RTD’s Top Spins
Magical musical moments—every dyed-in-the-wool fan of the aural pleasures has, and hopefully continues, to experience them on a daily basis. If I didn’t get a big kick in the ass from at least one musical moment a day, I probably wouldn’t have the imagination or the impetus to pen this silly little screed every week, month-in, month-out, year-in, year-out. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this right now. So in the interest of both a written record of what sounds were/are flitting through my already musically-saturated skull on any given week and a means of promoting what I consider to be a song, or an artist, or a live venue folks should hear about, I will from time-to-time be giving you Round The Dial’s Top Spins, a short list of weekly musical highlights as experienced by yours truly. Here’s the first:
1) I’ve been unearthing loads of musical treasures at a tiny library in the small town nearest my spread—all under the hawk-like, watchful eyes of a pair of octogenarian sisters who sniff haughtily and say “Mm-hmm ...” a lot under their breath anytime I check out CDs ... but being the tune loon I am, I can’t help but make weekly sojourns to their dusty lair. I’m allowed to check out three discs at a time, and keep them for several weeks. On the average, I check out six or nine albums a month. Sure, there’s a shameful amount of claptrap like Shania Twain, Toby Keith and Crystal Bernard (I know, how weird is it that the ditzy chick from Wings—the TV show about a small Nantucket airport, not Macca’s post-Fab Four cash cow—makes scary modern country albums?), but tucked in among the Bush family suggestions are such treats as the latest Marianne Faithfull album, Faithfull—a collection of countrified nuggets that includes a cover of Jessi Colter’s “I’m Not Lisa”—Loretta Lynn’s latest, Jack White-produced album, Van Lear Rose, and delightful oddities like Joe Jackson’s 2002 release, Two Rainy Nights: Live In The Northwest (The Official Bootleg). I checked this one out because I saw that it included live, modern takes on Jackson classics like “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” and “Got The Time.” I’ve never been a huge Joe fanatic, although I dug his first two albums, but his piano-driven reworking of “Is She Really...” has got to take top honors for being as-good-as-or-better than the original studio version. While his jumpy, new-wave-y 1979 take on this timeless, lonely teenage anthem evoked sticky feelings of claustrophobic hormonal angst and blinding juvenile jealousy, this near-acoustic, post-Millennial update finds the character reading back a mellowed, time-hazed version of his story of rejection and pain through the eyes of a much older, and wiser, neighborhood geek. You know immediately from the exhausted, broken sigh in his voice that its been years since he’s gone to any parties on his block, that he hasn’t needed a comb or told himself that he looks real neat in at least a decade, and that the object of his affection, Jeannie, probably has 4.5 kids, drives a Ford Aerostar, and is on at least her second husband by now. In any case, this version of an old favorite—and this whole show, as a matter of fact—is simply, subtly mind-blowing. It’s also had me wondering—who orders the CDs for this little library, anyway? Maybe those 80-something sisters are a lot hipper than I’m giving ‘em credit for, and maybe those “Mm-hmm’s ...” are off-hand utterances of matronly approval ...

2) And speaking of Joe Jackson, it turns out that he plays piano and contributes vocals to another little delectable I recently ran across. Singer/songwriter Rickie Lee Jones’ 2000 album of covers, It’s Like This—a bittersweet, understated collection of classics and rockers that includes songs written by such disparate artists as Marvin Gaye, The Beatles, Steely Dan and Hoagy Carmichael, as well as a couple of well-chosen Gershwin numbers and one from Leonard Bernstein—is a perfect, lazy fall afternoon album. My fave from the bunch, though, is her (thankfully abbreviated) take on Traffic’s “The Low Spark Of High-Heeled Boys.” Jones is so comfortable with her own voice at this point, and so confident in her own song-crafting abilities, that it’s a genuine joy to just sit back and soak in her languid, opiated lilt as she mumbles about the glories of those imaginary, ambiguous ‘70s sots. Smooth.

3) While checking out an online indie music label—one of the first of its kind—I ran across a few pretty famous names, as well as some pretty funny, artist-penned descriptions of independent releases by your average Joes/Janes across the land. I wasn’t surprised to find the rag-tag remnants of ‘60s war-horses The Buckinghams, ‘70s trivia question material like the Pousette-Dart Band, and weathered survivors from psychedelic-era oddities like Todd Rundgren’s old outfit, The Nazz, involved in a grass-roots project like http://www.itsabouthemusic.com, but I was a bit taken aback to find heavy hitters like Willie Nelson, the late Dee Dee Ramone, The Band’s Rick Danko, and blues-men Mississippi Fred McDowell and John Lee Hooker listed.

You can access label and individual info about each artist, and preview songs—even entire albums—that are available for free or on-sale downloads. Coolest find for me? Probably one of my most embarrassing, guilty musical pleasures—and the song wasn’t even written by the guy who sings it. Yes, I’m talking about “Shake It,” that bouncy, jingly little pop Top 40 irritant from 1979, as performed by Ian Matthews, formerly of Fairport Convention and Matthews’ Southern Comfort. I know it’s bad, I know it’s wrong, but dammit, I can’t help myself. I simply melt into hazy, time-warped images of those halcyon, pre-Reagan days, before cigarettes had stolen our taste buds, booze had spotted our livers, and dope had dulled our wits, when I hear silly, sweet, teeny-bopper lines like, “Here she comes ridin’, rollin’ it down the line/Slippin’ an’ slidin’, takin’ her sweet old time ...” and “Give the boy somethin’ to dream on baby ...” Although I do still wonder about that “autographed basketball ...” what up wit’ dat? (Sigh)

OK, so I had to spend a few hours with old Stooges, Stones and Sabbath albums to feel clean—or is that appropriately dirty?—again after the 10th time or so of replaying this one, but it was worth it. There’s nothing like wallowing in bad ‘70s pop to keep a music writer humble and focused. It’s horrible! Just horrible! And I love it! More to the point, though, the site looks like it might be worth a look-see for local bands and artists—Minneapolis’ Kevin Bowe & The Okemah Prophets are already listed—so if you’re a band looking for a new kind of label, or just a fan who wants to keep up on the latest trends in the biz, check it out.

And now for our regularly scheduled DVD/CD reviews:

NRBQ
One In A Million (DVD)
(MVD, 2004)

It’s hard to believe that NRBQ—the New Rhythm and Blues Quartet, for the perfectionists among you—first got together in 1967, The Summer Of Love. It’s even harder to believe that they’re still going—albeit with only keyboardist Terry Adams and bassist/singer Joey Spampinato remaining from the original lineup—and garnering new fans right on into the ‘Oughts. But then again, if any band was going to make it through umpteen fickle fads and phases in the music world, it would have to be this one, a group so dedicated to their sound of choice that they named themselves after it.

That doesn’t mean you won’t find a whole variety of grooves on one of their albums or at one of their live gigs, however—they’ve covered Sun Ra, collaborated with rockabilly legend Carl Perkins, singer Skeeter Davis, folkie John Sebastian, and jazz artist Carla Bley, and were at one time managed by original wrestling bad-ass Captain Lou Albano. And if that wasn’t enough, over the years the band—especially after guitarist/singer “Big Al” Anderson joined up—has written scads of rock, pop, country, and rockabilly classics of their own—not to mention a gaggle of hilarious, cult-classic comedy cuts—including some of the tracks on this DVD.

Recorded live in Montreal in 1989 with the classic quartet of Terry Adams, Joey Spampinato, “Big Al” Anderson, and Tom Ardolino, this gig features spot-on readings of such fan and critic’s faves as “I Got A Rocket In My Pocket,” “Girl Scout Cookies,” “It’s A Wild Weekend,” “Little Floater,” and a genre-busting version of Big Joe Turner’s “Shake, Rattle & Roll” with special guest guitarist Peter Holsapple. There’s not a whole lot of pomp and circumstance here, beyond the usual delightful, over-the-top antics of keyboardist Adams and the often-times hilarious expressions on the band member’s mugs, but the genuine drive and soul of the music and the obvious love these cats (and their fans) have for it make the show an undeniably powerful experience.

Bonus extras include excellent liner notes from Creem Magazine’s Dave DiMartino, an NRBQ slide show—which shows just how funny, and how much FUN these guys are and were—and the quirky 2004 video (in which the band are represented by animated versions of wooden dummies, very reminiscent of Genesis’ ‘80s MTV standard, “Land Of Confusion”) for the wistful, Randy Newman-ish “Dummy.” Highly recommended.

The Ike Reilly Assassination
Sparkle In The Finish
(Rock Ridge Music, 2004)


Anybody who’s read this column for any length of time knows how whole-heartedly I jumped on the Ike Reilly bandwagon when his first full-length album, Salesmen And Racists, came down the rock ‘n’ roll pike a few years back. As a matter of fact, once my reviews were printed and I began to receive feedback from certain readers and local “hipsters” about my Reilly fixation, I actually had moments where I doubted my own critical instincts. Were the songs that good? Was I reading too much into them? Was I too close to the band, having met and hung out with Ike and the boys? Well, no matter how much soul searching and self-torment I put myself through, I was always justified when the band came through town and played live.

There’s simply no contesting the energy, the power, the truth of The Rock when Reilly & co. hit the boards and lay down their fiery brand of punch-drunk, pimped-up power-pop. So now that I’m satisfied I made the right call on the first album, what do I think about the follow-up? First I’ll say I have no more idea than you do why Reilly decided on adding Assassination to his name, except that it’s politically timely and that as a fellow descendant of Irish stock, I can appreciate his wanting to appropriate the initials IRA. But that’s neither here nor there—I’ll say right off the bat that former Chicago hotel doorman Reilly’s lost none of his trademark, street-wise wit in his lyrics, and, saints be praised, the subject matter has expanded and morphed even beyond the already fantastic, street-wise imagery this artist has such a knack for capturing.

Ike’s voice is in fine form here, the album’s fairly balanced quotient of ballads and barn-stormers giving him ample opportunity to stretch out and wrap his gritty vocal approach around a variety of styles. While his pipes are somewhat reminiscent of early Springsteen, he manages to squeeze every last emotion out of a line, and makes the most of his strong points—soaring on a shrieking guitar note, fading with an audible ache as keyboards reach a melancholy crescendo. Musically, you couldn’t ask for a tighter, more spot-on lineup than drummer Dave Cottini, bassist Tommy O’Donnell and the dual axe attack of Phil Karnatz and producer/multi-instrumentalist Ed Tinley—this outfit literally lays waste to the ever-rising wall of plastic-y, clueless, cookie-cutter ka-ka that passes for pop these days, and has a marvelous ability to adapt to Reilly’s sometimes nervy run through such disparate genres as Hip-Hop, rock, blues, electronica, folk and avante-garde.

Song highlights here include the dreamy, loping album intro, “I Don’t Want What You Got Goin’ On,” with its oh-so-Reilly chorus of “What about love, what about trust ...,” the radio-friendly “Whatever Happened To The Girl In Me” (“Don’t tell me it’s a beautiful day ... can’t find the girl that I used to be ...”), and the future pub classic, “The Boat Song (We’re Getting Loaded),” which by all rights should finally replace Chumbawumba’s idiotic “whiskey drink/vodka drink ...” hit as the song you most hear shit-faced college kids slurring as they stagger home from local clubs this winter.

The Ike Reilly of Sparkle In The Finish, is a different beast altogether than the Ike Reilly of Salesmen And Racists. That Ike Reilly was reaching out, grasping for identity and touching on the stories and psychic imprints of the mass of humanity swirling around him, especially during his years as a hotel doorman. That Ike Reilly was commenting on a world seen through a revolving door and wisps of steam, while at the same time stirring his own unquenchable desire—love, lust, companionship, camaraderie and spirituality—into the mix. That Ike Reilly is no more. Or, at the very least, that Ike Reilly now exists merely as an inner element of the new, more worldly-wise and appropriately wizened, Ike Reilly.

This Ike Reilly—this cock-sure, black-eyed, beer-soaked last bastion of the living rock dream—is by turns the shadowy, lusty Party Animal, crooking a finger, swaggering and raising a pint; the Chronicler, hearkening to the woeful returns brought on by a life of shame and sin; the Redeemer, whipping his faithful crowds into frenzies of pure, unadulterated rock ‘n’ roll abandon; and the Conscience, speaking in dizzying riddles that wind into threads of truth about the cold, hard facts of life, pain, addiction, self-doubt, cosmic curiosity, love and ultimately death in the modern age.

That propensity is nowhere more evident than in Sparkle’s final, holy-rock-n’-rolling track, “The Ex-Americans,” which finds our esteemed narrator quietly spinning his dark tale of (his, and hers, and theirs, and all of ours) lost innocence and pride, self-imposed solitude and pissed-away dreams over martial snare and a dirge-like keyboard line: “They moved the protest out from the seaside/Back from the Motor Inn/Who is gonna rock for the prisoners at the protest?/It’s the ex-Americans ...” Here Reilly jumps up on the stump, you can almost see the sweat staining the pits of his snappy black shirt, his dark hair hanging in wet ringlets around his shoulders as he raises the bullhorn to his beer-soaked lips, closes his eyes, tilts his head back and howls, “Not the Holy Hour House Band .... and not the Stranglers or the Cramps ... not the gay holiday singers ... but the ex-Americans ...” Goose-bumps. Again. A timely, tasty, tuneful blast of true-blue American power-pop from one of today’s sharpest wits—and tongues. Thanks, Ike. Sparkle In The Finish hits stores Tuesday, Oct. 12. The Ike Reilly Assassination play The Turf Club on Sat., Oct. 16.

Another recommended local gig: Check out Minneapolis hard-rockers Gingerjake this Saturday, Oct. 9, at The Quest, as they celebrate the release of their first DVD, a live gig shot at The Quest last Spring at the CD release
party for the band’s debut EP, Paralysis. Also on the bill are The Fighting Tongs, Blackout (Chicago), Nuisance Crew and Rise Or Rust. All Ages, 4 p.m., $5 advance, $7 day of show.

And that brings us to the close of another wild, woolly, wigged-out edition of Round The Dial, folks. Tune in again to this space one week from now for more, more, more. Until we meet again—make yer own damn news. ||

If you have local music news, gigs, CDs you’d like to see mentioned in this column, or you’d just like to share your own Top Spin of the week with a fellow fanatic, send replies to: (temporary e-mail) jamescrouch_1@juno.com.