Posts Tagged ‘Rush’

Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 76

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In the ongoing continuing education of Steed, I recently listened to both #1 Record (1972) and Third/Sister Lovers (1978) by Big Star. My overall general assessment is that it’s just not my thing.

I get the draw of the first album, and I completely understand how Big Star and Alex Chilton influenced so many bands. “Feel” and “Don’t Lie to Me” are great songs — there’s no way I couldn’t like them. But despite not wanting to rip it out of my deck, I can’t see a point where I would ever pick #1 Record up again.

I couldn’t get into Third/Sister Lovers at all, though. I was expecting a jangly pop record, but it’s mostly ballads. Way too slow for my tastes, and just a turn I guess I wasn’t expecting after the band’s poppy debut. However, what I did get from Third was how ahead of their time Big Star really were. I can appreciate that fact, at least.

There’s one artist in particular who kept popping into my head throughout my numerous listens: Matthew Sweet. I don’t think I’m far off in saying that he was definitely influenced by Big Star, correct?

Anyway, thanks for the recommendations. If nothing else, I always enjoy listening to music that other people are fanatical about.

Now enjoy the last of artists whose names begin with the letter R, as we continue to look at songs that charted no higher than #41 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in the ’80s.

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Unsolicited Career Advice for … Rush

This is a memo written in 1977 to the Canadian management of Rush. If pictures from this period are any indication, Uncle Donnie had taken to sporting a green Mohawk for at least several months that year. -RS

TO: Managers of Rush
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

You, my friends, have a great property in this band Rush. I just saw them the other night at the Fitchburg Theater, and I was really surprised. Well, the first thing that surprised me was the fact that the Vibrators weren’t playing at the Fitchburg—I’d gotten my nights mixed up and missed their concert with Stinky Toys and Métal Urbain. This really sucks, because, as it turned out, most of Stinky Toys got deported back to France after the show. That, and, well, I found out the Vibrators, Stinky Toys and Métal Urbain weren’t even booked at the Fitchburg, but at Needles and Pins, a bar down the street from the Fitchburg. What can I tell you? It was a long week.

Anyway, so I stayed to see Rush and some band called Max Webster put on a hell of a loud show. And even though I realize I’m not exactly the biggest authority on this so-called “progressive” scene (I was the only one in attendance with any kind of nose piercings, but I don’t think anyone else noticed), I think there’s something really special about a band that can perform 15-minute-long songs about space travel and intergalactic politics. And by special, I mean—well, special. Not my usual cup of vinegar, but I didn’t leave early, and that’s saying something.

Now, since I am a member in good standing of this “industry,” such as it is, I feel I am uniquely qualified to offer you some advice on how to best position your property, this band Rush, for maximum effect, both in the U.S. and abroad. Certainly, you’re aware of a new form of revolutionary sound sweeping through England and certain pockets of the U.S.—call it punk rock, call it just punk, call it whatever you want to call it; it’s here to stay, my friends. If you handle Rush properly, you should be able to grab a piece of this uprising and prosper. Here are my ideas: (more…)

The Friday Mixtape: All Souls Edition, 10/30/09

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Welcome back.

Are you feeling comfortable? Good. Right about now, you’re sitting casually in your seat, perhaps in a chair staring at the monitor, perhaps bundled up on the couch, wrapped in your Snuggie, your laptop buzzing on your lap with the warmth of its underside providing a pleasant sensation there. Occasionally the hard drive skitters and skates, trying to access some connection inside of this digital field of play.

And it is a field of play, don’t let it fool you otherwise. Take a good long look at the screen, for instance. Sure, your conscious, active mind sees black letters spelling out the very words you’re reading, but let your eyes haze a moment. Don’t think about meaning so much — just see the black squiggles on the expanse of white, amassed like battalions, one paragraph against another, staring each other down, preparing for the moment to bolt in attack, random “s” characters raising their swords against the myriad numbers of “m,” not to mention the machinations of those vowels, so kind to link consonants into those words that spill into your head as you read them but, as we well know, they are Machiavellian, yes they are. Those “A” “I” and “E” shapes poised to kill their counterparts, running headlong with a blood-curdling scream of  “Aiiiieeeeee!!”

You could almost hear that scream as you read it, that “Aiiieeeee…” couldn’t you? It’s amazing the information the brain fills in with the absence of a direct descriptor to clarify it. Take, oh, I don’t know, that voice in your mind as you’re reading. It sounds like your voice, has all the cadence and nuance of your voice and, even, those words you mispronounce in your regular day-to-day speech are mispronounced by the narrator in your mind, the one you think is you — but it’s not you. These are my thoughts, my words, and in truth, at this very moment, it is me who is in your head right now, telling this tale, pulling these strings. Are you wondering perhaps, how long have I been in here?

You should.

Are you feeling comfortable now? Good. Let’s begin.

Metamorphosis by David Eagleman, read by Jeffrey Tambor (2009)

Harvest Moon, Blue Oyster Cult from Heaven Forbid (1998)

Harvest Festival, XTC from Apple Venus Volume 1 (1999)

The Ethics Of Jokes by Garrison Keillor from Horrors! A Prairie Home Companion(1996)

Earth Died Screaming, Tom Waits from Bone Machine (1992)

Prelude, Bernard Herrmann from The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

Humanity Part II, Ennio Morricone from The Thing: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (1982)

Through The Mirror, John Carpenter and Alan Howarth from Prince of Darkness (1987)

Fat Albert, Bill Cosby from The Best of Bill Cosby (1969)

Cold Colours, Neil Gaiman from Warning: Contains Language (1995)

The Hearts Filthy Lesson, David Bowie from Outside (1995)

Vampira, The Devin Townsend Band from Synchestra (2006)

Dark Carnival, Resurrection Band from Lament (1995)

Limbo, Rush from Test for Echo (1996)

The Invisible Man, Marillion from Marbles (2004)

…and we saved the best, scariest and spookiest track for last. It’s buried in the cobwebs, inch-depth dust and dark thickness of a dank, humid night. Beware of clicking on it just in case you’re weak of heart or fearful of mind, for it has the power to instigate nothing less than utter madness.

Happy Halloween!

Song-Off Jr.: Gambling

ChipStack

One of the special treasures of living in Los Angeles or San Diego is knowing that the adult amusement park of Las Vegas is only a brief road trip away. While I’m waiting with bated breath for them to build a high-speed train through the desert, the trip up I-15 and over the mountains is still decidedly bearable, considering the array of illusionary delights that waits on the other side.

I don’t make it up there too often these days, but when I do I generally limit my debauchery to the cheapest craps table I can find. I used to play blackjack with a simple high-low counting system, but after I had a magical night and won enough to pay off a good chunk of my student loans, the game lost its appeal. I’ve always been a terrible poker player because I have a tendency to fall in love with any good hands I get and completely discount that it’s possible other players have even better hands. Last year was a great one for sports gambling, so good in fact that this fall my computer (I call him Gamblor) and I will be hosting a weekly column of football picks. Stay tuned!

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Dw. Dunphy On… Penguimania 2009, Set 3

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May is the unofficial start of the summer concert season, so to unofficially celebrate the shows of 2009, Popdose.com and internet radio station The Penguin have teamed up for Penguimania 2009. Tune in each Wednesday at 9:00 EST for Radioshow With Dw. Dunphy to hear the live performance megamix in full. Then each week we’ll present a downloadable MP3 of a set from the “concert.”

Set Three

The third set starts with power trio Rush and one of their most popular (and most “pop”) tunes, “New World Man.”

RPWL started as a Pink Floyd tribute band, then emerged with original compositions. Ray Wilson was the lead vocalist for the band Stiltskin and the one-time singer for Genesis on the Calling All Stations album. Here is a version of his standout track from that album, “Not About Us.”

Steve Taylor started as a singer in the Christian contemporary market, and while wildly popular, was also controversial in his witty, sometimes flippant approach. He also pulled in musicians from the secular market to play on his recordings. He currently finds work as a director with his next film, Blue Like Jazz, now in production. “Violent Blue” comes from the band Chagall Guevara when Taylor, Lynn Nichols and Dave Perkins (of Passafist) shot for the big time on their self-titled MCA release.

Ritual is a folk/prog/metal group from Sweden, fronted by Patrik Lindstrom. Although the mix might seems strange and daunting, their turn on “Do You Want to See the Sun?” originally from their album Superb Birth, has a heavy stomp reminiscent of Led Zeppelin crossed with heavier aspects of King Crimson.

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We’ll see you here next week for the final set and, don’t forget: you can enjoy the entire mix over at The Penguin, Wednesday nights starting at 9:00 PM EST: find it at www.thepenguinrocks.com.

Death by Power Ballad: Triumph, “Let the Light (Shine on Me)”

Triumph was an arena rock staple in the late ’70s and through much of the ’80s, particularly in their native Canada, where they were known for their bombastic, pyro-filled shows, as well as bassist Mike Levine’s inexhaustible collection of sports apparel. They had a few gold records here in the States, and a handful of rock radio hits (“Magic Power,” “Lay It on the Line,” and the like), but never made it to the level of stardom that their countrymen Rush managed to achieve in the same period.

Unlike Rush, whose approach to music has always given the appearance of a united front, Triumph had two distinct, dichotomous camps—the guys who just wanted to rawk yer ballz off (Levine and drummer/vocalist Gil Moore) and the sensitive, progressive-minded Artiste with a capital A (guitarist/vocalist Rik Emmett). Thus, any given Triumph album—say, 1984’s pretty awesome Thunder Seven—would have its share of arena stompers (”Spellbound,” and the Zeppelinesque “Cool Down”) alongside pastoral instrumental passages (”Midsummer’s Daydream”), with an occasional what the fuck moment (”Time Canon”) tossed in for good measure.

Things got pretty ridiculous, though, by 1987, when the band belched out Surveillance. The music was a typical pastiche of the ridiculous (“Rock You Down”), the anthemic (”Never Say Never,” “Carry on the Flame”) and the instrumentally showy (”Intro: Into the Forever,” “Prelude: The Waking Dream”). The liner notes, however, attempted to tie the vast and various incongruous pieces together by attaching a literary quote to introduce each song’s lyrics. The extra percussion you heard was the sound of Aristotle, Lucretius, Alexander Pope, Blaise Pascal, and others rolling in their graves. Or perhaps they were rocking. Anyway, once you got past the pretentiousness, it was … oh wait—it was impossible to get past the pretentiousness.

Hung at the end of Side One (track 6 on the CD), “Let the Light (Shine on Me)” cut through the band’s literary aspirations with a beautiful, steadily building anthem to persistence and commitment. It truly stands as one of Triumph’s more … um … triumphant moments. (more…)

The Producers: Tom Werman, Chapter Three

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The office I was given at Epic was located between the offices of Barry Kornfeld and Sandy Linzer, who were both A&R men and producers, as well. Both had been there for some time, and were at least five years older than I. Barry seemed partial to folk music, and had longish hair and a curly beard. He was soft-spoken, helpful and easygoing. I’m honestly not sure what he did at Epic, but I know he was involved with Tom & Harry Chapin early in their singing careers, and he was related to Artie Kornfeld , a successful producer/songwriter in the ’60s, and one of Woodstock’s originators. On the other side of me was Sandy Linzer, a pleasant, clean-cut guy from New Jersey who was a great songwriter, and had written some big hits for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, including “Let’s Hang On.” Sandy was involved with a few artists while I was there, and just before he and Barry left Epic, he cut the original track to “Brandy” by Looking Glass, but the band felt it was a little too pop and wound up re-recording it with another producer. Sandy was managed by a casually dressed young guy with a great sense of humor, who would stop in my office after his frequent meetings with Sandy, and greet me with “Werman, what’s up?” He would sit down and we’d chat about the music business for a few minutes. I always enjoyed these impromptu meetings with the young Tommy Mottola.

After Barry and Sandy were let go, I was the senior A&R man at the label, reporting to Don Ellis. Don was the first A&R head to be named a Vice President (instead of “director”), probably in part to accommodate his pay grade. This was a good development for all of us, because I could now be promoted from “assistant” to “director.” Corporations like CBS had pretty strict pay grades, and your title needed to be on a par with your salary. I always found it a little amusing to find myself in an LA recording studio in 1980 in shorts and a tee shirt, knowing that I held the title of “Senior Vice President / Executive Producer.” By then, I was valuable enough to the label to be making a salary of nearly $200,000 a year, so in order to fit into one of CBS’s corporate pay slots, I had to have an important – sounding title. I always enjoyed handing out my business card, because it made me sound like a major corporate dude, while I was actually just a young guy who really liked rock & roll and was having a tremendous time making records.

But back in the first half of the ’70s, things were getting a little frustrating for me at Epic Records. After the REO signing, I had found and attempted to sign three different acts, each of whom was rejected by my boss for different reasons; these three acts went on to become three of the biggest-selling acts in the history of rock & roll. The frustration I suffered when I witnessed the eventual success of these bands was hard to bear. If I hadn’t respected and liked Don Ellis as much as I did, I probably would have held him directly responsible, but the fact was that not only was Don unenthusiastic about these bands, but I lacked the confidence and determination to argue their cases before his court of musical taste and insist we sign them. I should have. I discovered each of these acts well before anyone else in the A&R community was aware of them, but I folded in the face of doubt and opposition. Later in my career, I heard about people like Mike Appel, Springsteen’s first manager, who apparently had mortgaged his house to support Bruce’s career. This is confidence in an artist; and while I thought very highly of these acts I had seen, I didn’t enjoy the position of power in the company that would enable or entitle me to argue forcefully in their favor. (more…)

Death by Power Ballad: Scorpions, “Still Loving You”

Bands like Rush and AC/DC wear as a badge of honor the fact that they’ve never written or performed a power ballad. I love them both, but they’re pussies. The power ballad is to rock and roll what Al Pacino in Scarface is to acting. The artist has little use for subtlety or restraint — emotion is laid bare, put forth in the most emotive manner possible. In power ballads, the tempo slows; the guitars come to the fore; the notes the singer sings echo and elongate for miles and miles. When done well, the result is beautiful in its pure, overblown glory, enabling the audience to say “hello” to the band’s leetle friend, usually with lighters held aloft.

Every two weeks or so, I will pay tribute to the finest examples of the genre. Together, we will find this death by power ballad to be an exquisite one, indeed.
RS

My vote for greatest rock and roll song of all time goes to the Scorpions’ “Rock You Like a Hurricane.” It’s got it all: its guitars are loud and its lyrics filthy, sung in broken English by a bunch of long-haired yet still balding German dudes with names like Klaus and Matthias. The album it came from, Love at First Sting, was chock full of likewise loud, enormous-sounding, German-accented rawk songs like “Big City Nights,” “I’m Leaving You,” and “Bad Boys Running Wild” (cuz the Scorps were not good boys; good boys would never do such a thing).

The same record also contained “Still Loving You,” one of the great power ballads of the ’80s — one you typically see on Volume 2 of the typical multi-disc set of Hard Rock Ballads” or “Metal Hits” or other bargain bin product. Rarely does it make the cut for the first volume, which is typically crowded with Whitesnake, Warrant, and Winger shit. More about them some other time.

“Still Loving You” is six and a half minutes of slow-building rock ballad pleading, the kind of groveling that guys only do when they’ve fucked up really bad. Really bad. Bad, as in you sleep with your girlfriend’s best friend, in the bed you share with your girlfriend, on your girlfriend’s side of the bed, using your girlfriend’s “toys” and her brand new candle from Bath and Body Works, and instead of cleaning up the sticky, smelly, waxy mess afterward, you just throw the comforter over it and leave your girlfriend a note, asking her to please throw the sheets in the wash when she gets a chance. That kind of bad. (more…)

Popdose Flashback: Rush, “Presto”

It wasn’t their best album. It wasn’t even much like what people consider their best album. Yet the mighty Canadian power trio Rush found themselves on Atlantic Records with a producer known mostly for working with The Fixx and Tina Turner. It was in many ways a fresh start and, true to the band’s nature, they made the most of it.

Lyricist/drummer Neil Peart always had a knack for wordplay, but quite often that was the lyrical crux of the song, with no specific aim attached. On Presto, the seeds of his political nature were finally starting to bloom. “War Paint” fleshes out the angst of teenage life in a hostile adult world, a direct graduation from “Subdivisions.” The very specific “Red Tide” spurs on an ecology-mindedness the listener kind of knew was there but couldn’t precisely summarize. The kickoff “Show Don’t Tell” went to number #1 on the rock charts.

Perhaps it was producer Rupert Hine’s pop polish that made everything so much more palatable than their hard-rock roots, but this is exactly what you get – a great pop album. Alex Lifeson’s guitar is still powerful but not “tear-the-roof-off,” especially with the chorus pedal so often processing the sound. Geddy Lee still plays the bass like few can, but it’s lower in the mix, and the keyboards are higher. The album has the dubious distinction of holding one of the band’s worst songs, the craptacular “Scars,” but also contains two of their prettiest offerings. First, the title track, which illustrates a person’s desire to make everything better in the face of being completely unable to do so. The word “presto” is never uttered in the song, but the key lyric, “If I could wave my magic wand,” really crystallizes that harsh middle ground between intention and ability. It also touches a major Peart theme – no magician or rock star is going to make your miracle happen for you. You must wrestle with the responsibility of your own life. (more…)

Basement Songs: Rush, “Ghost of a Chance”

Running is a solitary sport.

You may train with a group or run a race in the company of one or two other people, but in the end, the concentration and dedication falls upon your shoulders alone. Sometimes when I run, it’s with music blaring through headphones; other times, with only my thoughts and the rhythmic slapping of my soles (and my soul) on the ground. In some ways, being a runner is similar to being a musician — the hours spent practicing and training are all for an experience that may only last an hour of your life.

That was my experience when I was a devoted drummer, but that was back in the ‘80s, when I emulated musicians like Neil Peart of Rush. I believe every drummer goes through a rite of passage in discovering Rush, a period of exploration in which, as a drummer, you come to appreciate Peart’s precision and flawless technique. What I’ve always loved is the ease in which he makes every drum fill sound effortless, whether it’s 16 toms or just his snare. One listen to that famous drum section in “Tom Sawyer” (from 1981’s Moving Pictures) and you’ll know what I mean.

I came into Rush, which also includes guitarist Alex Lifeson and bassist/vocalist/keyboardist Geddy Lee, after their space-age prog period had ended and they’d moved into a more mainstream rock territory. These years coincided with the principal period of my life in the basement, between junior high and college. This was a time I was tinkering daily with my eight-piece white Rogers brand drum set. (more…)