrossing – or I fear I’d be out on the streets, gripping folks by the elbow, showing them a book: “Have you read this? You need to read this! It’s one of the best things I’ve read in a long time.” It would not take long before I’d either be warned by the police to quit or else taken away for some observation.)
Anyway, during my regular stop at the public library last weekend, I spotted a book on the new reading shelf that looked interesting enough to take a chance on: In Europe: Travels Through the Twentieth Century by Geert Max. I sifted the pages quickly, and got the impression that it was a collection of travel pieces from through the years. It sounded interesting enough, so I dropped it in the book bag and brought it home.
I’ve shared a few books here over the past year and a half, and always with the note that the book in question is one of the best things I’ve read in a long time. Not wanting that claim to be diluted, I should note that I read – at a guess – six to ten books a month. I’m a rapid reader, and even with the blog and my other writing and my househusband duties, I have a good chunk of time every day for reading. So in the past year and a half, let’s say I’ve read eight books a month; that comes out to 144 books.
Some of those were just okay, a couple I recall as actually very bad. Most were good, and there were a very few that were superior. In Europe is one of them. It turned out to be something far more interesting than an anthology of travel journalism.
In 1999, Max – a writer for the Dutch newspaper, NRC Handlesblad – was assigned to travel Europe for a year, researching and writing pieces on the history of the Twentieth Century on the continent. The book is arranged in chronological order, beginning with his January 1999 travels, during which he covered the years from 1900 to 1914. For that segment of the century, Max traveled to Paris, London, Berlin and Vienna, the four main capitals of Europe during the time when the stage was being prepared for World War I.
Using diaries, histories and publications from the time, and combining those accounts with his observations of the current state of the various locales, Max (aided, no doubt, by what appears to be a remarkable job by translator Sam Garrett) weaves a readable and fascinating history of Europe in the last century. His February travels shift from Vienna and focus on Belgium and northern France, as he chronicles the lives and deaths of millions of young men in the carnage that was the deadlocked Western Front during World War I.
And as he tours a Belgian war cemetery at Houthulst, he brings that long-gone war back to the present:
“I hear a dull thud. A blue mist comes floating across the frosty fields. In the field behind the cemetery, the DOVO, the Belgian War Munition Demolition Service, has blown up another heap of First World War ammunition. They do it twice a day, one and a half tons a year. When the farmers find grenades they leave them at the base of the utility masts, and the miners collect them. And so it goes on here. Generation after generation, this soil continues to vomit up grenades, buttons, buckles, knives, skulls, bottles, rifles, sometimes even a whole tank. The Great War never ends.”
I am tempted every day to rush through my obligations – or to ignore them – so I can that much sooner pick up Max’s book and continue my explorations through the history he found on his travels.
As I read his account of World War I, I thought – as a writer tends to do – about the only time I ever wrote about that first great war. It was in 1978, a piece timed for November 11, Veterans Day, which would be the sixtieth anniversary of the armistice that ended the brutal battle of attrition in France. Still rather new to Monticello, I asked around a bit and found a veteran of World War I who was still alert and was willing to talk about his experience in France.
Frankie was never at the front, but he said he saw enough of the work of the battlefront as wounded and dead soldiers came back through the rear echelons. I took notes and reported his words, our photographer got a picture of Frankie and his wife, Marie, and we borrowed a 1918 picture of Frankie looking every inch the doughboy in his uniform. But I could not find a way as deadline approached that week to describe the look in Frankie’s eyes as he cast himself sixty years back and recalled for me the dirt, the fear, the noise, the blood, the horrible waste that he saw from the edges of the war.
Some things are too profound for words. In In Europe, I think, Max uses his finely chiseled prose and his eye for fine detail to come closer than most can to finding a way around that barrier.
As sometimes happens here, there’s no graceful way to move to the music. Here’s a generally random selection from the year when I wrote about World War I:
A Baker’s Dozen from 1978, Vol. 2
“Do You Wanna Dance” by Janis Ian from Janis Ian
“Heavy Horses” by Jethro Tull from Heavy Horses
“Lookin’ For A Place” by Chilliwack from Lights From The Valley
“Don’t Look Back” by Boston from Don’t Look Back
“Shattered” by the Rolling Stones from Some Girls
“Is This Love” by Bob Marley & the Wailers from Kaya
“Lotta Love” by Neil Young from Comes A Time
“You Belong To Me” by Carly Simon, Elektra single 45477
“The Darker Side” by the Lamont Cranston Band from El Cee Notes
“Here Goes” by the Bliss Band from Dinner With Raoul
“The Promised Land” by Bruce Springsteen from Darkness on the Edge of Town
“Never Make A Move Too Soon” by B.B. King, ABC single 12380
“Take Me to the River” by the Talking Heads from More Songs About Buildings and Food
A few notes:
I have a soft spot for Janis Ian. Anyone who can chronicle high school desperation the way she did in 1975’s “At Seventeen” deserves a pass now and then. Her 1978 self-titled album, though it had its moments, generally deserved that pass, as it was her third album in three years that didn’t come up to the quality of 1975’s Between the Lines. On the other hand, not many albums from anyone else can meet that standard, either. Luckily, “Do You Wanna Dance” is one of the better songs on the 1978 album.
Heavy Horses saw Jethro Tull continuing the back-to-the-roots shift that the band had started with 1977’s Songs From the Wood, with both albums celebrating English folk. Horses, as All-Music Guide notes, is “chock-full of gorgeous melodies, briskly played acoustic guitars and mandolins, and Ian Anderson’s flute lilting in the background, backed by the group in top form.” That’s not to say the album is lightweight, just noting where its inspirations came from.
In the two years since the release of its self-titled debut, Boston hadn’t changed much. “Don’t Look Back” is a decent song, but it – and any of the other seven songs on the album Don’t Look Back – has the same sound as the debut album. There’s nothing really wrong with it, but I kind of wonder why the group bothered.
If I had to go through my 1978 collection and rank the albums, I think that every time, I’d come up with Neil Young’s Comes A Time in the top spot. Far more country-ish than most of his other albums, it’s also the one that Young seems most relaxed with. It sounds like he had fun making the record, and I rarely get that sense about his music.
When I did my long post for last year’s Vinyl Record Day, I wrote “the Bliss Band sounds to me a bit like Pablo Cruise or the Little River Band, both of which were hitting the charts about the time Dinner With Raoul was recorded. There’s a touch of Steely Dan in there, too.” I stand by that, but it’s a sound that’s grown on me in the past eleven months. (A note: This year’s blogswarm for Vinyl Record Day, August 12, is once again being organized by JB the DJ at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’.)
“The Promised Land” is one of my favorite Springsteen tracks of all time. (I suppose I should do an all-Springsteen post someday, listing my favorite thirteen.) He’s done some that are a little better, but what makes “The Promised Land” work is its setting: It’s an anthem that carries at least some hope amid the desperation and drear of the rest of Darkness at the Edge of Town.
Originally posted December 5, 2007
Through the window, I hear the skrik-skrik of someone scraping ice from a vehicle in the parking lot. We got another six inches of snow yesterday afternoon (on top of the six or so inches from Saturday), and it came in the afternoon, causing havoc during what passes for rush hour here in St. Cloud.
It looks like this winter is going to be a tougher one than the past few have been. At least, it’s starting out that way, with two six-inch snowfalls in four days and another storm heading our direction for tomorrow. The past few years haven’t seen much snow at all, and it’s generally come later in the season. And some of those winters have seemed to bring fewer days of sub-zero cold, the kind of cold that makes snow squeak under your feet and makes your cheeks burn.
Were winters colder when I was a kid? I don’t know. I remember walking in some pretty cold weather during my elementary school days. For the seven years I went to Lincoln School (kindergarten through sixth grade), I walked the five blocks from Kilian Boulevard to the school almost every day. On those winter days when the wind came from the north or northwest, we’d turn around and back our way to school, whole clusters of kids walking in reverse along Fifth Avenue Southeast.
(One very clear recollection that points out how times have changed is that the girls were still required to wear skirts or dresses in school. They could wear slacks under their dresses or skirts when they walked to school, but those slacks had to come off once they got inside.)
On very frigid days, those snow-squeaking days when the temperature was at twenty below zero or colder (that’s about twenty-nine degrees below zero Celsius), my mom or dad would drive us – my sister was three years ahead of me – the five blocks to school, often picking up classmates of ours along the way. And on occasion during my first few years of elementary school, I’d get a ride to school from Ed, the college fellow who lived in the next block and was the quarterback for the St. Cloud State Huskies football team.
Do kids still walk to school in any season? I don’t know. I do have a sense that kids no longer do as much outdoors as we used to do. Forty years ago, there were two city-maintained outdoor skating rinks within walking distance of our house: one right across the highway from Lincoln School (with a walking bridge over the highway providing easy access), and another about six blocks south of us on Kilian Boulevard. I was never a very good skater, but I spent my time with Rick and the other neighborhood kids scuffling around the two rinks. And on occasion, we’d go downtown where the city maintained a skating surface on Lake George.
And once every couple of weeks, we’d grab our saucer sleds and head down to the big hill in Riverside Park for a weekend afternoon of sliding, coming home cold and wet, tired and happy.
The rink on Kilian is long gone now, its location having become part of a permanent rose garden. I don’t think there’s a rink near Lincoln anymore. The open area that was flooded each winter is still there, but the warming house is long gone. And the old warming house on Lake George came down years ago, too. I suppose kids who want to skate do so in the ice arenas that were built during the years I was gone.
I would imagine, though, that kids still slide down the hill in Riverside Park. I hope so. And this year, it looks as if there will be plenty of snow for them.
“The First Chill of Winter” by Boo Hewerdine & Darden Smith from Evidence, 1989
“Winterlude” by Bob Dylan from New Morning, 1970
“A Hazy Shade of Winter” by Simon & Garfunkel from Bookends, 1968
“Song of Winter” by Françoise Hardy from One Nine Seven Zero, 1970
“Winterlong” by Neil Young, unreleased, 1974
“Wintery Feeling” by Jesse Winchester from A Touch On The Rainy Side, 1978
“The Coldest Winter in Memory” by Al Stewart from Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time, 1996
“In The Winter” by Janis Ian from Between the Lines, 1975
“Song For A Winter’s Night” by Gordon Lightfoot from The Way I Feel, 1967
“The Winter is Cold” by Wendy & Bonnie from Genesis, 1969
“Lion in Winter” by the Bee Gees from Trafalgar, 1971
“Winter Winds’ by Fotheringay from Fotheringay, 1970
“Sometimes In Winter” by Blood, Sweat & Tears from Blood, Sweat & Tears, 1969
A few notes on some of the songs and artists:
I’ve posted the Hewerdine and Smith album Evidence here before, but I could not resist starting this list with “The First Chill of Winter,” which is one of my favorite songs.
The album One Nine Seven Zero, the source of French chanteuse Françoise Hardy’s “Song of Winter,” was originally released in 1969 in South Africa under the title of English 3. A year later, it was released in the U.K., Australia and New Zealand as One Nine Seven Zero. In the U.S. and Canada, the album’s title was Alone. I don’t think there’s any difference between the albums, but the source I had for the album called it One Nine Seven Zero, so that’s what I’ve called it.
The Neil Young track, “Winterlong” was included on Decade, his 1977 retrospective. The only other place the song shows up officially is on the 2006 release, Live at the Fillmore East, which documents a 1970 performance by Young with Crazy Horse.
Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song For A Winter Night” may be more familiar in a version by Sarah McLachlan. Her nicely done cover of the song was released on the soundtrack of a 1994 remake of the Christmas film, Miracle on 34th Street, although the recording was not used in the film.
“The Winter Is Cold” comes from one of the more remarkable one-shot recordings of the 1960s. Genesis came from San Francisco-based sisters, Wendy and Bonnie Flowers, who were seventeen and thirteen, respectively, at the time. It was released on the Skye label, which folded soon after the record came out, dooming any chances for the record to gain any attention. “The Winter Is Cold” is one of the lesser tracks on the album, I think, but the album – re-released on the Sundazed label in 2001 with bonus tracks – is worth finding.
Originally posted October 17, 2007
It was in early 1972 that I began my slide into an addiction that persists to this day. Just like in the songs and the movies, it was because of a woman. And an older woman, at that.
I was a college freshman. She was a sophomore. And the addiction was coffee.
It was about midway through my first year of college, and I stopped one Friday morning to say hi to the secretaries in Headley Hall, the building where I’d worked briefly as a janitor the summer before. As I chatted with Ginny – who wasn’t all that much older than I was – her new part-time assistant, a student, came to her desk with a question. Ginny introduced me to Char, a sophomore. She smiled, I smiled, she went back to work and I said goodbye to Ginny and went off to class.
My plans for that weekend were more elaborate than usual. I still lived at home, but two or three times during that first year of college I spent a weekend staying with friends in one of the dorms on campus. We’d hang around the dorm or hit some parties Friday night, recuperate on Saturday, and do the same thing Saturday night and generally act like college kids. The weekend would start as soon as I finished my two-hour stint as a janitor in the Business Building that afternoon. I’d head from there to my dad’s office in the library, grab the overnight bag I’d left there that morning, and then walk to the dorm where Rick and Dave lived.
As I headed down a staircase in Stewart Hall toward the tunnel to the Business Building, I heard a voice greet me. It was Char, the young lady I’d met that morning. We talked for a few minutes and then she asked what my plans were for the weekend. I told her I was staying on campus, and then – emboldened by who knows what – asked if she wanted to hang around with me and with my friends that evening. She agreed. So we spent a good chunk of time with each other that evening, and we spent an hour or so talking and cuddling in a little lounge in her dorm Sunday afternoon. I called her Monday evening, and for the next few months, we saw each other frequently.
One evening after a movie, we stopped to have something to eat. I ordered a soda to go with my food, and Char ordered coffee. Looking back, we were both kids, of course, but to me, as we sat there, she seemed so much more adult sipping her coffee than I did slurping Coke through a straw. That thought stayed with me, and the following Monday, when I had an hour to kill at the student union before heading off to sweep floors at the Business Building, I took a cup of coffee to my table.
About two months later, Char and I went different directions, which saddened me. But I was young, and after some grieving, there was always the prospect of someone new on the next stairway. So I walked on.
And more than thirty-five years later, I’m still drinking coffee.
A Baker’s Dozen from 1972, Vol. 2
“Heart of Gold” by Bettye LaVette, Atco single 6891
“Soft Parade of Years” by Dion from Suite For Late Summer
“Me and Mrs. Jones” by Billy Paul, Philadelphia Int. single 3521
“All Down The Line” by the Rolling Stones from Exile On Main Street
“Woman’s Gotta Have It” by Bobby Womack, United Artists single 50902
“Gypsy” by Van Morrison from Saint Dominic’s Preview
“(I Don’t Want To) Hang Up My Rock And Roll Shoes” by The Band from Rock of Ages
“Nobody Like You” by Bread from Baby I’m-A Want You
“Harvest” by Neil Young from Harvest
“Hold On This Time” by Fontella Bass from Free
“Both Of Us (Bound To Lose)” by Manassas from Manassas
“Cry Like a Rainstorm” by Eric Justin Kaz from If You’re Lonely
“Hearsay” by the Soul Children, Stax single 119
A few notes on some of the songs:
Bettye LaVette’s standout cover of Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” was part of Atlantic Records’ attempt to make LaVette the star she likely should have been. Recorded in Detroit, where she’d recorded earlier in her career, the record tanked, as did a single recorded in Muscle Shoals later that year. After that, Atlantic pulled the plug on LaVette’s album Child of the ’70s, which was finally released – with extra tracks – not all that long ago by Rhino. It’s worth finding. (Thanks to Red Kelly at The A Side for the info and the tip.)
I do recall hearing Billy Paul’s “Me and Mrs. Jones” at least once while sipping a cup of coffee in the student union. It would have been in the fall of the year, though, when Paul’s record was No 1 for three weeks and was almost inescapable. It’s still a great record. (Billy Paul isn’t quite a One-Hit Wonder, as he reached No. 37 with “Thanks For Saving My Life” in the spring of 1974. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one.)
The more I listen to “All Down The Line” and the tracks that surround it, the more certain I am that Exile On Main Street is the best album the Rolling Stones ever recorded and almost certainly one of the best five albums of all time.
“(I Don’t Want To) Hang Up My Rock And Roll Shoes,” which Chuck Willis wrote and took to No. 24 in 1958, was one of The Band’s perennial concert favorites. This version comes from Rock of Ages, the live recording of a New Year’s Eve performance at the end of 1971, with horn charts put together for the event by New Orleans legend Allen Toussaint. The album is a great one, and it’s available in an expanded version that includes ten bonus tracks, including three tracks with Bob Dylan.
“Cry Like A Rainstorm,” done here by its writer, Eric Kaz, is more familiar in versions by Bonnie Raitt on Takin’ My Time from 1973 and by Linda Ronstadt on Cry Like a Rainstorm – Howl Like the Wind in 1989.
The Soul Children’s “Hearsay” is just a great piece of Stax music.
Originally posted May 16, 2007
After I settled on the Moody Blues’ ballad “Driftwood” to kick off this week’s Baker’s Dozen, I was thinking in about four different directions.
I was pondering 1978, which is the year from which this week’s songs come. I thought about the first time I heard the Moody Blues. I thought about belonging to various music clubs over the years, as I believe that’s how I got Octave, the album from which “Driftwood” comes. And I was wondering how many songs in the major rock canon feature French horn.
I’m pretty sure I heard the Moody Blues for the first time at Rick and Rob’s along about 1970, after Rob borrowed a copy of Question of Balance from a friend. I’ve belonged to music clubs about six times over the years and currently subscribe to Yourmusic.com, which is the best – for value provided – service of that type I’ve ever belonged to, if you can do without the absolute latest up-to-the-minute hits. (That’s an utterly unsolicited testimonial, of course.) And I thought instantly of two other songs that, like “Driftwood,” feature a French horn prominently: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by the Rolling Stones and the Beatles’ “For No One.” (Anybody have any others?)
But what struck me was pondering 1978. I’ve got a pretty good memory, and many of the things I remember, I recall vividly. And there’s not much about 1978 that stands out. All right, I got married, a union that was later dissolved, and I haven’t forgotten that. But beyond that – and those who have lived through the slow death of a union that was expected to be permanent will understand the ambiguity with which I recall that event – it was a quiet year, at least in my memory.
The interesting thing about that is that it was my first full calendar year in the so-called adult world. I left St. Cloud in December of 1977 for my first newspapering job, in the small town of Monticello about thirty miles away. After some growing pains, I settled into the routine of a weekly newspaper, a routine I stayed with for almost six years. I enjoyed my work there, and did well with it, and I liked living in a small town (about 3,000 people at the time), for the most part.
But it was a quiet time in my life, not as unsettled as the college years that preceded it, nor, come to think of it, as vibrant as the years in graduate school that followed it. And as I gathered this Baker’s Dozen, I pondered the ancient Chinese curse (or so I have been told it is): May you live in interesting times.
Consider that, along with trying to think of songs with French horn in them.
“Driftwood” by the Moody Blues from Octave
“Doubleback Alley” by the Rutles from The Rutles
“Easy From Now On” by Emmylou Harris from Quarter Moon In A Ten Cent Town
“Before My Heart Finds Out” by Gene Cotton, Ariola single 7675
“Field Of Opportunity” by Neil Young from Comes A Time
“Twins Theme” by Dan Fogelberg & Tim Weisberg from Twin Sons Of Different Mothers
“Let’s All Chant” by Michael Zager Band, Private Stock single 45184
“Miss You” by the Rolling Stones from Some Girls
“Who Are You” by the Who from Who Are You
“’Till You Come Back” by Craig Fuller & Eric Kaz from Craig Fuller & Eric Kaz
“Song On The Radio” by Al Stewart from Time Passages
“Who Do You Love” by Townes Van Zandt from Flyin’ Shoes
“Whenever I Call You ‘Friend’” by Kenny Loggins, Columbia single 10794
A few notes on the songs:
“Doubleback Alley” by the Rutles is, of course, part of one of the great musical spoofs of the rock era. The record The Rutles is the soundtrack to a mock documentary satirizing the rise and fall of the Beatles, of course, done by a troupe that included members of the Monty Python group. The film was at time hilarious, but the music was dead-on, matching the sounds of the Beatles through the years. (The same was true of Archaeology, released at the time Apple released the three mammoth Beatles anthologies.)
“Field Of Opportunity” is from Comes A Time, Neil Young’s return to the countrified roots that he first presented on Harvest in 1972 and would return to from time to time. The record was a major success for Young, but I’ve always gotten the feeling that he was a little bored with it once he released it. I recall reading a comment from him to the effect that he could have stayed in the middle of the road for his career but that the view from the ditch was more interesting.
“Let’s All Chant” by the Michael Zager Band is one of those things that come up in anybody’s player from time to time, I imagine. You know, a song that brings the reaction “Where the hell did I find that and why did I keep it?” Zager’s only Top 40 hit, was featured in the Faye Dunaway film The Eyes of Laura Mars and reached No. 36. I’m still debating whether it stays, although it did turn out to be kind of catchy.
I think, without checking, that this is the first appearance of the Rolling Stones in a Baker’s Dozen, which is interesting, as almost all of their work from, say 1966 through the Seventies is in my RealPlayer. And I think this list has the first appearance by the Who, as well.
The late Townes Van Zandt, despite being little known by the general public, was one of the greatest country and folk writers and performers of his generation, from the start of his career in the mid-1960s up to his death in 1997. Flyin’ Shoes, which included his take on Bo Diddley’s classic, “Who Do You Love,” has just been remastered and re-released.
The female vocal on “Whenever I Call You ‘Friend’” is by Stevie Nicks.