2007-01-09T18:56:00.000-05:00
“Today’s music doesn’t have the same kinds of melodies, harmonies, and attitude that the music of my youth had!” /em br / br / It’s not supposed to. If it did, it wouldn’t be em today’s /em music.
And if you can relate to the sentiment in quotation marks, let me ask you this: exactly what good does it do to harp on the fact that today’s music is different from yesterday’s music? If you grew up in the ‘50s and your parents complained that Bill Haley didn’t sound like Glenn Miller, that didn’t make Bill Haley sound like Glenn Miller. If you grew up in the ‘70s and your parents complained that Aerosmith didn’t sound like Bill Haley, that didn’t make Aerosmith sound like Bill Haley.
In fact, in such cases all your parents did was judge your generation’s music based on what it wasn’t. They made no attempt to evaluate it on its own terms and thus completely missed the point of it. If they had taken it at face value, they may still have disliked it, but the simple fact of the matter is that they were too narrow-minded to give it a fair chance.
Don’t be just as narrow-minded with today’s music. br / br / em 2. “It seems like you no longer need talent to make it!
” /em br / br / It’s been a long time since anyone em needed /em talent to make it. As much as it pains me to say this, I think early rock ‘n’ roll was to blame. In the 1950s, rock ‘n’ roll appealed mostly to teenagers; furthermore, many adults at the time thought of rock ‘n’ roll as nothing but a bunch of noise with a pounding beat.
It was only a matter of time until enterprising businessmen realized that you could take a cute kid, have him or her make some records with a beat, and watch as smitten teenagers bought that artist’s records and gazed amorously at him or her during live performances—even if he or she had no talent. Fabian was the original archetype of the teen idol who couldn’t sing. For crying out loud, Fabian himself admitted that he couldn’t sing!
br / br / Today, the problem has indeed gotten worse because of technology. There was only so much doctoring that could be done to Fabian’s voice in 1959; have a good listen to any of his records and you can instantly sense his lack of vocal skill. But now, recording technology is so advanced that one could conceivably record a song one note at a time, apply electronic pitch correction to every note, string the notes together, and end up with a seamless mix sounding like one perfect take.
Thus, a singer who can’t sing can nonetheless sound good on record. But ultimately, talent is still a vital asset. Look at what happened to Ashlee Simpson, for example: one little goof on “Saturday Night Live” and suddenly everyone knew that she lip-synched to pre-recorded vocal tracks when she performed “live.
” From that point onward, she had to actually sing live in order to prove that she could. Unfortunately, these actual live performances proved nothing except that she had a limited range and poor breath control. Whenever she was introduced on television, many audience members would greet her by booing.
By means of damage control, she had to rush out a follow-up album and make an apologetic second appearance on “Saturday Night Live.” That was back in 2005, but even now her name is still bandied about as a joke in and of itself. br / br / em 3.
“How can young people listen to this stuff?” /em br / br / Because we genuinely like what's out there today. Not everyone likes everything that’s currently on the charts, but that’s always been (and always will be) the case.
The point is that we like at least some of today’s music because it speaks to us on a different level than anything else; it was made for us and, in many cases, by us. From my writing you can tell that I like oldies, but oldies were made for someone else and I just so happened to discover them and enjoy them. When I find something contemporary that I really dig, it reaffirms my youth more than anything else.
It also makes me feel confident that great music is still being made and that I don’t em have /em to reach into the past to find high levels of quality. br / br / em 4. If you like today’s music, you don’t like older music, and vice versa.
/em br / br / In my experience, this is not something that a lot of people say; it’s something that they imply. I’ve lost track of how many times it has happened that someone learns of my affinity for oldies and then proceeds to trash my generation’s music as if I am not a member of my own generation! Well, if you doubt that someone can love music from more than one era, just look through One Note Ahead.
br / br / em 5. “Contemporary music doesn’t appeal to me, but since I’m over the age of 40, I know it’s not supposed to.” /em br / br / Actually, that’s just a matter of personal taste.
A few years ago I had a friend who was in his late 40s and he happily owned at least one Backstreet Boys CD and was gushing about how Incubus' "Drive" was one of his favorite songs at the time. My mother is almost 60 and she constantly puts me to shame with her knowledge of contemporary rock—admittedly my rock ‘n’ roll IQ is more “yesterday” than “today.” And I’ll never forget one particular appearance by Liza Minnelli on Tony Danza’s now-departed daytime talk show.
Danza asked Minnelli whom she admires and without hesitation she replied, "Maroon 5." She then went on and on about how great a singer that band's Adam Levine is. I could cite plenty more examples, but you get my point.
br / br / em 6. There’s such a thing as being too young to know about a certain artist. /em br / br / Like when an unsuspecting concertgoer told a 21-year-old musician friend of mine that she’s too young to be influenced by Led Zeppelin.
I rubbed his face in the fact that I dressed up as Roy Orbison for Halloween in 1997, when I was merely 16 years old. He became visibly uncomfortable; needless to say, I was pleased. There really is a definite double standard at play when it comes to this philosophy of being “too young.
” After all, young musicians all the time say that they’re influenced by The Beatles or The Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan, and that’s perfectly acceptable. But Led Zeppelin? Nope, sorry.
br / br / The truth is that you simply have no way of knowing what people have been exposed to in their youth. Last year I saw ‘50s pop pianist Roger Williams on the public television special “Moments To Remember,” explaining how amazed he gets when young people tell him they know his music. I can only quote from memory, but he said that he responds, “You’re too young to even know who I am!
After all, I em am /em 81 years old!” The young people then reply, “Oh, no, my grandparents played your records all the time when I was growing up.” As of the taping of that program, he still got floored by such statements.
br / br / em 7. “I hate today’s music! That is, if you can even CALL it music!
I just don’t get how anybody can like this crap!” /em br / br / Music touches people on a profoundly personal level. There's just no arguing matters of taste.
If you don’t like something, don’t listen to it. If it’s a song you can’t get away from no matter how you try, learn to tune it out. And if you miss the way music used to sound, listen to older music.
/span br / br / span style="font-family:arial;" Now, if you’ll excuse me, my soapbox is caving in. /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" Copyright © 2007 S.J.
Dibai. All rights reserved. /span
com,1999:blog-35569476.post-6510229753007406495
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It’s a joke. And besides, in my mind, indie just means ‘half-assed.’” /em /span br / div align="right" span style="font-family:arial;" ?
TV on the Radio’s David Sitek, quoted in em DIW Magazine /em , Issue 24 /span /div div align="left" span style="font-family:arial;" br / Independent labels are noble. They actually care about music and the artists who record for them. Major labels are big, heartless corporate behemoths that don’t give a damn about anything but the bottom line; they’ll rip you off in every way possible.
Furthermore, independent labels are em cool /em —they’re the ones that champion innovative musicians while the majors release an endless stream of tired mainstream pabulum. If you’re a genuine, serious recording artist, you’re better off recording for an indie. At least that’s what many of us are taught to believe.
Indies good, majors bad. Simple as that, right? Then how does one account for the quote which opens this article, in which a member of one of the most “indie” bands out there lashes out against indie snobbery?
In the same em DIW /em feature, Sitek took this stab at his band’s former label, Touch Go Records: “We saw so much avarice and greed and deception after the release of [our first album], and we got so tired of it.” So tired, in fact, that TV on the Radio happily negotiated a deal with Interscope Records. That’s right: one of the most “indie” bands in the business left an independent label for one of the most “major” of all the majors.
br / br / I became aware of TV on the Radio’s sentiments one August night in 2006. I wish I could have found them surprising. I didn’t.
My debut in the field of music journalism had occurred almost a year and a half earlier, when I worked behind the scenes on another writer's article about a veteran songwriter. I am not at liberty to name the subject of the project because either she or the author of the piece deemed many of her stories unsuitable for use. Indeed, some of what she said was so damning that I can’t even allow her identity to be traced.
Thus, the following will have to suffice: During the 1960s, she worked on the staff of a major label and then moved on to one of the biggest and most respected indies of the era. In a quote not used for the article, she enthused, “I was very lucky with [the major label]. They were marvelous to me.
” The indie? One nightmare after another. br / br / And consider my history of Philadelphia band The Kit Kats, to be published on a href="http://www.
spectropop.com" Spectropop /a later this month. They recorded the bulk of their material for Jamie/Guyden Records, another one of the big indies of the ‘60s, and had much regional success in those days without breaking out nationally.
I interviewed Tom Kennedy, Jamie’s then-head of promotions, for my article. Kennedy has some familiarity with both indies and majors; he used to work at Capitol Records— em definitely /em a major label—in local sales and promotions. Then he became a promotion man for Universal Record Dist.
Corp. (not affiliated with Universal Music Group), a Philly distributor which handled many independent labels. He then graduated to Jamie, an independent label founded and owned by Universal’s owner Harold B.
Lipsius. Though Kennedy enjoyed many of his experiences in the world of indies, he does not have an entirely rosy picture of such labels. When I interviewed him, he was adamant that The Kit Kats would have done much better had they recorded for a major label; they would have had a more appropriate producer, not to mention access to a bigger promotional budget.
Even more telling are Kennedy’s memories of some of the indies that Universal distributed, as quoted in the liner notes of the two-disc set em The Jamie/Guyden Story /em (Bear Family Records, 1995): “There were a lot of lunatics in independent labels who really believed that theirs was the greatest record ever made, and you can’t fault a guy or a woman for feeling that way. They wouldn’t put any pressure on me, they’d simply call Harold and say they’re pulling the label, they’re going to take it out of there. And Harold would come and say, ‘What can we do?
’ and I’d say, ‘Let them pull the label.’ Come on, be serious. Again, if it’s in the groove, it’s in the groove.
” br / br / Kennedy’s remarks suggest that many independent labels were and are plagued by a certain ineptitude, and he has support from a truly surprising source: Jack White. When the White Stripes and Raconteurs frontman was interviewed in the June, 2006 issue of em Performing Songwriter /em , he was asked to draw on his personal experiences with indies and majors to contrast those label types “in terms of creative input and control.” He didn’t.
Instead, he let out this tirade: “I don’t have very nice things to say about independent labels. I’ve experienced it myself, and I’ve seen way too many friends and associates be ripped off by indies. It’s romanticized to the idea of it being anti-establishment and it’s for the little guy.
But they’re ripping off people way more than major labels are. […] Most of them don’t know what they’re doing. […] It’s hilarious to battle all that ridiculousness when you thought in your mind that independent meant to champion underground musicians.
” br / br / What is going on here? Whatever happened to the days when people who recorded or worked for indies stood up for indies? In Jack White’s case, he clearly learned good old-fashioned indie snobbery and then figured out, through the brute force method, that the reality of independent labels is not necessarily pretty.
But is it fair to dismiss indies offhand? After all, bands like The White Stripes and TV on the Radio did pay their dues on indies before major labels took an interest. Independent labels offered these groups a chance to make names for themselves; it’s hard to imagine that the majors would have touched such bands with a ten-foot pole until they had proven themselves to be commercially viable on indies.
It’s long been that way in the music business; for example, independent labels were the first to unveil both rock ‘n’ roll and soul before the majors realized those styles were both sellable and durable. Major labels have been getting hipper lately—most likely in an attempt to broaden their horizons lest they become hopelessly stale in today’s ever-changing climate—but there are still many artists who must rely on independent labels in order to get an audience in the first place…right? br / br / Wrong.
Technology has changed everything. You can make high-quality recordings on your laptop in your own bedroom, hire any number of companies that will mass-produce CDs of your music for a small fee, use numerous websites to promote your music, and even get your music sold on major digital music services like iTunes and Napster—all without a record label. The advent of the “independent artist” is not only the result of technological advances, not merely the byproduct of an industry that has become harder than ever to break into or make it in.
It also comes from artists’ utter disgust with record labels, indie or major. That said, you no longer need to sign with any company that’ll have you just to get a following. You can build your own career from the ground up and if a label makes an offer, it had better be a good one.
And apparently, that means “Indies Need Not Apply.” br / br / Then again, maybe not. Take the story of Gomez, as related in the June, 2006 issue of em Harp /em .
They used to record for Virgin, a major; they then moved to ATO, an indie. The band’s Ben Ottewell told em Harp /em , “Virgin didn’t impede us creatively, they just didn’t get shit done, you know? [At ATO], people care about the music at a higher level.
[Virgin had] no fuckin’ idea what we are. It’s just about money.” Now, that’s what I call indie snobbery!
br / br / Confused? You should be. You’ve just read an article with no discernible thesis, a piece that presents opposing, disconnected viewpoints without synthesizing them in any noticeable manner.
Well, here’s a brilliantly synthesized conclusion for you: It’s dangerous to judge a label based solely on whether it is an indie or a major. As you can see, different people have had different experiences with different labels—judging from the number of artists who are happy to record for Virgin, it’s also clear that different people have had different experiences with the em same /em label! Ultimately, it doesn’t come down to whether a label is a major or an indie.
It comes down to whether a specific label is a good match for a particular artist or prospective staff member. Nowadays, with the internet, it’s fairly easy to do homework on any established company before deciding whether to sign with it or go to work for it. Some people don’t think that ANY label suits them, and in today’s climate that’s fine.
However, it seems that most people will happily add their names to a record company's roster if the offer is good enough. It may sound tempting to jump at the chance to join a certain type of label and avoid another type, but as F. Scott Fitzgerald so famously wrote, “Begin with an individual, and before you know it you find that you have created a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created—nothing.
” /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" Copyright © 2007 S.J. Dibai.
All rights reserved. /span /div
J. Dibai
post-116164081508780470
SuperJimenez would have it no other way. Their labyrinthine melodies and unconventional song structures take the listener on a musical rollercoaster ride, while their effortless transcendence of stylistic boundaries makes for a veritable tour of Planet Rock. After getting punky on their fantastic debut single “Helicopters,” they then get em funky /em on “Come Out To Play.
” The atmospheric “Hear You Now” resembles a late ‘80s U2 production minus Bono’s histrionic wailing, and “Beau” swings along on a poppy groove while retaining enough fire and fury to avoid slipping into bubblegumland. Just when you think SuperJimenez will rock you until you can’t be rocked anymore, they bring out the folky, acoustic “Birth of Venus,” complete with sparkling harmonies and gorgeous baroque guitar work. br / br / It’s even a tad misleading to call the band Irish.
Yes, singer/guitarist Ronan Cunningham, lead guitarist Rhys Domagala, bassist Nicholas O’Laoire, and drummer Daragh “Daz” Coen are based in Dublin. But Rhys is an Aussie who came to join SuperJimenez through the most unusual circumstances. “Quite a freaky story when I think it about it now,” he muses.
“I came over to Ireland from Australia in October, 2005, and my first day in Dublin I rang this guy about a spare room, as I was in need of somewhere to live. This guy—Ronan—was actually looking for a guitarist for his band as well, so I ended up moving into the house and joining the band. What’s weird is that their old guitarist had quit the band about two days before I arrived in Dublin!
And it was his room I moved into!” br / br / From such a story, one can reasonably conclude that the members of SuperJimenez have a natural camaraderie that allows them to work together as a fully integrated unit. Although Ronan founded the band and sings lead, the creative process is a genuine group effort.
As Rhys explains, “The songs are essentially written by Ronan. Generally he comes to practice with the song and lyric and then we work on it as a band. The songs often change direction at this point with each of our contributions.
For example, the noted rhythm in ‘Helicopters’ (da da da, da da da, etc.) was Nick’s contribution to that song, I wrote the lead guitar hook in ‘Beau,’ and Daz funked up ‘Come Out To Play’ with his drumming giving it a new feel. With all of our songs it’s an ongoing process!
” br / br / Ronan’s lyrics capture the angst and alienation of youth and the uncertainty of living in these turbulent times. Yet there is always a hint of optimism in the proceedings. In “Helicopters” he proclaims, “I sense the sweetest times between the parachutes, the deadly routes, the start of something new!
” “Fearing the worst, I can’t curse myself. I cannot say what I want when I feel. [.
..] Come out to play,” he pleads in the obvious.
In the chorus of “Beau” he declares, “I’m just a past time for her” and asks, “When is she expecting me to falter?” But he then explains that “once she’s got it” he wants to be “the one to rock her.” Ronan’s voice is lucid and buoyant, while his bandmates add texture with their distinctive harmonies.
The band’s tight ensemble playing on the mostly uptempo material is enough to make a statue want to dance. br / br / Don’t think this group’s talent has gone unnoticed. After they inked a deal with the Irish indie Reekus Records, “Helicopters” was released to rave reviews and garnered much airplay.
An impressive run in the Irish Top 20 allowed SuperJimenez to enjoy more success their first time out than many bands experience after years in the business. Are they striking out for other territories yet? “We’re currently in talks with a couple of labels in the UK,” says Rhys.
“We’re working with an English producer and feel that the UK is the obvious place for our music.” That producer is the famed Adrian Bushby, who is overseeing sessions for an album that should be finished by next spring. Meanwhile, check out SuperJimenez’s MySpace page, /span a href="http://www.
myspace.com/superjimenez" span style="font-family:arial;" http://www.myspace.
com/superjimenez /span /a span style="font-family:arial;" , for streaming audio and information on how to purchase the band’s music. br / br / Copyright © 2006 S.J.
Dibai. All rights reserved. /span
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Amazing. Perhaps all the Google hits I used to get for her name or all the spins on Philly’s own highly influential WXPN made me oblivious to the fact that Ms. Boucher is not as well-known as she deserves to be.
Okay, that's actually my opinion and em not /em a fact; still, I decided I’d do her one better than writing an iTunes customer review—I’d make her a featured artist on One Note Ahead! br / br / I grabbed her debut album, em Flutterby /em , told myself I had better listen to it once more before setting out to write about her, loaded it into my CD player…and found it impossible to press “Play.” The simple fact is that I don’t need to listen to it again.
I’ve spent over two years wrapped up in this album. I know it inside and out. The clever tempo changes and dynamic shifts of “Life Is Short,” the Latin R B pop ‘n’ roll of “I Can’t Make Me,” the McCartney-esque grandeur of “Never Leave Your Heart Alone,” the cheerful dance-pop of “Never Let It Go”—these are songs that have defined my young adulthood.
Instantly memorable, immediately accessible, never pretentious. That’s Butterfly Boucher. br / br / Yes, Butterfly is her real name.
No, her last name is not pronounced “boo-SHAY” (it’s pronounced “BOW-cher”). She’s Australian, but she lives in the United States for the time being. A bit of dumb luck led to her getting a major label deal for em Flutterby /em , a largely DIY effort that began life as a collection of demos.
She’s had some problems breaking out: she’s hard to categorize, doesn’t fit into the mainstream. Even her label (which I will be kind enough not to name) has admitted to having no idea how to market her. Here’s a suggestion: emphasize what makes her stand out.
She’s quirky. “I’m in knots, but you tie me in bows,” she sings in “I Can’t Make Me.” “I count another white dash out of time with the music,” or so goes “Another White Dash.
” Lyrics like that are refreshing; the massive international success of KT Tunstall has proven that people are looking for such refreshment. Butters, as her fans call her, has a way with melodies, a keen understanding of harmony, and an amazing command of a variety of instruments. (Now go back and read the fourth sentence of this paragraph again.
There you go.) Her voice is pure, authentic, beautifully flawed and complex yet clear as a bell. br / br / Forget the bitchy cover photo on em Flutterby.
/em In person, she is a warm, friendly, genuine person who bears no resemblance to the spoiled brat depicted in the packaging of her debut. I should know. Nearly two years ago, I caught her at a local in-store performance.
She had a more proper gig that night at a very nice venue, but it was a fundraising event for which I could not afford the ticket price. So I hoped I’d be content with the in-store; I wasn’t. The store had hopelessly underestimated the number of people who’d attend, crowding us fans into a cramped space in the front of the store, leaving us to freeze every time someone opened the door and let in a blast of cold December air.
Worse yet, Butters had spent the day bouncing from city to city, playing gig after gig, and had to make the in-store short so that she could hop off to the fundraiser. Three songs, quick autograph signings, and that was it. Yet she took control of the stage, down-to-earth and genuinely appreciative of her audience, her playing and singing (and swaying to the music!
) in top form. She flashed me a smile when she caught me mouthing along to “Another White Dash,” and afterwards, she gladly autographed my CD and was even happy to talk with me for as long as time permitted—which was not long! I hated the way things went down, but I loved the way Butters handled the situation.
It showed that she possessed the one quality I value above all else in a performer…all together now… em professionalism. br / /em br / Well, I’m still waiting for a chance to attend a proper Butterfly Boucher show. And I’m waiting for her new album, which she has been working on for quite some time.
Meanwhile, em Flutterby /em is still available and as delightful as ever. Make sure not to let it (ahem) em flutter by. /em /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" /span span style="font-family:Arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:arial;" More info and to hear her music: /span a href="http://www.
butterflyboucher.com/" span style="font-family:arial;" http://www.butterflyboucher.
com /span /a br / a href="http://www.myspace.com/butterflyboucher" span style="font-family:arial;" http://www.
myspace.com/butterflyboucher /span /a br / span style="font-family:arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:arial;" Copyright © 2006 S.J.
Dibai. All rights reserved. /span
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blogspot.com/2006/10/winter-child-for-all-seasons.html" span style="font-family:arial;" Matt Duke article /span /a span style="font-family:arial;" .
You know, the /span a href="http://onenoteahead.blogspot.com/2006/10/winter-child-for-all-seasons.
html" span style="font-family:arial;" Matt Duke article /span /a span style="font-family:arial;" that you need to read if you haven’t already? But I digress. br / br / Call if fate, karma, cosmic forces, or acts of God—something has made my keeping track of Ms.
O’Keefe’s career a bit of a challenge. Like the time I saw her last fall, when her set was delayed for what seemed to be an eternity as an inept crew attempted in vain to rig the sound and video capabilities for DVD footage. I never heard her complain.
Never heard her yell at anyone. She simply got up on stage and sat there, guitar in hand, making up soundcheck songs and joking with the audience. “There’s a book over there called em I Heard, Said The Bird /em ,” she deadpanned.
“I don’t want to give anything away, but let’s just say I was em very /em disappointed with the ending.” br / br / Or take a show from this past spring, which I was able to attend after having to miss many others for various reasons. I just so happened to catch her on a day when she had a sore throat.
To make matters worse, almost nobody came to see her. This was definitely not her fau after all, I’d seen her fill a room before. This particular event was just not promoted well enough.
Yet she gamely took to the stage, throat as sore as the loser in a US presidential race and an audience of not even a handful, and sang her heart out. As I was the only “frand” (Trish talk for “friend and fan”) in attendance, I did receive a disproportionate amount of her attention, but she still played the, er, em crowd /em as much as possible. The ability to do her absolute best under such miserable conditions is the mark of the one thing I value above all else in a performer: professionalism.
br / br / So I was supposed to see her again recently. I was looking forward to being there, and she was looking forward to having me there. Of course, I got sick at the last minute and couldn’t make it.
I’m not sure that I missed much. A look at the comments on her MySpace page indicated that she was forced to do verbal battle with the sound guy while trying to perform. Seems like familiar territory, no?
One thing that everyone praised her for, however, was her unwavering em professionalism /em amidst such chaos. Hmm, sounds like just my kind of Trisha O’Keefe show! br / br / Yes, following Trisha O’Keefe has at times caused me some frustration, but that’s only because she’s so damn good at what she does: writing and singing heartfelt, intelligent songs in a beautiful voice loaded with unlimited quantities of emotion.
What’s her gimmick, you ask? Talent. Her warmth, charm, and beauty become apparent soon enough; all she really needs to reel you in is her voice.
And you know what? If I miss her live shows, I can always find comfort in her CD em Trisha O’Keefe LIVE! /em , my copy of which is—defective?
?? Oh, for crying out loud.
.. br / br / The real skinny on Trisha O’Keefe: /span a href="http://www.
trishaokeefe.com" span style="font-family:arial;" http://www.trishaokeefe.
com /span /a span style="font-family:arial;" br / /span a href="http://www.myspace.com/trishaokeefe" span style="font-family:arial;" http://www.
myspace.com/trishaokeefe /span /a span style="font-family:arial;" br / br / Copyright © 2006 S.J.
Dibai. All rights reserved. /span
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The son of a diplomat, he was born in Turkey but lived in various countries as a child before his family settled down in the United States. He fell in love with the music he heard around the world, especially jazz and blues. He co-founded Atlantic Records in 1947; the label quickly became one of the top independent labels in America, known for its commitment to quality and fair treatment of its artists.
Atlantic’s reign as a mighty indie ended when it merged with Warner in 1967—indeed it is now part of Warner Music Group—but the label retained a distinct identity for years to come. Ertegun remained active in music until his death, always proving himself to have a rare combination of attributes: a genuine love and understanding of music, a personal connection to the artists he worked with, and a keen business sense. Atlantic and its affiliates had much success with rock artists such as Cream, The Rascals, Led Zeppelin, Crosby Stills Nash, and (for a period) The Rolling Stones, as well as pop artists like Bobby Darin, Sonny Cher, The Bee Gees, ABBA, and Bette Midler.
However, Atlantic made its fortune on rhythm blues and never abandoned its R B roots. Atlantic even manufactured and distributed most of the classic output of Stax Records, the famous home of Memphis soul. Atlantic’s R B treasure trove has been heavily anthologized on CD; if you’re looking for a place to start, Warner’s budget three-disc set em Atlantic Gold /em offers 75 selections of this sort for a surprisingly low price and with decent sound quality if somewhat lackluster annotation.
A look at the list of luminaries who scored hits on Atlantic and related labels reads like a Who’s Who of R B: Ray Charles, Joe Turner, Ruth Brown, Chuck Willis, The Coasters, The Drifters, Ben E. King, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Archie Bell The Drells, and Brook Benton; Memphis soulsters Booker T. The MG’s, Rufus Thomas and his daughter Carla, Otis Redding, Sam Dave, and Eddie Floyd; and non-Gamble Huff Philly soul from the likes of The Spinners, Blue Magic, and Major Harris.
(Atlantic also gave Gamble Huff some of their early breaks by sending Archie Bell The Drells and Wilson Pickett to cut records in Philly.) br / br / While I’m on the subject of Philly soul, let me segue into a tribute to native Philadelphian Richard “Ritchie” Barrett. A singer, songwriter, producer, arranger, session musician, and choreographer, Barrett made a name for himself in the New York doo-wop scene of the 1950s.
Associating with hustling independent record moguls George Goldner and Morris Levy, Barrett discovered and worked with top-notch doo-wop groups such as Little Anthony The Imperials, The Cleftones, Frankie Lymon The Teenagers, and The Chantels. The latter outfit ushered in the “girl group” boom and Barrett oversaw their run of wonderful hits, including “He’s Gone,” “Maybe,” and “Look In My Eyes.” Barrett also worked with The Isley Brothers early in their career.
He did not have much success as a recording artist, but his records were highly influential. In 1958, he revived the pop oldie “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes”; while his version languished in the bottom of the hit parade, it most likely inspired The Platters’ chart-topping rendition later that year. Barrett’s 1962 record of “Some Other Guy”—released on Atlantic, no less—was not a commercial success, but it became a favorite cover item among British beat bands, including The Beatles, whose ripping version can be found on their em Live at the BBC /em set.
After the doo-wop era faded, Barrett returned to Philadelphia and played an important role in the creation of Philly soul. In 1964 he wrote and produced the prescient “Get Out (And Let Me Cry),” an early effort by Harold Melvin The Blue Notes which had most of the basic elements of the Philly sound and became an R B hit. He then spent some time at Philadelphia’s Swan Records, where label president Bernie Binnick insisted that Barrett copy the Motown sound.
Though he did comply to an extent, some of his productions from this era are truly fine examples of early Philly soul, as opposed to mock Motown. These include Sheila Ferguson’s “Heartbroken Memories,” Eddie Carlton’s “Misery,” and John Leach’s “Put That Woman Down”; check out Ace/Kent’s compilation em Swan’s Soul Sides /em to hear these and more. Barrett also managed and produced The Three Degrees, who eventually included Ferguson.
They scored some of Swan’s last chart hits before doing even better at Morris Levy’s Roulette label and then topping the charts on Philadelphia International. Interestingly, while Barrett was at Swan Records he wrote songs with Leon Huff, who along with Kenny Gamble would form Philadelphia International Records and produce The Three Degrees there. Sadly, there has been much bad blood between Barrett and Gamble, to the extent that Barrett declined to be interviewed for John A.
Jackson’s Philly soul tome a href="http://onenoteahead.blogspot.com/2006/12/book-review-house-on-fire.
html" em A House On Fire /em /a , thus denying himself his place in the history of Philly soul. (Barrett em was /em quoted extensively in Tony Cummings' 1975 work em The Sound of Philadelphia /em , but that book is something of a rarity today and much of the information presented therein is inaccurate.) br / br / Finally, the death that hit me the hardest: that of ‘60s pop star Gene Pitney.
Even though I grew up in the ‘90s, Pitney was one of my favorite singers growing up, one of a handful of artists who really defined my teenage years. In my early 20s (I’m 25 now) I would still occasionally raid my sizable collection of Gene Pitney CDs and just go Pitney crazy. The guy had staying power.
He could sing almost any style of music and sing it well. He could convey almost any emotion, yet he was best with songs that were either sad or angry. They were the perfect vehicles for his pained, wailing tenor.
He remained active until his death and was always ready to put on a show. A concert he did for public television while in his late 50s showed that he'd retained more of his vocal power than many of his contemporaries. In it, he also did the finest version of Robbie Williams' "Angels" that I've ever heard.
(Were you thinking that Jessica Simpson's version was my favorite?) In addition to his impressive vocal talent, Pitney also possessed songwriting ability. Intriguingly, he usually wrote songs for other artists—Rick Nelson's "Hello Mary Lou," Bobby Vee's "Rubber Ball" (under a pseudonym), The Crystals' anthemic "He's A Rebel"—while as a singer he tended to expose up-and-coming songwriters.
These included such now-famous names as Burt Bacharach Hal David ("The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance," "Only Love Can Break A Heart," "True Love Never Runs Smooth," "24 Hours From Tulsa"), Randy Newman ("Just One Smile," "Nobody Needs Your Love"), and even Jagger Richards. In fact, Pitney's recording of the latter pair's "That Girl Belongs To Yesterday" was Mick and Keith's first composition to become an American hit. No, it was not originally recorded by the Stones; they gave the song to him while he was on his first UK tour.
Indeed, once he became popular in the UK, he was always more appreciated there than here. The media frenzy in his home state of Connecticut notwithstanding, Pitney’s death went largely unnoticed in the US, while in the UK it received due attention. Maybe his passing would have grabbed more headlines in the US if he'd been a braggart.
"I had 24 hits on the Hot 100! I'm in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! I was the first rock 'n' roll singer to perform at the Academy Awards!
I survived the British Invasion! I was a superstar in Italy!" But no.
He wasn't the type. He was a reserved, quiet fellow, at times reclusive. Yet, at least during his later years, he made himself accessible to his fans.
He encouraged us to e-mail him; he chatted with us on message boards; he sent us Christmas cards if we joined his fan club; he even contributed a regular column to his fan club's newsletter. He didn't need to brag to us because we knew he was special. Apparently, a lot of people didn't.
If you were one of those people, I hope you now realize how much the music world lost when it lost Gene Pitney. And Ahmet Ertegun. And Richard Barrett.
Talents like these don’t come along every day, and we should all be thankful that they got a chance to make a mark on this world before their time ran out. /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:Arial;" Copyright © 2006 S.J.
Dibai. All rights reserved. /span
com,1999:blog-35569476.post-116526691930871500
666-05:00
These include arranger/producer Bobby Martin, record executive Ron Alexenburg, and jack-of-all-trades Weldon McDougal. Jackson also delves deeply into the personalities and backgrounds of the recording artists, session musicians, songwriters, engineers, and Gamble/Huff subordinates who made the Philly sound possible. His narrative follows a fairly straightforward, linear chronology.
A survey of major trends in R B and the shape of Philadelphian society in the ‘40s and ‘50s leads to that fruitful-yet-frustrating early ‘60s phase in which Gamble, Huff, and Bell struggled to make names for themselves. Things heat up in the mid-to-late ‘60s as the Philly sound begins to blossom and find favor with the public. By the early ‘70s, Gamble and Huff form Philadelphia International Records and Thom Bell is flying high as an independent producer with intriguing ties to many of Philly’s power players.
The Philly sound influences everything from rock to disco as the decade wears on, and the Philly soul train appears to be unstoppable—until 1979. Then, it’s a slow and painful decline, especially for Philadelphia International, which survives into the 21st century despite being a mere shell of its former self. br / br / Jackson clearly did a massive amount of research for this project, drawing from a vast selection of books, articles, CD liner notes, and original interviews.
He was unable to conduct any of the latter with Gamble or Huff, but this is not surprising. Huff was never the most talkative individual, and Gamble is known for being picky about whom he’ll tell his story to. Fortunately, Jackson collected so many Gamble and Huff quotes from other sources that the reader still gets a good idea of the masters’ perspectives.
His detailed storytelling exposes a seemingly endless stream of secrets, rivalries, recording techniques, and mentalities, making well-worn chestnuts like “Love Train,” “You Make Me Feel Brand New,” “You’ll Never Find (Another Love Like Mine),” and “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now” seem new again. He also makes it extremely clear that Philly soul was the result of collaborations that transcended obvious boundaries. Soul may be considered a black music style, but several of the Philly sound’s key studio musicians, songwriters, producers, and arrangers were white.
The names most associated with Philly soul belong to men, but Jackson shows that many women played highly important parts in the story as well. Most importantly, what do The Spinners, Lou Rawls, Jerry Butler, The O’Jays, and Archie Bell The Drells have in common? They all made exemplary Philly soul records, yet they were not from Philadelphia.
What mattered was that they cut those records in the City of Brotherly Love. br / br / For all the good things that can be said about em A House On Fire /em , the excitement of reading it comes from the actual information presented and not from Jackson’s clumsy, limp writing. On page 181, he writes, “In the end, CBS refused to meet Gamble’s demands for control of future recordings by Philadelphia International, although an agreement whereby CBS continued to market and distribute Philadelphia International’s records was worked out.
But beginning in 1976, the control of all future Philadelphia International master recordings, as well as the publishing rights to them, reverted to Gamble and Huff.” The message of those sentences comes through eventually, but only after navigating Jackson’s confusing wording. em A House On Fire /em is full of such passages.
br / br / More troubling is Jackson’s imbalanced treatment of racism. A book about soul music should devote considerable attention to this subject, but it’s hard to see any method to the way Jackson handles the issue. As a means of setting up his narrative, he opens the book with the story of a race riot!
Is this a tome about racism or music? Pages 20-21 contain this infamous tirade: “When you leave [downtown Philadelphia] traveling east over the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, headed for the morass of urban mismanagement, decay, and corruption known as Camden, New Jersey, the first building of significance to the left that you see is Riverfront State Prison. Riverfront is an apt metaphor for Camden, itself a prison to the overwhelming majority of poor blacks and other minorities who live there.
Leon Huff […] was one of those fated Camden residents. But Huff […] successfully made it over the wall.” Read this paragraph after checking out the rather whitebread photo of the author on the cover jacket, and Jackson is begging to be tagged a “guilty white liberal”—a stance that is quite patronizing, even insulting, in this context.
He lays on the race issue with a trowel until around page 100, when the story enters the early ‘70s. Then he cools off for the rest of the book, simply placing the music in a larger social context, discussing racism when relevant but not structuring his story around it. This strikes me as a misstep.
I have many relatives who made the simple mistake of being black in Philadelphia during the ‘70s (in case you’re wondering, my ancestry is mixed). Any one of them can tell you that Philadelphia was a hotbed of extreme racial tension at the time, with the notoriously racist former police chief Frank Rizzo serving as the city’s polarizing mayor. If Jackson was going to focus on racism during Philly soul’s formative years, why not devote more attention to the issue when discussing the subgenre’s peak period?
It’s not surprising that Thom Bell was discriminated against as a musician seeking high-profile work in the early ‘60s. It em is /em surprising that a black-run, Philly-based music empire experienced so much prosperity during the tumultuous Rizzo era. br / br / Finally, Jackson commits a few errors that are just plain stupid.
For example, he describes The Intrigues’ “In A Moment,” one of the watershed moments in Philly soul, as a “falsetto-led ballad” (90). Apparently he’s hearing-impaired; “In A Moment” is a fast, funky dance track with about three seconds of falsetto in all. But Jackson’s known for such goofs; no one who read his em American Bandstand: Dick Clark and the Making of a Rock ‘n’ Roll Empire /em (Oxford University Press, 1997) can forget his deadpanned assertion that The Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love” came from their em Sgt.
Pepper /em album. Still, em A House On Fire /em is worth reading, if only because it provides so much insight into a style of music that we have come to take for granted and compiles so much data into one concise source. Unfortunately, I must offer the same words of caution that I offer readers of most writings on the history of popular music: take what you read with several grains of salt.
br / br / Copyright © 2006 S.J. Dibai.
All rights reserved. /span
J. Dibai
post-116484793856589105
..in a BOAT…on a RIVER.
With…TAN-gerine trees and MAR-malade skiiies! Somebody calls you! Yooooouuuu aaaaanswer quite slowlyyy…A GIRL!
With ka-LEI-doscope EYES! Cellophane flowers…of yellow! And green!
TOW-ering OHH-ver your head!!!
Look for the girl! With the sun in ‘er eyes??
? And she’s GONE!!
!!” br / br / In retrospect, William Shatner’s notorious 1968 album em The Transformed Man /em is not entirely surprising.
After all, in the wake of The Beach Boys’ em Pet Sounds /em and The Beatles’ em Sgt. Pepper /em , concept albums were in vogue. If you made a record in the late ‘60s, it had to be “heavy” or “relevant” in some way.
Even if you didn’t turn out a concept album, you still had to experiment with different musical styles and recording techniques in order to be current. Sometimes artists were dragged kicking and screaming into the studio to embark upon such projects (lest you think that Tony Bennett actually em wanted /em to cover “Eleanor Rigby”). At other times, they willingly went along with the zeitgeist, either to show that they could or because they genuinely wanted to.
In any case, many recording artists were simply not cut out to jump on the latest trends and ended up proving that they were better off sticking to their tried-and-true formulas. Thus, that era produced quite a few misguided recordings that stand as odd curiosities today: albums like The Hollies’ em Butterfly /em , The 4 Seasons’ em Genuine Imitation Life Gazette /em , and Chad Jeremy’s em Of Cabbages and Kings /em ; singles such as Jay The Americans’ “(He’s) Raining In My Sunshine” and Roy Orbison’s “Southbound Jericho Parkway.” em The Transformed Man /em is remarkably similar to those efforts save for two extremely important differences: (1) William Shatner was not an established recording artist who could offset the bizarreness of one misstep with the brilliance of his past or future output, and (2) listeners of em The Transformed Man /em could not claim The Shat’s musical talent as the album’s saving grace.
br / br / To his credit, Shatner must have realized he couldn’t sing, because he didn’t try to—he conceived the album as a means of combining his love of drama with his love of music. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a very good actor, either. Furthermore, he was so pretentious and self-absorbed that it wasn’t enough for him to make an album that simply set dramatic readings to music.
Passages from classic literature and drama had to form medleys with ‘60s pop hits and, in the case of the first track, a new poem by one Frank Devenport. The sequencing was meant to juxtapose opposing perspectives on particular aspects of the human experience. The “To be or not to be” soliloquy from em Hamlet /em —a young man so hates his life that he considers suicide—sits alongside the Frank Sinatra hit “It Was A Very Good Year,” in which an older fellow looks back on how wonderful his life has been.
The Devenport-authored title track closes out the album, and it stands alone but has three movements detailing a man’s progression from the pursuit of earthly rewards to the abandonment of materialism and the achievement of a spiritual climax. The album was produced by music industry heavy-hitter Don Ralke and his son Cliff, with the elder Ralke doing the arrangements. The Ralkes dressed the album in thick layers of bombastic orchestration, flowery vocal choruses, and psychedelic sound effects to enhance the dramatic nature of the material.
br / br / If this all sounds obtuse and overwrought, just imagine how much worse it is with The Shat’s vocals conveying the message. He delivers most of the “Hamlet” soliloquy in that creepy, low-toned nasal stammer that made his otherworldly portrayal of Captain Kirk so intriguing, but “Star Trek” this ain’t. The Bard pops up elsewhere as well, as Shatner opens the album with a totally unconvincing treatment of a speech from em Henry V /em (shouted from the throat in a horrible pseudo-English accent), while Romeo never sounded less interested in Juliet than he does with this em transformed man /em reading his part.
(How is it possible that Mr. Shatner was once a highly prolific Shakespearean actor?) While Shatner’s hammy style suits Devenport’s overblown imagery in the title track, The Shat stumbles his way through “It Was A Very Good Year” as if he is drunk, stoned, or both.
The two most famous medleys from the album are also the most jarring. The extremely dark, gloomy “Spleen” crashes into a chirpy rendition of “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds,” but the album’s second track is the most perplexing. Shatner’s brash, curt delivery on “Theme From Cyrano” foreshadows his performance as Denny Crane on “Boston Legal” as he defiantly insists on living his life through self-sufficiency.
Then it segues into a deranged reading of “Mr. Tambourine Man,” The Shat’s overheated grunting bearing an uncanny resemblance to his “Trek” co-star DeForrest “Bones” Kelley. Somehow Shatner interpreted Dylan’s masterpiece as a tale of psychotic, slavish dependence: “Mr.
Tambourine Man? mr. tambourine man?
MISTER TAMBOURINE MAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!
!!” This medley may not feature any Shakespeare, but it is quite Shakespearean: compare it to the transformation of Kate in em The Taming of the Shrew /em .
br / br / Not surprisingly, em The Transformed Man /em was not a hit upon its release, and I have a feeling that Don Ralke conveniently left it off his generally impressive resume. But one thing has kept this album alive in the hearts and minds of music lovers around the world: it’s one of the funniest records ever made. Obviously, it was not em supposed /em to be funny, and as a serious album it fails miserably.
But that’s just what makes it so hilarious. It’s funny because it’s supposed to be anything but. /span br / span style="font-family:arial;" br / Shatner took a long hiatus before making another album, but he didn’t give up on music—his oddball performance of Elton John’s “Rocket Man” at the 1978 Science Fiction Film Awards has to be seen to be believed and floods a href="http://www.
youtube.com" YouTube /a these days. But rising interest in his long-lost album led to more demand for, er, musical performances from the erstwhile Captain of the Enterprise.
He finally made another album, em Has Been /em , in 2004. Unfortunately, he didn’t set himself up for quite as much embarrassment this time around. Ben Folds was at the helm, creating a sound that was much more organic and sincere than what the Ralkes had delivered decades earlier.
The album had no grand concept behind it, nor was it meant as a high artistic statement. Aside from a ripping remake of Pulp’s “Common People,” it featured no Shatnerizations of other people’s hits. And Shatner had finally developed into—gasp!
—a good actor. (He genuinely earned that Emmy for “Boston Legal” in my opinion.) The Shat’s self-indulgent live performances of its tracks notwithstanding, em Has Been /em was in many ways a genuinely good album…and therefore inferior to em The Transformed Man /em .
br / br / To those of you who are Vulcan-minded and think that Captain Kirk’s decision to pursue a recording career was em highly illogical /em , I must pause to mention that Leonard “Spock” Nimoy made five—count ‘em, five—albums. No, that’s not a good thing. Indeed, Shatner and Nimoy are but two celebrities who, for better or worse, committed their vocals to records.
If you’re interested in learning about more, I recommend a book called em Hollywood Hi-Fi /em by George Gimarc and Pat Reeder (St. Martin’s Griffin, 1996). And if you think that Shatner’s version of “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” is the worst Beatles cover ever, you obviously haven’t heard Bill Cosby’s take on “Sgt.
Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band.” br / br / [ em The Transformed Man /em is available on CD and for legal download. Several of its selections are also available on the compilation em Spaced Out: The Best of Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner /em .
] /span span style="font-family:arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:arial;" /span br / span style="font-family:arial;" Copyright © 2006 S.J. Dibai.
All rights reserved. /span br / br / /span
J. Dibai
post-116312138961853995
This is a mixed blessing. On one hand, it gives exposure to songs that may otherwise go unheard or forgotten. On the other hand, unless the commercial identifies the song and artist somewhere, it leaves you wondering what you're hearing.
This is especially annoying in those spots whose songs are so prominent that you're likely to forget what's actually being advertised!
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