In the hours since Alex died, I’ve come to realize that his death is one of those events that is going to cause some people to mourn inconsolably, while others won’t care a whit. There is simply no middle ground, because although Alex never achieved mainstream success during his lifetime, his music resonated deeply with the faithful.

I spent a good deal of time last year listening to the music of Big Star. The occasion (and what an occasion it was!) was the Rhino Records release of Keep Your Eye on the Sky, a four-disc compilation that brilliantly captured the career arc of the band that wrote the book on indie rock, and contributed mightily to the annals of power pop as well. In my opinion, the box set was the best music release of any kind in 2009. After writing my review, I moved on to the deluxe reissue of Chris Bell’s I Am the Cosmos. So for a number of weeks, I was deeply engrossed in Big Star, and Big Star-related music.

Here’s what I said in my review of the Big Star set:

Big Star: Keep an Eye on the Sky is the shit, that thing the fanboys have been waiting more than 30 years for. It’s the validation, the vindication. It’s the drug, so open your veins, because now when your friends look at you blankly when you mention Big Star, you can sit them down, stick this in, all 98 tracks spread over four discs, hand them the beautiful 100-page booklet that comes with the set, and wait for them to finally acknowledge you as the trendsetter that you’ve always thought yourself to be.

In my review of the Chris Bell reissue, I spoke about my initiation into the cult of Big Star:

In the summer of 1978, EMI saw the light. Driven by interest in Big Star in the U.K., they released a gatefold double album package containing the first two Big Star albums, #1 Record, and Radio City. It was available only as an import in the U.S., but I scraped together the money and bought it. After all, the buzz, at least among people whose opinions I respected, was nearly deafening when it came to Big Star. I didn’t know much about the band, other than the fact that Alex Chilton had once been in a Memphis band called the Box Tops, and I was familiar with their hits “The Letter,” “Soul Deep,” and “Cry Like A Baby.”

I have to admit that I didn’t follow Alex’s solo career too closely. And when he put Big Star back together, sans Andy Hummel, and the late Chris Bell, in 1993, it was an interesting, if not earth-shaking development for me. This despite the fact that the new configuration included Ken Stringfellow and Jon Auer of the Posies, a band that I like very much. But then along came the reissues, and since then I’ve tried to make up for lost time. I’ve become familiar with Alex’s solo recordings, which are hit-or-miss by definition, but never less than endearing. In fact, I’m listening to his 1979 album Flies on Sherbert as I write this. It’s crazy, funny, and deeply depraved.

This week there are thousands of musicians at South By Southwest in Austin. Nearly every one of them owes an enormous debt to Alex. If he didn’t influence them musically, as he did so many, he drew the roadmap for all indie rock artists long before there even was such a thing. I hope this fact won’t be lost in all the hoopla surrounding the festival.

Big Star was to be the subject of a panel at SXSW, and the band was scheduled to play a showcase on Saturday night at Antone’s. I had been kicking myself for not being able to go to Austin this year, solely because Big Star was going to be there. There is some rumbling now that the show may go on as scheduled, in tribute to Alex. If it does, it will be a tremendously sad, while at the same time incredibly joyous, event. –Ken Shane

Alex Chilton – “Like Flies on Sherbert”

March 17, Evening

My ten-year-old son’s music teacher died last night, succumbing to cancer that had remitted for years, before cruelly returning and finally taking her. By the time I was able to talk to him about it (I taught a class tonight and didn’t get home until after 9:00), he had processed the news, turning it over with his own peculiar logic, and had made a tenuous peace with her loss. He and I discussed it in our hallway at home; I knelt down to face him eye-to-eye, and when he was finished talking, we hugged. He held on a little longer than he usually does (he is ten, after all, and not far from the period of life when hugging his old man will be deemed uncool; I can already sense it in the quickness with which he usually disengages from an embrace). I swear I could feel his sadness pass through him, and it chipped away a part of my heart.

I went from the hallway to my desk and read the sad news of Alex Chilton’s passing. It occurs to me now how many people who play music could use a hug—they’ve lost the person who taught them how to properly play music, write music, set their fiercest rages and corniest crushes to music. It’s a dark night for them, their hero taken down too early.

Chilton, for me, was the guy I discovered in San Francisco in the early ’90s, buying the newly reissued Third/Sister Lovers and marveling at its weirdness, and the pure melodic heart beating under the many layers of that weirdness. He was the guy I reconnected with in the Twin Cities, maybe 16 or 17 years ago, while shopping at a discount record store that was going out of business. It was there that I bought the wonderful two-fer, #1 Record/Radio City, as well as the first live album he did with Auer and Stringfellow, under the Big Star moniker. Those were discs I played repeatedly for a good long while, discs I tried to turn my friends on to, discs that were cooler than the coolest thing on the radio at the time.

Chilton was the guy who channeled the best qualities of the Who in “You Can’t Have Me,” but also the guy who could toss off a “Volare” cover just to fuck with you. He could put together something as furious as “Don’t Lie to Me” and as beautiful as “Thirteen,” and put them back-to-back on the same album. The defiant “Ballad of El Goodo” shares space in the same oeuvre as the comically sexy “Take It Off,” and the wistful “September Gurls.”

Ah, “September Gurls.” That’s the one. “I loved you, well, never mind,” he sang, and anyone who ever had his or her heart broken between the ages of 13 and 17 knew damn well what the next line was —”I’ve been cryin’ all the time.”

And that’s just because “sobbing in my pillow for the last four hours” didn’t rhyme. Talk about needing a hug. –Rob Smith

Big Star – “Thirteen” (alternate mix)

I’m not sure I could pinpoint the exact moment I became aware of Alex Chilton. Like most of my generation, I’d likely have to point to The Replacements 1987 ode to the biggest star:

“Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes ’round
They sing “I’m in love. What’s that song? I’m in love with that song.”

At that point, he was just a name in a song; important enough to inspire Paul Westerberg to write a power pop masterpiece, but not yet important enough for me to look deeper. His influence was present in my favorite records from R.E.M. to Matthew Sweet, The Posies, and Counting Crows. It was a Counting Crows show at the Beacon Theatre in 1994 that finally sent me in search of Chilton’s catalog. During the refrain in “Mr. Jones,” singer Adam Duritz switched the lyric to “*I wanna be Alex Chilton, Mr. Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky,*” and that sealed it. Two of my favorite songwriters had called his name out in song, and I owed it to myself to find out why.

The next day, I ran out and plunked my money down for the Big Star #1 Record/Radio City two-fer and spent the following days and weeks delving into the music that inspired so many, and found myself duly inspired. “The Ballad of El Goodo,” “In the Street,” and “Thirteen” all spoke to me, but it was “September Gurls” that sealed the deal. If there is a more perfect power pop song, I would be hard-pressed to name it.

When the news of Chilton’s passing hit my desk, my first instinct was to hope and pray it was another case of the internet getting it wrong. In recent years he had a sort of renaissance, touring with his new incarnation of Big Star – featuring Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of The Posies – and was even scheduled to play a big showcase this weekend at SXSW. He was more vital and present than I could remember. When it sunk in that it wasn’t a hoax, I sat down with my copy of #1 Record/Radio City and listened to “The Ballad of El Goodo,” and let it inspire me, all over again. –Michael Parr

Big Star – “September Gurls”

My appreciation of Alex Chilton is yet another case of discovering the music of an artist who would go on to become one of my all time favorites despite being introduced to them in an utterly ass-backwards fashion. I became an obsessive Paul McCartney fan after I became enamored with Give My Regards to Broad Street and Press to Play. I learned about Syd Barrett only after being introduced to Robyn Hitchcock. Hell, even the first a-ha album I bought was Stay on the Roads rather than Hunting High and Low.

So how did I learn to love Alex Chilton? Not because of the incessant raves I was hearing about the genius of Big Star, and certainly not because he was the lead singer of the Box Tops. (I was ridiculously late coming across that bit of information).

No, it was because I won a copy of his 1987 solo album, High Priest, on cassette from a local indie radio station: FM 92, in Chesapeake, VA. It was one of those deals where, if you were the right caller, you were the winner. It was almost certainly just a case of my wanting to win something, because I certainly didn’t know the first thing about Alex Chilton. If I’ve got my timeline right, then I might have heard the Replacements’ ode to his genius by that point, but I seriously doubt that it factored into my decision to try and be the ninth caller. I would never suggest to anyone that they start their own personal Alex Chilton Appreciation Society by spinning High Priest. For one thing, it’s far from the best spotlight of his songwriting abilities: there are only four Chilton originals, and at least one of those – “Forbidden Love” – finds him unabashedly swiping from other, better songs. (I’m not saying others haven’t used the phrase “the dark end of the street” in their lyrics, but given that Chilton covers Dan Penn’s “Nobody’s Fool” later on the album, I think it’s fair to suggest that he was well aware of the lyrical cop). It’s also a pretty wacky album, with Chilton offering up an ode to the Dalai Lama (“30,000 monks at his direction / Practicing things like astral projection”), then following it up by finding his inner lounge-lizard and crooning the cheesiest cover of “Volare” you’ve ever heard. And, frankly, it’s easy to imagine people being turned off by this strange little man singing such unabashedly flirtatious songs as “Take It Off” and “Make a Little Love.”

Funny how offering up all of these possible reasons to dismiss the record has only served to make me want to spin it over and over again.

As soon as I heard the news of Alex Chilton’s passing, the first song that got stuck in my head was, appropriately enough, the Replacements’ “Alex Chilton.” I soon found “September Gurls” taking its place. Now, however, I’ve come back home to High Priest and to the one song I can recommend without reservation to anyone as a highlight of the man’s career.

“Let Me Get Close to You” was not written by Alex Chilton. It’s a semi-obscure Gerry Goffin and Carole King composition from the early ‘60s that, if it’s remembered at all, is known because of the version Skeeter Davis (“The End of the World”) did in 1964. But there’s something about Alex’s version that really brings out the rock critic in me, so bear with me if I get more flowery than usual for a moment.

To listen to Alex Chilton’s take on “Let Me Get Close to You” is to hear one of the most painfully honest and heartfelt declarations of longing that has ever been recorded. Yes, his performance is a bit wobbly, but it’s that seeming lack of confidence in his voice that makes it so emotionally affecting: it’s the voice of an average guy, going out on a limb and expressing his feelings to the one he loves. Yes, you probably could sing it better. But you don’t have to, because Alex is singing it for you…

I know I never felt this way before
I can’t remember ever wanting anyone more
How can you turn me down when I need you the way that I do?
Come on, baby, let me get close to you
You won’t be sorry
I’ll do anything that you ask of me
I’ll be the kind of man you want me to be
So won’t you let me be the someone you tell your troubles to?
Come on, baby, let me get close to you
How long, I’ll never know, I’ve waited to tell you that I love you so
Now that I’ve finally said it, come on, baby, don’t make me regret it
It’s not as if I’m asking for the world
All I want is just for you to be my girl
So won’t you find it in your heart to make all of my dreams come true?
Come on, baby, let me get close to you
I want to be close to you
Real close to you

“Let Me Get Close to You” was how I first got close to Alex Chilton, and my appreciation of him has only grown stronger over the years as I’ve absorbed the pop melodies of Big Star and the blue-eyed soul of the Box Tops, but if I have to thank him for one thing, then, ultimately, I’ve got to thank him for High Priest. It might not have been his best, but it was my first, and it means the most. –Will Harris

Alex Chilton – “Let Me Get Close To You”

I was introduced to Alex Chilton’s music by my mom’s 45 of “The Letter” as well as the Replacements, and darkwave collective This Mortal Coil, who covered “Holocaust” and “Kanga Roo.” But it wasn’t until a friend of mine sat me down and played Third/Sister Lovers for me that I was “formally” introduced. That afternoon I bought the Rhino CD reissue. Shortly afterward I bought the other two, but Third/Sister Lovers is my favorite. It’s one of “those” albums — a record that balances the joy with melancholic longing. It always sounds good to me and puts me in a better place than I was. Fare thee well, Alex Chilton. Thank you for everything. –Ben Wiser

Big Star – “Kanga Roo”

Alex Chilton is not a stranger to this particular site, but in the widest expanse of pop culture his name is not as immediate as, say, Keith Richards, George Harrison or even Col. Tom Parker. You have heard him sing even if you didn’t know it – Big Star was not the monster sales collective it should have been, but you must know The Box Tops’ monolithic hit “The Letter,” and Chilton’s bizarrely gruff vocal on it. His voice was much smoother for Big Star.

Here’s the thing to remember: sometimes you are remembered for your influence more than your productivity, and in that sense, Chilton was one of the cornerstones of music as we know it now. The subgenre that is power pop not only owes it’s existence to Chilton along with Jody Stephens Andy Hummel, and Chris Bell, but to the doors their band opened. You could peg a great tune, a memorable melody and hooks for miles to your collar and not look ignorant. In the early 1970’s, when everything seemed so damned serious, it was possible to create a fun song with some rock ‘n roll guts and not look passive or regressive about it.

So there probably won’t be a mention of Chilton’s death on your local television news broadcast, certainly not the way it was when Michael Jackson died last year, but the impact might be just as great. The legions of bands that rose up from the steps where Big Star walked out are impossible to count, but among their ranks are Cheap Trick, The Replacements with Paul Westerberg, who had the good sense to pay tribute to Chilton while he was alive to hear it, to name just a couple. The shame of this is that a rejiggered version of Big Star was scheduled to perform at South By Southwest down in Austin, Tx. In an age where indie rock and pop is besotted by laptops and loops, a whole generation was about to get schooled by one of the masters. The class was dismissed far too soon. –Dw. Dunphy

The Box Tops – “Soul Deep”

Director and cowriter Steven Lisberger was inspired by both the video game Pong and Stanley Kubrick’s 1960 gladiatorial epic Spartacus. Though Tron was one of the early pioneers of computer-generated imagery, there’s a lot less CGI in the film than one might think. While certain shots of the light cycles, tanks, and Solar Sailer are fully computer generated, the bulk of Tron’s iconic look was created through a process known as backlit animation, in which the actors are filmed in black and white and then colorized using various techniques, including rotoscoping.

In the film’s story, the world of the computer is inhabited by “programs” that are presented in human form, and some of them refer to the people who programmed them as “Users,” though they have no idea what the real world looks like or if it even exists. Programs who believe in the Users are considered to be followers of an ancient religion and are ordered by the MCP (Master Control Program) to renounce their beliefs or else they’ll be forced to fight each other in the video game arena.

Jeff Bridges plays Kevin Flynn, a former employee of a software company called ENCOM whose video game programs were plagiarized by coworker Ed Dillinger (the amazing David Warner). The games turned out to be highly successful, thus beginning Dillinger’s meteoric rise at ENCOM and leaving Flynn to open an arcade after being canned by his nemesis. Flynn attempts to hack into the company’s system with a program called Clu (also played by Bridges in the computer world), seeking evidence of Dillinger’s plagiarism until Clu is caught by the MCP — a program written by Dillinger, naturally.

The tightened security resulting from Clu’s capture causes other Users to be shut out of the system, including Alan Bradley (Bruce Boxleitner), who’s been working on a security program called Tron. It’s designed to work independently of the MCP and monitor communications between ENCOM’s system and others, something the MCP doesn’t want, as it ultimately has bigger plans than just running ENCOM’s system.

When Flynn tries to hack into the system again from a terminal in ENCOM’s laser lab, the MCP digitizes him, bringing him into the computer world so he can face certain death on the game grid. There he meets Bradley’s program, Tron (Boxleitner again), and along with another program called Ram (Dan Shor), they work together to find a way to bring down the MCP. Along the way Flynn discovers that as a User he has special powers in the computer world, such as the ability to reconstruct a damaged Recognizer — and why not, considering the cybernated vehicle came from the Space Paranoids game he created.

Admittedly, the screenplay has some corny lines in it. I’m thinking in particular of Ram’s line to Crom (a compound interest program) after they’ve been thrown into a holding cell: “I’d say ‘Welcome, friend,’ but not here … not like this.” There’s also Tron’s rather obvious observation after they escape from the light-cycle arena: “We made it — this far.”

But there’s also some very cool stuff, such as the way the programs refer to dying as being “de-rezzed.” Another cool moment occurs in a confrontation between Dillinger and a longtime ENCOM employee named Walter Gibbs (Barnard Hughes, also amazing): “You can remove men like Alan and me from the system, but we helped create it — and our spirit remains in every program we design for this computer.”

Another thing I’ve always loved about Tron is how it presents parallels between the real world and the computer world, like the way Dillinger’s helicopter almost looks like a vehicle from the computer world with its red and blue neon lights. There’s probably no greater example of this than the time-lapse shot right before the end credits, as nightfall descends on the film’s anonymous urban setting and the cars and lights on-screen blur until they begin to resemble the circuitry inside a computer.

There’s also the exchange between Tron and Flynn after the latter reveals himself to be a User. Tron points out that “if you are a User, then everything you’ve done has been according to a plan, right?”

Flynn laughs and replies, “Well, you guys know what it’s like. You just keep on doing what it looks like you’re supposed to be doing, no matter how crazy it seems.”

“Well, that’s the way it is for programs.”

“I hate to disappoint you, pal, but most of the time that’s the way it is for Users too.”

At last year’s Comic-Con another teaser trailer for Tron’s sequel was revealed, along with the film’s official title, Tron Legacy, and a replica of Flynn’s Arcade containing multiple working Space Paranoids game consoles.

And earlier this month a brand-new trailer debuted in theaters, attached to Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland.

Joseph Kosinski, a first-time director with a computer graphics background, takes the reins from Steven Lisberger, who’s one of the producers of Tron Legacy. I find it somewhat disappointing that he doesn’t have a larger creative role, but I’m still hopeful — after all, Tron was his directorial debut (his only other directing credits are the 1987 John Cusack comedy Hot Pursuit and 1989’s Slipstream).

All of this new footage simply makes me giddy, especially the return of Bruce Boxleitner and of course newly minted Oscar winner Jeff Bridges. I don’t brave the opening-weekend crowds much anymore, but for Tron Legacy I’m making an exception.

End of line.

Blanton’s: I was the beneficiary of an act of trickle down economics a few months ago.  Work was a tremendous pressure cooker that month, and I think my boss was very aware of my elevated stress level.  Knowing that I’m very fond of bourbon, he asked me to lunch one day, and on the way back, said:  “Let’s stop by BevMo and I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

Well, I won’t say no to good alcohol, so off we went.  When we got to the store, he corralled the store manager and said, “What’s a really good bourbon?”  I figured he was going to point me to one of my favorites (Woodford Reserve), but instead the manager said, “Oh, you have to try Blanton’s.”  It’s about $50 a bottle, and not wanting to be too greedy and grab a $300 bottle on the top shelf, I humbly said,  “Sounds intriguing, let’s do this!”  When I got home, and unboxed my gift, I immediately noticed the unique bottle that held what I hoped would be liquid gold.  It looked pretty spectacular.  The color was a deep, rich brown and when I opened it, it had some nice aromas but the real test was the taste.

Now, I’m a Woodford man, but I’m not so conservative that I’ll only drink Woodford, so when I first tasted Blanton’s, I was struck by how mellow it was in my mouth. There were hints of maple and vanilla, but not in an overpowering way. The finish, however, was somewhat disappointing. It’s not that it was entirely flat, but that smoothness that was part of the initial experience didn’t linger — nor did the dominant flavors.  Blanton’s is on the pricey side, but if you’re in the market for a “special occasion” bourbon, this is a good find.

Jefferson’s Reserve: I’ve had this bourbon a few times, and like Blanton’s Reserve, it’s an expensive bourbon, but one that hasn’t impressed me.  Like Blanton’s, Jefferson’s Reserve has a deep, rich color, and a rather smooth finish, but the flavors are lacking.  Indeed, this bourbon is almost overpowering because the strongest note it struck with me was one of pure alcohol.  Usually, when tasting a bourbon for the first time, I let it sit in my mouth for awhile so I can discern the flavors, but the Jefferson’s Reserve didn’t have any discernible flavors.  And while I didn’t find drinking it unpleasant, I was mostly surprised that a bourbon of such high quality could have so little character.  Sometimes food can really bring out hidden flavors, but I’ve never tried Jefferson’s Reserve with any, so I can’t completely write it off until I do.  So for now, the jury is out.

We start with the classic “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree,” originally performed by Tony Orlando and Dawn. This type of song really lends itself well to an a cappella arrangement. In fact, I think I like this just as much as the original!

Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree

Next we have the song “If.” It’s a nice song anyway, and this arrangement is quite pretty. See if you agree.

If

Barbershop songs often seemed to gravitate to songs about ladies, so here’s the Modern Barbershop Quartet’s take on Helen Reddy’s hit “Delta Dawn.”

Delta Dawn

Here’s another tidbit about me: I grew up in a family of bowlers, and I used to bowl in a league on Saturday mornings when I was a kid. The bowling alley had a jukebox, and some songs got played constantly. One of them was the song “Behind Closed Doors” by Charlie Rich. After hearing it so many times, it sure is nice to at least hear a different version!

Behind Closed Doors

Finally we have what might be the perkiest remake of the song “Me and Bobby McGee” you’ve ever heard. It’s still good (and you get the feeling they were having fun with this one), but a bit of a change from what you’re used to hearing.

Me and Bobby McGee

If you’d like to hear the rest of this album, just look for it over here. And by the way, if the bass singer in this group sounds a bit familiar to you, that’s because it’s the great Thurl Ravenscroft. Ravenscroft was probably best known as the voice of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes mascot Tony the Tiger, as well as singing “You’re a Mean One, Mister Grinch” in the animated special How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Have a great week, everybody. See you next time!

March 15^th is Phil Lesh’s 70^th birthday.  He is celebrating at the Bill Graham Civic Center in San Francisco with his and Bob Weir’s Further project.

With a formal music education in classical, jazz, and theory, Phil provided the method to the Grateful Dead’s collective madness. Phil’s bass was the glue that held the band together, even on the most uninspired nights. When his band mates blew their royalty checks on drugs and cars, Phil would kick down surprise grants to his favorite up and coming avant garde composers.  Instead of riding on the tour bus, Phil would pack up the wife and kids, rent a car and drive into the shows with the fans.

I’ve taken many samples from that ecstatic and transcendent sound-world known as “The Phil Zone.” I wanted to go beyond just the top ten best versions of “Box of Rain.” Here are Phil’s “Seastones” experiments with Ned Lagin, his trumpet solo on “Born Cross Eyed,” some of his most recent recordings as well as the earliest known, a piece of real-gone beatnik jazz from 1959.  I’ve also included a few tracks from his post-Grateful Dead career as well.  The rotating cast of musicians that make up his “Friends” in Phil Lesh and Friends have featured some talented hands: Warren Haynes, Chris Robinson, Trey Anastasio, Larry Campbell, John Molo, as well as a young firebrand from Sacramento named Jackie Green.

I included a spunky version of “Wave to the Wind” — the much-reviled song was a continuous work in progress between 1992 and 1994.  “Wave” was an ambitious tune that never really landed with the audience.  This version is as good as they come, and the “Terrapin Station” that follows is one for the ages. Also from 1994 is an acoustic rendition of another Phil composition, “Childhood’s End” — a really cool tune that never had the chance to develop, arriving late in the repertoire and being played only a handful of times.

Instead of the usual end-of-the-tour encore “Brokedown Palace,” Jerry opted for the somber “Black Muddy River” on that July 4th night at Soldier Field.  After a horrible tour and with Garcia’s physical deterioration on full display, Phil couldn’t leave it at that.  He rallied the band together and performed a strong “Box of Rain” as a second encore to ascend into the Chicago air.  The Grateful Dead ended their final show with these words: “Such a long time to be gone, and a short time to be there.”  Phil Lesh, now older than my father’s father, continues to play rock and roll and make generations dance, laugh, and smile.  Thanks for the music, Mr. Lesh.

“Finnegan’s Awake” Phil Lesh – Lead Trumpet, Arranger and Composer, San Mateo College Jazz Band 4/5/1959

“Born Cross Eyed” (single version) Grateful Dead 1967

“Childhood’s End” Phil, Jerry, Bobby, Vince acoustic Berkeley 1994

“Cumberland Blues” Grateful Dead  Europe 72

Phil Speaks

“Box of Rain” Grateful Dead, Hampton 1988

“Pride of Cucamonga” Further, New York City 2010

“Unbroken Chain” Phil Lesh and Friends, San Francisco 2004

“New Potato Caboose” Grateful Dead, Los Angeles 1967

“Dark Star>

Mind Left Body Jam>

Dark Star Jam>

Eyes of the World” Grateful Dead, Wisconsin 1973

“The Other One” Grateful Dead, Eugene 1978

“Viola Lee Blues” Phil Lesh and Friends, San Francisco 2004

“Wave To the Wind>

Terrapin Station” Grateful Dead, Indiana 1993

“Brown Eyed Women” Phil Lesh and Friends, San Francisco 2008

“Philo Jam” (“Dark Star” excerpt) Cleveland 1972

“Shakedown Street” Grateful Dead with Branford Marsalis, New York City 1991

“Seastones Jam>Playing In the Band” Paris 1974

“Patchwork Quilt” Phil Lesh and Friends, There And Back Again

“Til the Morning Comes” Further, Asheville 2009

“Attics of My Life” Grateful Dead, American Beauty

Stravinsky’s “Infernal Dances” (from The Firebird Suite) Phil Lesh conducting the Berkeley Symphony Orchestra 1994

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Like many disgruntled sophomores who automatically hated any reading that was explicitly assigned, I muddled through a few of the stories in James Joyce’s “Dubliners” during English class.  I can’t claim that the stories made any particular impression on me (I found them too depressing) but they captured the attention of my friend Jeff to such a degree that he devoted his higher education to the study of the author.  Jeff’s dissertation, titled “James Joyce: The Einstein of English Fiction,” was about the influence of relativity theory on “Ulysses” and “Finnegan’s Wake.”  It’s a pretty complicated topic, but one that’s a fitting tribute to the incredible complexity of Joyce’s prose.

“Dubliners” was Joyce’s first major work and the stories take place exclusively in Dublin, the city of Joyce’s birth.  The city was so familiar to Joyce that in describing his most famous work “Ulysses” he once claimed that he wanted “…to give a picture of Dublin so complete that if the city one day suddenly disappeared from the earth it could be reconstructed out of my book.”  The geographical references in “Dubliners” are so distinct and detailed that a similar claim might be made for these stories.  The collection of tales follow a progression in point of view from childhood, to adolescence, to adulthood, eventually culminating in death.

After last year’s Ultimate Drinking Mixtape was so well-received by all the drunks in the neighborhood, I figured I’d try it again with a slightly different theme – songs that matched the themes of the stories in Joyce’s “Dubliners.”  This wasn’t an easy mix to make.  Keeping the songs matched with the spirit of the stories while still pulling together a coherent and enjoyable mixtape to drink along to proved to be a difficult pair of tasks to resolve.  I did my best, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.  If you’ve got the ingredients, please mix yourself a “James Joyce,” kick back, and have a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day.

James Joyce Cocktail:

1 ½ oz Irish Whiskey (I hear Bushmill’s is nice…)

¾ oz Sweet Vermouth

¾ oz Cointreau

½ oz Fresh Lime Juice

Shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

The whole bottle:

The Ultimate Dubliners Drinking Mixtape

The individual stories:

1.  The Sisters
Great Big Sea – “The Night that Pat Murphy Died”

2.  An Encounter
Jethro Tull – “Aqualung”

3.  Araby
The Pogues – “Turkish Song of the Damned”

4.  Eveline
Okkervil River – “A Girl in Port”

5.  After the Race
Wheat – “Death Car”

6.  Two Gallants
Two Gallants – “Despite What You’ve Been Told”

7.  The Boarding House
Shane MacGowan and the Popes – “That Woman’s Got Me Drinking”

8.  A Little Cloud
Cloud Cult – Take Your Medicine

9.  Counterparts
The Violent Femmes – “Kiss Off”

10.  Clay
The Cranberries – “Joe”

11.  A Painful Case
Guns N Roses – “Estranged”

12.  Ivy Day in the Committee Room
Operation Ivy – “Room Without a Window”

13.  A Mother
Sinead O’Connor (with Roger Waters) – “Mother”

14.  Grace
INXS – “The Stairs”

15.  The Dead

Part 1: (Galoshes)  Led Zeppelin – “Fool in the Rain”

Part 2: (Irish Hospitality)  U2 – “New Year’s Day”

Part 3: (Michael Furey)  The Box Elders – “Necro”

Epilogue:  The Jim Carroll Band – “People Who Died”

In order to keep the letter V confined to just one week, here’s a special supersized post full of songs that charted below #40 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the 1980s. With so many songs to choose from, you’re bound to find something you like.

Dana Valery
“I Don’t Want to Be Lonely” — 1980, #87 (download)

This soft-rock schlock is another one of those almost-impossible-to-locate 45s. The single was released on Scotti Brothers records in 1980 and marked her only ascent into the chart. Info is sparse at least partially because she goes by her married name of Dana Catalano now and is a spiritual healer and relationship advisor. I guess she doesn’t want anyone to be lonely these days. Think she plays this song to couples having issues?

Frankie Valli
“Where Did We Go Wrong?” — 1980, #90 (download)

Well, if the question “Where Did We Go Wrong?” is being posed, might I offer up the answer of “right here.” A duet with Chris Forde, this light rock crap should have never seen the light of day let alone be played by a small handful of radio stations.

Luther Vandross
“Bad Boy/Having a Party” — 1982, #55 (download)
“Superstar/Until You Come Back to Me” — 1984, #87 (download)
“Give Me the Reason” — 1986, #57 (download)
“There’s Nothing Better Than Love” — 1987, #50 (download)
“Any Love” — 1988, #44 (download)

I can’t believe it’s been four and a half years since Luther Vandross died. Luther was one of the great soul singers of my generation. His music was so smooth and sensual and all the while quite fun, a combo that didn’t happen that often. One of the most memorable first lines in R&B for me is Luther singing “Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby,” but I think it was 1986’s Give Me the Reason that really turned me on to him. The title track is okay, but the very similar-sounding “Stop to Love” is the better tune and was the bigger hit from the album. And the really nice thing about Luther is that other than the covers early in his career, he at least cowrote most of his material and didn’t just sing what others pawned off on him.

Van Halen
“And the Cradle Will Rock” — 1980, #55 (download)
“Hot for Teacher” — 1984, #56 (download)

I was all ready for a Van Halen vs. Van Hagar conversation and I’m sure that will still happen (personally I like both eras very much), but all the songs in the decade with Sammy Hagar went Top 40. The only two tracks that didn’t were the first single of the decade, the totally bad-ass “And the Cradle Will Rock” from Women & Children First, and “Hot For Teacher,” the dreaded fourth single from 1984. It might not have gotten a lot of radio airplay, but the video … well, the video might be the greatest one ever made. That crazy solo across the desks from Eddie, wonderfully crappy synchronized dancing from the band, T&A everywhere, and “I brought my pencil.” Now “sit down, Waldo!”

Vanity
“Pretty Mess” — 1984, #75 (download)
“Under the Influence” — 1986, #56 (download)

“Pretty Mess” describes Vanity perfectly. Addicted to crack and seemingly screwing every musician she could get her hands on (Prince, Adam Ant, Billy Idol, Nikki Sixx, Andre Cymone, etc.), she was certainly a mess. Her story has appeared in many places over the years, and as I listen to the vocals on “Pretty Mess” again after all these years, I have to wonder if she was fucked up while recording the track — they sound like they’re coming from someone who imbibed a little before she hit the studio. Well, I guess “Under the Influence” describes Vanity pretty well, too.

These days Denise Matthews is a total born-again, Bible-thumping Christian and has completely disowned her Vanity persona. If you haven’t read Nikki Sixx’s The Heroin Diaries, you should. It’s not only a great book, but Vanity says things in this that make her sound like she’s off her rocker.

It seems a virtual lock that either her or someone from her camp has some crawler going and she’s going to come here and damn me to hell for talking about her vaginal heroics.

Gino Vannelli
“Nightwalker” — 1981, #41 (download)
“The Longer You Wait” — 1982, #89 (download)
“Black Cars” — 1985, #42 (download)
“Hurts to Be in Love” — 1985, #57 (download)
“Wild Horses” — 1987, #55 (download)

I don’t know if there were certain areas of the U.S. that were really into Gino Vannelli or not, but I don’t remember hearing him on the radio at all in Philadelphia, at least not enough for him to have five songs in this series. Neither the title track from 1985’s Black Cars or the second single, “Hurts to Be in Love,” are great songs, but they are the best of these singles. “Wild Horses” is a painful listen as it’s completely a Billy Idol ripoff. The rare track here is “The Longer You Wait,” though. I believe it was meant to be the first single from Twisted Heart, which has been described as edgier than his previous material. Arista refused to release the disc and Vannelli fought with them to get released from his contract. By the time he did, close to four years had passed since his last record and Twisted Heart got scrapped. “The Longer You Wait” never appeared on a disc in the States as far as I can tell.

Randy VanWarmer
“Whatever You Decide” — 1980, #77 (download)
“Suzi Found a Weapon” — 1981, #55 (download)

Two remarkably different songs from Randy VanWarmer here. He’s mainly known for his 1979 hit “Just When I Needed You Most,” but his 1980 album Terraform and its follow-up, Beat of Love, were pretty damn solid records. “Whatever You Decide” is a great hook-filled pop song but “Suzi Found a Weapon” is just flat out awesome. Suzi’s quite a departure from his other hits, almost new-wave. The overall feel of the track reminds me a lot of Jon Astley’s “Put This Love to the Test.” The song was written for one of his A&R reps, who eventually became Suzi VanWarmer!

Suzanne Vega
“Solitude Standing” — 1987, #94 (download)

Despite my distaste for female singers, it’s hard not to like Suzanne Vega’s Solitude Standing. It’s dark yet poppy, and Vega has the perfect voice to pull off her sound. It’s this album that gave her her biggest hits in America and, along with her two releases in the 2000s, the one that gets the most critical praise.

The Vels
“Look My Way” — 1985, #72 (download)

The Vels were a new wave band from my hometown of Philadelphia. They released two albums on Mercury Records and sounded quite a bit like the Thompson Twins. “Look My Way” was the only hit off their debut, Velocity.

Venetians
“So Much for Love” — 1987, #88 (download)

Another short-lived outfit, the Venetians were an Australian synth-pop group. They released three albums (the final two are available in the U.S.), and “So Much for Love” was the first single from the second disc, Calling In the Lions.

Billy Vera & the Beaters
“At This Moment” — 1981, #79 (download)

You might be surprised to see this here since it was a #1 hit for Billy Vera in 1986, but back in ‘81 there were people who apparently didn’t quite get the awesomeness of “At This Moment.” I mean, Jesus, is this a heartbreaking yet gorgeous ballad. It’s held up so well throughout the years, and I think it’s one of the top ten ballads of all time. Soundtracking Michael J. Fox’s romantic woes on Family Ties is what it took to propel this one back up the charts in ‘86. “At This Moment” was originally released in ’81 on the Billy & the Beaters LP, then released again in ’86 on a Rhino-issued Vera compilation.

Vesta
“Congratulations” — 1989, #55 (download)

Vesta Williams first made her mark as a session singer with artists like Stephanie Mills and Gladys Knight before signing her own deal in 1986. Her self-titled record was released in 1986 and the follow-up, Vesta 4 U, came out in 1989. This tepid ballad is her only Top 100 hit, though she hit the R&B charts eight times in the decade.

Maria Vidal
“Body Rock” — 1984, #48 (download)

Maria Vidal was in Desmond Child’s band Rouge and then sang backup vocals on a few tracks in the ‘80s before going on to be a songwriter. This was the theme song to Lorenzo Lamas’s Body Rock, and Vidal recorded a few songs and even appeared in the 1985 Lauren Hutton-Jim Carrey movie Once Bitten.

Bobby Vinton
“Make Believe It’s Your First Time” — 1980, #78 (download)

Now I’m not going to say I know a whole lot from Bobby Vinton, but given that he’d released singles since the early ‘60s, this is just another example of an artist that continued way too long past his prime. The album from which this song comes – Encore – included his final “hits.”

Vitamin Z
“Burning Flame” — 1985, #73 (download)

Vitamin Z were an English group led by singer Geoff Barradale. “Burning Flame” seems to be their only hit anywhere. Never a favorite of mine, the song is just missing that extra something. The chorus could be so much more vibrant than it is, and I think that’s what pushes it into the world of mediocrity. Barradale went on to sing on the Alan Parsons Project album Gaudi and now manages the Arctic Monkeys.

Voices of America
“Hands Across America” — 1986, #65 (download)

How bad does one of these fundraising songs have to be to not at least crack the Top 40? This project was the idea of Ken Kragen, the same guy that was in charge of USA for Africa. Clearly, this is no “We Are the World” (old or new).

QUICK HITS
Best song: Billy & the Beaters, “At This Moment”
Worst song: Bobby Vinton, “Make Believe It’s Your First Time”

TOP 40 ONLY
Vandenberg (1), Vangelis (1), Vixen (2)

Next week we finally get to the post Jeff Giles has been waiting for ever since this series began two years ago.

Does anyone like Daylight Savings Time? Seriously?

Twice a year, we go through this hassle of changing the clocks. In the winter, we’re all led to believe that it’s so that the farm children don’t have to wait for the bus in the dark.  Never mind that there are no farm children anymore because the plowing is done by satellite-controlled machines owned by Archer Daniels Midland. (There’s a reason hardly anyone in Chicago has been south of 87^th Street, okay? There’s nothing to see in the rest of Illinois but acres of corn and soybeans.)

And then, in the summer, we change the time again so that, um, the farm children can all wait for the bus in the dark? No, it’s so that we can save energy because we’ll use less of it in the evening! Because, after all, no one in American turns on lights or the television or the toaster oven until it’s sunny outside.

So what we have is a system that pretty much everyone hates, or at least tolerates. In Athens, Ohio, the home of Ohio University, students rioted after the bars closed early for the time change in 1997. What other response is there to a lost hour of bar revenues? The resulting student unrest immortalized in the Guided by Voices song “Shrine To The Dynamic Years (Athens Time Change Riots).” It’s not quite as searing as CSNY’s “Ohio,” but then, Kent State and Ohio University are very different places.

The surprise is that people accept the time change so readily, even though no one likes it, and even though the costs of updating software and managing scheduling across time zones are huge. Daylight Savings Time has been standard in the United States since 1966, although not consistently. Arizona, for example, does not change its time, and that caused me to miss a conference call in the fall when the times changed. That’s a minor annoyance for me, but multiply all those annoyances across a global economy, and the numbers add up.

But it saves energy! That’s the myth. To hear people talk, Daylight Savings Time does more to cut off Alaska’s oil revenues than would a nation of folks driving Chevy Volts. Indiana, which had long eschewed Daylight Savings Time except in those counties close to Chicago, decided to get with the rest of the country in 2006. This created a perfect opportunity to test the hypothesis. Economists Matthew Kotchen and Laura Grant of the National Bureau of Economic Research found that Daylight Savings Time actually increased energy consumption in Indiana because people needed to heat their houses more in the fall. The extra hour of darkness in October meant that houses were especially cold when people woke up, so they ran their furnaces more. This counteracted a very small savings from reduced lighting demand in the evening in the earlier months of the time change. The increased energy consumption cost Indiana households $9 million per year, along with externalities from pollution emissions estimated at $1.7 million to $5.5 million.

So if Daylight Savings Time doesn’t save energy, what does it do? Well, it leads to increased workplace injuries on the Monday after the change, with no offsetting benefit when the clocks change back in the fall. Christopher Barnes and David Wagner of Michigan State University found that when the time changes in the spring, workers showed up on the job with 40 minutes less sleep than normal. This lead to 5.7 percent more workplace injuries and 67.6 percent more lost work days due to injury than on a regular work day.

Want some more bad news? Springing ahead is followed by increased heart attack risk, possibly due to the sleep deprivation  . For an extra dose of daylight lethality, a group of Australian researchers found that daylight savings time leads to increased suicide.

Let’s just pick a time and stick with it, okay? We could call the moment when the sun is more or less at its peak “noon” and then go from there. If we abolished the annoyance of Daylight Savings Time, we’d be happier, live longer, and save energy. What is not to like?

In recent weeks, the Faded Celebrity Death March has kicked into high gear, giving further credence to my former prof’s theory: even people we no longer care about in life can revive their “careers,” as it were, by dying tragically. First there was the suicide of Andrew Koenig, a second-generation celeb (his father played Chekov on Star Trek) who was best known for playing a character called “Boner” (that would never make it past Standards and Practices today) on Growing Pains. Then came news of the untimely but all-too-predictable death of Corey Haim, half of the once-powerful “Corey and Corey” movie duo. Considering how public Haim’s struggles with drugs have been, and how obscure Koenig became following his departure from the Seaver universe, the amount of press coverage both events received is somewhat surprising. Perhaps my perspective is skewed: I never really watched Growing Pains (I was a Family Ties fan myself), so the first I ever heard of Koenig was when he went missing, and though I have great affection for Haim as the title character in Lucas, I avoided most of the rest of his cinematic output – yes, even License to Drive. Was I boycotting the movies during the late 1980s? Hardly. I simply had a different movie celebrity on my mind. He was more serious, more mysterious, than either of the Coreys, and more magnetic than virtually any other actor of his age category. Of course, none of those characteristics prevented him from falling victim to Celebrity-itis; indeed, while Koenig and Haim held on nearly until middle age, River Phoenix never saw twenty-five.

I still remember how I found out about River’s death. I was lying in bed in my college dorm room, waking up slowly to my radio alarm. Suddenly I heard the DJ say his name, followed by the phrase “collapsed and died.” I sat bolt upright, listening to the account of how the young actor had passed out on the street outside of a Los Angeles club owned by fellow deep-thinking celeb Johnny Depp. Now I knew that famous people were not immortal – I remembered, of course, the murder of John Lennon, whose name and music I had known practically since birth – but the death of the smart Beatle, no matter how tragic, was that of a grown-up person, someone who had been famous before I was even born. By contrast, I had been there as River Phoenix transformed from a talented nobody with a strange name to a movie star to an Oscar nominee. His films helped turn me into the sort of person who would sit though the same movie twice in the theater (yeah, you used to be able to do that in NYC). His face had been on my bedroom wall throughout high school – so much so that when my mother read about his death in the paper, she cut out the attached photo and put it up in my bedroom at home for me. I still have that photo.

Maybe I’m biased, but I still believe that River Phoenix was special. Yes, now his brother Joaquin is a bona-fide, if eccentric, film star (poor thing, the hysterical 911 call he made may have gotten him pity auditions), but the younger’s talent is like rock and roll, while the elder’s was like jazz. Besides, River had the good fortune to appear in one of the best films about childhood and friendship ever made, Stand by Me. The cast of that movie works together like dancers in a ballet, but where did its other stars end up? Wil Wheaton became Wesley Crusher, Jerry O’Connell slid into Sliders, and Corey Feldman, bless him, joined forces with Corey Haim. On the strength of his performance, River Phoenix got roles in movies even adults wanted to see, like The Mosquito Coast, Running on Empty (his Oscar nom), and My Own Private Idaho. Sure, he went wrong from time to time: A Night in the Life of Jimmy Reardon, much anticipated by my peer group, turned out to be a creepy disappointment, despite the presence of Ann Magnuson. But River made up for his career mistakes by being otherwise insanely cool – he dated Martha Plimpton, eschewed meat and dairy way before that was trendy, and had a band with his sister, Rain. I saw them play at the Palladium at a show called “Rock Against Fur,” which awakened my consciousness to the evil of wearing animals. I still eat them, I admit, but even if I was not willing to give up meat for my celebrity obsession, I thought very highly of him for his sensitivity and generally principled persona. And have I mentioned that he was beautiful?

It turns out that even very idealistic and righteous people can have big problems. River’s family life, which had been described in magazines like Bop as blissful and loving, had taken him and his many siblings to some dark places, including the Children of God cult, now well-known for preaching a gospel of child molestation. He may not have believed in putting animal products in his body, but he apparently had introduced numerous other substances, including heroin, coke and Valium. His parents gave him a name that marked him as unique, but ultimately, his talent, ethics, and individuality were no match for the pressures and temptations of being young, attractive, and wealthy. River had the greatest promise, but he is gone, and Wil Wheaton, Jerry O’Connell, and even Corey Feldman are still alive. For now. Celebrity is a cruel mistress, and also an unpredictable one; for every Jimi Hendrix, there is a Keith Richards, somehow avoiding her wrath and giving fellow fame-whores the false impression that the odds are in their favor. Can we break the cycle? Let’s hope so. Someone keep a close on eye on Dakota Fanning and Lady Gaga.

The rules are simple, each player can make three guesses between updates (“Update” is defined as “The time when I post a comment listing all of the covers that have been guessed correctly,” “Guess” is defined as “any attempt to identify a single cover”), so everyone will have a chance to contribute. And, just to spice things up, we have a puzzle cover this week, yay! One guess per player of the puzzle between updates, please.

There is an acrostic this week. The FIRST letter in the name of the artist or band will provide a clue as to the puzzle cover’s identity. Good luck!

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Lastly, the Puzzle Cover

I suggest subscribing to the comments on the post (click on “Track Comments”) to more easily follow the progress of the game. Remember, maximum of three guesses between updates of the list. Have fun!