Neil Finn, Part II: Solo and Otherwise

1995's "Finn Brothers" is another attempt for Neil and Tim to record together (the first attempt morphed into Crowded House's "Woodface"). The 1995 version has some interesting experiments, has more of a South Pacific feel, but the songs don't really gel for me. I like "Mood Swinging Man", "Last Day of June", and rilly like "Angel's Heap", "Paradise" and "Suffer Never". I'd actually missed this album when it was released, but a later live DVD featured some of the songs, and I was impressed, even more so when, with "Suffer Never", for example, I discovered that the fantastic live version (with members of Radiohead) owed everything to the original album version. So, 5 or so good songs, but not a home run for me.

Neil's true 'solo' release, "Try Whistling This", came out in 1998. My copy was either a cut-out or a promo -- either way, my good luck! A handful of various producers, rotating band members -- a recipe for disaster in some hands, but Neil and his latest crop of songs are the focus, and there are many excellent songs: "Souvenir", "Try Whistling This", "She Will Have Her Way" (very Beatle-y), "Sinner", "Astro", "Faster Than Light", and the perfect closer "Addicted". Okay, maybe it's a bit fussy production-wise on some songs, but that just means there are subtle touches to discover after the first few listens.

One of the things I really enjoy about Neil's lyrics is that they are both personal and universal, obscure and specific. Songs like "Into Temptation" or "Hole in the River" are fairly straightforward, as is "Addicted" -- but then he'll throw in a metaphor that I don't quite understand, so I have to fill in the blanks and take a guess. I get to find my own meaning in the song; given a sketch of what it's generally about, I get to infer my own resonance.

I was lucky enough to find a copy of the DVD "Neil Finn: Sessions at West 54th", a short-lived live-in-the studio series, hosted by David Byrne (!) This features Neil performing tracks from "Try Whistling This", plus a few Crowded House songs. Best part: as the show opens and Neil bounces onstage, he walks past the acoustic guitarist -- who looks maybe 15. Turns out it Neil's son, and this was my first indication how important family is to Neil. Later albums and DVDs feature so many family members, it's like a family reunion, with music!






Neil's album "One Nil" came out in 2001 as an import, and, spiffed up, resequenced, with 2 newer songs, came out here in 2002 as "One All". The 2 new songs on "All" are better than the ones dropped from "Nil", but the mix on "All" is a little too cleaned up for me. "Lullaby Requiem", a song about the passing of Neil's mother, goes a little over the top with the childen's choir, but in this instance, it's understandable.

               

2001 also saw another project from "Neil Finn and Friends: Live at the St. James", a project where Neil invites friends like Lisa Germano, Eddie Vedder, Johnny Marr and more (including 2 members of Radiohead) to New Zealand to rehearse a batch of Neil songs, among others, and perform them live. It's not the tired 'supergroup' concept, but more of a 'let's toss it together and see what sticks' fun experiment. I had the CD, but got rid of it when I saw the DVD. The DVD has 26 performances, the CD maybe 14 or 16 -- and it's so sad! The CD reflects the loss of Neil and Tim's mother, among others, and it's skewed to the view of someone coming to terms with mortality. The DVD, on the other hand, feels more like a celebration, and it includes Tim singing "I See Red" with Eddie Vedder, backed by (Neil's son) Liam's band, as Neil watched from a couch just off the stage -- you can't beat that! Johnny Marr also performs a song of his that I have yet to find anywhere else, and Neil does a cover of The Smith's "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out". It's also fun to see Lisa Germano, whose own material tends to be dark and introspective, step up and be fully and joyfully involved in the proceedings. This is one of my favorite DVDs, ever.

Next time: Finn Brothers once again, and the return (?) of Crowded House.

Neil Finn's Amazing Body of Work: A Buyer's Guide, Part 1

I've always felt that Neil Finn isn't afforded the fame/success that his talent warrants. He's been writing, consistently, some of the best songs of the last 25 years, ever since his days with New Zealand's Split Enz.

It's been years since I heard any Split Enz albums, so I'm satisfied with this budget hits comp, including "I Got You", "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" (gotta love those massed mandolins!), and the revved-up "I See Red". Older brother Tim wrote most of the 'hits', but when Neil joined after the second album, he quickly came into his own. The band eventually broke up, and after some woodshedding, Neil's next band was the mighty mighty Crowded House.

Crowded House's first album featured some of Neil's best songs, and the fact that they were idiosyncraticly cute meant they enjoyed some quality MTV video time. This album has The Song That Neil Will Perform Forever ("Don't Dream It's Over") and it's front-loaded with the hits, but the formerly-known-as-Side 2 keeps up the quality, with "Hole in the River" sounding even better in live versions. Very 80's production (shiny shiny), but some darker themes amidst the sunny sides.

Next album "Temple of Low Men" didn't hit the heights of the previous album, but it still contains many of their "classics". "Into Temptation" is one of the best songs depicting the slippery slope that leads one to stray into an affair, "Sister Madly" features label-buddy Richard Thompson, and "Better Be Home Soon" sounds like "Don't Dream (Part 2)" -- in a good way.

Older brother Tim comes aboard for the 3rd album "Woodface" after the disappointing sales of "Temple". Opening with a clunker, the album's next 7 songs are gold. 4th album "Together Alone" from 1993 is another retrenching, with the addition of keyboardist par excellence Mark Hart as Tim leaves for his own projects and producer Youth experiments with murkier textures and the boys return to record in New Zealnd. This one for me is the most consistently great: "Pineapple Head", "Private Universe", "Walking On the Spot" (!), "Catherine Wheels" (!!) -- as good as the other albums are, this is probably the one I play the most. And of course, it was their last album! (There's more to that story, but that's for another post...)

"Recurring Dream: The Very Best Of" followed (try to get the one with the bonus live disc), and eventually "Afterglow" with B-sides and more (including "Recurring Dream" the Crowded House U2/Big County mash-up which isn't on the album "Recurring Dream" -- go figure!) but still the quality is right up there -- "Anyone Can Tell", "Help Is Coming" -- Neil's leftovers are still better than most other writers' A-list.

Sadly, drummer Paul Hester committed suicide, which brings this chapter of the Crowded House story to a dismal end. The DVD "Farewell to the World" is their last performance from November 1996 outside the Sydney Opera House", and that's how I'd like to remember Paul, the bittersweet moments of being onstage with his mates for the last time. Don't dream it's over, indeed.

Next: Neil, The Solo Years!

NRBQ, America's Best Band That You Never Heard Of

Driving home Sunday afternoon, listening to NRBQ, I turned to my wife, almost to the point of tears, and said "When NRBQ is good, nobody can touch them." 

One of the problems with getting older is that so many members of my favorite bands are dying, NRBQ included. I have so many favorite bands, but there's only a handful that I can say I love, and NRBQ is one of them. I've never met any other fans (other than my wife), but I'd guess I'm not alone -- these guys just inspire that kind of devotion.

How does that happen? I mean, I love the music of the Beatles, Radiohead...but I can't say I love the bands. But I know I love NRBQ (and Firesign Theatre). Maybe it's that there seems less of a distance between band and fan?

So, Mr Smarty Pants, if NRBQ is so great, why aren't they famous? Well, Bonnie Raitt's done her best to make them better known, and the writers and producers of "The Simpsons" are big fans, but NRBQ's recorded for smaller labels, their stuff is in and out of print, and when they do get a major-label opportunity, the stars don't align and it's back to indie-ville for them.

So try to find a copy of "Peek-A-Boo", an excellent introduction and best-of. Yes, there are hidden gems that this 2-CD set misses, but they managed to get most of the best, and it focuses on the classic line-up that lasted 20 years: Big Al Anderson's masterful arsenal of rockabilly and country guitar licks, Terry Adams on keyboards, (honky-tonk via Thelonious Monk), Joey Spampinato, the token Paul McCartney on bass, and boss of the backbeat, Tom Ardolino. Tired of the road, Al left to become a much-sought-after Nashville songwriter, Tom died, Terry had a throat cancer scare and retired the band for a long spell...

So, what makes them so special? Joey usually is singled out as the one writing the sweet, romantic Paulie songs, but Al and Terry provide their share too. They have a great sense of humor: immature, ironic, dry and extremely silly. (Okay, maybe too silly. That's a problem for non-fans.)

But c'mon,take this lyric from "Magnet", one of their early love songs. You know where this one is going, right? Magnet/Love/Attraction, yeah, I get it. Wrong. "I'm like a magnet/You're like a piece of wood".
Songs like "Rain at the Drive-In": "When it rains at the drive-in/My girl and I start to grin/We can't see out/They can't see in". Or "Little Floater", a love song to a car and one of the Top 5 Best Car Songs Ever. I realize that's a ridiculous claim, but I'm standing by it.

Al's guitar work provides the rockin' element, but he's so unconventionally sensitive and complimentary on the ballads.Terry worships Monk and Sun Ra but again, his sympathetic support is stunning but never draws the spotlight from the song.

So like I said earlier, their stuff is constantly going in and out of print, so I've been trying to grab as many CDs as I can, because, as great as "Peek-A-Boo" is, there are still more great songs tucked away on the other albums. "NRBQ at Yankee Stadium" (that's them in one of the bleachers) includes one of my very favorites "Yes, Yes, Yes", a sweet song that still manages to allow Terry to indulge his Monk fetish. He breaks the melody into teasing little pieces, puts it back together, then follows with a shattered piano solo, then puts the song back together again in a swoony finale. (The band must think it's a great song too, because it regularly shows up on their live albums.)

"Grooves in Orbit" has hidden gems like "My Girlfriend's Pretty" and "Smackaroo" (with what initially sounds like a chainsaw solo). "Tapdancin' Bats" (an odds 'n sodds collection that's probably only for the faithful) has my new favorite "I Don't Think of..." ("I don't think of/The things I could be missin'/ 'Cause all I think I'll ever want's been given").

That's a lesson it took me a long time to learn, and this is where I began, riding in my car with the woman I love with NRBQ as the perfect soundtrack. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I love those guys.

Yes and the Sound That Dare Not Speak Its Name

First off, a small correction: In my last post, I accidentally telescoped the timeline of my college years. I had the Yes albums, sure, but I didn't get most of the Camel, Caravan, Genesis, et al, until just after college, when I worked in a record store. And that just makes it worse -- at the same time I was buying singles by the Sex Pistols and XTC, I was picking up Genesis albums. I was tempting fate in the belly of the beast, where the judgment of my peers hung over my head.  (My moment of clarity: I remembering wondering one day, working at the store, "Why is it that all these nerdy guys are buying the same Eno albums that I like ?" Uh oh.)

So...back to Yes.

Yes became the whipping boys for everyone who hated progressive rock. My guess is that's because they a) took themselves very seriously, and b) insisted on making each successive album bigger and more grandiose, and finally c) their music had nothing whatsoever to do with the blues. Happened to Emerson, Lake and Palmer too, but the knives were out for ELP from the beginning.

Yes' "Fragile" album was probably the last release that saw them straddling the line between fan expectations and critical approval, though the fact that "Fragile" also featured each band member's solo turn gave some listeners pause. "Close to the Edge" featured only 3 songs, one being the side-long title track, and now the accolades were coming exclusively from the prog fans (though Rolling Stone gave it the feature spot in the reviews page.) Side Two's "Siberian Khatru" is one of my favorite songs ever, but Jon Anderson's lyrics?  I still have no idea what they mean. David Bowie borrowed William Burroughs' random cut-up method of assembling lyrics, yet he's considered a genius? Jon Anderson, you deserve another look.

Then the final straw....

"Tales from Topographic Oceans", 4 sides, 4 songs, based on footnotes in "Autobiography of a Yogi" about Shastric scriptures. Or something. (What can I say? It was 1973/1974.) It's not really terrible, but it could have been edited to a single LP without much trouble. I wonder if halfway through they didn't wonder "Why are we doing this again? Oh yeah, we're Yes. How can we top Jethro Tull's "Thick as A Brick" which is just one song over 2 sides?"

You could say they were asking for it, and from here on in, "Tales" became critical shorthand for the bloated dinosaur product soon to face the gobbing face of punk.

But other bands carried the progressive banner in a much lower key under-the-radar way. The sudden advent of punk only confused the prog set. "I don't get it; we're instrumentally adept, writing interesting and complicated adult material, only to be trumped by bands that are challenged to pull off something like "Louie, Louie". What's up?" Keyboardist Dave Stewart's notes in the National Health reissue are brutally humorous as he describes sinking lower and lower on the foodchain until he's reduced to making a living by transcribing 'songs' by Slaughter and the Dogs for the record company's publishing arm.

An earlier incarnation of National Health, Hatfield and the North, drew members from Caravan and other members of the Canterbury scene, which spawned Soft Machine and eventually the fine catalog of Robert Wyatt, among others (and I'm a big, big fan of them all.) Dryly humorous and somewhat pastorally English in atmosphere, these and other bands managed to pursue their progressive agenda backed by fan support and, if not with critical acclaim, at least under a critical truce. Prog would live to fight another day.

The '90s saw a blossoming of the progs, some under the mantle of "math rock". Isn't that the best? A new breed of musician, facing an uncertain future armed with pocket protectors. 

 

More on Caravan, Hatfield, National Health and Robert Wyatt later this fall. 

Skeletons Crowding the Closet, Progressive Rock Edition

I've mentioned before that I own some embarrassing records, some of which I can defend ("I own it for the ironic value!"), some of which I truly believe in ("One day the world will know the genius of Gilbert O'Sullivan and Ian Anderson!"), some of which I can claim as excellent examples of pop-craft (ABBA, and umm, the Turtles), some of which I just have to plead guilty (Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Seals and Crofts) --- and then there are the guilty pleasures that I really have a hard time defending: progressive rock. Kaftans, brown rice, album covers that only revealed their full meaning under black lights -- yes, that sounds like psychedelia, but in one sense, progressive rock was the next step. For bands convinced they were above rock's primitivism, each new album was a further step in complexity, intricate time signatures, and denser lyrical content. Why couldn't rock progress toward something like classical music? Fans loved it, but everyone else hated it (and critics found some place beyond hate.)

Imagine: a few friends stop by my college-era apartment, begin to thumb through my LPs, I bask in the reflected coolness (Joni Mitchell, John Fahey, Miles Davis, Fairport Convention, John Martyn)...and then they find the Camel album. Uh oh. Then Genesis (oh crap). And finally, Yes. (Well at least they didn't find any Rush albums, but who knew Rush would finally attain the status of Totally Cool Because They Totally Aren't Cool ?).

So, may I address the jury? First of all, the Camel album was a live album, and they sufficiently rocked out, avoiding the tight-ass quality of some of the studio albums. Yes, I said "rocked out" referring to Camel. (My reference is my sister-in-law, a Bad Company fan, who was impressed with the guitar pyrotechnics of "Never Let Go").

 Genesis? Let's begin the defense by noting that Peter Gabriel is on several of the Genesis albums I own. Peter Gabriel, these days The Earnest Voice Of Environmental, Political And Social Causes, was over the top, but clever and unconventional enough to earn a passing grade from most critics. I remember playing (LOUDLY) bits from "Wind and Wuthering" (post-post Gabriel), giving my stereo a workout, thinking "THIS is high fidelity!" Later, so much later, I realized I was listening to some studio sheen plastered on top of synthesized sound -- nothing sounded like a real instrument! (I remember when every single audio equipment store played Steely Dan's "Aja" as their go-to demo LP, itself engineered and polished until nothing was left but a shiny Lemon Pledge-d version of real music -- but it sounded great, and I still listen to Steely Dan all the time, knowing that I'm being aurally manipulated, and I'm fine with that.)

Well, enough for this post. Next time: Yes! And the fate of lesser known bands that escaped the progressive mantle, for better or worse, but still tried to carry the banner.

David Bowie!! And Some Sorta Related Joke Titles

Surprise surprise, there's a new David Bowie CD! He was supposedly in hiding after an on-stage heart attack or some sort of heart event, living out the few remaining days of his life behind closed doors. Turns out in the last year or so he'd been recording his new CD release in secret. Now, Bowie knows a lot about riding the waves of popularity, the dips and swells of acceptance and pushing ahead into uncharted waters, so does this new one crest the wave or wash up on shore? (Why am I using surfing metaphors about David Bowie?)

I'm a Bowie dilletante, I guess. Only owned "Station to Station", didn't play much of it other than the title track and "TVC 15".  I made a 45 minute cassette "best of", but my tracklist  didn't match the officially released comps (surprise, surprise).

Rick Moody wrote a 30-page review/overview of "The Next Day", so I won't say much more than: wow, I didn't know I missed Bowie. The last, what, 6 or 7 releases came and went with no fanfare. Had David lost the plot? I liked a song or two when I heard them but...well, we all had other things to listen to, I guess.

So far, the first 8 songs (out of 14) are keepers, then the iffy ones pop up, not bad (though tucked in at track 12, "You Will Set The World On Fire" might be a keeper) but if I never heard the rest again, I don't think my life would be any poorer.

 

Laffs! Bowie released his album "Low" and self-appointed "Jesus of Cool" Nick Lowe joked it was a nod to himself, though without the 'e' in his last name, so to return the favor (or favour), he named his next EP "Bowi".

 

The recent movie "This Is 40" features musician Graham Parker, reunited (on the soundtrack) with his original band The Rumour. They too took it as a joke when Fleetwood Mac released "Rumours", so they gave us the plural of "Mac" as "Max".

 

Back to the future:  David Bowie's new release. He took the iconic cover of "Heroes" and slapped what some have called a cocktail napkin on top. Take that!

Old Time, Bluegrass (and the Red Clay Ramblers)

I've never been clear on what makes "old time" different from bluegrass, and the other day on the radio, a guy explained that one difference is...the bass. Bluegrass features stand-up bass and old-time doesn't, giving that role to the guitar. Of course, there's a whole lot more that separates them, at least initially -- lately, lines are being blurred as bluegrass tackles everything from jazz to the Grateful Dead (old-time, as the name implies, maybe not so much). I backed into old-time, hearing Uncle Dave Macon songs via psychedelic tricksters the Holy Modal Rounders (as you'll recall, faithful readers. -- Smilin' Stan), who added their own
humor (and their contemporary take on modes of intoxication).  Uncle Dave Macon was quite the entertainer; I'd bet you could draw a line from Uncle Dave to David Lee Roth, as unlikely as that sounds. (Uncle Dave's onstage side-splits are legendary, even though his stage act came across differently on radio, or so I'm told).

The Fuzzy Mountain String Band, or the Fuzzies, as they are affectionately known, formed the band in the '70s, and listening to their take on old-time (and contra-dance - oh great, another classification), I actually missed my old turntable. We listened to this compilation of their 2 LPs in the car the other day, and since the songs didn't have a whole lot of variation, I missed the 20-minute cut-off when you'd have to turn the record over (and as irritating it seemed at the time, I thought that the  CD could have used some crackles and surface noise that would have been part of the LP listening experience).

KSER played a track from contra-dance band For Old Times Sake, not too far removed from the Fuzzsters, and FOTS has/had a Northwest connection with members from Seattle. Then I discovered local contra-dance events in Bellingham and Anacortes. I'd check one out if I thought they'd just let me listen; if I was forced to dance, another one of the Seventh Seals would be opened, and we can't have that just because my feet can't follow a simple beat. Anyway, as far as my limited exposure goes, contra-dance is based on traditional dance music (Celtic and Scottish mainly) and mostly performed for, yes, dancing.

So then there's the Red Clay Ramblers. I've only heard 2 of their albums, "Twisted Laurel" and "Merchant's Lunch", and I only heard "Twisted Laurel" because it was on the CD with "Merchant's Lunch". Stand back, tirade in the forecast: when the CD format came along, many folk labels adapted poorly.  Maybe it was concern that CDs wouldn't be around long, or weren't going to be adopted by the public-at-large (and I think I'm being generous there.) I actually wrote my only angry letter to a record label (which shall remain nameless) because they released one of my favorite albums on CD with a blank inner sleeve, no notes, nothing like what was included in the original LP. (Detect a nagging theme here, True Believers? --Just-Thought-I'd-Mention-It Stan). It felt like "Fine, you want this album on CD? Here you go, idiot! We don't care."

 Anyway, back to the Red Clay Ramblers -- for the 2 LPs to be packed onto 1 CD, they had to excise 1 track -- THE BEST FRIGGIN' SONG ON THE ALBUM!! Aaargh. It's an Irish-bluegrass-jig medley that kicks the shillelagh out of most other Celtic bands I've heard, and luckily I still have a poorly-recorded cassette copy somewhere. I just hope that when the Ramblers hit some anniversary date, the label will be able to add that track back. The Red Clay Ramblers are all over the map, featured on a mostly trad-folk label but they've got Dixieland, bluegrass, folk, ragtime, Celtic -- at the time, quite the unique and eclectic mix.