 QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “I wanted to create music that was so different that my mother could tell me from anyone else." – Les Paul
SONG OF THE WEEK: “Pop Cigar” – Garageland
by TOM HALLETT
Greetings, ’Dial-heads, casual readers, lolly-gaggers an’ looky-loos alike ... welcome to another installment of your one-stop source for rock n’ roll news, reviews, rants n’ raves. As summer winds down its last, desperate few weeks, it’s time to start thinkin’ about fall—cooler days, fresh nights, the falling leaves, blah blah blah ... Oh who am I kiddin’? I don’t give a rat’s ass about most of that hoo-rah. For me, fall is just another great excuse to sit inside and listen to music. Seeing as fall officially begins in about a week, I thought this might be a great time to share some of my favorite albums of the season with you, the readers.
In today’s hustle-n’-bustle world of fly-by-night singles and flick-of-an-eye
superstars, it’s easy to forget that the average music listener used to
sit down with an entire album’s worth of songs by the same artist and
enjoy it as if it were a film or a great novel. Frankly, many of rock ’n’
roll’s finest works were written, performed and recorded with that very
aim in mind. If you’ve never sat back and cranked Elton John’s Goodbye
Yellow Brick Road or Bob Dylan’s Blood On The Tracks or The
Beatles’ White Album in their entireties, you really can’t
say with any authority that you’ve got a full grasp of their intended
meanings at all. That being said, there’s also the added enjoyment of
wrestling one’s attention away, however briefly, from an increasingly
demanding modern pace that almost requires us to flit and flick over a veritable
barrage of information daily and focusing on one artist, one album, one track
at a time.
I should note that these picks are barely the tip of the iceberg, so to speak,
when it comes to great fall listening—but I did try to avoid the obvious
(you can hear The Mamas And The Papas drone out “California Dreaming”
on your local oldies station six or seven times a day) and the spotty (The Replacements’
All Shook Down has some real gems, but other than the title track, doesn’t
really capture the essence of fall listening—it’s more like accidentally
overhearing a very slow, very painful rock ‘n’ roll suicide, but
that discussion’s for another day), and when all is said and done, there’s
probably something of interest for most music nuts on this list. So without
further ado, here’s ...
THREE GREAT FALL ALBUMS:
 George
Harrison
All Things Must Pass
1970
Capitol Records
Might as well start with the big guns, eh? The late former Beatles axeman had
released several offerings before this one (his Wonderwall Music was
not only the first official Beatles’ solo album, but also inspired one
of modern English rockers Oasis’ finer cuts). There’s no doubt that
All Things Must Pass stands today as George’s finest work. Released
in 1970, the album was not only its author’s final farewell to his longtime
band, but also a bellwether for worldwide social, spiritual and musical change.
Even the most casual Beatles fans are aware that Harrison was sued for his hit
“My Sweet Lord” (somebody somewhere heard the faintest echo of The
Chiffon’s “He’s So Fine” in the song, and the courts
agreed—Harrison responded on 1973’s cheekily titled Living In The
Material World with the even more cheeky “Sue Me, Sue You Blues”),
an unfortunate turn of circumstances that eventually worked in George’s
favor, as the controversy aroused more interest in the album in years to come.
Lost in the drama of that incident (and the song’s subsequent overplaying
on FM radio) is the essence of the tune. Sure, George is worshiping a deity
other than the Christian God, but the bottom line is he’s preaching love,
peace and understanding—and unlike many of today’s modern Pharisees,
not just for people who share his beliefs, but for all mankind. The song is
truly inspirational, and every bit of an anthem for the forces of good, light
and righteousness as Lennon’s “Imagine” was and is.
But “My Sweet Lord” is only a tiny slice of this big, fat juicy
apple of an album—and I’m not kidding there. I’ve yet to see
an original vinyl copy of this release in perfect condition; sticking three
albums in paper and tossing them in a flimsy cardboard box wasn’t the
brightest packaging idea ever conceived. Still, the almost mystical ritual of
cleaning the albums, flipping them from side to side, and changing them made
the listening somehow all the sweeter. From its presentation to the artwork
(freaky lawn gnomes scattered about a gargantuan yard, a relaxed, if scruffy,
Harrison mugging for the cam) to the songs themselves, All Things Must Pass
is truly a work of art that must be enjoyed in one sitting. OK, OK, you can
sit through the final, jam-session portion of the album once, then skip it for
the next two years. Just remember to revisit “I Remember Jeep” and
“Thanks For The Pepperoni” once in awhile to remind yourself of
why Harrison was so humble most of the rest of the time.
The rest of the album is thick with scrumptious pop/rock mastery—from
the rousing, blistering axe assault of “Wah Wah,” which matches
later-period Beatles hard rockers like “Revolution” and “Helter
Skelter” in intensity, if not political hype, to the melancholy, rainy-day
sigh of “Isn’t It A Pity,” the biggest pity of which being
that more people haven’t heard such a gorgeous, soul-deep track, right
on to the joyous, majestic blast of “What Is Life.” A loving, textured
cover of Dylan’s “If Not For You” melds seamlessly into the
countrified lope of “Behind That Locked Door,” which should, by
all rights, be the next duet Elvis Costello and George Jones record, and the
album rolls on, nary a stinker in sight.
“Let It Down” kicks off disguised as another brash rocker, all switchblade
an’ leather attitude, then cools down to a low, lazy burn; “Run
Of The Mill” rings out on sweet fresh strings, dreamy horns and gentle
bass carrying George’s lines: “Everyone has choice / When to or
not to raise their voices / It’s you that decides / Which way you will
turn ...” and “I Live For You” chimes in with weeping rural
guitar licks and a wispy, lamenting sigh from Harrison. “Beware Of Darkness”
could be George’s official soul warning to today’s generation, as
it was to his own back in the day: “Beware of darkness,” he intones,
then goes on to sing, “Beware of sadness, it can hit you / It can hurt
you / Make you sore and what’s more / That is not what you are here for
...”
While it’s true this album could fit any season, from its title to its
content to its legacy, All Things Must Pass still rides my turntable
most comfortably in the early-to-mid fall, when thoughts of a summer past and
the trials and tribulations of a long, cold winter ahead are heavy on my mind.
Best served up with a pipe-full, a steaming cuppa and someone warm to share
the tales and grooves with. (All Things Must Pass has been re-issued
for its 30th anniversary with loads of bonus cuts, liner notes, etc. etc.—check
it out!)
 The
Glenrustles
Fire At Night
1997
SMA
 Local Glenrustles purists (you know ‘em—they’re mostly geeky
lookin’ guys with long-ish hair and oversized spectacles who are in their
own local bands) might argue that In Stone or Brood were Rich
Mattson & company’s finest pre-Ol’ Yeller works, but my fave
has always been this almost shy collection of story-songs, country odes and
rock ’n’ roll gems. There’s not a bad cut on the album, but
like Springsteen’s Tunnel Of Love, this one has a trilogy of kick-ass
tracks that stand alone and work as a three-part tale as well.
“More
You Look,” the second song on the album, absolutely sizzles its way out
of yer speakers, Rich growling like a swamp-dawg hoodoo riddim king, the band
doing the musical equivalent of a tribal ritual behind him: “I’ll
have my luck again / It makes livin’ worthwhile / Not someone lookin’
over my shoulder / Wantin’ to break my heart / I’ll keep my distance
/ And that way I’ll feel good ...” “Last Hurrah” neatly
gathers those messy emotions that are usually left lying around after a nasty
break-up (relationship or band, you choose), and assumes a wistful, lingering
musical grin, and the album’s title track slides in on a catchy guitar
riff and an almost mystical overtone, rides that groove ’til you’re
about to burst with anticipation, then explodes like a shrapnel grenade all
over your eardrums—“FIRE AT NIGHT!” howls Mattson, as murky
TV or radio broadcasts flicker in the background and the band absolutely shreds
the song down to its last dying gasp.
While it’s true that Rich Mattson has a certain affinity (and gift) for
writing songs that capture the feel, the times and the people of a given era,
this album stands above his other work with the ’rustles—and maybe
even Ol’ Yeller—as a shining example of a perfect fall record. You
can almost hear the leaves rustling to the ground between cuts, feel the wind
whistling from the north—and I swear every time the CD spins to a stop
I catch a whiff of birch wood burning somewhere in the distance. Fucking amazing
album. Find it. Buy it. Treasure it. (www.olyellerband.com)
 Matthew
Ryan
East Autumn Grin
2000
A&M
Awright, awright, so the title kinda gives away this one’s angle right
off the bat—who cares? East Autumn Grin is only one of the dark,
tragic masterpieces singer/songwriter Matthew Ryan has released in the past
eight or nine years. Why he hasn’t received more national attention is
beyond me, but I’ll keep singin’ his praises ‘til somebody
listens or I die, whichever comes first. EAG is a logical extension of the soul-weary,
hyper-aware groove running through Ryan’s debut album, Mayday,
but finds him expanding his circle of awareness beyond the merely interpersonal
and into the main flow of humanity.
There’s not a cut on here that doesn’t evoke the turn of the season;
that doesn’t send a tiny chill of pain or hope or loss down my spine,
and despite Ryan’s gravelly pipes and doom-laden lyrics, the music invariably
lifts my spirit and reminds me that at the end of the day, as long as I can
FEEL this shit, I’m still here, still alive, still real. Sure, a lot of
this stuff is sad—some so heartrending (“Heartache Weather,”
for one) that I’d shy away from playing it around friends or family with
a history of depression. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it—on
the contrary, this kind of emotion-evoking sad-rock is exactly what floats my
boat. It’s just powerful stuff, and I don’t mean that lightly.
 Other
stand-outs here include the mixed-message vibes of “I Hear A Symphony,”
in which the author lists off the horrors that sometimes keep him locked indoors,
away from the devastation and destruction of modern civilization, then leaves
the listener with a bit of comfort after all: “And you are not alone /
You are not alone / I swear this burden is not your own—you are not alone”;
the sonic heart thrashing of “I Must Love Leaving,” and the doomsday
anthem “The World Is On Fire,” which kicks off with a keyboard playing
an off-key rendition of “London Bridge Is Falling Down” and goes
on to read like every terror-obsessed newspaper, TV show or radio broadcast
in this country: “... And Coke loves the ratings, ‘cause you love
the horror / As long as it didn’t come home / Faith is weak / America—she’s
run out of steam / America—and fate is tired / I’m so fed up / We’re
on fire / America, you’re beautiful / Yeah, you’re beautiful / When
you’re sleeping...” A genuine treasure of an album from one of this
generation’s best songwriters.
One brief item to address, then we’ll wrap it up for this week. First,
my apologies to rabid Falco fan Bill S., whose recent e-mail (among the dozen
or so I received after mentioning Mr. F. a few weeks back in these here pages)
was not only informative, but mildly amusing. In his pithy missive, Bill sez,
“The odds of Falco having gotten a job with the ‘post-Communist
German government’ would be pretty slim, since 1) he was Austrian, not
German (and only half of Germany was Communist anyway) and 2) he was popular
in Europe and working in music up until his death in 1998 ... oh, so I imagine
he won’t be asking for your papers anytime soon either!!” Whew!
Guess you told me, Bill!!
Well, Bill, let me address your note with a wink and a nod to my own ignorance
concerning what I’m now referring to as “The Falco Files.”
First of all, and most important, my brief mention of the ‘80s pop star
was a light-hearted jab, not a moral or social indictment of Mr. Falco’s
person. Lighten up, dude. Second, you’re right, I was completely unaware
that Falco was Austrian (not that being of Austrian descent has stopped certain
power-mad lunatics from assuming control of Germany in the past, eh?), however,
my mention of the “post-Communist German government” was worded
as such because I figured the majority of my readers already knew that there
used to be an East and a West Germany. What was I thinking? Shame on me! Let
me reiterate, Bill—IT WAS A JOKE! And a lame one, at that. Sheesh! What
would’ve happened if I’d sniped on Men Without Hats or Milli Vanilli?!
And finally, my sympathies and deepest regrets to Mr. Falco’s family,
friends and many fans worldwide. I had no idea the man had moved on physically
to another plane—hopefully, he won’t run into Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
on the other side and have to explain the lyrics to his biggest hit. May he
rest in peace, knowing his ubiquitous, monumental offerings to the world of
pop music will live forever on FM radio’s “Eighties Flashback Lunch”
specials and in late-night infomercials hosted by the bass player from A Flock
Of Seagulls and The Buggles’ electronic drum machine. Uh-oh! I better
leave off, one never knows what kind of angry counterattack could come from
above via fans of A Flock Of Seagulls!!
That’s all for this time out, peeps. Spin yer dial back this way next
week for more reviews an’ the like. Until then—make yer own damn
news.
If you have local music news/gigs/CDs you’d like to see mentioned in
this space, or you’d just like to share your boundless knowledge concerning
the current activities of the various members of A Flock Of Seagulls, send replies
to: Tmygunn77764@yahoo.com
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