Please read to the end for information about how you can win a copy of this album.
The Village in question is Greenwich, and 429 Records has gathered together an accomplished cast to celebrate the music that shook the world from that corner of New York City in the Sixties. Lest you think my use of phrase “shook the world” is an overstatement, I offer the first three songs on the album as evidence. Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” finds Rickie Lee Jones putting a pin in the balloon of pretension that surrounds Dylan these days. Though not of his making, it marks his every movement. Jones jabs at it with, of all things, a slide whistle, returning the humor inherent in the song.
Songs two and three are Dylan covers too, albeit more serious in tone. There’s nothing funny about “It’s Alright Ma I’m Only Bleeding,” and Winnipeg band the Duhks perform it with requisite intensity and respect. Lucinda Williams makes Dylan’s bitter rant “Positively 4th Street” her own by bringing it from a less angry, more heartbroken place, and very few people do heartbreak like Lucinda Williams.
Sixpence None the Richer contribute a wonderfully inventive take on the traditional “Wayfaring Stranger,” and John Oates’ retelling of another traditional song, “He Was A Friend of Mine,” is something of a revelation. The extremely underrated Philadelphia singer/songwriter Amos Lee closes out side one with a typically understated, soulful version of Fred Neil’s “Little Bit of Rain.” (more…)
I have to admit that I was hesitant to make Rickie Lee Jones’ Pirates the subject of this week’s Cratedigger. The weather has been gloomy here in New Jersey all week, the Yankees dropped the first game of the World Series to Philadelphia, and my finances are in the sewer. Since Pirates is perhaps the most heartbreaking album I’ve ever encountered, I was afraid listening to it again would throw me into an even deeper funk. Despite the sorrow, when pressed, I will tell you that Pirates is one of the best albums ever made, and it is easily ensconced in my personal Top Five, where it has resided since its release in July, 1981.
Rickie Lee Jones burst on the scene with her eponymous debut, and it’s massive hit single, “Chuck E.’s In Love,” in 1979. She was part of a bohemian L.A. crowd that included the aforementioned Chuck E. Weiss and singer/songwriter Tom Waits, with whom Jones was in a relationship. The songs on her second album, Pirates, are largely a wistful reflection on her time with Waits, following their breakup. “We Belong Together,” “A Lucky Guy,” and the title track all refer to her relationship with him, and “Living It Up” and “Traces of the Western Slopes” (written with new boyfriend Sal Bernardi) are peopled with characters from the bohemian milieu that they moved in. The most devastating heartbreak of all, however, comes in the song “Skeletons,” based on the true story of a young man who was killed by the Los Angeles police in a case of mistaken identity as he was driving his wife to the hospital to give birth. (more…)
You know this album. Even if you have somehow managed to miss it over the years, you know it from the countless other albums it has influenced in the 31 years since its release. Music From Big Pink is the closest thing we have to a sacred album in the annals of rock and roll. But let’s put the myth aside for a moment, and discuss the music.
The Band’s debut album was released in 1968, one of the most tumultuous years in the history of this country, and the world for that matter. It was a time of immense social and political change. There was civil unrest, assassination, war raging in Southeast Asia, the rise of the drug culture, and some of the most earth-shaking music ever made as the soundtrack to the whole mess. To say that the Band was unknown would not quite be accurate. They had been slugging it out on the road with Ronnie Hawkins for years, and more recently they had served as Bob Dylan’s backing band. It is fair to say that they weren’t on the radar of most people at the time. So in the midst of all of this change and chaos, what did these four Canadians and one American do? They released an album that took us back to our roots via popular music. Lives were changed. Eric Clapton decided to quit Cream after he heard the album. George Harrison paid close attention to the sound, and became even more disenchanted with the Beatles. (more…)
Resolved: The 4 Seasons are one of the most underrated musical acts of all time.
I’ll admit to some bias — I’m a Jersey Boy, and so are the Seasons, as documented in the recent Broadway smash about their lives. Their music was the soundtrack to my life until the Beatles turned the world upside down in 1963. What no one seems to realize is just how many hits they had. (I can name 15 without even thinking about it.) In fact, the 4 Seasons — or Four Seasons, if you prefer — had five number-one Billboard hits, and 23 more that went Top 40. Contrary to what you may think, the arrival of the Beatles didn’t put an end to their string of hits: their first chart topper was “Sherry,” in 1962, and the hits continued right up through “December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night),” which went to #1 in ‘76 (a dance remix charted at #14 as late as 1994).
As you’ve probably figured out by now, the 4 Seasons were a singles band. It stands to reason then that the best way to immerse yourself in their music is through a greatest-hits collection. The 4 Seasons’ Gold Vault of Hits, from 1965, is the best starting point. Although it was their third (!) greatest-hits compilation up to that point, it’s the first one to be all killer and no filler, 12 tracks of pure Jersey dynamite, from the opening “Let’s Hang On!” to the closing “Cry Myself to Sleep.” Fully half of the tracks are stone top-ten classics, and only the two-track single “Betrayed/Toy Soldier” failed to crack the Top 40.
Led by the great falsetto vocalist Frankie Valli, the Seasons, who hailed from Newark, were the group that bridged the gap between doo-wop and the rock era. What you hear is a blend of great voices, but with Bob Gaudio, who wrote most of the hits along with producer Bob Crewe, on keyboards and tenor vocals, Tommy DeVito on lead guitar and baritone vocals, and Nick Massi on bass and bass vocals (he was replaced in 1965 by Charles Calello, who in turn was replaced by Joe Long), the Seasons also proved that they could rock. Perhaps the most unsung musical hero in their story is session drummer Buddy Saltzman, who’s been called “God as a drummer.” Although not an official member of the band, his dynamic, aggressive playing was a mainstay of the Seasons’ sound.
This week’s edition of Cratedigger is going to be a bit different. Instead of writing about some vinyl classic in my collection, I’m going to give you the opportunity to win some vinyl of your own. Read on to learn how you can win.
On September 22, the London-based band Noisettes will release their second album, Wild Young Hearts. The band is led by singer and bassist Shingai Shoniwa, who is joined by guitarist Dan Smith, and drummer Jamie Morrison. They formed in 2003, after attending school together, and they quickly developed a reputation for being a very rowdy live act.
The new album opens with the title track. What at first seems to be a nice little slice of retro soul/pop changes for the better when massive electric guitars enter the picture to give the song a nice punk edge. The album’s third single, and best song, “Never Forget You,” continues in the same vein. “Saturday Night” adds electro-beat and disco to the band’s blend. “Beat of My Heart” sounds like the new wave child of a shotgun marriage between Blondie and Joe Jackson, and Noisettes softer side is deployed on “Sometimes.”
But why read what I’ve got to say when you can enjoy the album for yourself. I’ve got one vinyl copy of Wild Young Hearts for a lucky reader. Here’s how it’s going to work: I’m going to ask a question. The first person to e-mail me the answer is the winner. Here’s the question: (more…)
In August of 1969, my grandparents took their younger children to New York City on vacation, where they saw the sights and met with their dazzling nephew Bob Cessna, an actor and playwright, and his equally dazzling friend Gerry Hopkins. My grandmother suffered horrible headaches on the trip, but painkillers and alcohol kept it under control and made the trip fun. It was the 1960s, after all, and no one believed in stoicism.
When they returned to Ohio, my grandfather finished off the film in the camera by taking a picture of my grandmother in front of the pine tree in their back yard.
It was the last picture taken of Dorothy Ann Wehrle. Two weeks later, she was dead. She was 52. I was four, the oldest of her grandchildren.
The portrait of my grandmother hangs in my office. It was painted by Gerry, my mother’s cousin’s “friend,” as they put it back then, from that last photograph. It was a gift for my grandfather. I’m the only grandchild who remembers my grandmother, so I received it after my grandfather died.
The portrait of my grandmother is painted in an impressionistic manner best described as being in the style of Lucien Freud, but with brighter colors. The background is green from the pine tree in the yard, her beaded earrings are gold, and her hair is a frothy blonde, undoubtedly dyed at home with Miss Clairol.
If you knew the person in the portrait, the painting will never look right to you. It will never be the person. If you didn’t know the person pictured, the image shapes your memory. My memories of my grandmother are fuzzy, but they’re there. To me, the portrait shows a kindly lady, who let me bake cookies and who taught me to write my name. It shows a glamorous lady in a working-class town, who sold Avon and brought lipstick samples for her granddaughter’s playtime pleasure. It shows a healthy lady, which is what we thought she was, until she died of a massive heart attack while doing laundry as her 12-year-old son stood by. (more…)
Do you ever buy something used and wonder about the life of that thing before it came into your possession? I like to think about such things sometimes. The reason I bring it up here is that the album I’m writing about today was apparently once owned by someone named Barb Follett. You can see her name printed in pencil on the label. I can’t help thinking about Barb. Who is she? Where is she? When and why did she sell this album? Barb, if you’re out there, let me hear from you!
I didn’t like Tumbleweed Connection much when it first came out. It wasn’t like Elton John’s self-titled first U.S. album (his actual first album, Empty Sky, wasn’t released in the U.S. until 1975). It had more of a country rock feel. Sure, there were songs that harkened back to that first album, particularly the ethereal acoustic songs “Come Down In Time,” and “Love Song,” but mostly it seemed to be an attempt to cash in on what the Band started with Music From Big Pink, and it just didn’t work for me.
My, how things can change. It wasn’t until more than 30 years later, after hearing the epic track “My Father’s Gun” on the radio, that I began to reconsider Tumbleweed Connection. I went back for another listen. First of all, I was struck by how well this album holds up. It still sounds as fresh as the day it was released, and time has treated this music very well. The production by Gus Dudgeon, and the arrangements by Paul Buckmaster are first rate. In 1970, the Americana movement was just beginning in this country. In other words, Tumbleweed Connection was an album ahead of its time, but it’s very much of our time. (more…)
There has never been a doubt in my mind that Sign ‘o’ the Times (that ‘o’ is stylized as a peace sign in the title) is the best Prince album. For me, it represents The Artist at his peak, showcasing all of the styles that he’s proficient in. Though it is very much an album of its time, in this case 1987, with references to the AIDS pandemic, the Challenger disaster, Ronald Reagan’s Star Wars program, and the crack epidemic, it still sounds as fresh as today’s newspaper — or, given the state of the newspaper business, maybe I should say the most recent website update.
The album opens with the title track. The sound of a sequencer creates a water dripping effect and Prince takes on the role of a herald, chronicling the events of the day, while warning of the peril ahead:
“In France a skinny man
Died of a big disease with a little name.
By chance his girlfriend came across a needle
And soon she did the same.
At home there are seventeen-year-old boys
And their idea of fun,
Is being in a gang called the Disciples
High on crack, toting a machine gun.” (more…)
By the late ’60s, the world was beginning to beat a path to Rod Stewart’s door. After kicking around for most of the decade in bands such as the Ray Davies Quartet (later known as the Kinks), Steampacket (whose members included Long John Baldry, Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger, and Micky Waller), and Shotgun Express (which included Mick Fleetwood and Peter Green), Stewart was hot. He joined the Jeff Beck Group, and they recorded two pivotal albums, Truth and Beck-Ola, before breaking up at the end of 1969. It was in the Jeff Beck Group that Stewart first worked with Ron Wood.
Stewart got an offer to sing with the hard rock band Cactus, but he and Wood opted to join three members of the Small Faces, Ronnie Lane, Ian McLagan, and Kenney Jones. The renamed band was simply called Faces. Never one to put all of his eggs in one basket, Stewart also signed a deal with Mercury Records as a solo artist. His first solo album was called An Old Raincoat Won’t Ever Let You Down. In the U.S., the album was re-titled The Rod Stewart Album, and released in November 1969 by Mercury. (more…)
I’ve been looking for a vinyl copy of Electric Ladyland for awhile now. Occasionally I would find one while cratedigging, but discs themselves would always turn out to be in really rough shape. I think I’ve said before that I don’t care that much about the covers. As long as they’re in reasonably good shape, I’ll pick up the album if the vinyl is relatively clean. I’m not really a collector. I just want the music. I finally found the great Hendrix album last weekend at my favorite vinyl haunt, Hold Fast in Asbury Park. The cover was in pretty bad shape, but the vinyl wasn’t bad, and the price was right.
There are some albums that just sound like they were recorded in the middle of the night in a dimly lit studio. Electric Ladyland is a classic example of that. This is music of the night, dark, almost frightening at times. It’s the third and final album by the Jimi Hendrix Experience, although the participation of bassist Noel Redding is minimal. Redding, along with manager Chas Chandler, was unhappy with the amount of time the band was spending in the studio. Hendrix not only invited friends to the sessions, he insisted on multiple takes of songs. So he ended up playing a lot of the bass parts (on a right-handed bass), while Redding sat it out in the pub.
The recording of actually began at Electric Ladyland began at Olympic Studios in London, but the sessions got down to serious business when recording moved to the newly opened Record Plant in New York City. Hendix was well known as a perfectionist. He insisted on 43 takes of “Gypsy Eyes,” and still wasn’t happy with the finished recording. He made Traffic’s Dave Mason (uncredited on the album) play the acoustic guitar part for “All Along the Watchtower” 20 times before he was satisfied. You know what? It was worth it, wasn’t it? There were other guest musicians along for the ride as well. Listen to Steve Winwood’s fantastic organ playing on the chilling “Voodoo Chile.” A third member of Traffic, Chris Wood, played on the album, as did future Band of Gypsys drummer Buddy Miles, renowned keyboard player Al Kooper, and Jefferson Airplane bass player Jack Casady (credited as Jack Cassidy). The album was recorded by Gary Kellgren and Eddie Kramer. (more…)
Please read to the end for information about how you can win a copy of this album.
I have to admit that I was hesitant to make Rickie Lee Jones’ 
You know this album. Even if you have somehow managed to miss it over the years, you know it from the countless other albums it has influenced in the 31 years since its release. 
Resolved: The 4 Seasons are one of the most underrated musical acts of all time.
This week’s edition of Cratedigger is going to be a bit different. Instead of writing about some vinyl classic in my collection, I’m going to give you the opportunity to win some vinyl of your own. Read on to learn how you can win.
In August of 1969, my grandparents took their younger children to New York City on vacation, where they saw the sights and met with their dazzling nephew Bob Cessna, an actor and playwright, and his equally dazzling friend Gerry Hopkins. My grandmother suffered horrible headaches on the trip, but painkillers and alcohol kept it under control and made the trip fun. It was the 1960s, after all, and no one believed in stoicism.
Do you ever buy something used and wonder about the life of that thing before it came into your possession? I like to think about such things sometimes. The reason I bring it up here is that the album I’m writing about today was apparently once owned by someone named Barb Follett. You can see her name printed in pencil on the label. I can’t help thinking about Barb. Who is she? Where is she? When and why did she sell this album? Barb, if you’re out there, let me hear from you!
There has never been a doubt in my mind that 
By the late ’60s, the world was beginning to beat a path to Rod Stewart’s door. After kicking around for most of the decade in bands such as the Ray Davies Quartet (later known as the Kinks), Steampacket (whose members included Long John Baldry, Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger, and Micky Waller), and Shotgun Express (which included Mick Fleetwood and Peter Green), Stewart was hot. He joined the Jeff Beck Group, and they recorded two pivotal albums, Truth and 
I’ve been looking for a vinyl copy of 