King Crimson – Lizard

Greetings, fellow persons!

Sorry about the delay in updates, but this whole week was spent doing some awesome stuff like “modding” my Mp3 player to do amazing things like play video game soundtracks and Bejeweled on top of its already awesome audiophilic capabilities (I’m totally a FLAC fiend now). Also I had to do holiday shopping, attend parties and, oh yeah, finally obtain some gainful employment, since this blog doesn’t pay for itself unfortunately.

Thus, it’s been a hectic, confusing, yet ultimately rewarding week for me, so I have decided to top it all off with an album that… well ok I selected this at random, but here you go, King Crimson’s Lizard:

Yeah keep telling me you miss the olden days of album covers. I'm listening.

While looking back at old entries of this here blog, I was surprised at first that I never wrote about this album, but then I remembered the very important reason why: I had no idea what to say about it.

All I could remember about my first listen to Lizard was NOTES and then NOOOOTES (Notes). I really don’t think any coherent thought entered my mind in the 42 1/2 minutes of the album’s run-time, which is odd because this blog might show you that I have a lot of thoughts about music usually.

Fast-forward a year or so, and something magical happened: a guy from a prog group called Porcupine Tree decided to work with Robert Fripp to painstakingly remaster, from the original master tapes, ALL of the King Crimson catalogue. Despite this being a very good idea, since master tape remasters are practically the only way to get these ancient albums to sound good on modern mp3/vgm/Bejeweled players, it was also kind of a predictable idea, since King Crimson had already issued 30th AND 35th Anniversary remasters of their old material. Still, from the master tapes, maaaaan.

Among the first albums to be remastered, quite mysteriously, was Lizard, so this is where I gave Lizard what I would consider my first true listen. Then again. Then again. Then again… to be honest, I’m not done listening to it, but at least I’ve finally formulated enough opinions to write a blog entry!

Fact is, I had so much trouble coming up with a single coherent thought about the album because there isn’t a single coherent thought IN the album. I have now listened to the album dozens, possibly hundreds of times, and I know every single note by heart, but I can’t begin to try and guess why any two of them are put together the way they are.

Of course, the 40th anniversary re-issue of the album comes with some  pretty interesting liner notes (penned by Fripp himself) which, when paired with the Internet, paints a rather interesting story about the album’s production.

Without going into too much detail about the band’s personnel problems in those early days between 1967 and 2009, I will say that King Crimson were basically like watching a typical teenage garage band go through the motions of getting together, going nowhere, and breaking up, except instead of that middle bit, you’ve got “becomes the biggest rock band in the world for a while”. Despite having the world in the palm of their hands through a combination of VERY quickly cultivating a uniquely complex sound the likes of which had never been heard, showcasing extraordinary musicianship with even more extraordinary focus on music rather than image, and as Fripp put it himself, being in the right place at the right time, King Crimson simply could NOT get started on that crawling thing before they were already running.

At the time that Lizard was being recorded, they had already lost vocalist/bassist/donut fiend Greg Lake to a little-known band whose name escapes me at the moment, and that was after losing everybody else as well. Basically, Fripp was a man without a band (but his non-musician lyricist remained, more on that later), so he decided to rebuild from scratch.

Apparently Fripp didn’t get the memo that you’re not supposed to include a jazz pianist and four woodwind/brass players in your hard rock band, so that’s exactly what he did. Still, if you were the only member of a garage band that left you and the only other musicians you know from school are in the marching band, are you going to say no?  Also joining the fray is, not kidding, his actual highschool bandmate/roommate Gordon Haskell on bass and vocals, and the only drummer he could find who would take part in this mess, a hero by any standard named Ian McCulloch.

With this motley crew of masterful musicians, Fripp finally had a force to be reckoned with; a band that would record an album that, maybe this time, would not sound quite so much like a repeat of In The Court.

Well, it sure wasn’t a repeat of In The Court, in sound or amount of success, but the fact that the album even happened is perhaps even more a miracle than the huge success that was the band’s first album. Basically, let’s just say that collecting such an assorted cast of kids did not lead to a lot of civilized agreement of ideas, and when your vocalist/bassist is only good at one of those things and doesn’t even like the music, well… let’s talk about the music!

It starts off with some synthy kind of harp strumming sounds, which is not bad, and then Haskell’s voice kind of staggers into the door spilling cough medicine (the type that they ban in most countries) all over the place, and your first thought might well be “Dude, do you need to lie down or turn on a humidifier or something?” And then he punches you and you can hear the wail of ambulance sirens as the paramedics revive you and, oh wait, that’s just Fripp’s guitar playing brash, diminished bits on his guitar as Gordon’s voice comes back in with all the clarity of a wet shoe.

Still, it’s hard to tell what’s more congested, Gordon’s voice or Peter Sinfield’s lyrics. The first track is called “Cirkus” (back before Mortal Kombat made it decidedly un-cool to replace c’s with k’s willy-nilly), and is full of rather obnoxious words strung together by pure pretense, which would seem like faulty songwriting if not for the fact that the same can be said about the music itself.

The material gets even more ridiculous afterward, in fact the song “Indoor Games” ends with a genuine burst of laughter from Haskell as he attempts to figure out how best to emotionally deliver the line “Hey ho”. An understandable bemusement, to tell the truth. Add to this some rather intriguing clean guitar riffs trading off with the saxophone, and you’ve got a song that is by no means bad, if bad songs are something you like.

The next song, “Happy Family“, doesn’t feature any corpsing, but does contain some thinly-veiled allegorical statements about The Beatles, a somewhat well-known rock band from whom Fripp apparently derived the idea to make an entire band around recreating the musical shock that was the ending to Sgt. Pepper. To be honest, the lyrics might be terrible in this piece as well, but Gordon’s voice is so well hidden behind a rather tasty synthesizer effect (plus his own natural store of phlegm and wintertime nuts) that, mercifully, not a word can be understood by humans.

After all that fun nonsense, we go into WHOAH WHERE DID THAT FLUTE COME FROM… I mean, “Lady of the Dancing Water”, a song that calms the storm of weirdness either to prepare the listener for what is to come, or to try and make up for the rather melody-free events that had previously transpired. It’s a very pretty song, but I wish anyone other than Gordon Haskell had sung it, because seriously somebody give him a shot of adrenaline; I think he’s had some kind of reaction.

Finally, the fifth and final track of the CD (or the entire B side to the record) is a 23 minute opus called “Lizard”, wherein Gordon Haskell was kindly shuffled off the roster to make room for a real singer, Yes’s own castrato sensation Jon Anderson. Funny enough, after several songs’ worth of passages go by, Gordon breaks back into the studio to sing for a bit before disappearing forever and ever, missing and presumed eaten by bears.

So I have written all of this to kind of give you a sense of the chaos that has unfolded in this album, but did you see that bit up there where I said I listened to it again and again? That’s because I completely love this album.

Seriously! Sure I may idolize strong melodies, and some of my very favorite songs can be played within a single octave on a piano, but something in my brain simply becomes obsessed when weirdness, the abstract, obtuse, endlessly and needlessly complex musical ideas come into play, and boy do they come in with this album.

Your average music listener, even one who otherwise enjoys King Crimson and their razor’s edge approach to pushing the envelope into the seat of their pants, will probably detest Lizard for any number of good reasons. It sounds out of tune, it hunkers down into rather long passages of go-nowhere note tinkling, hell, it sounds like Jazz in places, but the confusion and befuddlement is what keeps me coming back for more. The anticipation of another sequence of bewildering notes is a rush to me, and thanks to the amazing remastering job in the most recent re-release, the textures and tones really sing out in a good set of headphones. All 23 minutes of the album’s ending track keeps me thoroughly entertained, which turned out to be really good training for becoming an actual Yes fan, turns out.

I truly can’t knock this album for what it is, because it really shouldn’t have been, and I am so glad it was anyway. Apart from being musically one of the most interesting things I’ve heard, it’s also a rather clear window into a band that was falling apart before it even came together, and sure enough, only 1 member of the band remained to help Fripp through the next album, and it was the damn flute player.

Also, in true garage band fashion, when drummer Ian McCulloch left the group, he was immediately replaced with his ex-roommate, who could also play the drums. God bless King Crimson.

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The Beatles – Let It Be

I didn’t really know what to title today’s entry, because in essence, I’m covering two version of the same album that are both titled differently, for today I’d like to cover a lot of ground in as few sleepy words as possible. Namely, today we’re talking about The Beatles’ “final” album, Let It Be:

We’ll also be talking about Let It Be… Naked, and I suppose this is the last entry about The Beatles, and if I had my way, I’d use the entirety of it to complain about Phil Spector.

This album was recorded just before The Beatles recorded their “actually final” album, Abbey Road, and released just after they broke up, so needles to say, this is an album with problems. In fact, in all fairness, I’d say the album wasn’t really finished until 2003, when Paul decided to fix the thing and released the Naked version.

Basically, after the “White Album” was finished, and despite the band’s insurmountable personal differences, Paul McCartney wanted to get the band back together, all recording in the same room, and make things nice and Beatley again, per chance to possibly tour again. These suggestions were met with looks of confusion and dismay from the other 3 members, so Paul chuckled and said “Just kidding!” about the touring, but the band members did think that recording another album wouldn’t be too hard a way to make millions, so they took him up on this and all got together.

In listening to the songs that wound up on the album, it’s quite evident that it’s Paul’s baby. He was the one to fight and keep the group together through this tough time (even though he reportedly was a little too excited and caused George Harrison to quit for a week), and some of his best work is on this album, I feel. In fact, when I think of the other late Beatles albums, I often paint McCartney as the idiot and Lennon as the guy making sense in how things should go, but I side with Paul in this recording. Not only for the reasons already stated, but because he absolutely hated what Phil Spector did to the album, and Lennon was the one responsible for that bastard ever getting ahold of the Beatles’ music.

Who knows why anybody likes Phil Spector, I recently watched 2 full documentaries on him and it made me hate him all the more, though it did give me an understanding of how he came to work with The Beatles. Apparently, Spector was busy being a recluse and locking his wife in his mansion from 1966 until 1970, all because one single to which he had applied his repulsive “Wall Of Sound” dared to peak at #88 on the Billboard chart. He was brought to England to work with John Lennon on his solo stuff, as John was a fan, which makes sense because Phil Spector was the “big thing” between Elvis and The Beatles for reasons that people speculate have to do with “no-one else being available at the time”.

Either way, after all the hundreds of songs got recorded for Let It Be (known as the “Get Back” sessions, because the whole concept of the album was McCartney wanting to “get back” to the band’s original way of doing things) were essentially shelved because nobody wanted to go through hundreds of songs’ worth of tapes and put together an album. Phil did, so he was given the job as producer of the already-recorded album, and while just finding the tapes, cutting them together, and calling it a day would have been just fine, of course he applied his terrible production standards all over it. It’s like drizzling honey over a priceless painting: yeah it’s pretty sweet but is it art?

I will admit, there are some things that Spector did to the album that were pretty good. For one, he took bits of dialogue and banter and spliced them in between songs, which gives the album a kind of good-natured vibe that keeps the thing from taking itself too seriously. Of course, when you realize that The Beatles were fighting all the time during the recording and had broken up by the time the album was released, that might have been a better idea to utilize about 10 albums ago. Admittedly, some of the string arrangements sound lovely, but that’s where I must segue into a short version of his huge list of crimes.

One example of something that could have been so right but went so wrong is the song “Across The Universe”. It’s a beautiful melody by Lennon, which is made even sweeter by acoustic guitar and sitar at some point (I think). Spector added in a lot of strings, which were too many strings playing too few notes, so it wasn’t that effective, but still sounded all right. Oh, but then he slowed the song down by lowering it half a step so that both the guitar and singer sound weird, then he applied an echoey sort of prickly effect on the acoustic guitar, then drowned the melody in reverb. I used to only half-like this song until I heard the Naked version, which is so much better, though I do kind of miss the strings.

McCartney was perfectly right to be furious about Phil Spector working his “magic” on this album, mainly because the album was McCartney’s idea, and his biggest obstacle in getting anything done was Lennon anyway, so who was Lennon to let Spector loose with all the tapes? Really, none of this would concern me as anything more than an amusing anecdote that happened to get turned into a whole album if not for one nagging notion: if this album would have been produced the right way, and with the right amount of care, it would easily be the Beatles’ best album.

See, I love me some Beatles, but there are two things, especially during their artistically meritable stage, that I will invariably put down about them when asked. For one, they were all great musicians (yes even Ringo), and for the most part they had brilliant ideas, but functioning as a band was something they could only do until they got too famous to need to be in a band anymore, then they just seemed to get in each others’ way all the time. For two, a lot of their most lauded albums are kind of a mess as far as cohesion goes, I always feel like I’m putting the album I started listening to on hold while some interloping song comes through, usually sung by Ringo, and then the show’s back on the road or has changed entirely.

In Let It Be (or, at least the …Naked version), the fact that all the members of the band are playing the parts at the same time with a minimal amount of overdubs at least lends the album the appearance that The Beatles are this amazing band that aren’t have any trouble at all, and it’s nearly a palpable feeling that makes me kind of sad for once that they didn’t continue on after this. The other aspect to the album is that, not just because it’s an album without a “Ringo” song on it, all the songs fit together so nicely that the album just flows from start to finish. Indeed, the …Naked re-mix of the album is a lot better than the official version, but I still feel like it’s more of an idea of how good the album could have been rather than being the end-all best Beatles album. At least it’s a lot smoother than the Spector-produced version. In that version, the inclusion of an unfinished song (“Maggie Mae”) and a bizarre excerpt from a meaningless jam (“Dig It”) trip things up, with the former ending too abruptly and the latter sounding more like Mick Jagger had infiltrated the studio as he’s known to do. Not the most cohesive thing ever, for sure.

Either way, no matter which version of the album you prefer, Let It Be has some incredible songs in it, and it’s occasionally well put together. This is, of course, the part where I point out that it’s a little ironic that an album called Let It Be has received the opposite treatment. Indeed, the album was shelved for a long time, but instead of letting it be, they tried something like three times to get an album out of the tapes, and then Phil Spector got involved, and then McCartney got angry, but couldn’t let it be until 33 years later, when the …Naked version came out, and indeed one could “let it be” at that point, but then the original Spector-produced version came out as a remixed album which does sound better but still… let it be.

George Harrison – All Things Must Pass

Today was a rainy day, which I always like to see closing out one of the hottest months of the year, so well played, Texas weather. Still, it was time for my daily coffee and I was faced with an archaic task that I thought was stricken from my routine forever upon acquiring a Zune with a tape-deck adapter; the task of selecting a CD from my monstrous collection to play in the car on my way over. The tape deck broke in the car, you see, so I’m left with just the CD player, and thus can only listen to one CD at a time. So prehistoric! I tell you, thumbing through a GUI with all of my worldly musical possessions right there is one thing, but sifting through all of my albums by hand, trying to find a “suitable for rainy days” album is quite another. I never found an album for the rain, but I did happen across this, an album I have been LONG overdue in listening to in its entriety:

All Things Must Pass, and really George Harrison’s solo work in general, is something of a cosmic joke on The Beatles, I feel. Basically, in all 10-ish years of the Beatles’ dicatorship over the minds and souls of the youth (now known as your grandparents), George Harrison was known as “The Quiet One”. He generally only offered about 1 or 2 songs per album to the group, and trust me when I say that nobody compares every songwriter in existence to “Harrison/Harrison”, oh no, any musician would consider himself blessed to be accused of ripping off “Lennon/McCartney”.

Imagine this, if you can, the “Lennon/McCartney” egos and general dissonance of the group’s mentality eventually drove The Beatles apart, scattering in all directions like some cosmic explosion of rock, where each one would contribute actual consistent material for once, so never again would there be a record where you might groove to a Lennon tune only to be derailed by one of McCartney’s oft-childish…err…whimsical concoctions.

It was after this time, in fact, less than a year after The Beatles’ breakup, that George Harrison pulled one of the biggest stunts in music: releasing a triple album.

That’s right, “The Quiet One” of the group, amidst all the fighting and lawsuits and poor management and songs about Octopus Gardens, amassed enough unused songs to create not one, but three albums, and had the guff to go ahead and release them all at the same time, a feat never before attempted by a solo artist. Here’s another kicker: the albums are all great!

There was a time when I, in my youthful audacity (mere days before starting this blog), would have merely reported that the album is “good”, and that’s because it features what used to be a real pet peeve of mine before I kind of “grew” as a music appreciationist. One of those pet peeves goes by the name of Phil Spector.

Now, it’s only an accident that this is the first time I would mention Spector. Basically, he’s the guy responsible for the “Wall of Sound”, which is the single-cell organism that would eventually “evolve” in the indie sound. It’s on a lot of recordings (even a Beatles album I haven’t talked about yet), and it involves lots and lots of recording, many instruments layered over each other, and everything is so echoey that it sounds like you left your speakers in the the bathroom on the other side of a warehouse. Most albums that have this sound achieve critical boot-licking the likes of which I have only seen lately with the advent of this afore-mentioned indie sound. I think it’s because most critics are afraid to say it, but I, as an avid music fan and in no way a professional writer, am not afraid to say: Screw you, Phil Spector.

Basically, All Things Must Pass would be the perfect album for me if it weren’t for all this echo. It’s like I’m caught in a network of tunnels, trying to find this amazing rock music at its source so I can rock out with it forever, but will never find it because Phil Spector has erected a wall to keep me from enjoying this album to its fullest. That’s right, I went metaphorical on you.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, just check out the song “Awaiting On You All”, the fourth song on the “second” album. What is even going on here? I don’t know, but this song is otherwise so great.

The other pet peeve I used to have with this album was the repetition. Now, if you’ve read my cathartic Sparks writeups, you will know that I am now totally pro-repetition, if used sparingly and with adequate modulation. That is what George Harrison is all about, so songs like the accidentally-stolen “My Sweet Lord” and Lennon-rejected “Isn’t It A Pity” are bereft of the sting of having more than half of the songs dedicated to repeating a single line over and over.

Despite the production, there are some really inspiring and moving moments on the album. The song “All Things Must Pass” is a calm, wonderful tune about one of the most enduring ideas shared by most mindsets, philosophies, and religions, that everything comes in order to pass. The good, the bad, the endless choruses, the feeling of drowning in reverb, it will all pass. It’s a great idea, and not a lot of musicians take the time to acknowledge this simple truth.

Another great song to me is “Wah-Wah”, not so much because it’s inspiring, but because it’s got those wild Beatles-esque chord changes, and some really cool 7th-note-heavy harmonies. The album is not without its quirky moments, as well, as the whimsical e-piano heavy “I Dig Love” almost sounds like McCartney snuck into the studio and switched out some of the sheet music, which would be just like him.

Songs like “Art Of Dying” introduce an actual “jam” element to the second album, which I quite appreciate. Of course, the whole third album is known as the “Apple Jams” (which sounds delicious), as they were more just jamming with some top musicians than anything. The sequence on the CD version starts off with a horrible happy-birthday song to John Lennon which thankfully bumps right into a high-speed blues jam after less than a minute. “Plug Me In” is immense fun, and features best friend Eric Clapton swapping guitar licks with Beatle George.

The longer jams, “I Remember Jeep” with its white noise awesomeness throughout, and “Thanks For The Pepperoni”, keep the blues stuff going, and to enthusiasts of the sound (like me), is probably going to be the best part of the album. The whole thing ends (on the CD version, whereas it starts with this track in the 5th LP) with “Out Of The Blue”, which is more blues, but this time with a healthy dose of rock (and many more musicians) added.

So all for the price of a Beatles album and a half, we get 2 great albums, one kind of folksy and the other kind of more rock-oriented, and then a third half-hour of instrumental blues, no wonder everyone loves this album! Yes, indeed Beatle George really showed the musical world what he was made of with this album and some of his subsequent releases, and if there were any justice in the world, his tag-line would have been promptly changed to “The Musician” of the group.

Hot Tuna – Hot Tuna

There’s something wholly satisfying and calming to the soul to know that one of the most talented and unique blues duos out there put out a debut album of a two (occasionally three) man set recorded live, in a bar, with clanking glass and discussion over monitor levels included. This, my friends, is Hot Tuna by none other than Hot Tuna:

Whoops! Heh heh, how did THAT get in there?

Hot Tuna’s debut, as I said, is nothing more than singer/guitarist Jorma Kaukonen doing his signature finger-pickin’ blues, with bass legend Jack Casady providing some really melodic bass rockingness from any one of his robot basses (he had panels of electronics installed in his basses to give him absolute control over his tone). Occasionally the duo is joined by harmonica player Will Scarlett, who played harmonica for more of their releases with harmonica (and some for ones that didn’t, oddly enough… ok I lied).

The setting is The New Orleans House in Berkeley, California, if my ability to look up things on Wikipedia serves me right. It was recorded in 1969 amid a minimal amount of audience interruption, except for the age-old tradition of throwing glass bottles into trash cans with enough force to stop an unmovable object (present mainly in track 3). The set-list is entirely covers or traditional songs revamped by the guys, with the exception of the final two songs, which I believe are originals by Kaukonen.

The set starts with “Hesitation Blues“, which seems to be a staple of the band’s sound, even unto today. It’s a wonderful blues song, which strays far from the more modern 3 chord structure of the blues we know today, and retains more of a folk/traditional sound. The lyrics are pretty great, as most old blues songs are:

Well if the river was whiskey and if I were a duck
I might swim to the bottom, and never come up

Tell me how long do I have to wait
Can I get you now, darlin’, must I hesitate?

There’s a tempo change halfway through where the guys, in an almost psychic way, go into double-time and a more straight-forward rhythm for a few measures, after which the audience really digs with the applause. How I wish we lived in a time where this kind of music was still so loved.

Up next is “How Long Blues”, which starts after the afore-mentioned discussion about monitor levels. The song was originally made a pre-war blues hit by Leroy Carr, a pianist who had a very entertaining stage presence. The tune, again, is old blues and thus is more complex than what we might hear nowadays. Again, the rhythm is played with quite a lot in this song, as the bass keeps up the swingin’ part while the guitar launches off into some more straightforward lines, giving the song a disconnected but still “together” sound. Not bad at all, I say!

“Uncle Sam Blues”, another uncredited traditional, is the first song to feature Will Scarlett, and aside from having the first familiar 3 chord progression, has some pretty interesting anti-war lyrics:

Well Sam ain’t no woman, but he sure can take your man
Yeah Uncle Same ain’t no woman, you know he sure can take your man
Well there’s 4000 guys in the service list
Doing something somewhere they just don’t understand

The bass solo featured halfway through this song is a very good one, it’s described as “contrapuntal” but I, being a musical moron, have no idea what that means. So, for the sake of being vicariously wrong, I will say that this is a contrapuntal bass solo of the highest order!

Then we have a bit more of a country-sounding song called “Don’t You Leave Me Here” which sounds like it could have been written by Roger Miller but was in fact written by Jelly Roll Morton, the man who claimed to have invented jazz. Well, despite that, the song is actually good.

Also good is the very minory blues stomper “Death Don’t Have No Mercy”, which has another wonderful bass solo and some very dark lyrics indeed. Too dark to re-print, in fact, you’re going to have to check it out for yourself, lest you defenestrate yourself merely based on the words I would be printing on this lowly blawg. It should be noted, however, that this song was written by Reverend Gary Davis, whose finger-pickin’ style is one of the main influences on our young Kaukonen.

We now go into the very “southern America” sounding “Know You Rider”, which, like the previous song, takes a bit for the bass to start playing, which makes me almost think that these songs are just being sprung on Jack Casady, and he has to learn them in real-time, which he does without missing a note. I know that isn’t “really” how it is, but I like to think that such a thing would be possible, after all, the two have been playing together since they were teenagers.

Next is another song by Reverend Gary Davis called “Oh Lord, Search My Heart”. It’s a pretty nifty gospel song, but a rip-roaring finger-pickin’ song. I can definitely see why Jorma was so entranced by Davis, much as young guitarists with a deep interest in finger-pickin’ like myself do with Jorma.

Then we have “Whinin’ Boy Blues”, which is another Jelly Roll Morton song (seriously blues guys had the best names back then). I’m not sure how the song went back then, but Jorma sings it in a particularly “whiny” way, and the presence of harmonica brings the whine factor up to like 6 1/2. Still a good song, though!

“New Song (For The Morning)” is, at last, a Jorma Kaukonen original. It is indeed a very “morning” sounding song, and features the bass playing its highest octave for the intro, which is a neat effect (and one I rip off constantly oops I mean nothing). This song also marks the return of the clanging glass bottles, only slightly quieter this time around. The song switches between a nice major key for the verses, a minor key for the choruses, and an anything-goes series of weird transition chords for the space between.

Finally, we have the exceptional “Mann’s Fate”, which is a bouncy minor key instrumental. My uncle, a self-styled Jack Casady protege and my other bass hero, has yet to fully learn this song, it’s THAT complex. The guitar part is no picnic either, as it features some lead parts that stray over to the “complicated” side of bluegrass, and in fact the whole thing sounds like a derelict bluegrass tune. Quite a wonderful thing, really. If you ever thought you were good at the guitar (and if you are a guy then this means you), you should give this song a spin. No cheating, though, since Jorma released an instructional video for like $30 that teaches you how to play this song. That wouldn’t be very fair, young man.

In conclusion (I love using the “forbidden” essay faux pas), Hot Tuna’s Hot Tuna is about as Hot as you can Tuna. There’s a CD version out there with a bunch of bonus songs, and I wish I had that version so I could avoid telling you how cool “Candy Man” is in an acoustic setting, but instead I must leave you now with these words of advice: brush your teeth, frequently AND often. Good night!

Nick Drake – Bryter Layter

I held off and held off on writing again about Nick Drake since the last time, when he was my 5th entry, because I wanted to kind of save his very few recordings for certain times of the year. The time for Bryter Layter is now!

Ah, there he is, the man with the golden fingertips and a voice to match, who departed from us far too frustratingly soon.

The reason I chose this particular time of year to write about this album is because the album is a bit of an unpredictable thing, much like Spring weather. It’s got the smooth yet unusual picking style of the previous album, and indeed a large portion of the songs contain strings and even a full band at some points, but the actual songs are more or less all over the place, while still retaining that amazingly mellow and melancholy Nick Drake sound. This is also Nick at both his sunniest and fullest, for what it’s worth, with only a few patches of rain and cold weather spread throughout, but this is starting to sound like a weather station.

I’ve mentioned before that I enjoy albums that have an introductory song, and I enjoy albums that have a proper ending, and I may have even mentioned that I’m a sucker for a good intermission song. Turns out this album has all three, which is pretty stylish, but kind of odd since there are only 10 tracks and the entire album is 39 minutes long. The first track is appropriately named “Introduction” and it does indeed introduce a new element of Drake’s music, there are strings, bass, a bit of drum, and the whole thing sounds lush and full in ways that Five Leaves Left kind of touched on in points but never fully realized. More than anything, the song introduces a sense of earnest effort, which is one of the most hidden talents of our hero.

The album then comes in with “Hazey Jane II”, which is the sequel to a song that comes later in the album (I don’t know why this is). This, I believe, is probably the last time you’re going to hear an electric guitar on a Nick Drake song, so you’d better enjoy it. It was played, like the previous electric guitar track on “Time Has Told Me”, by Richard Thompson, who is quite famous and accomplished, I assure you. The song’s lyrics are an exploration into a semi-absurd sort of stream of consciousness that Drake might have tapped into with the aid of “mind altering substances”:

What will happen in the morning when the world it gets so crowded that you can’t look out the window in the morning?

And what will happen in the evening in the forest with the weasel with the teeth that bite so sharp when you’re not looking in the evening?

It seems pretty standard until Nick invites you to “Grow your brother’s hair”, which is really open to all kinds of interpretation. Either way, the presence of horns, electric guitar, and a wonderful feather-light drum beat make this song a very chipper one indeed, and the lyrics are somewhat optimistic for being weird. It’s been noted that Nick put a very subtle reference to his inner turmoil and outward withdrawn nature with the final line of this song:

If songs were lines
In a conversation
The situation would be fine

Indeed, Nick had no trouble putting his heart into his songs, but where it might have served better was in his conversations, of which he had very few, as it seems.

As the bright dawn of the introduction and the morning of the first two songs give a bit of a warm feeling, the weather suddenly turns a bit bleak and cold with my absolute favorite song from this album, “At The Chime Of A City Clock”, which sardonically pokes at superficial city folk while simultaneously challenging the way people handle their problems, whether all this is really poked at himself or not is left up to the listener. The words are very pretty and evocative of a darkened, chilly city lit only by the wonderful interplay between Robert Kirby’s string arrangement and the saxophone playing (one of the few instances I really, really like the saxophone) by Ray Warleigh. The chords to this song are an open tuning, but basically travel down an A minor mode that really gives the whole thing an introspective and “down” feeling, but the beat taps along with Nick’s amazing thumb and the whole thing is brought up again. The other musically clever thing about this song is that it switches to a major key for the chorus, where the message of optimism is most likely to arrive. A grand song, overall, and one that I can’t do without.

An equally good song and assuredly more infamous due to its inclusion in a few films and things, when Drake got famous about 30 years too late, is the song “One Of These Things First”. The picking pattern (which is really, really difficult to pull off just right) combined with the drums, is so effortless and light that it conveys a sense of motion as the chords, another down-tuned mode, this time in E, give a summery feeling, exactly the kind that makes an otherwise vapid and pointless movie seem like a work of art. The high-octave piano melody plays a vital role in putting this masterful melody together, and Nick’s vocals are the final ingredient in this hit song. The lyrics are, admittedly, kind of nonsense but still playful and fun to sing along to. One thing you may have noticed about both this song and the previous one is the inclusion of choruses, a blatant but responsible admission into achieving a more “pop”-oriented sound. Certainly though, this type of pop is something we really need more of.

We then move on to “Hazey Jane I”, which actually lyrically seems like more of a sequel than the proper sequel, so we’re all left scratching our heads at the naming strategy for these songs. This song is a little more reminiscent of the older stuff, with its focus on strings and really personifying the subject of the song rather than singing in generalizations. The song seems to focus on Jane (no longer the simple analogy for marijuana, unless you take that interpretation) as being a former lover, and who seems to have some problems. Again, this could be Nick talking to himself, the whole thing is left so open.

We then come, already, to the intermission song, which happens to be the title track of the album. It’s good, for sure, though I am still not a big fan of that flute. Flute is so appropriate to Drake’s sound, I don’t understand why it doesn’t sound good to me at all. Oh well, if you’re reading this, Lyn Dobson, I’m sorry I think your flute playing is mediocre on this recording!

Then we have “Fly”. This song presents a puzzle for me, as I am not particularly fond of it, mainly for the instrumentation and the experimental vocal delivery. Basically, the song includes harpsichord, which I suppose I should be thrilled about, especially since it’s played by the legendary John Cale, who aside from being one of the Velvet Underground, is the man who attached the legendary melody to Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” that made some people very famous. Still, I can’t get behind that harpsichord. I am also less than enthused about Nick singing almost higher than he can for the first part of the song, which might be an attempt to evoke a child-like plea whereas the verses where he sings lower are more “adult” and introspective, and all that’s well and good, but it doesn’t make very an extremely strong melody, I’m afraid to say. Still, I don’t skip this song, as it’s good enough to keep the album moving, and I have far too much respect for it to consider it a sub-par song. Really most people like it anyway, so I’ll just say that it’s a very important part of the album, as it represents a very “closing down” kind of feeling, what with its downward scales and such. This is the sunset of the album.

Now, with dusk upon us, and fair weather chilling slightly but not too much, we’re ready to hit the city streets again for “Poor Boy”. Sure, lyrically the theme is about a poor boy who never helps anyone and is never helped, and Nick may even be taunting or perhaps playfully teasing himself with the chorus “Oh poor boy, so sorry for himself”, sung by backup singers. Still, the song itself doesn’t convey poorness, it’s more a thing that puts Nick into the spotlight as a singer and entertainer singing about this poor boy as if he doesn’t know it’s actually him he’s singing about. The whole idea is interesting to me, and the “lounginess” of this song is defined not only by saxophone, but by a really well down and rapidly paced piano solo, played in apparently 1 take by Chris McGreggor.

Finally though, it’s time to rest, and a genuinely beautiful love song is just the lullaby we need to end the album proper. Indeed, “Northern Sky” should have been such a huge hit, but nobody really cared. The organ and piano are done, with much greater effect this time, by John Cale, and there’s also a celeste, which is basically the instrument that plays whenever you’re supposed to be thinking about a dream. The lyrics are poetic and pure, which is typical of Nick, but this is one of the few times it’s used in a song about love:

I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you’re here
Brighten my northern sky

Amazing. Really, if this were the end of the album, and this album were the end of Nick’s recording career, as it almost was when it sold less than 3000 copies, it would have been a false end to the story, and the story might not have ever been told. The truth is all contained in the next recording, which is, whether intentionally or not, given quite the segue by the final song, “Sunday”, which is a tension-building instrumental that disrupts the peaceful night set up by “Northern Sky”. It’s like waking up, unable to go back to sleep, with an irritating sense of dread, not quite a nightmare, but still something that has to be overcome before the morning.

That’s where the final album in the Nick Drake trilogy comes in, and if this blog continues on, will probably be written about when the weather cools off again. Until then!

Deep Purple – In Rock

Ok, I know I JUST did a writeup on Muse, so throwing Deep Purple MK II music in right after that is in danger of being too much rock, but I am willing to risk that for you. I have been a fan of Deep Purple for a couple of years now (though a fan of Highway Star the song ever since its inclusion in the Super Nintendo racing masterpiece Rock N’ Roll Racing) , especially the “Mk II” lineup, which included Ian Gillan on vocals, Ritchie Blackmoore on guitar, Roger Glover on bass, Jon Lord on keys, and last but most certainly first, the ever-present Ian Paice on drums. Of the few albums (4, I think?) that this lineup put out, I have a lot of trouble deciding between the band’s Magnum Opus, Machine Head, and the album which directly precedes it, In Rock, which has what I consider one of the undisputed best album covers in history:

Albums like this are a little harder to write-up, I feel, because the fair, objective reviewer in me would simply repeat the word “YES!” about 1000 times to convey his true feelings about In Rock. I feel that that’s cheating, so I’ll do my best to describe what’s really going on here.

The first song, “Speed King” is a bit of a spiritual predecessor to “Highway Star”, in that it’s a song about partying and having a good time wrapped loosely around a central idea of moving really fast, presumably in a car. The first stanza refers to about 3 different rock songs, at least that I can tell:

Good golly, said little miss molly
When she was rockin in the house of blue light
Tutti frutti was oh so rooty
When she was rockin to the east and west
Lucille was oh so real
When she didnt do her daddies will
Come on baby, drive me crazy–do it, do it

The band, at this point, covered some old rock songs like “Lucille” so it’s a matter of course that they would pay omage to their forefathers. The song does what I love for a rock album to do: just drops you into the middle of the rock with no warning (I found out, however, that this is simply due to the American release cutting out the minute-long intro to the song, bastards) and doesn’t let up for quite a while, even when the song slows down to a jazzy drum beat with a light organ solo, you still know that the rock is coming right back. One of the main features of this song and perhaps most of Deep Purple’s early album is the “searing vocals” of Ian Gillan, one of the best screamers of rock when screaming was at its high-point (no pun intended). However, the vocals do not take the center stage, there’s still a smoking rhythm section (my favorite of the period aside from The Jimi Hendrix Experience) and the combination of distorted keyboards and distorted guitars to compete with. At least in the case of In Rock, those elements all come together perfectly, and give no indication of the ego-battles that would drive the band apart so many times that it’s a wonder they’re still around today. Still, that’s a story for another album.

The next song, “Bloodsucker”, again features very prominent, screamy vocals (especially the song’s hook, the “AHHH NO NO NO”, man I love that), but the bluesy guitar riffs that give way to a wicked cool solo halfway through bring it right up to the same level. The vocals just might win this one, over all, since towards the end they’re filtered through some really cool sweeping effects. It’s all right though, the guitar gets its turn in the next song.

“Child In Time” is a 10-minute long jam that starts off slow because that’s the only way to introduce the incredible instrumental jam halfway through. The vocals play an important, yet brief, part though as Ian hits some of his highest notes right before the song goes crazy/nuts. This song is so incredible I can’t hardly believe it’s real, but the live performance is even better. Seriously best 20 minutes you can spend watching a single song. I think this must be why some people label Deep Purple as “progressive” sometimes. Just in case the instrumental break wasn’t completely awesome enough for you, the song explodes at the end, which is the only way to really end a proper rock song, in my opinion.

This song may leave you feeling like this album may be far too intense for normal listening, which is why the “feel good” major keys prevail over the next portion of the listening experience. “Flight Of The Rat” is great in its own right, namely for the rotation of punchy solos from the keyboards and guitars, all kept together by a great upbeat rhythm delivered by Roger Glover and quite possibly my favorite drummer still alive today: Ian Paice, who gets his own little funk thing going right at the 5 minute mark and again at the 6 minute mark and AGAIN at the 7 minute mark of the song. It’s hard to call them proper “solos” however, since the average Ian Paice solo is about 6 minutes long on its own (if you’re wondering where his shirt is in that video, he rocked it off around the 3rd song).

The next song, “Into The Fire”, is a chunky, plodding straight-up rock number. If “metal” had been invented by this album’s time, one might consider it an early metal song. It’s not a particular favorite of mine, it’s at least mercifully short at about 3 1/2 minutes. Also, it serves as a great segue into the radical change of style between “Flight Of The Rat” and the super-funky “Living Wreck”, which contains one my absolute favorite bassline on the album and perhaps in Deep Purple’s entire catalogue. Man, what a song, the right combination of blues, funk, and some crazy-ass organ blats.

The final song (what, only 7 songs?) is a bit of a psychedelic track featuring lots of noise against a driving beat, with Ian Gillan once again bringing out the big screamy notes that had been a little more low-key in the songs between “Child In Time” and this one. Since apparently Jon Lord’s favorite keyboard solos have to do with crashy sounds and lots of chaos, this is probably his favorite track on the album, especially since he gets the most solo time. Honestly, since the song doesn’t change much and is about 8 minutes long, it’s kind of easy to pass this one up unless you are a really big fan of noisy solos.

This album in general is great though, and certainly cheap enough if you pick up the CD version released in ’95. I may have to check out the 25th Anniversary edition, however, since it has “Black Night” on it, which is a pretty great track. Well, until tomorrow!

Gentle Giant – Gentle Giant

I decided, based on a friend’s advice, to tackle writing about my favorite band as a once-a-month thing. It works out, you see, Gentle Giant put out 12 albums, and there are 12 months in the year. I decided that “roughly the middle” is a good time of month to write these articles, so the 15th is now known as Gentle Giant Day, and what a lovely day!

If nothing else can be said about Gentle Giant, it’s that they were certainly unusual. It was a band comprised of 5 members (6 for their first four albums, including this one) who could play 30 or so instruments between them, and didn’t mind switching instruments mid-song, and 4 of the original 6 members were classically trained. The keyboardist/cellist/vibesist, Kerry Minnear, trained in one of the greatest musical conservatories in the world, and apparently the degree he got there was the only one of its kind given out within 10 years there. So it’s safe to say that this is certainly one of the more “qualified” bands out there. Though not as present on their first album, the band’s signature and lasting legacy would be their ultra-precise and enormously complicated arrangements, which the band attacked with gusto.

Speaking of gusto, the band decided to open the gates to their music with an epic, sweeping number called “Giant“.

The birth of the realization
The rise of a high expectation

The band likens the building up and the tearing down of their opening song as a giant made up of several parts, which of course is a self-reference. Indeed, Giant has a really big sound, there are so many parts that come and go or compliment the overall sound while sitting in the background, yet the whole thing is a bit more subtle than a lot of the “over-the-top” bands that were around, especially in the “progressive rock” genre that people often put Gentle Giant in.

I’m really not of the opinion that they belong in any one genre, though, and the second song is a testament to that. “Funny Ways” opens up with a 12 string acoustic guitar playing a very dirge-like minor progression as violin and cello set you up for a very sad time with the introspective lyrics. Fortunately, the band doesn’t like to just leave a song conveying one mood, so after the second chorus, it becomes something else altogether as the bass, tympani and trumpet come in to welcome the oncoming guitar solo or, in the case of live performances, a wicked cool vibraphone solo by Kerry. This song is apparently quite the live staple, as all 4 of the concerts I’ve seen/heard by the band had it as a feature at one point.

The band, in interviews and what-not, considered themselves more “experimental” in their first two albums, and certainly that can be heard in the oppressive third song, “Alucard”, which is a fitting title since the lyrics sound like they are being sung backwards thanks to a neat studio trick. The synthesizers that help open up the song almost seem to be playing random notes to add to the dissonance of the track, but like everything else, is totally intentional. I adore this song for its disturbing tone and funky beat, provided by the band’s short-lived (and unfortunately now deceased) original drummer, Martin Smith.

Not ones to finish out the first half of the album on a disturbing note, Gentle Giant calls on the powers of jazzy guitar and a string duo (or is it a trio?) to bring the mellow tribute to midnight solitude, “Isn’t It Quiet And Cold?” (that video contains a “remixed” version of the song, and is not exactly what appears on the album, best I could do), a song about someone who missed the bus and had to walk home in the middle of the night. The pizzicato strings and the flow of the rhythm give the song the feel of walking, and the whole thing is very peaceful.

The peaceful sound is carried through to the next track, the antepenultimate “Nothing At All“, which starts as a tender melancholy ballad of lonliness and heartbreak. The band would eventually be known for its extraordinary complex and often arhythmical vocal polyphony, but in their first album, this is pretty much the only instance of vocal harmony. It gives way to a gentle guitar/bass riff that builds up into a rock number where “lead singer” Derek displays his raw singing power (he and 2 other members of the band were in a soul group previous to Gentle Giant). The song then takes an unusual turn; it goes into a drum solo being fed through a phase shifting loop that travels from side-to-side, and then a classical piano piece (specifically  Liebestraum No. 3 by Liszt) comes in, almost unwittingly, since it doesn’t really “follow” the drums, and then the drums, seeming to sense the piano’s presence, starts wildly soloing in what sounds (in a pair of headphones anyway since it’s panning from left to write in a circular motion) like a vortex forming, and it drags the piano in, which holds its own for a little while but then cascades down some diminished jazz chords as if getting sucked into the vortex. How I wish I was clever enough to make something like that up! The song then goes back to the melancholy mode it started in, unaware of what happened, and the song ends at over 9 minutes long, the longest in the band’s catalogue save for some live shenanigans.

Having gone through a few different genres and an exploration of various sonic experiments, how could one possibly end an album appropriately? By totally rocking the funk out, the track “Why Not?” is for sure my favorite song on the album, and in fact starts a trend among Gentle Giant’s 12 albums that is almost always followed: the last track on the album has to be the rockingest.

“Why Not” actually trades off the rocking guitar/organ riffs for a medieval-sounding flute/bass passage where Derek’s powerful vocal work is replaced by Kerry’s gentle voice as he sings:

Why not climb a hill with someone who hates you?
Why not hate someone who climbs a hill with you?
And as time passes by, your feet are slipping
And you are wondering why there’s no forgetting

And then a guitar solo brings the whole thing back to a veritable wall of vocals resounding the song’s fairly clever lyrics:

Don’t sing a tune to yourself, you might believe this one
Try not to sew it yourself, the threading don’t stretch none
Who said the things that go in the song is only saying
Dead thoughts can kill a good thing, the band is only playing

Then, historians take note, the band goes into what is probably the only blues-jam in its history, and they play the blues as masterfully as any other genre. What a grand finish!

Oh right, actually there is one more track. Just so you know that Gentle Giant, despite being an extraordinary group of untold talent, is not a band that ever took itself too seriously, they jam out a synth-laden rock jam version of England’s (and, to a lesser extent, Canada’s) national anthem, which they titled “The Queen”. I’m not terribly fond of it, but it’s certainly fun.

Gentle Giant is a great debut album, and the only complaint I could possibly draw of it is that the recording itself is distorted in parts and just generally too quiet throughout. The U.S. release of the album, through Vertigo, sounds particularly grating. There have been many “remasters” released to try and rectify this, and the only one I have heard that qualifies as “really great” is the Universal Japan release. Then again, it’s out of print and at the time I bought it the price was generally in the $30-$40 range. Despite the extreme care the Japanese took in remastering this album (the band, due to legal issues, actually can’t re-release the thing themselves like they did with 7 of their other albums), it still sounds muddy in parts, and the volume has to be cranked at all times.

Still, despite the sound issues, it is an amazing album, and the rest of their stuff only gets better from here… well… until the final 2 albums, but we’ll get to those by the end of this year. Until then, happy Gentle Giant Day!

 

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The Guess Who – American Woman

Well let me start this thing off by saying Happy New Year! About a week ago, I decided to start this blog in an attempt to waste a little less time doing nothing and to waste it instead on talking about music. Specifically, we’re going to be talking about an entire album every day. There are no real guidelines on how I am wanting to present these entries, so the style may change from time to time. The only rule is one album, every day.

Since the idea is kind of new and exciting to me, I thought my first entry should be an album that, though something of a classic, is at least new and exciting to me. That album is American Woman by one of Canada’s finest 1970′s exports: The Guess Who.

American Woman, stay away from me

I was quite surprised, upon first hearing this album, that it doesn’t start the way you might think. The only song I, like so many people, had ever heard by The Guess Who was the version of “American Woman” the way it is heard in films like Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (the proper version, not the disgraceful Lenny Kravitz butchering of such, though both are present in the film). However, instead of the song starting with those recognizable electric guitar chords and Burton Cumming’s “UHH” (the audial equivalent of a pelvic thrust), it actually starts out with a really mellow acoustic blues riff and some crooning. Burton even makes sure you know what exact nationality of woman he’s expelling by spelling out “A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N” before the song breaks into its more recognizable state.

Indeed the “prologue” of the song (which is revisited after the final track as an epilogue) shows that this is a rock album with class. The meaning behind the lyrics is unmistakable, this guy really does want the American woman to get away!

No time left for you, on my way to better things

The theme of a dude really not wanting people around him is continued in the second song, a seemingly psychedelic-inspired tune that could belong to any 60′s/70′s record. No Time is a solid track, it does everything it can to remind you that the year is 1970 and the singer really has no time, he probably spent all his time repeating the line “no time” about a million times at the song’s end. Who knows how long he kept going with this, because the song fades out while he’s still going.

Artificial flowers cannot die for life within them is illusion

Just when you think The Guess Who has no more time for you, they slow the album way down to play a slow, melancholy acoustic tune called “Talisman”. This is one of my favorite tracks on the album, because for one, it’s a definite change from the mood the album established some minutes ago, and for two, it’s got an excellent acoustic duet going throughout. The lyrics are either very poetic or pretentious, I still haven’t decided which. By the time I am nearing a conclusion on this matter, a wonderful piano melody comes in to finish the song off, and I realize it doesn’t really matter, the song is good, so why think about it so hard?

No sugar tonight in my coffee, no sugar tonight in my tea

After the mellow acoustic break, we go straight back into rockin’ with the 2-for-1 song “No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature”. I can’t really remember a time when I’ve heard two songs put together as a medley without ever having existed separately beforehand, but it may be nothing new. Either way, this song impresses me just based on how well the two melodies blend together, and indeed the lyrics of both songs are layered on top of each other after each song has run its course. Then, after all of this takes place, the band brings it home with a chorus of “Da da doo da da”s, which is not only acceptable, but adequate.

“969 (The Oldest Man)”

One thing I have read about The Guess Who is that they utilized a lot of styles for American Woman. I didn’t have to read that, because it is evidenced right in the middle of the album with a blues instrumental that suddenly turns into a jazz instrumental, complete with jazz flute solos! I’m not sure why they titled it after Noah’s granddad, but such is the way with instrumentals.

So nice to be home again, where I belong

“When Friends Fall Out” is one of those songs that isn’t terribly interesting by its own merit, but so many parts of it remind me of other songs that I can’t help but listen every time. Particularly the vocal melody on the chorus reminds me of an obscure They Might Be Giants song called “Miniature Sidewalk Whirlwind”. If I were terribly educated about music, I’d be able to tell you exactly why that is, but as it stands, you’ll just have to take my word for it and use your imagination.

I’ve got a place, have you been there? What time of day can you meet me?

If indeed there comes a time when “When Friends Fall Out” starts to bring me into a state of mid-album slowdown, where I am most tempted to skip on to the next album instead of finishing what I started, there is no better track to get me right back into the game than “8:15″, it’s got the perfect driving beat and vocal melody to pick up that late-album drag-down so typical of most rock albums.  I am also fascinated by songs that have numbers in the title for a very special reason I will probably forget to explain later.

Dark day, windy city, raincoat on my shoulder

“Proper Stranger” is a song that, like a proper stranger, only sticks around for 4 minutes and then leaves again, only to be forgotten. Really though, it’s not a bad song at all, it’s got a nice groove, catchtacular riffs and some more audial pelvic-thrusting, but really it seems to serve best as a slow-down from the previous track to the final track, which is very slow indeed, but oh so worth it…

Woke up late this morning, found out my people gone away from me yeah

Ok, so clearly the singer is suffering from the type of lonliness you get when you spend the first couple of songs chasing everyone away, but oh man, what a song! It’s a slow-jam, for sure, but there’s so much harmonica and Cumming’s vocals have suddenly gone all searing and gritty, and you have to wonder if you even deserve to hear this much blues? I am not sure that you do, but nevertheless, “Humpty’s Blues” is there for you to bow in abject humility to, even as you try to decipher just what the lyrics in the last verse have to do with anything. Still, immediately after “Humpty’s Blues” the acoustic version of “American Woman” comes back in as an epilogue, and the album fades out. Rock-solid.

American Woman, gonna mess your mind

I’ve really only had this album for about 2 weeks, but it’s one of those albums I listened to about 5 times straight before daring to listen to anything else for the first couple of days. It’s really too bad that it’s not seeing a lot of circulation nowadays, I guess The Guess Who never really followed it up with anything quite as good, since the guitarist, Randy Bachman, left soon after to go start Bachman-Turner Overdrive. For this reason, I’m not too sure I’m going to explore much more Guess Who, but who knows. At least I can say I know more songs by them than just “American Woman”, though that one deserves its classic status (though it certainly doesn’t deserve that terrible Lenny Kravitz remake, I just had to say it again).

Well, this has been my first day talking about albums, hope to see you again tomorrow!

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