A Penny's Worth

I Believe the Children Are Our Future...

2012-02-12T15:38:00.003-05:00

Allow me to be the only person in all of social media who never cared for Whitney Houston.

I first heard of her around 1984 or so, when my friends Dan and Tracy were working at Sweetwater, a club on the Upper West Side in the '60s that catered to an upscale African-American clientele. Cissy Houston used to sing there all the time; then Dan and Tracy started reporting that "Cissy Houston's daughter" was performing there. I remember them saying she sang great, but that she was a total prima dona bee-yatch.

That first giant album came out in 1985, and I spend most of 1986 and '87 doing stand-up comedy in and around Manhattan-- mostly trying to break in at dives on audition night. Plenty of these places put up both comedians and singers, and I can't tell you how many earnest young singers I saw back then, performing songs off that record. It was a thing. I swear, if I saw one more girl that I was trying to hit on hand the pianist the sheet music to "The Greatest Love of All" I would have screamed.

From this I grew to pretty much hate every song on that record, and by extension the singer. And honestly, to me she always came off as a monstrously great voice, but with a thick plastic shell of veneer. All technique, no real soul. Do people really enjoy the air raid siren way she butchers Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You"? I remember an old girlfriend telling me that she saw Whitney in concert in the late '80s or early '90s, could see her right before the show began, and Whitney just threw this faux icy smile across a troubled face like throwing a switch and stepped onstage.

Based on the things Dan and Tracy told me back then, I'm pretty sure Whitney was actually living a lie a lot of her life. I can't help but wonder if that had anything to do with the drug abuse that, I'm guessing, killed her.

OK, flame away. I'm braced.

My Top-20 Albums of 2011

2012-01-07T14:01:00.002-05:00

I think the theme this year is, "Hey! You kids! Get off my lawn!"

Overall I have to say 2011 didn't thrill me, new music-wise. But seriously, 2011, don't lose your shit. it's not you, it's me. Next year I promise to do a better job of embracing current stuff with a better attitude. Part of the reason I'm so dreadfully late with this is that I had such a hard time fleshing out the list from 15 to 20. I could have just cut it off at say 18, but then that wouldn't have been fair to you now, would it?

One thing that becomes abundantly clear is that at this point, for the most part, I like what I like. I do make a point of checking out new music, to really listen to it and give it a chance. I want to discover new artists and hear new things. But so many of today's supposed buzz bands leave me cold. Fleet Foxes remind people of the Beach Boys and CSN? Really? Go listen to Endless Summer and the first CSN record and then tell me so; to me Fleet Foxes sounds more like Gregorian Chants. Again, Foxes, I'm sure it's not you, it's me. And Radiohead's King of Limbs? For the most part it's like a dog whistle to me; my ears just don't pick up that frequency. Like their last one, it mostly just reminds me of cell phone ring tones.

Conversely, I sheepishly admit there are artists in their 70s on this list. I don't think I'm a pushover for any old '60s-era rock'n'roll hall of famer-- I skipped both Cream and Clapton/Winwood at the Garden without batting an eyelash. But my ears know what they like, and I've come to trust them implicitly.

I'm pretty sure a lot of this has to do with when I was born and the technologies prevalent during my formative musical years. Radiohead sounds like these times. Well, you know what Brian Wilson said about these times...

Often when I do like a new artist, it's precisely because that artist doesn't sound like now. (He or she doesn't have to sound like yesterday either; good music is timeless, records that endure tend not to sound like the year in which they was made.) On this list, Ryan Adams, Tedeschi-Trucks, Jonathan Wilson, and the Dawes are all good examples.

But when someone does break through the sonic clatter, who sounds like right now-- hell, who sounds like a year from now-- and who manages to perk up these tired ears and change the way I hear music, that's a special thing. And so hats off to Danger Mouse, my new favorite record producer. In this space last year I described him as "...half of Gnarles Barkley, a producer of some recent renown, a member of the pretend band Gorillaz, and I guy I really have to pay more attention to." Since then I've been paying attention, and snapping up the records he's done. For the Rome record and for his work with the Black Keys, he's one of three guys I want to call out this year.

Another is Benmont Tench, keyboard player for the Heartbreakers, an old musical pal who graces the Dawes and Ryan Adams records. Let's call him sideman of the year.

Finally, Jonathan Wilson. I hadn't even heard of him till June, when I think perusing Amazon I came upon a description of his pending debut. I ordered it based on that description, then promptly forgot about it, until it came in the mail (yes kids, I buy the CDs and download them straight into my mail box.) That record, Gentle Spirit, became the one I played most this year. Then I found out he produced the Dawes, who's record I thought was just gorgeous. And that can't be a coincidence.

Everyone seems to like 2011 releases from Girls, Yuck, tUnE-yArDs, and Wild Flag. Maybe-- probably-- I would as well, but I haven't heard any of them. I'll probably give them all a listen on Spotify soon. Also, my friend Henry says his favorite record of the year was the Decemberists, so I checked it out on Spotify, and it is really good (especially for all you R.E.M. fans out there.) But I didn't go and buy it, and as a rule if I don't buy it I don't consider it eligible for my list.

As always, RIYL stands for "Recommended If You Like."

1. Jonathan Wilson, Gentle Spirit.
So apparently there's this "New Laurel Canyon" movement or scene or, like you know, whatever, with musicians living in the Canyon making music that evokes the first singer-songwriter wave from there circa the early '70s-- Joni, Crosby, Nash, the Eagles, Jackson Browne, Neil Young. In fact, some of those old geezers even sit in with the new guys on occasion, probably sharing war stories and showing them the chords to "Wooden Ships." Wilson is at the forefront of this movement. OK, that's just context. In a year when not a lot of new music really caught my attention, this record made me sit up and take notice. While the instrumental and lyrical influences of the Canyon's first wave are all here, I'm hearing more of a Pink Floyd's Animals, Big Star's Third kinda vibe-- music that is built on acoustic guitars, with lots of breathing room, while at the same time sounding dorm room spacy. This is not a work for shuffle; the songs flow into one another as a seamless whole, and you want to listen to it straight through. I don't know where I'll be on this in a year, but in a sort of "meh" year, nothing else piqued the curiosity of my ears quire this much. RIYL: Neil Young's Harvest, Third, Animals, David Crosby's If I Could Only Remember My Name.

2. Ryan Adams, Ashes and Fire.

Dude, seriously, welcome back. Adams was my artist of the decade for the first decade of this century, and his Cardinals were one of my favorite live bands ever. But after getting both sober and married (coincidence?) he's pretty much been retired from music for 3 years (III/IV, a Cardinals record released last winter, was culled from tracks recorded circa Easy Tiger, which came out in 2007.) Here he works with producer Glyn Johns, who's credits include a bunch of oldie acts like the Stones, the Beatles, Clapton, and Led Zep, and who's son Ethan had produced Ryan's Heartbreaker and 29. Pops does Adams a good turn here, helping him to mine the songs he'd written. The result is an instantly likable record, kind of in the singer-songwriter vein of Heartbreaker but without all the, well, heartbreak. Although there is a Heartbreaker on board-- Benmont Tench on keyboards, who along with occasional Adams crony Nora Jones provides a richness of color and texture throughout (personally I think Adams brings out the best in Jones, and probably vice versa. They should do a duet record one day.) RIYL: Heartbreaker, classic folk rock.

3. Tedeschi Trucks band, Revelator.
When Derek Trucks-- probably the best guitar player of his generation-- and wife, soccer mom-Blues Mama Susan Tedeschi, shut down their respective solo projects and threw in together, it was a mixed bag for us fans. For one thing, such a merger means you get one record a year, not two. And too, as part of an 11-piece rock'n'rhythm'n'blues revue, there was some concern that Derek's wings would be clipped. ("They're not going to go into "Afro-Blue," noted my friend Johnny Flash at the band's September Beacon show.) But live, the Tedeschi Trucks band turns out to be fantastic and easily likable, less a jamband than a song band, blending soul, r'n'b, blues, rock, and a smidge of the jam. Tedeschi is a great front woman, and while Derek's ethereal sojourns are less prominent than they had been in his own band, the overall soulful feel of the music takes you to that same place. The magic is nicely captured on Revelator, the band's first release. The players have managed to write some new songs that sound like lost early '70s soul classics; the first time I heard "Midnight in Harlem," I googled it to see who did the original, because I was sure it was an old Bobby Womack song or something. Anyway, check it out here; it's my favorite song of the year, and exquisite (apologies in advance for the pre-roll ad, but somebody has to pay for the Internet.) RIYL: Sly and the Family Stone, Delaney and Bonnie and Friends, Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

4. Lindsey Buckingham, Seeds We Sow.
For over 30 years Buckingham was the prototypical mad reclusive studio genius, recording by himself, but putting out all of three solo records (although two others were essentially morphed into Fleetwood Mac releases.) Now in his sixties he's turned prolific; this is suddenly his third album in five years, and his first independent release. He says it's his best ever; as is often the case with such artistic self-assessments, he's wrong (see also, Springsteen's opinion of his last 3.) Buckingham calls his 4-piece touring band the small machine (F-Mac being the big machine), and while his first three solo records were lush multi-tracked gems, he's settled into a style exemplified by his breathy vocals and fancy acoustic finger picking (live at Town Hall, he opened the show with seven solo acoustic numbers before bringing out the small machine.) The template for this style, as he explains in concert, is his solo voice-and-guitar version of the Fleetwood Mac single "Big Love." But when he cranks up all cylinders in the studio (as on "Illumination" or "When She Comes Down") he's still the closest thing to vintage Brian Wilson California sunshine pop there is, and it's still sublime. Originally I didn't feature this record much, judging it too harshly by comparing it to Go Insane and Out of the Cradle. But revisiting it for this list, I realized it was one of the best things I've heard all year. RIYL: "Big Love," SMiLE, breathy vocals and fancy finger picking.

5. The Dawes, Nothing is Wrong.
Like Jonathan Wilson, the Dawes are part of that new Laurel Canyon scene (oh, and small world, Wilson produced this one.) This is their second record. The first one showed promise, but this one's got the mojo. Maybe it's Heartbreaker Benmont Tench, who plays keyboards here and has never been on a record he didn't make better (and he's been on a bunch of good ones.) Nothing is Wrong is one of those records that sounds like you already know it the first time through, all harmonies, chords, swelling organ, plus a little beach, a little desert. (Oh-- and it made the top-50 lists of both Rolling Stone and Paste. How hip am I?) RIYL: Mudcrutch, the Wallflowers, Zuma, Running On Empty.

6. Danger Mouse and Daniele Luppi, Rome.
Ostensibly a soundtrack album to a non-existent movie (how very Eno!). The concept is a conceit, sure, but for me, now, Danger Mouse is sort of in a can't-do-wrong zone. The music is eerie and moody, and features many of the musicians who played on the soundtracks to the original spaghetti westerns (e.g. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly). This album is billed as starring Jack White and Norah Jones, who each sing a few tracks. I pretty much love everything Jones does, with the possible exception of her own records; she graces 2 of my top-6 selections this year. And White sounds oddly like Robert Plant. RIYL: Angelo Badalamenti, Eno, spaghetti western soundtracks.

7. Jayhawks, Mockingbird Time.
The Jayhawks were one of my favorite bands of the '90s, and their Rainy Day Music was a top-5 pick of mine among the best records of the aughts. One of the pioneering "alt.country" bands of the early '90s, the Jayhawks Mach I were very much about the exquisite harmonies and interplay of Gary Louris and Mark Olson, but Olson split in 1995; they made two decent but less interesting records, then the stellar Rainy Day Music in 2003. Louris and Olson had been circling each other for several years-- touring as a duo, recording a duo record-- before finally succumbing to gravity and reforming the band this year. I saw them perform Hollywood Town Hall (1992) at Webster Hall in January, which was exquisite. Mockingbird Time was a little disappointing to me, but that's because of the high expectations I brought to it; I was hoping for more country rock and less actual rock. But it passes a very important quality test-- when I play it around the house, my wife idly sings along with the songs. A welcome return to form and I hope a harbinger of things to come. RIYL: Gram Parsons, Neil Young & Crazy Horse, the Eagles, the Byrds.

8. Paul Simon, So Beautiful Or So What.

I've been sort of iffy on Paul Simon since reading Steve Berlin's account of how Simon stole "Myth of Fingerprints" from Los Lobos. (The story is across pages 3 and 4 of this interview if you're interested.) Unaccountably though, in his 70s, Simon is still really freaking good, and this is easily his best record since Rhythm of the Saints. This record is very much of a piece with that one, and with Graceland, full of Simon's world music textures and rhythms. And it's Paul Simon after all, so you know the words are great. According to my ears, one of the most appealing albums of the year. And Rolling Stone had it in the top 5, so there you go. If there's a criticism, it's that there are almost no fast songs; no "Diamonds on the Souls of Her Shoes" this time out. Check out "Dazzling Blue" here; that's a pretty one. RIYL: Graceland, Rhythm of the Saints.

9. Wilco, The Whole Love.

I've been buying their records for 16 years, and now Wilco is starting to grow on me. The consensus on The Whole Love is, they synthesize their two sides-- the avant garde sound collagists of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and the weepy alt.country rockers of Being There. To me Wilco is not instantly likable, which means you have to hear the music a few times before it seeps in, which is a good thing. They rumble and buzz, making songs of strange beauty and sounding like a rickety, highly charged machine that maybe someone left running too long. The album closer, "One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)," is so gently beguiling that I must have listened to it 10 times before I realized the damn thing is 12 minutes long. RIYL: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Being There, and also New Pornographers; I think they occupy a similar twisted-version-of-pop universe.

10. Josh Rouse, Josh Rouse and the Long Vacations.
I've enjoyed watching the evolution of Josh Rouse. His breakthrough record, 1972 (2003, and you should totally get it) established him as a certified soft power pop genius. Then he made a series of largely acoustic, breezy, insanely likable records, while meeting and marrying a Spanish girl and moving to the Valencia countryside. So as all this was going on, his music has gradually been reflecting the Spanish influence, sparse and gentle and unhurried. One of the absolute best things about this record is that it is short-- you listen to it, you like it, and when it's over you're sorry it went by so fast. Like the days before CDs, when a classic album was apt to be 10 songs and 34 minutes, not 19 songs and over an hour. I tend to find that one of the lessons of the digital age of music is that often less is more (although that applies to content, not bit rates.) RIYL: samba, walking barefoot on the beach in the late afternoon, colorful breezy acoustic music.

11. Dave Alvin, Eleven Eleven.
Alvin was the songwriter and lead guitarist for the Blasters, the Slash Records neo-rockabilly band that was one of my favorites during the Great '80s Roots Rock Revival. He put out his first (great) solo record, Romeo's Escape, in 1987 (I still have my vinyl copy. In storage.), and since then has pretty much unobtrusively put out great Americana rock'n'roll ever since. Like Alejandro Escovedo, it's uncanny how consistently high quality his output has been, and how little attention it seems to gather. Which is fine, because clearly this stuff is far out of vogue. But as Tom Petty said in 1999, "Rock'n'Roll will never go out of style-- the design is flawless." Yet another piece of classic engineering by Alvin, marrying Chuck Berry and country music in as natural a fashion as you could imagine. One of his better records. You can't go wrong. RIYL: The Blasters, Chuck Berry, the Bakersfield style.

12. The Silos, Florizona.

Walter Salas-Humara-- like Alejandro Escovedo, with whom he teamed up for the one-off (two-off if you count the super-rare live album) band the Setters-- is one of America's great underrated songwriters. He writes adult, manly rock'n'roll songs in plain English (and sometimes Spanish) that are immediately recognizable as the stories of our lives; by energizing them with pure rock'n'roll drive, he manages to make all us everyday Joes into heroes. This is the first Silos record since the death of bass player Drew Glackin, and they've expanded to a 5-piece, with Salas-Humara's and Jason Victor's guitars snarling at each other like two coyotes howling at the moon. Amy Allison's vocals on four tracks layer in a nice feminine counter-balance that harkens back to some of their best stuff (she's all over Cuba and some of the other early ones.) These songs make heartbreak into a dance, and leave you happy. RIYL: Alejandro Escovedo, Lucinda Williams when she rocks, Los Lobos, the BoDeans.

13. Gillian Welch, The Harrow and he Harvest.
This record sounds like it could have been made in the '70s. By which, of course, I mean the 1870s. As usual with Welch and her musical partner David Rawlings, it's a collection of Celtic-sounding newly-written but ageless folk songs, beautifully played and sung, generally just their two voices and two guitars. I want to use the term "murder ballads," even though that isn't exactly apt; but this is one grim collection of songs. "That's the Way" starts like this: "Becky Johnson bought a farm / Stuck a needle in her arm / That's the way that it goes / That's the way." And that's the feel good hit here. RIYL: Oh Brother! Where Art Though?; making your own soap.

14. The Black Keys, El Camino.

A late release (December), and while I've been trying, I don't seem as crazy about this as everyone else, which surprises me, because I really liked their last release (in 2010). And this one is produced by Danger Mouse, and I seem to love everything he touches. Although it is starting to grow on me. They've moved from the heavy Junior Kimbaugh influence to more of a rock influence, mining many of the tropes of '70s hard rock. I wanted to include it here since Black Keys have basically unseated Kings of Leon as Rock Band of the Moment. Big, noisy, primal, and smart. People have said they hear Led Zep in there, but then, I thought I heard Led Zep on the last one (if you don't believe me, just look up selection #4 here.) RIYL: Danger Mouse, hard Led Zep, Foghat, Raconteurs.

15. Chris Isaak, Beyond the Sun.

The Sun in this case being Sun Studios,where in the '50s Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison and Johnny Cash made rock'n'roll history. Isaak has always worn these influences on his sleeve, but here he just dives right in and takes a big ol' bubble bath in his influences. He's made the pilgrimage to Memphis and actually recorded a slew of those old classics in Sun Studios. Maybe the covers are a little too faithful, but I've always loved this stuff, and Isaak hits just the right note, and he certainly can't help the fact that he inhabits these songs like a second skin. Of course you want the deluxe version, which is 2 CDs instead of just the one. RIYL: The Original Sun Sessions; One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready now go cat, go!

16. Hot Tuna, Steady As She Goes.

Who would have thought that a couple of 70 year-old ex-acid rockers would, after 50 years playing together, come out with their best album? In their heyday Hot Tuna (guitarist Jorma Kaukonen and bassist Jack Casady, both ex-Jefferson Airplane), made crazy-loud, electric psychedelic blues. The first time I saw them (11/26/77, the midnight show at the Palladium, and I have a crisp soundboard recording thank you very much) it was the loudest thing I ever heard, and when the show ended it was light out. I've always far preferred them acoustic. Here, augmented by Skoota Warner on drums, they are joined by Barry Mitterhoff on mandolin, with jack-of-all-trades Larry Campbell (Dylan, Phil Lesh & Friends, Levon Helm) producing and playing tons of stuff, and Theresa Williams providing a welcome feminine presence helping out on vocals. There are a couple of electric tunes here, but nothing with that overt heaviness. Everything is tasteful and beautifully played; the songs less blues-based and more classic rock than usual. RIYL: Front porch jams, midnight rambles.

17. Iron and Wine, Kiss Each Other Clean.
On their first record, Sam Beam (who basically is Iron and Wine) created a trademark sound with hushed, almost whispered vocals; he's said that this was a result of recording at home at night after he and his wife put the baby to sleep. On Kiss Each Other Clean he's largely broken with the breathy minimalism. The music still sounds man-made and organic, but there is a rich diversity of sounds, more rock elements than I've heard from them before, and lots of really pretty backing vocals, almost Beach Boys-esque in places. It's nice, and it wears really well. RIYL: Beach Boys-influenced folk, breezy '70s radio pop.

18. Warren Haynes, Man in Motion.
I've been of two minds about this record since it came out. Supposedly Haynes was making a real soul, R'n'B record. But honestly, it just sounds like a solo Warren Haynes record to me; you'd confuse this with Gov't Mule way before you'd confuse it with, say, Solomon Burke. It has Haynes's trademark blistering guitar lines, although it is more nimble and swinging than the typical Mule record. Once I listened to it for what it was, though, and stopped expecting Solomon Burke, it started getting under my skin. When I saw the show at the Beacon in the spring I was disappointed; it seemed long. But it was the first of the tour, and I write that off to poor pacing (all new songs in the first set; then opening set two solo acoustic.) Haynes assembled a great band for the record-- including George Porter Jr. on bass, and Ivan Neville and the Faces' Ian McLagan on keys (I wish these guys were in the touring band as well). It cooks. My favorite song is "River's Gonna Rise," which he also performed with the Allman Brothers at the Beacon earlier in the year. RIYL: Gov't Mule, the blooz, Albert King.

19. Robbie Robertson, How to Become Clairvoyant.

Robertson's self-titled 1987 solo debut, with Daniel Lanois producing, remains a classic and one of the touchstone records of that era (late '80s.) For me this is the first thing he's done since that strikes at that same visceral level. I pretty much glossed over it when it came out, but as I've been racking my brain trying to flesh out the remainder of this list, I keep coming back to this, and it sounds better each listen. He's helped by some pretty high-level guest stars-- notably Clapton, Winwood, and Trent Reznor-- although when Clapton takes over a song, you realize how vibrant and dynamic the Robertson ones are in comparison. He's got a great, reedy raspy voice that sounds like it has the wisdom of a thousand smoky bars, because it does; and he's got great musical taste. Heck, even Rolling Stone put this in the top-10. RIYL: Voodoo, Robbie Robertson, smoky bars.

20. Buddy Miller and the Majestic Silver Strings, self-titled.

If you've got even a passing interest in the things that can be done with, to paraphrase my friend John, stringed instruments in the right hands, this is a record for you. The Silver Strings are Buddy Miller (who has made Emmylou Harris records sound good for years); Greg Leisz (his resume is insane, and includes k.d. lang, Matthew Sweet, and three records on this very list); jazz stud Bill Frisell; and Tom Waits/T-Bone Burnett crony Marc Ribot. That's some serious pickin'. Together they roll in the collaborators (Patty Griffin, Shawn Colvin, Emmylou) and lay down a lovely tasteful country record that will put you in mind of your favorite summertime barbecue by the third song. To be fair, it does get a little droopy after a while. RIYL: Summer barbecues, fancy pickin'.

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These were my daughter's favorite songs of the year: "Born This Way" by Lady Gaga; "Who Says," Selena Gomez; "You Make Me Feel," Cobra Starship; "Pumped Up Kicks," Foster the People; and of course, "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele.

Constrained Randomness

2011-11-14T11:59:00.002-05:00

Listening to my iPod on Amtrak from NYC to DC, I put my “mondo pop” playlist on shuffle. Here are the first 10 songs that popped.

“Talk About the Passion,” R.E.M, Murmur: Did R.E.M. ever do a better record than Murmur? I don’t think so. It sounds great; chiming guitars, lots of room for the vocal. The sonic geometry of this record is just perfect, and I think is what launched college rock. I got it when it came out, and was an R.E.M. fan the rest of the ‘80s. Till I started to realize I couldn’t tell their records apart. But that didn’t happen fo about 6 records.

“Marcella,” Beach Boys, Carl & the Passions: The popular tune of this early’’70s record, and the most R’n’B, although “All This is That” is the magical one. This is the sound that kept the Beach Boys on the radio most of the rest of the decade (see also, “It’s OK," “Palisades Park.”) I like the vocal acrobatics at the end.

“Southern Girls,” Cheap Trick, In Color: Cheap Trick are totally stoopid, and I mean that in the best way possible. They live on that seam where rock’n’roll meets power pop, as if Led Zep were the Raspberries. Which is what makes them great.

“Come,” Lindsey Buckingham, Gift of Screws boot. He’d recorded a solo record called Gift of Screws circa 1995, which never came out, and that's what this is. Most of the songs off it ended up on the Fleetwood Mac release Say You Will in 2003, including this one. The Mac version of this song is far nastier and biting; this one is more icy and ethereal. It’s about Anne Heche, who he dated in the early ‘90s (grab her book in a Barnes & Noble and read that part over a scone), but Stevie didn’t want to sing it in concert because she was afraid people would think it was about her. Eventually he put out a different solo record called Gift of Screws. This one is better though.

“Somebody Who Cares,” Pail McCartney, Tug of War: Jus a lovely piece of melancholy cotton candy. Tug is one of the four or five very best post-Beatle records he’s done.

“Farmer’s Daughter,” Beach Boys, Surfin’ Safari/Surfin’ USA: Great song. Fleetwood Mac did a killer cover circa Tusk, all whispery. And I once saw the Continental Drifters encore with it.

“Riding the Wave,” 7 Worlds Collide, Sun Came Out: The 2-CD set is a Neil Finn (Crowded House) project, with a great cast of characters (Johnny Marr; members of Wilco and Radiohead). Tim Finn sings this one.

“Italian Dry Ice,” Josh Rouse, City Mouse Country Mouse: Soft, moody and pretty, with horns; nice double-tracked vocals panned wide.

“Feel” (alternate version), Big Star, Keep an Eye On the Sky: The Big Star Anthology: Another ‘70s band in that rock/pop zone that exudes gloriousness. Alex Chilton, bla bla bla, pop genius, etc. Although I do prefer the original version to this alternate.

“Scarecrow People,” XTC, Acoustic in the Studio boot: By the mid-‘80s a studio band only, XTC went on a tour of US radio stations to support Oranges and Lemons. Here they are in a studio in Los Angeles, bashing it out as (I think) an acoustic duo.

More on Why I Don't Want the Cloud

2011-10-13T14:59:00.004-04:00

In our-- by which I mean my-- previous post, I mentioned that the Cloud was doing me no favors as regards enjoyment of my iTunes library. I bought into Apple's promise of "20,000 songs in your pocket," and I've been digitizing stuff for 8 years to realize that dream.

I have about 17,000 songs in iTunes now (and that's misleading; many of them are an hour or more, because I ripped a bunch of live CD-long concert performances as a single song.)

I've bought fewer than 500 of these songs from Apple.

Apple provides 5 gigs of iCloud storage. You can buy more.

I've got about 16,500 songs-- about 120 gigs-- that isn't purchased from iTunes, and for which I'd thus need to purchase space to accommodate. Apple sells incremental storage space-- really, rents it-- at the rate of $2 a gig. To access my entire iTunes library through iCloud, then, would cost me $240. A year.

Really Apple? Really?

Thanks, no thanks.

Dear Apple: Don't Kill the Classic

2011-10-05T09:17:00.005-04:00

Dear Apple,

I'm really not one to write letters (much less blog posts) to companies. But this is something about which I'm pretty passionate, and it concerns a covenant I thought we had.

I understand that you're all hot and bothered about "the Cloud;" everybody seems to be. It's like this magical fairyland in the sky that will solve all our problems.

I've been a loyal iPod fan since 2003. I'm on, I'm guessing, my sixth one; because I'm sort of a power user, I tend to wear them out. But that's fine; I get more than my money's worth out of every one, unless I break it, and that's my fault, not yours. I got the 40-gig iPod right out of the box, then the 60, then the 80, and when the 160 gig classic iPod came out, well, I was so happy I did a Snoopy dance. You see, you convinced me all those years ago to digitize my music library, so I could have thousands of albums in my pocket at any time. So I've been working on that ever since. Actually, only a fraction of my collection can fit on the 160 gig model, because I'm an avid music fan and very heavy purchaser of prerecorded music-- but certainly my "working" collection is digitized and synced. (Full disclosure: I'm probably not a heavy purchaser of digital music; I still buy the hard copy on CD, then rip to iTunes.)

The thing is, they keep putting out more and more music I like, and I keep adding back catalog stuff to the iPod. Now, my 160 gig classic is almost all full up. But that wasn't supposed to be a problem. See, I know all about Moore's law, the gist of which is that digital storage gets smaller and cheaper faster than one's need for more space (I still can't imagine how I'm going to come close to filling that 2 terabyte hard drive on my iMac.) So naturally I just assumed that before I filled up the Classic, you'd be out with a 220 gig model, or a 320 gig model. Because the fundamental selling proposition of the iPod was, from day one, a ton of music in your pocket. I bought into that dream, and I still do.

But I grow worried. You didn't make any announcement yesterday about the Classic. You haven't come out with a new iPod Classic in over two years, which is unusual. And I'm told that, well, with the Touch and the Nano, you don't really sell a whole lot of Classics anymore-- except to "edge cases" (as a co-worker described me) like myself. Apparently you've stopped selling "click wheel games" in the iTunes store, and, that, along with your commitment to the cloud, has led to widespread speculation that the Classic is on the way out.

Now, I understand that the idea for people like me is, I can upload all my music to the cloud and have unlimited access to it without being stuck lugging around a device. Maybe that's appealing to the majority of your consumers. Let me tell you why it doesn't appeal to me.

First off, I worry that "off-shoring" my music collection to the cloud introduces an opportunity for tolling and taxation and policing. One of the things us heavy music consumers do is, we collect a lot of unauthorized and gray market recordings-- you know, bootlegs. I have a bad feeling that the relationship you have with artists and record companies in your role as a music retailer will lead to policing my ability to enjoy, say, the great 1988 Prince bootleg Small Club. (and by the way, I own pretty much everything Prince has put out, and that's saying something.) Guys, not cool. And then I wonder about fidelity. MP3s and AAC are already a fidelity loss, and my ears can tell the difference. That's fine for portability. But streaming through a wireless connection-- that's got to introduce additional fidelity loss, not to mention delays when the signal is buffered. And lookit, I don't want to now have to rely on the quality and availability of wifi to listen to my music. What about when I'm on that secluded beach? Or on a cross-Atlantic flight? Or, you know, just going through a tunnel in the car?

The cloud isn't going to help me to enjoy music. It's going to hurt my ability to do so. Look, on a very basic level-- right now all I need is an iPod Classic, my headphones (or a speaker dock), and-- well, that's it. With the cloud, I'll need an iPod of some sort, the headphones, and a reliable wireless connection. That isn't an improvement. It introduces a significant gating item to my enjoyment of my own music collection.

So here's the thing. We edge cases are not just the heavy purchasers of music. Within our circles (I picked that term up from Google+), our social networks, our communities, we are also the decision influencers about music, and about all things music. Yes, people do ask my-- our-- opinion on questions like what portable MP3 player to buy, and whether to use iTunes or Amazon to download digital music. As a professional marketer, I want to urge you guys in the most strenuous way I can not to lose your grip on the edge cases, the decision influencers in the music space. To us, the value proposition of as much music as possible in your pocket-- not on the cloud, literally in your pocket-- is extremely resonant and powerful, and it keeps us loyal to Apple.

But if you stop meeting this need and someone else fills it, we're gone. And- this is not a threat, it's marketing advice-- we'll take a ton of customers with us.

So please, keep making the Classic, or alternatively, keep pursuing the consumer benefit of vast local storage in the iPod product line in some other device (if you stop making the Classic but come out with say a 220 gig Touch, I pomise to buy one the day it comes out. And tweet about it.) It might only appeal to a small fraction of your target customer base. But it is my contention that we are an extremely important and influential part of that customer base, and it is good business to retain our loyalty.

Thanks for your consideration.

Best,

--josh--

PS: Know what would be cool? Cross-fade on the iPod. (I don't mean to be greedy, but heck, if I've got your attention...)

So Long, Big Man.

2011-08-14T13:01:00.009-04:00

Two months on, I still can't shake the dull sorrow stemming from the death of Clarence Clemons. So it's odd when I think that right when it was all happening, back in the day, as it were, I really wasn't much of a Springsteen fan at all. Now when I say "back in the day," I'm talking-- let's be very specific here-- say June through December 1978, during which time Springsteen and the E Street Band were embarking on what I think most Springsteenologists would now agree was his definitive tour-- for Darkness on the Edge of Town, still playing the great theaters, and leaving behind documentation by virtue of having broadcast 6 of these shows on the radio.

I caught this tour on a Friday, September 15 at the Palladium on 14th Street-- that would be 4 nights before the show on the 19th, broadcast from the Capital Theater over in Passaic, which my friend Bill will tell you was THE best Springsteen show ever. Much of the appeal of the show I saw was lost on me at the time; that year I saw bands like Yes, ELP, Todd Rundgren, and more than once the Grateful Dead. Springsteen was an act in black and white, while I was looking for music that was bursting with color.

Since then, of course, I've learned to love the appeal of black and white...

We sat in the fourth row at the Palladium. I still remember the show quite vividly. Muhammad Ali was fighting that night, so Springsteen opened with "Darkness on the Edge of Town," dedicated to Ali, before tearing into "Badlands." I remember him crowd surfing, before that particular behavior had a name, during "Spirits in the Night." I remember they played "Because the Night," which was cool because the Patti Smith version had been on the radio. And I remember that some guy kept calling for "Kitty's Back" all through the first set, and finally Springsteen said, "We haven't done that one in a while, but I'll tell you what, we'll work it out during intermission, and we'll play it in the second set." And then they opened the second set with it and just about tore the house down (and it stuck in the rotation after that.)

But more than anything else... I remember Clarence. We sat in the fourth row, right center, which put us literally in the shadow of the Big Man. And you couldn't not look up at him; he was massive, imposing, deep dark black, sporting a red suit and hat, and blowing into that shiny golden horn like some sacred demon. Even today, I'm both thrilled and a little bit scared at the memory of that visage.

As time passed though, and I got older, I began to more fully appreciate the Springsteen appeal. And you have to pay some attention, and go to the shows, because at it's core, the appeal goes beyond the songs and their playing, and certainly it goes beyond the records; no, the appeal turns out to be metatextual.

The way Springsteen has presented himself and his art, there's a heavy narrative element to the presentation. Bruce Springsteen-- or rather, the character he plays in an E Street Band concert-- is a man on a quest, and he undertakes that quest with the assistance of this sturdy, stout-hearted band of brothers (and, after a time, sisters.) Every presentation of a Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band concert is a fresh undertaking of that quest, with us along for the ride. (He's even called "Thunder Road," the first track off his greatest if not his best album, an invocation, an invitation to the audience to come along for the ride.) These quests might begin in "Badlands," and deliver us, four hours later, unto a "Paradise by the C." (Where we're likely as not to dance till "Quarter to Three" with a "Devil With the Blue Dress.")

You can imagine the classic E Street Band as the cast of a 1944 World War II movie. But no one looms larger in that band than the Big Man, Clarence Clemons. I think now that the core elements of the Springsteen Jersey Shore sound that are most central to that sound's definition are bells, organ, the Bruce/Steve tight harmonies-- and finally that sax, that wailing sax, that storms in and defines whatever song it graces-- "Sherry Darling," "Rosalita," "Born to Run," and perhaps most profoundly, "Jungleland."

"Jungleland" is a song so overwrought with narrative and drama as to justify a criticism of cheesiness, unless you've signed on for the whole ride. When that sax solo kicks in at what is the 3:55 mark on the album version, it is as if Springsteen the narrator has given out. We know this scene from the World War II movies-- "It's getting dark boys, I can't go on, you all go on without me." But then Clarence says no without words, puts his head down, picks the Springsteen character up, tosses him over his shoulder-- in doing so tosses US over his shoulder-- and hauls us there...to wherever "there" is...

At 6:27, the plaintive piano signals a return, and soon the Springsteen character emerges into the aftermath, dusts himself off, surveys the landscape as the smoke clears, "Beneath... the city... two hearts beat..." We've gone through a transformation, a metamorphosis, a transcendence, a passage. We've arrived on the other side, and it is Clarence who has taken us there.

To me our whole experience with Springsteen, and with Clarence, is embodied in that song; it was repeated on a grander, more "real life" scale, and with a happier ending, in every E Street band concert.

We all want to keep making that journey, that quest. We all want to go with Springsteen as he brings us from out of these hard times, to that place where we're gonna walk in the sun... that meeting across the river... that Promised Land. And I'm sure Springsteen will find some way to keep making the voyage, because by God it's what he does. But I don't know how he's going to get us all there without the Big Man by his side. Those were awful damn broad shoulders, and you just don't replace them.

So I guess, in the end, we're all going to have to shoulder a little more of our own burden as we make our way across that dark abyss, toward whatever Promised Land awaits. I suppose that's inevitable. But it's still sad.

Hypocrites and Lunatics

2011-08-12T11:40:00.002-04:00

Every politician is a hypocrite or a lunatic.

Here's what I mean.

If we require that a politician's positions and behavior remain consistent over time-- that if you are for something today but actually you voted against it 8 years ago you are a hypocrite-- well, pretty much all politicians will fail that test. Circumstances change, viewpoints evolve. Whether you're talking about Obama having voted against raising the debt ceiling as senator, or about Romney's beta version of Obamacare in Massachusetts, if a politician is in public life long enough, he or she will almost certainly self-contradict over time.

Unless, of course, that politician is so zealous and fanatical in their ideals as to be inflexible. In which case, bingo, lunatic.

Given the choice between hypocrites and lunatics, I generally vote for the hypocrites.

The Big House Concert: March 22, 2005

2011-03-30T09:59:00.003-04:00

On March 22, 2005, The Allman Brothers Band and their various offshoots staged a benefit concert at the Beacon Theater for The Big House Foundation. The Big House is the house in Macon, Georgia in which the band lived during their early heyday; Tour Mystic Kirk West and his lovely bride Kirsten had bought the house, lived there, and now were making it into an Allman Brothers Band museum. It was a great, great night. Afterward I wrote this review as sort of a gift for Kirk, and he was kind enough to put it up on the Big House website for a while. Jaimoe emailed me to tell me how much he liked it. I've decided to post it to my blog so that I can know it's safe out here on the Interewebs. Reading it over just now brings back visceral memories of just how great this show was. I could go on and on, but apparently, I already have...

“You see,” says Jaimoe, “an American would change something in classical music.” He is holding court in his dressing room at the Beacon, over a sandwich from Starbucks, the afternoon before the Big House show. His shoulder is a little stiff, and he stretches his arm out a couple of times as we speak. He is, like everyone in the Allman Brothers Band, a true gentleman. The band has just completed a lengthy rehearsal with Chuck Leavell, who is to sit in tonight—the 21^st—and tomorrow night, at the Big House benefit.

To Jaimoe, the core essence of American music is improvisation. “The word ‘jazz’ leads to pinpointing,” he says. “’This is jazz, this is rock, this is blues,’ and so on.” Indeed, this is why Jaimoe calls his band “Jaimoe’s Jassss Band”-- specifically to avoid “that word”-- although to be certain, the listener would immediately recognize the music they make as jazz. “ALL the music that came out of this country is jazz,” says Jaimoe. “But it didn’t come in that way. What I DON’T call jazz is note-for-note; music that is not improvised on.” Jaimoe sees something uniquely American in the spirit of improvisation—it is a lineage that may be traced from Louis Armstrong and the jazz pioneers at the turn of the century, straight down to the music that the Allman Brothers Band and its offshoots make today, a hundred years later. Europeans had classical music in its various forms—orchestras, chamber music—but American music is firmly rooted in the improvisational; there is something indelibly American about changing it up. “We play something from just about everything I have ever been involved with,” says Jaimoe about the Allman Brothers Band’s music. It is a true blend of all things American.

But improvisation is more than just changing things up; it is also about listening and responding. “When you’re in the zone,” he continues, speaking of the special group mind that powers the purest form of improvisation, “you have total control—as long as you don’t get greedy. You have to hear all the little intricacies of what everyone is saying, and you react to it. That’s how you stay in the zone.”

It is always dicey business to characterize, to classify a band’s art. Do the Allman Brothers make southern rock? Blues? Are they a “jam band?” Indeed, Jaimoe has provided some valuable insight. The Allman Brothers are a distinctly American band, taking components of all major forms of indigenous American music, leavening them with a dash of world flavor, and attacking the resulting gumbo each night with a wholly improvisational spirit. As they will demonstrate emphatically over the next two nights, the Allman Brothers Band may just be the foremost American Jassss Band today.

*****

Monday night, March 21^st. The Allmans are pumped from the very first notes of the first song. Maybe it is because Chuck Leavell is to sit in; maybe it is some collective determination to pull out a show for the ages. Maybe it is the serenely crafted set list. But Monday March 21, 2005 will go down among the band’s fans as one of the best shows this ensemble has ever played—in any incarnation. It is the last night of the annual Beacon run before the Big House benefit, and the question hangs in the air: what can they do for an encore?

As it turns out, there is only one thing they can do—they can throw a party for the ages, one that celebrates this music we have all convened around, revels in its component parts, and then brings those parts together for one more glorious blow-out.

*****

There is a festive air at the Beacon as we make our way to our seats for the beginning of what will be a seven-hour show, with very little down time. The occasion: the benefit concert for the Big House Museum. The Big House is the house where the Allman Brothers lived, loved, worked, played in the early days, where many of the band’s classic songs were written. Kirk and Kirsten West have been living in the Big House for some years, and are championing the very noble cause of turning it into an Allman Brothers Band museum. In a very real way, this would make it a museum about American music over the past 36 years.

All over the venerable old theater, friends welcome each other, smile, exchange greetings, wave across rows of seats. This is the only place to be tonight, and those of us here feel a special kinship with one another.

It is fitting that Jaimoe’s Jassss Band begins the proceedings. Jay Collins is on sax; Richard Bolger on trumpet, Jonathan Davis on piano, and Joe Fonda on acoustic bass. It is Davis’s second gig with Jaimoe; Fonda has been with him for 10 years. Jaimoe is dapper in sport jacket. The band starts early, as many fans are still finding their seats, with a loose, easy bebop number. It is a mellow start to the evening, Davis peeling off sweet, cascading piano lines. (After their set I ask Slim, the sound man, for a set list; he laughs at me.) Jaimoe’s deft touch on the drums is totally simpatico with Fonda on acoustic bass; his restraint is infectious. Collins and Bolger accent the music by playing less, not more, until Bolger departs on a lengthy fluid bebop lead run; the band falls neatly into the pocket behind him. This is truly a band that listens to each other, listens intently. Bolger hands off to Collins, whose smooth snaky sax lines echo brassy joy throughout the room; it is a shame that seats are still empty, because this music is sublime.

After a brief pause to introduce the band, Jaimoe leads them into the Miles Davis standard, “All Blues.” Not surprisingly the tune features sweet trumpet lines; meanwhile Jaimoe is right in the pocket, swinging like a pendulum don’t. His deft, light touch rides under the horn bursts of brassy cool; Davis adds some tasty keyboards underneath, anchoring the familiar melody. Now trumpet and sax licks over the keys; Jaimoe beams as he watches it all unfold. Jaimoe takes a sweet, restrained solo; you appreciate the sound and texture of wooden sticks on drums. The horns restate the theme, and we’re out. Then immediately, the combo launches into an upbeat bluesy swing number. There is heavy brass vibe, and a groovy rhythmic shuffle. Collins takes a nice extended watery solo; then a sassy trumpet solo, moving easily into a bass interlude over keys, which are insistent throughout; then Jaimoe puts it all gently to bed.

*****

Oteil and the Peacemakers take the stage, and Oteil is a man possessed; the band is into the first song before the introduction is done, and several times he checks his watch, as if he wants to be sure to wring every second of music that he can out of his set. He is fronting a five-piece; he is joined by Paul Henson on vocals, Mark Kimbell on guitar, plus keyboard and drums. The first number features some funked-up, rubbery wah-wah guitar; Oteil’s bass notes are big, thick, part rhythm, part melody. Some nice organ runs are layered over the top; Henson has the white boy soul thang going on. On “Get Ready,” Oteil plays some wah-wah of his own, rocking on the intro and making the bass sting like a lead guitar, peeling off line after line of wobbly rubber funk. Oteil scats a jazzy duet with his own bass, before Henson leans into the vocals, punctuated by Oteil’s syncopated bass runs. Henson hits the verse again, then takes off on a brief scat excursion, locked in with Oteil’s bass, driving the song to a close; I realize that in this band, voices are merely instruments, another means for expressing the sheer joy of music and sound.

Oteil kicks off the third song of the set, an ode to “Sweet Jesus,” with the scat vibe on bass, underneath Henson’s vocals, mirroring his lines. Soon Oteil is handling the vocals, and Henson is off stage. Kimbrell layers on some biting, nasty bluesy lead guitar; Oteil offers some jazzy testimony of his own. The song is a battle—Kimbrell’s blues, Oteil’s jazz-- and the two meet at Funk Street. Kimbrell stands center stage, playing his heart out; he elicits cheers, and the high praise that is implied by whispers of, “Who is that guy?”

Henson is back for “Check Yourself,” which gives way to an upbeat, sprawling funk jam out of the verse, anchored by fluid organ and Oteil’s sprightly bass. Bursts of searing guitar occasionally part the clouds. Then Oteil immediately creeps into the jazzy space of “Thank You,” beginning with a playful bass riff that moves to some underwater jazz exploration. Henson’s vocals are smooth; the music veers over to gospel as he sings the refrain, “Thank You Jesus.” Don’t underestimate the extent to which Oteil injects gospel, and faith, into the Allman Brothers sound. There is some nice blues playing over a jazzy bed; Oteil’s bass stomp is low, low down. The music grows sparse for some Kimbrell dancing that leads back into the joyous vocals, then a hard crescendo to close.

The band finished with “Pull Together;” you can get a feel for the spirit of Oteil’s music from the names of his songs. It is a hard driving number, with a strong vocal performance. Oteil and Kimbrell cross swords on the bouncy rhythm riff; it is pure funky fun. Kimbrell sprays some fiery, Hendrix-inflected lead lines on the break; “pull together” becomes a mantra and an invocation as the band leans hard on the close. Well done.

*****

It is about nine O’clock now, and you take a moment to consider where you are at. You’ve just seen a killer jassss combo, and a smokin’ jazz/funk/soul/gospel/blues band—both great, both totally live and in the moment, creating music before your ears and eyes. And still to come, in rapid succession: the Derek Trucks Band, Gov’t Mule, and the Allman Brothers Band. It is a little bit humbling.

The lights dim once more, and Derek and band take the stage. His set displays his serene musicianship, the vitality and interplay of the band, and his keen sense of history. On his stellar, introductory evocation, Derek plays slow, hanging, curvy notes off a sparse jazzy bed; his lines seem to melt toward heaven, sonically alluding to “Amazing Grace.” He teases at the melody, then shies away from it; finally the band falls in behind his snaky lead lines, and it is the sublime instrumental, “Sahib Teri Bandi.” Derek freewheels, then moves back to the theme. Kofi makes his entrance on flute, trilling, cooing a happy dance as he moves around the same exploratory space as Derek had, then falls in with Derek on the riff. Derek bends, twists a note into feedback, then uses this as a point of departure as he enters into a slide solo. The music falls away beneath him; here and there he lingers on a note as he paints with deliberate strokes. He slowly crafts his solo, tumbling out of time, until he is suddenly at fever pitch and all around the song’s main theme; the band locks on and we’re out. It is a true Derek anthem, a dancing, musical riff, and a statement of purpose.

Next, Mike Mattison joins the band on vocals for “Soul Serenade,” a nod by Derek to the cognoscenti, and to the weight of the history behind the night’s proceedings. Duane Allman famously incorporated improvisations on this tune into “You Don’t Love Me” after King Curtis died, and the connection between the two guitarists, generations apart in the same band, is palpable. The band swings into the verse with a gospel flavor; the familiar licks riding under Mike’s falsetto vocal delivery. Typically, Derek leans on the lick, skits away from it, comes back, moves away; the performance is a pure tease. It is a tight, compact version; the band makes a soft landing around a Derek stop note, kicks into a hard restatement of the theme, and a crashing close.

The band follows with an aggressive read on “Leaving Trunk,” with a smoldering attack on top of the 12-bar blues structure. Derek peels off an intro lick, and the band falls in hard; Mike’s vocals are now gritty and tough. Derek fires sharp riff arrows in between Mike’s vocal lines; Kofi vamps a soulful organ solo on the first break, Derek takes a clipped slide solo on the second, eschewing the slow build for full-on assault, fast, but still fluid.

Cool organ and guitar herald the opening to “To Know You is to Love You;” Mike’s vocals are now deep, soulful, expressive. Derek bites back at him, providing trebly accents. Derek burns cool on his extended, in-the-pocket, Latin-tinged solo. The rest of the band lays back, Derek brings it down, and Mike scats along with Derek’s guitar; then Kofi takes flight on flute, soloing like a blue jay over the top.

Yonrico introduces the band, then lays down an elegant groove; Kofi joins in on organ, Derek plays some swooping slide. The band shimmies and percolates, Derek doing some classic minor key blues soloing, before turning over into the verse to “For My Brother.” The feel is very much reminiscent of Santana. Kofi takes off on flute out of the verse and chorus, driving the band forward. Derek enters, playing stinging gutbucket blues. The instrumental break sucks you into the vortex of the groove, as Derek trades exquisite lines with Kofi; Derek is playing the low down, Kofi is playing the ethereal. Derek is a revelation when he improvises in a minor key blues. Soon he takes off and wails, and for a moment he almost moves his eyebrow. The glass slide is a blur as he flies across the fret board; the song’s melody is implied by the rhythm players underneath. Derek pulls out the climactic, high, fast furious strumming, then Mike sings the refrain (“For my brother”), and the band crashes to a stop.

To the delight of many, Derek launches into the familiar “My Favorite Things”—not a tease; on this of all nights, but the full on song. It is the second distinct nod to history in his set list. Derek moves through the melody, then vamps like a horn player on pure bebop improvisation, upping the ante, then moving back into an urgent run at the melody. Then more sweet bebop, Derek’s tone piercing like a lantern as he swoops and sways, then cools down into some jazzy space. Back to the melody, more subdued, and some graceful riffing. Every time Derek runs at the melody (the part that you’d sing “these are a few of my favorite things” over), it is pure blissful payoff. Kofi hits an organ lead, then tosses out some cheerful piano musings; then he breaks down and away from melody. Derek joins in, surrounding him with accents; then he loops back through the theme to some hard bop improv. Todd Smalle’s bass and Derek’s guitar are ringing, rumbling, pulsating together; each foray out of the melody is different, delightful. Finally Derek turns over into the “when the dog bites” part, playing that melody, then embarking on a shrill, searing attack; it is killer, and Derek drives the music to its inevitable conclusion. It is a highlight on a night of highlights.

Derek swirls and cascades a descending solo lead part, then strains and pulls against a Kofi-led gospel intro to “Joyful Noise,” probably a fitting motto for this band. Derek snarls out the riff as he solos around it; then he moves to double time and the band joins in. Derek slows it up as he falls into the riff, then takes off on some fat, elastic hanging notes. For the joyous climax, Derek careens over the band, hitting the riff like a sledge hammer into the extended close. It all hurts so good.

*****

Derek Trucks and Warren Haynes are comrades in arms, but it is hard to avoid the conclusion that they are two ends of the same stick, Derek’s Yin to Warren’s Yang. Where Derek is graceful and ethereal, Warren is low down and gutbucket—even though both players live in both worlds. Derek shows little emotion as his hands race across his instrument; Warren grimaces, puts solos over with body English, plays with every fiber of his being. The Allman Brothers will always be a guitar band, and it is instructive to hear the two guitarists fronting their respective bands back to back…

…As always, Gov’t Mule is a foreboding presence. Warren begins by playing some nasty, dirty, lines on his Les Paul, heavy resonant dripping blues notes. The band joins him; Matt Abts hits a powerful roll, and the riffing turns over into the signature “Mule.” It is hard, biting, grungy heavy metal thunder of the old school variety; the kind of sludge where the lineage from blues to heavy metal is indisputable. The song’s catchy hook is insistent and urgent; Danny Louis adds color on his hard-hitting organ solo, giving way to some tight Warren wah-wah soloing, then back into the breakdown. Warren shoots ray guns off over the top, leading into a slide riff.

“Thorazine Shuffle” may be the quintessential Mule song. Warren drops shimmering chords across Andy Hess’s deep bottom; “Tonight were gonna call this the Macon, Georgia Big House Shuffle,” he announces, before singing the verse; he’s all over the minimalist heavy riff of the bass line. Warren plays a crunchy boogie over the Thorazine beat on the break; Lewis plays a full-bodied keyboard solo that breaks down and away from the song’s structure, over a layer of Warren’s insistent chords. Then the music gets sparse, and Matt takes the lead, playing a woody, brassy sounding drum solo over a hanging Warren note; Matt gets more frenetic, beating his kit, going wild as the song builds to a climax, as Warren accompanies him on some scratching guitar sounds; all the while Hess keeps the thundering bass riff going. Louis layers on some body, Warren tears into the melody, and the band steamrolls to the finish line.

Warren changes up the mood with “Time to Confess,” bringing the slow, dark reggae mojo. The song is highlighted by his extended solo, which brings the heavy voodoo vibe; it is remarkable, and probably owing to the fine work of the sound crew, that he can get such a clear tone out of such a muddy solo. It is deliberately crafted, he takes his time as he explores melodies and riffs and tones and moods, reveling in the reggae feel of the song, finally coming around to the close.

Warren moves to the Jazz Master for “About to Rage.” There is grunge and grit in his tone on this slow-burn number that builds to a climax on the back of his searing extended guitar lead. About five minutes in the opening vocals are done, and Warren embarks on a solo. He stings, snarls, bites as he climbs, the band locked in behind him. He leads the music to a lull, sings the climactic line, “Hesitation… is a hole in the head,” and then turns his attention back to his ax, squeezing out loping blues notes and charged heavy salvos underneath. The solo continues, building, Louis anchoring underneath, Warren brushing up against full on release, then pulling himself back in, sticking to the downbeat minor key vibe of the song, until he steers it to a close.

I’m a Ram” is another reggae-inflected tune, the heavy intro giving way to a sprightly verse, then a heavy chorus. Warren’s lead work is sublime, moving effortlessly from long hot blues to the cool reggae beat. Warren peels off the lick from the Beatles’ “She’s a Woman,” then vamps on that a while, eventually making his way back to the “I’m a Ram” melody, all the while playing in the sort of talking guitar style Jeff Beck used on his instrumental take of that same Beatles song. Louis echoes him as he tapers off, and the two do a reggae shuffle back into the verse (“Drive on… till I get there.”) Warren’s tone is crisp and clear as he slices through the reggae beat; then he throws the switch and it is heavy and muddy for the hard finish.

After “I’m a Ram,” Warren tells the story of how when Mule was forming, he and the band moved into the Big House, with him sleeping in Duane’s room, Woody in Berry’s, and the band rehearsing in the same space as the Allman Brothers had. It is one of the night’s more poignant moments, once again indicative of the sense of history these musicians have.

An ominous pulsating rhythm from Hess underscores Warren’s electric chords, and Warren sings “Aint No Sunshine” over the band’s changes and that heavy pulse. Warren accompanies his own vocals with guitar lines; then, on a dime, the band slams from what is almost a solo spot into the full on attack of “Blind Man in the Dark.” Danny Louis leads a long, aching, mystical groove jam, Warren dropping shimmering chords throughout. The music grows hushed, Matt’s stick work comes to the fore; this is a big loud band that knows how to play quietly. Warren makes a gradual entrance, playing long bent spiraling lines. Soon Warren’s lines go from questioning to assertive, and he gets that intense game face as he rocks with his own forceful playing. Suddenly his guitar is a flame thrower, and he is hitting one long crescendo that morphs back into the chords of “Blind Man,” and he is singing the back end of the vocals. It is a stunning tour de force.

Chuck Leavell joins for the inevitable closing “Soulshine.” Chuck and Danny lead a gospel rag on the intro, and as the crowd begins to clap along the Mule have brought you to church. Finally Warren sinks his teeth into the familiar lead melody. Chuck is prominent under Warren’s singing; he takes off on the first solo break. Warren stings out a piercing note to burst through and take his solo, tone clear as a bell, tight, compact, hitting the note. He goes back into the vocals, then begins the play-out, with Chuck and Danny offering up happy, joyous keyboard work, less gospel than before. Warren steps up again, painting lines of joy across the sky. It is a song we’ve heard a hundred times before, maybe even a predictable choice, but that does not prevent the Mule from totally nailing it, a redemptive capper to their all-too-brief set.

*****

So how do the pieces fit together? None of the bands we’ve heard tonight really sounds much like the Allman Brothers at all, yet there are elements of each deeply embedded into their sound. What is most profound about tonight’s experience is how clear it becomes that the music of the Allman Brothers Band remains true to the feel, the spirit of the original line-up now 36 years on—yet at the same time, it is colored by the perspective each of the new players bring to the table. You hear Warren’s sheer force, Derek’s jazzy grace, Oteil’s spirit, gospel and funk, at the same time that you hear the imprints of Duane and Berry, just as clearly as if they were still with us. You hear Jaimoe’s rock steady hand, Butch’s drive, Marc’s Latino colorations over the top. And of course, Gregg’s deep connection to the blues, dripping from his vocals and keyboard work (indeed his organ playing may well be the band’s unsung secret weapon.)

It is a balancing act that may well make this incarnation of the band the best ever—heresy, maybe, but true.

It is midnight when the Allman Brothers Band takes the stage. The excitement is a palpable thing that hangs in the air like a fog. It is the culmination of a long night’s journey, but in a very real way, right here and right now it is the culmination of a 36-year journey. The anticipation in the room is at fever pitch when the lights go down and the band takes the stage. The band immediately pulls everyone who is still sitting out of their seats with a brisk attack on “Revival,” which always serves as a special opener: “People can you feel it, love is everywhere?” The song strikes the perfect note, Warren and Derek’s guitars in perfect harmony, racing through the riffs to the vocal section on the back end. The band has come together after a long night and picked up right where they left off the night before, and that is a special place indeed.

Then, without a moment’s pause, the band is into “Don’t Want You No More,” a text book opening. Along with “Revival” and the follow-up “Not My Cross to Bear,” this is the perfect way for the Allman Brothers Band to grab you by the collar and pull you into the set. The familiar riffs of this instrumental have become so burned into the brain as a show opener that it makes “Revival” seem like a prelude, albeit a highly appropriate one. Gregg’s organ work is prominent and particularly tasty, giving way to languid bursts from Derek; he and Warren lock step for the transitional riff, then Warren peels off some sprightly blues licks, just a little tart. Hard again into the transitional riff—the band is wasting no time—and Warren peels off the stinging, piercing note that heralds the segue into “Not My Cross to Bear,” wringing the blues out of the neck of his guitar as the band falls in hard behind him. Gregg leans into the soulful bluesy vocals. Derek bleeds out some interesting salvos to embellish Gregg’s vocal work; he tosses off a high, rounded slide solo that almost floats away before doubling back to the deep searing blues. Derek and Warren wring out pain from their instruments in perfect unison as Gregg sings the final verse.

As if this 1-2-3 punch wasn’t enough of a statement of purpose, Warren stretches out his closing note, and Gregg layers the opening piano part to “Aint Wastin’ Time No More” over the top. Derek peels off particularly ringing, wistful, graceful lines to accent Gregg’s vocals, then neatly keeps it going into his solo, building to sheets of white metal heat from the top of the neck. Then, after the final verse, Warren takes a deliberate slide solo on which he strays no higher than the middle of the neck, a neat contrast to Derek. His solo builds, his playing becoming frenzied and frenetic, until finally he does move up the neck; Warren brings the energy all the way up, but the rest of the band stays grounded in the loping vibe of the song. Warren steers into the closing lick to take us out, and we get a moment to catch our breath.

Four classic opening numbers in a row. Welcome to Allman Brothers country.

Warren steps forward to lead the band through “Woman Across the River.” He launches right into some blistering blues lines on his 335, which give way quickly to his throaty vocals, punctuated between verses by stinging accent guitar lines. The band throws its weight into the song’s shimmy; out of the vocals Warren plays a slightly wobbly, linear blues solo; then Gregg comes forward with tasty vamping on organ, and back to the vocals. Then Derek steps up, announces himself with an exclamation point note, then slathers on some blistering runs, egged on by Warren’s rhythm playing. Warren has a way of driving the soloist with his insistent chording, and Derek responds in kind. He builds and builds, until bam! Back into the vocals, and Derek earns a brief ovation. Warren smolders on the extended outro, hammering the song home like a blue pile driver. The song has effectively ended, yet this is by far the longest solo spot of the piece; he grimaces and writhes as he pulls out pained extended hard blues lines, the band in perfect synch, Derek adding color and accents, until they tumble headlong into the climactic closing lick. It is a dazzling display of guitar athleticism.

“We’ll be back next year, of course,” announces Gregg, as he joins the front line on acoustic guitar for “Melissa;” no Derek. Warren’s elegiac lines announce the song, and Gregg’s vocals are an old familiar friend. Warren’s guitar work is invigorating; he plays sweet, poignant, fat, round notes in extended straight lines—in direct contrast to the familiar triplet-based solo work on the song, making it at once familiar and brand new. Especially on the outro solo, Warren’s long deliberate runs are exquisite, graceful, and he captures the song’s longing as he climbs and soars.

Derek returns, and after a brief pause the band one-two-threes into the waltz time of “Dreams.” Tonight it is Warren’s turn to drive. Gregg digs deep into the vocals, the drummers rocking steady underneath, Derek tossing off subtle lines in the spaces Gregg’s singing leaves open. The music builds to the first climax (“This will surely be the end of me, yeah…”) and Warren steps forward. It will be a long journey, to hell and back, but you gladly sign on for the ride. He starts down in the pocket, at the low end of the neck, exploring the dark blues of the song; gradually his lines grow longer, more elastic, rubbery, and soon he is in the midst of a full on, wailing solo. Then he brings the energy down, tosses off a “Norwegian Wood” tease, and vamps on that a while before moving back to “Dreams” territory. Soon he has the energy level back at fever pitch, tossing off slide runs at the top of the neck. Oteil counters with some deep, mirrored bottom, and Warren responds by going even higher, firing off shrill couplets. He moves to a slower place as the band falls back neatly into the waltz time, going through the movements at the song’s end; some big descending lines as the band makes a sublime move back into the vocal section. Gregg pulls himself together, climbs back off that mountain, and the band sounds big as a house as they hit the series of riffs and melodies that bring the song to a close.

Warren brings on Chuck Leavell, who joins the band on the Yamaha electric piano for “Stormy Monday.” After the assault of “Woman Across the River” and “Dreams,” the song is a welcome hot bath. Chuck lays down some sweet piano over the familiar opening minor/major/minor chord progression, giving way to Gregg’s soulful vocals. Chuck’s piano flourishes in between the vocal lines add color to the deft guitar chording and Gregg’s bed of organ. “Listen to what I say,” announces Gregg before the “Lord have mercy” verse. Derek is tossing licks in between the spaces like he can’t wait to let loose. Chuck takes the first solo, playing some elegant piano runs. He is set up next to Oteil, and Oteil’s ebullient smile makes it clear he is digging Chuck’s work. The band wraps itself around the riff as Chuck pounds out a bluesy counter-melody. Derek pulls up into his solo spot, bursting out busy, buzzing lines on slide. Derek starts easy, laconic, but quickly gets to a boil; he makes incendiary look easy. Gregg puts the exclamation point on Derek’s solo with the same chord that begins his own solo, pounding out electric sheets of organ, which in turn give way to Warren. Warren picks out a very orange-sounding solo, bending notes, sticking close to the classic blues structure. The band falls into a march time behind Warren’s piercing lead lines, which grow gentle as the music shifts to the major key section, then more biting as they swing back to minor. Gregg snarls out the final verse as the crowd is still applauding the instrumental interlude. Derek peels off accents as Gregg drives the song home.

OK, so let’s be honest. No matter how good the band has been, no matter what they play, if Chuck Leavell is sitting in, there is one word looming large in the minds of those in attendance. And that word is “Jessica.”

So when Chuck leans into the piano opening to that familiar, well-loved instrumental, the crowd is ecstatic. Chuck’s piano intro is spot on, and Derek and Warren wrap their guitars around each other on the classic harmony lines. After the ascending part that concludes the opening riffs, the band lays back—indeed Oteil even takes a seat on the stage—as Chuck vamps over a Butch-led drum bed. His playing is vaguely reminiscent of Vince Guaraldi’s “Peanuts” piano trio work. Chuck goes on and on, galloping, rollicking, doing the happy Snoopy dance. Finally, the band joins him and we’re off to the races, a sprightly jam accented by Butch’s cymbal crashes. Chuck still has the ball though, and they let him run with it. Finally the ascending lines that close the piano section, and Derek steps up. It has been four years since Chuck has sat in with the band (also right here at the Beacon), and Derek has grown immensely within the band during that time. He is on fire now, grabbing the melody and tearing it up, taking the song through brilliant, glowing tunnels, tossing off riffs and lines like he’s cleaning out his closet and in a hurry. Derek stretches one out, then takes off on it with Warren; then he and Warren are into a call and response. Soon he cools down, playing curly lines that move away from the melody; the band cools behind him, following him unconditionally into uncharted territory. Now the music is down to a soft percolation, little more than drums, with Derek’s lines just barely there over the top. He dances and frolics in the sparse musical space, peeling off gentle cascading lines; now he’s trading licks with Warren. He falls back to the melody, the band picks it up, Warren chords underneath, and of course as soon as the band is back where Derek wants them, he flits away from the melody, returns to it, flits away.. Chuck pounds out the chords underneath, and Derek is racing through the melody, but with a rounder, higher-pitched tone than we are accustomed to here. It is the “Jessica” we know like a just-so story, but filtered through Derek’s unique voice into something new. Finally he falls into the transitional riff, a deftly executed segue, and Warren joins in, and the two ease back into the harmony theme. It is a pleasure to hear those twin licks again. There is a dash to the finish and a heavy close, which is extended into some hanging space before the band falls hard onto the close.

In yet another nod to the weight of history, Berry Oakley Jr. joins the band for “Statesboro Blues.” Oteil generously gives up his spot. Chuck plays some tasty barrelhouse piano on the opening, and Derek is featured on slide over the Statesboro shuffle. Chuck takes an extended piano solo mid-song, then Gregg and Derek do a call and response on the closing vocal section—Gregg’s voice, Derek’s biting slide.

Berry stays on stage for “One Way Out,” but Chuck is replaced by Johnny Neel. Gregg is in top form as he sings the blues, with Warren’s guitar prodding him on underneath. Johnny Neel waves to the crowd as he begins his piano solo, which fuels this ferocious, high-octane take. Derek follows, squeezing out snaky blue licks, dusting the sky. He cuts a wide swath over the top as the band falls into the riff before the final vocal section. “Statesboro” and “One Way Out” provide a classic exit to the set proper; it is after 1:30 in the morning, but no one is going anywhere.

The band returns, Oteil and Chuck are back, and of course there are the obligatory calls for “Whipping Post,” but this set list has been expertly crafted, and the band has one more curve ball up its collective sleeve. The players take their places and begin fingering their instruments, tossing off notes and random licks, part tuning, part creation of a mystical space. The disjointed overture comes to a soft landing, and the music turns over into “Elizabeth Reed.” It is the perfect choice.

There is an extra guitar player on stage—fittingly, it is Trey Anastasio, formerly the leading force of Phish, the band that brought improvisational music to new generations of fans. His presence serves to embody the notion of a road going on forever. The opening riffs and licks are divine, the three guitarists weaving in and out of each other, Trey falling neatly into the ensemble, tossing off short colorful salvos. Finally the guitarists hit the theme, all dark and moody. It is a downbeat, almost laid back take on the song, fitting given the late hour, and given how far we’ve all come to get to this moment. And of course, the band is playing right in the moment.

Trey takes the first solo. Not all Allman Brothers fans are Trey fans, but he acquits himself nicely on his featured spot, playing a deft, acrobatic solo, a little restrained, respectful, but very much in touch with the feminine, mystical side of this song. He hits a long hanging note, then moves back to short bursts. Chuck takes a piano solo out of Trey’s lead, digging deep into the voodoo vibe as the band hushes behind him; he is playing over little more than drums. Soon the guitars join in on chording, and Chuck does runs up and down the keyboard. You are transported away to somewhere hazy, sleepy, sensual. Derek hits a sharp note to elbow his way in, then takes off on some jazzy riffing that has little in common with the “Elizabeth Reed” melody. He plays some easy, loping riffs; then he plays a big, hooked pull-up note, and next thing you know he is spattering notes and licks and melodic ideas like Jackson Pollack.

The briefest of drum interludes provides a transition to Warren’s climactic solo. He enters with a bent blue note, then climbs and twists, Trey and Derek chording behind him. Warren hews closest of the three guitarists to the minor blues feel. His solo is smoldering, white hot; it is as if he knows this will be the last extended workout of the night, and he wants to make it count. He soars and stings and slices, picking up steam, playing more and more notes per second as he drives forward to the inevitable transitional riff that closes out his run. Another brief drum section, then the harmony licks that put the song to bed. Divine.

Whatever strength we have left, we dissipate with as much ovation as we can muster.

*****

So the upshot is, the next time Kirk and Kirsten West throw a party, you want to be there. I am privileged to have sat next to Kirsten part of the night; her shining visage and gentle grace is both calming and infectious. Talk about a better half…

It is after two AM when we spill, a little dazed, onto the cool Manhattan streets. It will be some time before we can assimilate this experience, truly understand what we have just born witness to. It has been a celebratory night in so many ways. It has been the last night of one of the greatest Beacon runs ever. As a benefit for the Big House museum, it has been a celebration of the long and storied history of the Allman Brothers Band. And of course, in celebrating the band and its extended family, it has also been a celebration of American music itself, of music that is made in real time, live, before your ears and eyes. And ultimately, of course, American music is southern music. We have seen five different bands create new lightning-in-a-bottle magic tonight. All different, yet all bonded by that inexorable defining characteristic of Jaimoe’s American music—improvisation, group mind, players listening and responding to each other, taking it just a little bit different each night, each performance. This is what keeps the music of the Allman Brothers Band so fresh and alive after 36 years, even as the line-up of players changes with the times. This is why they can leave you with a song like “Elizabeth Reed,” a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, a song that is 36 years old, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because sure, you’ve heard the song before—but you’ve never heard THIS version before, and unless you get a recording, you’ll never hear it again. It is why you can go to 10 shows in thirteen nights here at the Beacon, and leave the last one wondering when you’ll get to see them again.

You are exhausted, drained, aching. But the joy of music oozes from your every pore, and you are redeemed, spiritually reborn. The music has washed over you, seeped into your very being, and your soul has been sated. You bask in the glow of the timeless reverie as you look for a cab.

The Allman Brothers Band; March 25, 2011

2011-03-29T15:50:00.011-04:00

Job and family have made it increasingly difficult to keep up with the writing of the Beacon reviews, especially when I see 8 shows a run (and for me, that's down this year.) So invariably I fall behind, and am still catching up after the run is over. I've still got 3 or 4 to do, but I'm skipping right to this, my last show of the run, the penultimate show, Friday night, because it was my favorite, and it was one of those shows that reminds you why you keep coming. It's funny, looking at the setlist on paper, it doesn't seem so spectacular. But I assure you, being there, it was magical.

Said setlist:

Trouble No More

Midnight Rider

Who to Believe

Rockin' Horse

Statesboro Blues

Sailin' Across the Devil's Sea

Egypt

Lovelight (w/Bruce Hampton, Duane Trucks)

Leave My Blues at Home

Dreams

Come and Go Blues

Worried Down With the Blues

Anyday (w/Susan Tedeschi, vox)

In Memory of Elizabeth Reed (w?Oz Noy, guitar)

Into the Mystic

One thing that makes for a great show is the pacing-- the nights when there are no lulls, where every song seems like the only possible thing that could follow the one before. This was one of those nights.

Derek plays some nice round slide that fills my chest during "Trouble No More." A spirited "Midnight Rider," then "Who to Believe," a song I see they've played five times in the last four years. Warren plays some pristine but scalding, bent-string slide guitar lead, then Derek peels off sheets of slide like it's a long roll of golden foil. The song is surprisingly good, prompting my friend Bill to ask,"What song was that?"

Oteil lays down some bottom, with a "Memphis Soul Stew" kind of vibe; drums enter, then the rest of the band, and Warren throws the lever to slam into "Rocking Horse." The Warren solo section after the vocals is cooler, more exploratory than usual; then the segue to what I think of as "Derek's Tune," the major key departure into which his solo section has evolved. Derek's gentle licks peek out from behind the clouds, then Oteil gallops in, and Derek hops on that pony and rides. Derek and Warren are drawn together on stage by some unseen musical magnetism until they become a beast with four hands and a single mind, Warren hitting the three chords that define this little tune of Derek's, while Derek layers on some frenetic slide that evokes "Oh, the water" in "And It Stoned Me"... back into the verse... then they stretch out the close, wringing every ounce of agony out, like an elbow in your spine during a great massage...

Gregg counts in a jaunty "Statesboro." Then "Sailin' Across the Devil's Sea" features a powerful skronky drive to the close, guitars, forceful drumming. Next up it's time for the First Set Instrumental, which tonight is "Egypt." Marc Quinones is at the center of the music, Derek plays some slide, then some exposition that fills the house, then he's wailing over the top until Warren brings the band back down and back to the dark dessert vibe that heralds the piece's closing section.

Colonel Bruce Hampton joins the band on vocals, while Derek's brother Duane joins on Uncle Butch's kit for "Lovelight." I've seen them play this a number of times with sit-ins, and it is absolutely never a mistake. Oteil scoops out some soulful bottom. The Colonel sings the first verse, Gregg the second. Warren gives up some of that Stax-Volt chording to propel the song while Oteil does, and I'm not speaking metaphorically, a Snoopy happy dance. Then Oteil plays the dance, Derek plays slide over the top, lets it shine, Duane Trucks steps out on drums briefly, then it all spills over to the Colonel's back-end vocals.

They could easily have ended here, but instead there's the knockout punch of "Leave My Blues at Home." Warren and Derek unleash intertwined crimson ribbons of fire that wrap round the rafters, before flipping seamlessly into the song's twin licks and a hard close to song and set.

"You know what would be too much to ask for?" I think to myself as the lights go down for the second set. But before I can answer, the band rolls into "Dreams" and the question is moot. Derek plays some squeezy elastic steel notes. I drift away with the storyline, until some guy down the row from me to my right yells out "Awesome!" as they return to the final vocal section. He's right.

"Come and Go Blues," then Warren leads the band into a dark, stinging "Worried Down With the Blues" (welcome back, song!) It's just killer, and they grind all the juice and pulp out of it. Even if you don't know the song, you know it smoked. Then Susan Tedeschi shimmies out for vocal support on "Anyday," and this is where they push it into "one of THOSE nights." It is, like everything so far, the perfect song for right this minute, insanely joyous. Susan and Oteil divvy up the vocals, Warren solos, then out of the final run at the vocals, Derek seems to get an idea and goes to the "Blue Sky" riff (the music is just that happy.) Warren nods and joins him, Oteil is already playing that song on the bottom, and off they go at it. The two guitarists wrap around the familiar "Blue Sky" transition riff, just enough, then Derek percolates some cool breezy blue. If you're not smiling now, you're just not trying. Derek tears it up on a "Blue Sky" solo, sunshine and chills descend, then back to an "Anyday" close...

......and the mist descends, because they just about never go into "Elizabeth Reed" from a standing start ("we don't stop here!" is what Johnny Flash imagined Butch telling Clapton on 3/20/09.) Guitarist Oz Noy joins the band onstage ("Oz Noy idea who this is," I think; but he's a stud, performs around town with players like Will Lee, Anton Fig, and the Les Paul Trio.) Warren's overture notes feel muddy but sound super-clean and clear. Noy goes wild on the strat, as the two other guitarists line up tight together, chording in unison.. Warren grabs the reigns and drives the music into the bass/drums break, which begins as the rest of the players take their time moseying off...

...time ebbs and flows, then the band returns, layering on some spidery droplets (my friend Bill is reminded of electric Miles Davis). Then they collectively turn it up to 11, then soar back into a 3-guitar hot lick swap meet, and a wailing Warren Haynes pummels the set to a close.

The first chords of the "Into the Mystic" encore are just perfect. Some nights it's just a nice song; other nights it'a an invocation. Derek takes us deep, deep into the mystic; then Warren shows us around. Derek and Warren play life, light, love, longing, sorrow, redemption, joy, the whole arc of the blues... Warren brings it back home, the band grinds almost to a halt, he sings "As the fog horn whistle blows" over almost no accompaniment, then back into the whole song, the best take I've heard them do, Derek squealing over the top.

Damn near a perfect night. Tomorrow is supposedly the big one, the 200th beacon show, and the end of the run. I shudder to think what they might have planned if this was the run-up.

supere

The Allman Brothers Band; March 15, 2011

2011-03-20T11:23:00.006-04:00

I don't know what makes some shows just garden variety kickass good, and others magical. Biorhythms? Because Warren had Mexican food? And too, the best I can know is how I experienced the show; not how it actually was according to some objective universal standard. So it might not even be them; it might be me.

For me at least, this was one of the magical ones. I didn't start that way-- it actually began slow. Things started to elevate seriously when Steve Earle arrived; and the second set was push-you-back-in-your-seat epochal. Maybe it was because of where I was sitting (the loge, a sonic sweet spot), but the groove was in the house...

Trouble No More

Come and Go Blues

High Cost of Low Living

Worried Down With the Blues

End of the Line

Don't Keep Me Wondering

Devil's Right Hand (Steve Earle)

Knockin' On Heaven's Door (Steve Earle)

Jessica

Leave My Blues at Home

Maydell >

Manic Depression

Gambler's Roll

Standback

In Memory of Elizabeth Reed (including bass//drums)

e: That's What Love Can Make You Do (Robert & Marcus Randolph)

One Way Out (Robert & Marcus Randolph)

"Come and Go Blues" is crispy, with Warren squeezing out some clear, ringing tone; "High Cost" blows out on a gentle Warren/Derek breeze. "Worried Down" is the deep, pitiful blues; it's feeling like a Warren night, and this is an early highlight. Warren adds some fat, honking slide to "End of the Line," closing out with some screechy, supercharged guitar ballet that has the crowd yodeling its appreciation. "Don't Keep Me Wonderin'" has me drifting away on the intense white light, then someone goes even whiter-light that pulls me out of the jam, deposits me into... the jam.

Steve Earle comes on with acoustic guitar and leads the band through "Devil's Right Hand," straight-up country music. Derek schticks it up nicely. Then, "Knocking On Heaven's Door." And maybe it's trite, but this is where the show shifted into overdrive. The intro is beautiful, with the singers laying on those mournful "woos;" then when Gregg sings the first verse, chills. He has every right to sing this song now, and sing it he does. Steve Earle takes the next verse, then Derek casually rips off the solo, his tone so fat it nearly busts out of his hands; that boy is selling past the close. Then Derek goes at the solo again, this time playing the silence, the spaces between the notes. Warren leads the vocalists back into the chorus, more of those sorrowful "woos." Just beautiful.

Afterward, as"Jessica" seems perfect, inevitable to close the set. Out of the theme, Warren holds the fort with chorded rhythm, as Derek flits around like a bee in a rose garden.Derek layers in some "Mountain Jam" quotes, then Derek and Warren scatter staccato lines, and Oteil hints again at "Mountain Jam."

When music is really, really good, it's almost like food. This set got there, got to that place of nourishment for your poor weary soul.

The second set opens with "Leave My Blues at Home," which sounds great up in the loge. THen Warren leads the band through a wah-wah heavy "Maydell," which flips seamlessly over into "Manic Depression" as if these were just two halves of the same song; the Maydell/Manic combo is already on my iPod. We leave the groove right where it is for "Gambler's Roll," one of my favorite songs in the repertoire. A nice, elastic "Standback" follows, Derek playing Duane's old gold top (which is getting passed around this run like my cousin Shirley in high school.) He moseys over to Gregg and the two play off each other. THe music subsides for some tasty Gregg organ vamping set against Derek slide riffing, all of which accelerates back into a hard driving assault to the close.

Next up is "Elizabeth Reed." Ordinarily, I find the placement of the extended version of this song (with drum solo) to close the set as anti-climactic, because there isn't enough song on the back end. Tonight though, no worries The song comes in like a Chinese dragon, all snaky and reptilian, with gongs and snorts of fire. Smooth, precise lines by Warren, and lots of Marc on the opening. The jamming is spacy, silky, leading into a pounding Oteil bass solo; then he joins the drum corp for a tasteful, wavy attack that goes on and on, washing over you, in a very good way... I drift in and out... all told, Liz Reed is a good thirty-five minutes.

Robert Randolph sets up his pedal steel over by Oteil, and brother Marcus sits in on drums for an encore double dose. "That's What Love Can Make You Do" is basically a bluesy "Southbound," with round robin flying solos; then "One Way Out" brings the night to a long, sweaty close.

The Alman Brothers Band; March 12, 2011

2011-03-15T18:50:00.002-04:00

We knew in advance that this show was the special 40th anniversary tribute to the original recording of the Fillmore East album. Of course, that made it impossible to avoid comparisons with the 35th anniversary performance, at which the band played the Fillmore album straight through in its entirety. Not surprisingly, they did the same thing tonight, even following up with “Mountain Jam” (since the original record faded as “Jam” was teed up, and fans had to wait till Eat a Peach came out to actually hear it.)

This was a real kickass Saturday night show, with a different and more muscular feel than the celebration on the 35th, which if memory serves (and it seldom does these days) was more light and airy…

But the show starts, and when you hear Duane’s voice over the PA announce that “we’re cuttin’ our third album here tonight,” it gives you chills. “Statesboro Blues” features shots of Duane and the early band in the background, and the rest of side one—“Done Somebody Wrong,” “Stormy Monday”—flow by; in the latter, Derek hands off to Warren, who pulls an ovation from the house as he solos into the final verse.

“Stormy” segues directly into “You Don’t Love Me.” Warren and Derek get their jaunt on. Warren squares of with Oteil, and together they bring us into another little melody that loops the long way around back into the core song and the Derek/Warren twin riffing… instead of exploring “Soul Serenade” as on the original, the band moves directly into “Hot ‘Lanta.” Greg lays down the colorful bed, Warren lays out some smoky, late night licks. The vibe has definitely descended.

“Elizabeth Reed” is divine. Twelve, 15 minutes, not a second is wasted. The band crescendos, hits the transition licks, and the house erupts. Gregg thrills the crowd with his familiar organ part, then Warren is smoldering all over the song. The band recedes, a nice little Warren exposition over drums, a “Les Brers” tease, then suddenly the band is hurtling full-on forward into the closing riffs… the briefest of drum breaks, the final read of the theme, and bam! Point made. We go nuts.

The band takes a moment as they bask in and return the love, then Oteil drops the “Whipping Post” bomb. Derek pulls on the reigns, stopping time; then slowly starts it up again, tossing off high ticklish curly lines. The band twists the charging melody inside out, then back as they race headlong to the end, barely keeping the wheels on, in total command, slamming into the “Sometimes I feel…” part.

The set ends as Butch gives the timpani opening to “Mountain Jam” that fades out on the record.

Predictably (and as on the 35^th anniversary), the second set opens with “Mountain Jam.” Butch and Derek drift off down the mountain stream, the band runs through the piece, until Warren brings the jam to a halt and launches into “Trouble No More,” a short, fast pulverizing version. Then a dedication I don’t catch, but which I assume is to Red Dog, and then a slow blooz “Sky is Crying.” David Hidalgo of Los Lobos (and an obvious Warren crony; I’ve seen him with Mule more than once) joins the band for a slower-than-usual “Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’.” Hidalgo sings the second verse; the song is wavy goodness. Next is “Good Morning Little Schoolgirl,” more sticky blues. Hidalgo leaves, and a powerful “Every Hungry Woman” that features the evening’s bass/drum solo slot; Oteil caps his bass section with a deep note that I feel in my chest in the loge. Out of the drums, Derek and Warren convene around the rhythm, lead threads of lead and rhythm guitar lines together into one dark red stream, then onto the twin licks, from which emerge the insistent drum beat that is, of course, the back end of the “Mountain Jam” sandwich. Beautiful, full of grace, even including trilling birdcalls. The encore, “No One Left to Run With,” is tight, life-affirming, and largely jam-free as befitting its place in the set.

The Allman Brothers Band; March 10, 2011

2011-03-12T12:05:00.007-05:00

The Reverend Ike's church uptown was all well and good, but for the congregation, it was good to be back home. It was a super-solid show, heavily rhythmic, no guests at all, just takin' care of business, and a stake in the ground to kick start the run...

Here's the setlist:

Drums > vamp (Spanish Key?) > Drums >

Sailin' Cross the Devil's Sea >

Walk On Gilded Splinters

Come and Go Blues

Worried Down With the Blues

Kind of Bird

Trouble No More

Woman Across the River

One Way Out

Blind Willie McTell

Midnight Rider

High Cost of Low Living

Bag End

Hoochie Coochie Man

Leave My Blues at Home > bass> drums > Leave My Blues at Home

Revival

Southbound

The lights have gone down, the curtain is still down, and a percussive beat from the stage slowly evolves into a thick "Gilded Splinters"-like driving beat, but most in the house don't even realize the show has begun. Then the curtain rises on the back line, the front liners come on and take position, Gregg last, the drumming insistent and pounding. Derek vamps some droplets over the rhythm as others tune... then Warren adds a little wah-wah, and Derek departs on some exposition (that may have been Miles Davis's "Spanish Key," or may have been reminiscent of it)... four minutes in on the vamp, no one seems in any rush at all... Oteil brings the thunda, Warren the lightning... I'm at the metaphorical edge of my seat and they haven't even played the song yet (which at this point I am still sure will be "Gilded Splinters.") Finally Warren faces the drums and they count in a crunchy version of "Sailin' Cross the Devil's Sea,"the first song proper of the run. Then out of that a reprise of the opening drumming motif, and now, finally, it is "Splinters."

Derek is wistful as always on "Come and Go Blues," then Warren gets all "Worried Down With the Blues." The band moves through the verse, then Derek stings in the middle of some slow piercing blues space as Warren brushes a gentle shuffle chord rhythm (in all the lead guitar pyrotechnics, never make the mistake of overlooking his gorgeous blues rhythm playing.) Then Warren steps forward and plays the blues.

On comes the instrumental thumpa dump of "Kind of Bird." Derek is drawn to Gregg, plying rhythm off of Gregg's keyboard fills and colorations as Warren looks over; Warren tears while Derek plays a chunky, beefy rhythm. Toward the end Derek leads the band as they slow down, through some long, slow extended crescendo; I think to myself, if I could stretch a climax out like that I would have been way more popular when I was single... then a big bad Butch bam boom, and a sprint to the close.

"Trouble No More," Gregg vocals are on; then "Woman Across the River." About two thirds in, Warren and Derek do the chunka chunka dance, then Warren sizzles. "One Way Out" closes the set, Derek is over in Gregg's house again, grooving with Gregg as he peels off the licks. All night the Derek/Gregg magnetism is evident, and as the band finishes up and walks off, smiles all around.

My main man Jaimoe comes out prior to set two to dedicate the run to a fallen brother, Red Dog. In that light, the elegiac "Blind Willie McTell" that opens set two is especially poignant. A year since busting this Dylan cover out at the Palace, it is fair to say the band now owns the song; it is a mournful and deep dark blues. I think they take it a tad slower now, all to the good.

Next up are "Midnight Rider," then "High Cost of Low Living," two songs that are just-so stories in the set; Derek is a silvery flash on the outro to "High Cost," then Derek and Warren put it to bed and tuck it in. A Butch flourish, and then the moody, spacy instrumental "Bag End." Once the song part is out of the way, Derek takes us into a trippy, tonal space. It seems like a "Derek" night to me, but then, I am sitting right in front of him...

Next the band eases into a slow grinding familiar blues riff, the "I'm a Man" riff that fuels so many classic blues tunes, including the one they are about to play, as Warren sings the lyric to "Hoochie Coochie Man," but is is an achingly slow version, till they get through one round of the verse; then they speed back up to finish the song. I wold have loved to hear it all slow, but it rocks either way...

"Leave My Blues at Home" is the drum solo vehicle; as the band strips away to leave the engine room percolating, the drummers pound with the chunky energy that has been propelling the music since before the curtain went up, and that has defined the evening for me... then the rest of the players return and grind on to the close, from which emerges "Revival," a taut version, which as set-closer perfectly walks the line between the groove and the jam.

When the band rolls out "Southbound" as an encore, I wonder for a minute if maybe I'd missed a guest sax player or something... but no, the song is less circular than it is with many guests, and driven by Gregg's singing and a great two-man guitar call and response capping a richly rewarding night; just the core band doing what they do best, in the place they do it best, in front of the people who love it most.

I'm only hitting seven shows this year but will write about then all; next up is Saturday.

Top Albums of 2010

2010-12-30T13:23:00.038-05:00

Yeah, I know it's late, but hey, I'm still giving out the Christmas tips to my doormen.

Herewith, my top-20 albums of the year. As always, totally subjective; this is what I liked and listened to, not what I deem to be best. Your mileage will vary. Especially if you aren't a cranky middle-aged white guy.

I've written in this space before about T-Bone Burnett. I first heard of him in 1982, when I bought his great 6-song EP, Trap Door. In the mid-80s he produced similarly great records by Marshall Crenshaw, the BoDeans, Los Lobos, Peter Case, and Elvis Costello, all of which were foundation releases for me; his production work kept up in the '90s, with that one Wallflowers record you know, the first Counting Crows record, the last really good BoDeans record, and more.

Somehow, T-Bone managed to produce EIGHT(!) new albums that I bought in 2010 (plus one I didn't buy; Secret Sisters, my apologies.) I don't even know how that's possible. And every one of them was a candidate for this list. The ones that didn't make it: Elvis Costello, the Crazy Heart soundtrack, Ryan Bingham, John Mellencamp. Four did. For the sheer volume of output, and the quality, he's got to be my artist of the year. Oh yeah-- and he won an Oscar. Sweet.

So here's the list. Don't sweat the order too much; I can't say I did. The first seven were the ones I played the most and most think of as current records of 2010; then I slotted in the live one, because I never know what to do with live albums; then the rest. And truth be told, when push came to shove, really I picked the records I felt like writing about.

As always, RIYL stands for "recommended if you like."

1. Broken Bells, Broken Bells: In a year without a clear-cut #1, I've decided to give this one the nod in part because it's such a current record, and picking it over Petty improves my hipster cred for the next time I'm in Brooklyn. Broken Bells is a collaboration between James Mercer, the main guy in the power pop Shins (Natalie Portman's favorite band in Garden State), and Danger Mouse, who is half of Gnarls Barkley, a producer of some recent renown, a member of the pretend band Gorillaz, and a guy I really have to pay more attention to. The Danger Mouse website says he's too fast and too unique to be triangulated; similarly this record is tough to describe. It sounds modern without sounding trendy; it sounds warm and human too. It doesn't sound like power pop, although it does have hooks. it has layers of sound, and it kind of washes over you in lush waves: acoustic guitars, synths, voice, beats, hooks. RIYL: Gnarls Barkley, Shins, Gorillaz, waves of lush beats.

2. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Mojo: A record that sounded like I'd known it my whole life on the first play. Influenced, I think, by the experience making the 2008 Mudcrutch record, Petty brought his erstwhile Heartbreakers into the studio, unleashed lead guitarist Mike Campbell, and made this bluesy, bar-band rock record, I think inarguably their best since at least 1993's lovely Wildflowers and a high point in the entire catalog. It sounds like loose, no-pressure, one-take rock'n'roll, like they got their, well, mojo back. Sadly, the tour was a different story-- rote crowd-pleasing unimaginative run-throughs of The Hits, and really, if I have to sit through "Free Fallin'" one more time I shall scream. The highlight of the show was the 5-song set mid-concert featuring the Mojo material, which I thoroughly enjoyed while everyone else went to the bathroom (or, ahem, napped). But the record still rocks. RIYL: The Stones, Muddy Waters, the album tracks between the hits on the typical Petty record..

3. Josh Rouse, El Tourista: Like all Josh Rouse records, this one sounds exquisite. I've got a bias in his direction because he's a favorite of the missus, and the kid likes a couple of songs of his (even though she doesn't get why there isn't a Snoop Dogg rap in the middle of them.) Rouse has slowly (and gracefully) been moving from acoustic-oriented power popster (think Sirius/XM's Coffee House; it's like top-40 for soccer moms) to Spanish troubadour, having married his Spanish girlfriend and moved to Valencia. This is a cross between soft power pop and samba, sung mostly in Spanish, breezy, melodic, likable. We saw the (full band) concert in April and it was delightful. RIYL: Coffee House, Trini Lopez.

4. The Black Keys, Brothers: Every once in a while I buy a couple of records I know nothing about, by artists I either don't know or don't even think I like, but which seem to be all the rage, just so I can keep up with what's happening in music. Sometimes this has served me well (Talking Heads Remain in Light, Prince's 1999, Beck's Odelay). Sometimes not so much (Ultravox, I''m looking at you.) It was in this spirit that I bought the Black Keys record; I had some vague sense that they were what the modern kids were listening to under the guise of "rock" these days. To me, they sound kind of old school, kind of new. Kind of jungle. This sounds like modern musicians reaching back through the technology to grab hold of the primal. Parts of it sound oddly like Led Zep (who, in their day, did the same thing with a different era’s technology.) They're a duo (singer/guitarist, drummer) with enough overdubbing in the studio to sound like a modern garage rock band. RIYL: Led Zep, the future, electric blues.

5. The Black Crowes, Croweology: Like everyone else, I dug the first Crowes record in 1990 ("Hard to Handle" was the hit) and the second one two years later. Then I went to see them at the Beacon (the same week that Keith Richards compared Chris Robinson to Emo Phillips in the Times.) it must have been an off night, because it put me off them for years, and it did the same thing to everyone I know who went. Of course I always stayed interested, but they never grabbed me again in that same way, until... cut to the last couple of years. Luther Dickenson is recruited from the North Mississippi Allstars to fill the rotating guitar chair next to guitarist Rich Robinson; and the band records a double album of new material essentially live in the studio at Levon Helm's place in five days (and Chris says that's how he wants to make records from now on.) The net result of these developments is the best Black Crowes I've heard yet. This record is essentially a crack at their back catalog, with Luther, and recorded Levon Helm style (live in the studio, mostly acoustic.) It is quite simply, new recordings of their best songs, performed and presented in a beautiful, raw, organic, seasoned and earthy fashion. I played it all summer. It's great. RIYL: The midnight ramble, Americana, The Rolling Stones Stripped, Black Crowes songs, NMAS.

6. Jakob Dylan, Women and Country: The first T-Bone Burnett production on the list. I played this one to death in the spring, and it was probably chronologically the first record I knew was going to show up here. Our favorite red-headed Canadian pop-country chick Neko Case and Kelly Hogan provide backing vocals throughout, and Burnett's usual mafia of stringed geniuses (Marc Ribot, etc.) adorn the songs with rich but never cluttered charm. I've read some debate over whether or not this is a country record; it isn't. It's rootsy, gentle rock, the kind of record Burnett does best. And also, it sticks to the time-honored formula of good songs well-played, a relatively simple recipe for success (I don't know where Dylan gets it from.) The lead-off track, "Nothing But the Whole Wide World," is one of the best songs of the year. RIYL: T-Bone Burnett, Wallflowers, Americana, Coffee House.

7. The Drums, The Drums. An Indie band from Brooklyn, of whom I first heard in reading articles over the summer about Kings of Leon. Apparently they shared some UK bills and the Kings are fans. So I checked 'em out, and it was a happy find. Kinda post-punky, frenetic, and danceable, and I didn't realize how much I liked it till about the fourth time through; in fact my wife and daughter, who are both blessed with golden ears, took to this record before I did, and I actually kept spinning it around the house because they liked it, which allowed me to keep the stereo on instead of having to watch yet another episode of iCarly. The Drums remind me of that time circa '79 to '81 when punk had morphed into skinny-tie New Wave and was about to merge with disco (especially in their use of keyboards); in fact many of their claimed influences date from that era. They also remind me of a less glamorous Vampire Weekend. By all rights I shouldn't like them this much. Go figure. RIYL: Skinny ties, dance-punk, thinking Brooklyn is the new Manhattan.

8. Derek Trucks Band, Roadsongs: To me live records are always totally different animals from studio records, and I usually leave them off the year-end best-of lists, especially now that so many artists make concert recordings available in different ways; the Black Crowes, Gov't Mule and Phish, to name three, put every show up for digital sale online. But this release from the Derek Trucks Band merits mention, and your attention. Trucks is almost certainly the greatest rock instrumental voice of his generation, and the Derek Trucks Band is one of the best ensembles playing around. Taken from two Chicago dates in 2009, Roadsongs highlights material from the band's excellent Already Free release, as well as some choice covers and back catalog. The covers include "Rastaman Chant," "Key to the Highway," the Derek and the Dominoes classic "Anyday," and the jazz set piece "Afro Blue." Fans collect full show bootleg recordings; but this is a great document of a great band, at its peak yet still evolving. A great place to dive into the catalog. Also, with Derek committed to the Derek Trucks/Susan Tedeschi, Band, the Derek Trucks Band is on hiatus, so this will have to tide us over (until the first Derek/Susan record drops...) RIYL: Santana, the Allman Brothers, blues, soul, jambands.

9. Alejandro Escovedo, Street Songs of Love: This guy just gets up in the morning, grabs his lunch pail, punches in for a full shift at the rock'n'roll factory, puts his head down and does his job. And when it's time to punch out, there's a great, solid, grinding, no-frills rock'n'roll record ready to ship. Here's another one. Springsteen's a fan. In a just world he'd be a star. RIYL: Rock'n'roll.

10. Bryan Ferry, Olympia: I'm not generally a consumer of Bryan Ferry records, although I'm aware there have been some fine ones. This one tempted me because it has the other original members of Roxy Music on it (Andy Mackay, Eno, guitarist Phi Manzanera) as well as David Gilmour (Pink Floyd), Nile Rodgers (Chic), and Johnny Greenwood (Radiohead.) Tasteful sideman choices, and supposedly there was originally talk it would be a Roxy reunion. In fact, a really good review at Pitchfork points out that this record wouldn't have sounded out of place as the follow-up to the great 1982 Roxy swan song Avalon, which also makes it seem utterly contemporary, because all that'80s schtick is new again. It's a smooth, classy, retro/modern take on art rock. RIYL: Avalon, art rock, white suits.

11. Beach House, Teen Dream: Weirdly dreamy and acoustic. Another duo, one boy, one girl, and this is their third full album--all gauzy music and breathless, layered vocals. They don't sound to me like their claimed influences-- which include Brian Wilson, Big Star, Neil Young, and the Zombies if Wikipedia is to be believed (and why shouldn't it be? I make stuff up there all the time.) Maybe the hazy dream state Big Star record Third, if anything, but there's no jangle. Some of the vocal effects remind me of Tango in the Night-era Fleetwood Mac (which is to say, '80s Lindsey Buckingham.) Well, like, whatever. This CD comes with an accompanying DVD, which as is typically the case, I haven't played yet. RIYL: Whatever is evoked by the words "gauzy," "hazy," and "dream pop."

12. Mavis Staples, You Are Not Alone: Not much to say here; just your basic gospel masterpiece produced by indie rock superstar. The latter being Wilco's Jeff Tweedy. Reminds me a little of the Solomon Burke (so long brother) record that ranked fifteenth on this list. Also reminds me of Al Green. I like the Creedence cover. RIYL: Gospel, soul, Jesus.

13. Elton John and Leon Russell, Union: Another T-Bone production, and I have to say better on paper than on disc, but still darned good on disc. Back circa 1970 Russell was the rock superstar (his own solo stuff, Cocker's Mad Dogs and Englishmen, etc.) while John was the singer-songwriter newbie and justifiably influenced by Russell. Cut to 40 years on... honky tonk piano, gospel style backing vocals, and it is strangely clear how these two disparate souls share a lot of musical DNA (now that I think of it, Russell did used to wear really big hats...) I can't help but wonder how cool this record would have actually been in 1970 or '71; to my ears, at this point (meaning after 1980) Elton John sounds too much like Elton John to be taken seriously. And it gets a little dirge-like in the middle (as in, when Neil Young makes a guest appearance.) Still, Russell is great. RIYL: Piano men, mad dogs, Englishmen.

14. Arcade Fire, The Suburbs: I got swept up in the excitement of Funeral, bought it, thought it was too depressing to ever play again, and promptly traded it on Lala (remember Lala?) I sat out Neon Bible. But I was sucked in again by the buzz and picked this one up, and it is indeed grand and impressive. It is definitely a record that I find myself more impressed with than actually fond of, but I am indeed fond of it. Ranked third in Spin and fourth in Rolling Stone (who both picked Kanye West as album of the year.) RIYL: grandeur, majesty, Canada, being born since 1980.

15. Seth Swirsky, Watercolor Day: Truth is, I read about this on the Audities power pop listserv when others were ranking their top picks of 2010, and I had some holiday gift cards for iTunes, so I went and downloaded it (something I almost never do) on December 29th. it's the kind of record I live for in the summer-- delightful, colorful breezy California pop in the Beach Boys vein with a dose of America tossed in; file it under California Dreaming along the Ventura Highway. Selected lyric from the second track: "She's got the summer in her hair..." I know exactly what that means. And it makes me long for August. RIYL: Cloud Eleven, Jeff Foskett, Nelson Bragg, Wondermints.

16. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, III/IV: Two discs of songs recorded during the sessions for 2007's Easy Tiger. That was a beautiful, mostly acoustic alt-country album that was really good upon release and has only improved with age. These songs clearly wouldn't have fit in; for the most part they are rock songs, and while I've heard this described as a stylistic hodgepodge, I just hear it as a rock record. Criticized because it is sprawling and all-over-the-place and because it could have been edited down into a tighter single disc-- but obviously, these things are part of the charm, not knocks against it. Hello! If I'd lived with it longer it might have rated higher, like Adams's releases usually do here. RIYL: rawk, excess, "Halloween Head."

17. Robert Randolph and the Family Band, We Walk This Road: The third T-Bone production on this list... and more of a song record than I was expecting it to be, given that I think of Randolph as a part of the jamband scene (to be fair I don't know their earlier studio records, but have seen him live with the Family Band, and sitting in with others e.g. the Allman Brothers.) Randolph plays sacred pedal steel guitar, and has a unique and soulful instrumental voice that is tastefully deployed all over this record. Almost as much a gospel record as the Mavis ("I Still Belong to Jesus," the closing "Salvation") plus Dylan and Prince covers. RIYL: Derek Trucks, gospel, Americana.

18. She and Him, Volume 2: She being actress Zooey Daschanel; him being M. Ward. Their debut a couple of years back was a charmer; this one has all the same qualities but I think I liked the first one better. Like the first, steeped in teenage longing and the musical verities of early-70s FM singer/songwriter (as in, they could cover "Brand New Key.") She's got a really likable voice, him's instrumentation is totally empathetic; it's light, but good light. RIYL: Volume 1; the movie Elf.

19. Willie Nelson, Country Music: Yup, as the title suggests, after all these years Ol' Willie has decided to go nuts and put out a country record... So here's the thing. Outside of an anthology and a live collaboration, I own all of three Willie Nelson albums, and each of them I bought because I liked the producer: Daniel Lanois, Ryan Adam s, and now T-Bone. All three of these records are uniformly excellent, and I'm finally getting it that Willie is just great, period, producer be damned (although I suppose it would be possible to muck up a record with too much interference). And he's got, like, 60 albums, which is awesome and a little daunting. A true American treasure, and I say leave his bus alone! RIYL: Country music, organic produce, America (the country, not the band).

20. Brian Wilson, Reimagines Gershwin: I know what you're thinking-- this can't possibly work. Believe me, I was right there with you. But somehow, despite the fact that sometimes Wilson's lead vocals sound a little thorazine-infused, the thing works. Gershwin has clearly been an influence on Wilson all along, and while some of these songs sound like Beach Boysified versions of familiar classics, to my ears they serve to underscore the extent to which the Gershwin influence was always there in the Wilson/Beach Boys oeuvre; it's easy, for example, to imagine this version of "I Got Plenty of Nothing" ensconced somewhere in the middle of 2004's Smile. RIYL: Wilson's Lucky Old Sun; rhyming "glamorous" with "amorous."

Also Noteworthy: Los Lobos (I especially liked their cover of the Dead's "West L.A. Fadeaway"); Ronnie Wood (I'm not saying I recommend this, but I'm a sucker for him and you might like the cover of "Spoonful"); The New Pornographers (one day I'm gonna listen to them and it's all going to snap into place and I'll appreciate them as much as I respect them.)

Finally, this was the first year my 6-year-old was somewhat conscious of popular music. her top-5 songs of the year were: (5) "Dynomite" (Taio Cruz); (4) "Hey Soul Sister" (Train); (3) "Shakespeare" (Miranda Cosgrove); (2) "Baby" (Justin Beiber); and, (1) "California Gurls (Katie Perry.) She also likes "She's Gone" by Hall & Oates, but of course, that's not eligible.

Why I Switched (Back) to Mac

2010-10-23T16:32:00.002-04:00

In 1987 I bought my first computer, a Macintosh 512Ke, from my friend John McGuinness. I remember telling him that I had read in the paper about some new presentation software for the Mac, which interested me because I thought I could use it to make really nice transparencies for the overhead projector. He happened to have a demo copy, and so he tossed it in for me. The publisher was a company called Foresight; the program was called PowerPoint.

But I digress.

I bought, I think, 2 more Macs; I was a Mac user through 1997. Then, because it seemed the whole world was on Windows, and because I needed Windows to use my work applications, I made the switch.

I never fully abandoned the Apple ethos though; my iPhone, iPod, and iPad bear witness to that fact.

The last computer I bought with my own money was a Dell desktop, back in 2004. So I was due for a new home machine. As I got closer to making a purchase decision-- having built several different alternatives online at dell.com-- I started to wonder if it wasn't time to switch back to a Mac.

Everyone I know who has made the move reports that they've never looked back. My wife has been a Mac user all along and continues to impress upon me that, well, they just work.

I started thinking about what I was going to be using my new computer for. Most of my work for, well, work, I do on my company-issued laptop (a mediocre Dell.) When I bought my last computer, in 2004, I was self-employed, so I had to consider both professional and personal use. But now, really, I just had to focus on personal use. So what did I need?

Well, sure, I would be doing some work on it, so I'd need Office. And Office 2011 is just out for the Mac, rendering cross-platform issues with office productivity moot.

Then, I figured most of what I would be using the machine for was music-- managing a large library on iTunes, downloading music, burning to CD, editing MP3 and Wave files, and so on. I use a pretty broad and esoteric battery of music tools on Windows (CD Wave, EAC, FLAC Front End, Feurio!, Nero, Bittorrent etc.) But I asked my music junkie friends online if rthere were functional equivilents for all this stuff on the Mac platform, and of course the answer was yes.

So now I had a decision to make: Mac or Windows 7.

Well, I was pretty comfortable with Windows XP; I think the consensus is, it was the best, most stable version of Windows since they went point-and-click. In fact I avoided getting a new machine after Vista came out, because I didn't want to deal with it. But the key thing about windows 7 in my purchase decision was, it is sufficiently different from XP (and sufficiently imitative of the Mac OS) that my familiarity with Windows wasn't going to be a deciding factor. i figured dealing with the Mac OS or with Windows 7 would be equally discontinuous, so Windows had lost it's advantage of inertia with me.

Then I started thinking about the last straw.

My Dell computer has two internal CD drives. All of a sudden, Windows stopped seeing them. I scoured the web, looking for advice. I tried this, messing with settings in the registry. No dice. I tried updating my drivers here. Nope. Nothing worked.

And really, that was it for me. I finally got fed up with all the continuous hassles you have to deal with if you use Windows. Things just don't work like they should. (By the way-- I got a new laptop from work last week. I've had it 9 days. Three times already it has wanted to start up in safe mode, and it still won't dock with my docking station, and no one can seem to figure out why.)

With Apple technology, you just hook it up, and it works. This piece of hardware sees that piece of hardware. You don't have to worry about some nefarious virus screwing up your entire system. You don't have to worry that, 6 years into owning you computer, the CD drives will become invisible and essentially lost to you.And of course, I can't wait to sync my Apple mobile devices (Pod, Pad, Phone) with the Mac desktop.

So I got the 27-inch iMac; it's scheduled to arrive Tuesday. I'll put up baby pictures when it's all settled in. Two Terabyte hard drive, to which I added an external 2 Terabyte drive for back-up (and have you heard about Time Machine-- the technology that automatically backs your Mac hard drive up onto your external hard drive ?)

Sure, I spent more than I would have for the same amount of computer running Windows. But really, so what? I'll keep this sucker a good 5 years, and it will work, and I will have less aggravation in my life.

I'm Josh, and ditching Windows 7 was my idea.

Review of the Todd Rundgren Todd/Healing show

2010-09-25T14:10:00.003-04:00

Mike Adrian was kind enough to post my review of the Todd Rundgren Todd/Healing show at the Keswick in Philly, here.

This is a Wordle of my 5 Allman Palace Reviews

2010-04-05T21:24:00.003-04:00

Click me.

The Allman Brothers at the Palace; 3/20/10

2010-04-04T14:36:00.002-04:00

...and the 20th.

The Allman Brothers at the Palace; 3/19/10

2010-04-04T14:16:00.001-04:00

And likewise, my review of 3/19... Scroll down to the comments

The Allman Brothers at the Palace THeater; 3/18/10

2010-04-04T14:04:00.002-04:00

For some reason, pasting text composed in Word into the blogger "new post" window brings all sorts of html commands that I didn't create or intend. Somehow, some of this code-- or my attempts to delete it-- managed to strip away the template of this blog. Lovely. Is it me, or does it seem like you should be able to paste text from the leading word processor, into the leading blogging platform, without risk of catastrophic consequences? Never mind, I'll go bitcha bout it on Twitter. In the meaqntime, you can read my review if you scroll down on this page at teh Allmans' own site.

Allman Brothers at the Palace Theater: 3-16-10

2010-03-27T20:19:00.007-04:00

Don’t Want You No More >

Not My Cross to Bear

Leave My Blues at Home

Midnight Rider

44 Blues

End of the Line

Egypt

The Same Thing

Revival

I Asked for Water (James Blood Ulner)

One Way Out

Blind Willie McTell

That’s What Love Can Make You Do (Eric Krasno)

No One Left to Run With

In Memory of Elizabeth Reed

E: Southbound (Krasno, Barraco)

A lot of things can affect how you experience a show—where you’re sitting, your mood, the company. I think Tuesday night may have been my best time of the five shows I saw at the Palace. That might or might not have been influenced by the fact that I managed to secure seats in the second row, and was joined by three friends from work who are all younger guys (early 30s). Two had never seen the Allman Brothers before, the other had seen them, but not when they had this much game. So I got to experience the show through the eyes and ears of these guys a little, and they were all jaws agape for over three hours…

“Don’t Want You No More” is always a great opener. Derek is crisp, spot on; Warren is too. Then the segue into the slow-blues “Not My Cross to Bear,” Gregg snarls out the vocals, Derek provides washes of tonal metal. “Leave My Blues at Home” is about a mile high, soaring, propulsive; my friends are blown away.

“Midnight Rider” is up next, a song they play like a just-so story, the same every night. But suddenly, where the song usually ends, Derek goes on a little downbeat journey, and whoa, slap me upside the head, the song gets… interesting. One of my friends turns to me. “It’s like a machine!” he says. A big, industrial machine, grinding out the music…

“Forty-Four Blues” is impossibly rubbery, bouncy, and soon gets as slow as it can possibly go… and… still… be… a… song… Derek solos over the slow, then takes off into the misty. He leads the band to a spacy place, then they accelerate, the inevitable hurtling end-over-end depositing us right back into the rubbery riff. Derek colors the outro.

“End of the Line” features a nice guitar duel, then the instrumental “Egypt.” Derek steers early on, but soon I’m carried away to someplace dry and sandy… soon Oteil falls deep into the pocket, Derek tosses out some rainy chords that signal the theme, and then hard into the finish. Oteil is all over the room on “The Same Thing”; maybe it’s the mix or where I’m sitting, but for me it’s an Oteil sort of night. James van de Bogert is on Jaimoe’s kit. Warren, then Derek, then they throw to Oteil who scats and plays at the same time on a solo interlude, into a ringing “Birdland”-like bass piece. Derek lassos the Palomino and he’s off, and now we’re on the A train heading back downtown, mixing metaphors as we go. A sweaty work-out. Then an effervescent “Revival” closes the set, leaving love everywhere in its wake.

James “Blood” Ulner is on with the band for a second set-opening “I Asked for Water,” a snaky “Smokestack Lightning” kind of deep blues, a dark smoky ominous groove. Then a chipper “One Way Out,” then a searing read of the Dylan song “Blind Willie McTell,” accompanied by the appropriate visual aids onscreen (shots of the man himself.) The band goes scratching all the way to the bottom of the song’s elegiac blues narrative. Gregg and Warren split the verses but hit the chorus in harmony. Warren steps up and sings his tale of woe through the guitar. They have corralled the song and made it their own. Highlight.

Eric Krasno joins for “That’s What Love Can Make You Do,” a sprightly blues which features a killer three-guitar rhythm beast under the verse, then a bright three-man solo weave, Warren goes all happy on your ass. Then back to the weave, less like cutting, more like a game of hot potato, until bam! Derek throws it back to the verse, eliciting a collective “Whoa!” from the crowd. It is one of those nights where it doesn’t matter what song they play…

“No One Left to Run With” is up next, hard on the Bo Diddley beat, then off into the tune that now comprises the song’s middle section, the band just sort of hangs out there in the zone, then back to Bo. Out of the climax the band does a little musical space cleansing, then eases on into “Elizabeth Reed.” Derek takes long curvy slide runs up and down the neck. By now the whole thing is less a narrative than a head space; every song, every moment is a total facial. It’s one of those nights where everything seems to come so easily, no seams, no bumps. Usually that means the drummers are in the pocket… speaking of which, a hard drive to the drum break, about which I have little to tell because I let myself drift away on the ebb and flow of the beats. The colors in the light show were really pretty…

…Oteil comes out of the drum section all spider fingers, with the guitars underneath, gently purring him on, then a Warren and Derek duel over red beans and drums, on to the close.

Rob Barraco is out joining Gregg on keys for the encore, along with Krasno, so of course the encore is the “Southbound” circle jerk, round and round, Krasno and Barraco both sprinkling extra joy over the proceedings. Then off into the night, to search for a cab downtown.

The Allman Brothers at the Palace; 3/15/10

2010-03-16T15:42:00.002-04:00

I missed the first 3 shows of the run owing to a business trip to Portugal. I'll be at the last 5. Monday night was great good fun, solid, with "Kind of Bird," an instrumental from 1992 they haven't played since (save for last Thursday) as the highlight. Here's the review I put on the band's website. (scroll down).

The Top CDs of the Decade

2010-01-03T12:43:00.025-05:00

It has taken me freaking forever to finish this, so believe it or not this is me trying to be brief.This is my list of the top-40 albums of the decade. If you’ve read the year-end lists here before then you know this isn’t an attempt to objectively identify the best records of the decade (and yeah, I still call them records); rather, it is merely an attempt to codify one cranky 50 year-old white guy’s favorites. Not a lot of Gaga, Fall-Out Boy, or Panic! At the Disco here, is what I’m saying.

I have to start off with two headlines though.

Headline: Technology Changes the Way We Experience Music

Can there ever be another musical revolution as big as Elvis or the Beatles? I would argue that we’ve just been through one. It’s called the iPod.

We all know about the MP3, and about how that Napster kid killed the entire music business all by himself, from his skateboard. Why buy a physical CD when you can download it digitally? (Or, if you’re of a mind and willing to look a little, download it for free?)

Me, I like CDs, and I’m still scheming how to get my wife to let me take my turntable and vinyl out of storage. But the allure of the iPod is irresistible, the impact profound. I’m using iPod here as a proxy for the general concept of having 3,000 albums in your pocket—or on your hard drive. Because now, none of us listens to music the same way we did at the decade’s dawn. Think about it. Back then you listened to music on your stereo, on the good system with the big speakers. Now 90% of the music you listen to comes through ear buds or computer speakers.Music has become portable, transferable, disposable, convenient. But there is a corollary that comes with those benefits. In order to put 3,000 albums in your pocket, the music has to get smaller. And music has gotten smaller; when we shrunk our record collections down to pocket size, we also robbed the music of its grandeur. I’ll address myself for the moment to other folks about my age. Remember that feeling the first time the needle hit the vinyl on Sergeant Pepper? Or Dark Side of the Moon? Or Born to Run? Or Remain in Light? Or Moondance? Or Sticky Fingers? Or, hey, you X-ers: remember when that laser first hit the bits on Nevermind and “Smells Like Teen Spirit” came pounding out of the speakers? Remember how scared your parents were.Remember how we used to actually listen to music, as in, the listening was the primary activity? “What did you do today?” “You know, hung out, listened to some records.” I spent 80% of my waking time in college lounging in a dorm room with friends, listening to records, where the music in the room defined the physical space we all occupied, captivated our attention, became the construct within which we interacted. (I’d like to tell you I spent 80% of my time studying, but we both know I can’t put that over.)I thought we’d stopped doing that because we’re older now, we have jobs and kids and spending money, and even if we wanted to just listen to music, well, we have to go to the wallpaper store. But I wonder… because I don’t think anyone listens to music like that anymore. About a year ago my wife and I were finishing off a Saturday date night with an ice cream cone at the place across the street, and the kids working there had set up a turntable and were playing classic vinyl. We listened to side one of Thriller there, and were both amazed (me less so because I rant like this all the time) at how great it sounded. When we made our deal with the MP3 devil (and don’t get me started on the compromises we make in fidelity with a file format containing a tenth as much data as a CD track does; if you can’t hear the difference, it is likely because you can’t tell the difference on those ear buds of yours) we diverged the music from the equipment through which it sounds best. As a result, we’ve traded engagement for convenience. We have the music wherever we go; but it doesn’t draw us in, wash over us, like it once did; And I don’t think that’s because we’re older now and music was better when we were kids; I think it is an artifact of the technology we use to store and listen.Sacrificing engagement for convenience. Sure, that’s the story of modern life (I’m blogging, tweeting, and podcasting right this moment). But is anyone really ever going to change the world, one pair of ear buds at a time?Every once in a while my wife and daughter have to go somewhere or other for the day and I stay home. On such occasions I make a beeline for the living room with a stack of CDs, and I sit in the big chair and listen. Really listen. Make a point, if you think of it, to do that some time. Get reacquainted with your CD collection, on the big speakers. You’ll be amazed. Unless, heaven forbid, you digitized them all and tossed them away.Headline: Artist of the Decade The first honorable mention is the Allman Brothers. Yes, really, the Allman Brothers. Or, more accurately, the extended family that begins with the seven current band members and extends outward to include the Derek Trucks Band, Gov’t Mule, Susan Tedeschi, and so on.I could go on about how great they are live—you’ve either caught them at the Beacon, or else you’ve heard about the near-legendary stands they do in Manhattan each spring. And I know a lot of you are thinking, this is a 40 year-old nostalgia act, dude, you have to be kidding me. So let me break it down, in very simple terms.The Allman Brothers Band has always been all about guitars, and while each member is a stellar contributor, what makes them a contender for artist of the decade is the fact that they have arguably (or, perhaps, unarguably) the two best guitarists of this generation, side by side, sharing a stage. Of course I’m talking about the incandescent Derek Trucks, and the Bunyanesque Warren Haynes, who have been together in the band most of the decade, starting with the March 2001 Beacon shows.
I’ve been grappling with a way to put the magnitude of this pairing in context, to describe to others who don’t follow this band what that pairing means, how I think future generations will look back on this line-up (the band’s second classic line-up, along with the Duane Allman-led originals.) And here’s what I’ve got. Imagine that Jimi Hendrix didn’t die, and that he spent most of the ‘70s touring in a band with Jeff Beck, but they didn’t do much in the studio. Imagine, say, those three-hour shows at the Palladium on 14^th Street, with “Freeway Jam” segueing into “Crosstown Traffic.”

Hyperbole? Overly kind? Perhaps. But if you can get your head around how groovy that would have been, if you can appreciate that kind of 6-string wet dream, then you’re at least open to the possibility of what the Derek/Warren Allman Brothers means.

Trucks, who plays slide guitar like it was a trumpet, or a sax, or a blues singer, is finally, at age 30, old enough that fans, after 13 years, can stop prefacing everything we say about him with “and he’s still only (insert then-current age).” He is without question THE most unique and distinctive guitar voice of our time, and there really isn’t a number two, and if you’re going to propose someone like John Mayer then I’ve got to come back and say, there probably isn’t a number three through nine either. Whether with the Brothers, with his own band, with Clapton playing the big rooms, or in some other context, Derek is simply a joy to behold, seemingly capable of playing anything, conveying any emotion, all without breaking a sweat or offering a grimace.

Meanwhile Haynes has cut a Herculean swath through the decade. Here he is dropping Christmas Jams; there pre-jams, Mountain Jams, solo gigs, Mule tours, Allman tours, Dead tours, One for Woody, the Phil Lesh Quintet, the Deep End, the Deepest End, the Jammys, the sit-ins—if you judge a man by the tracks he leaves in the snow, Haynes is the Abominable Freaking Snowman of jamband nation. Which, when Radiohead, Gov’t Mule, Arcade Fire, and Tom Petty all play the same festivals, really means live band nation.

I didn’t put any official live bootlegs on this list, but if you want to hear what I’m fussing about, I can recommend the following concert recordings, available for sale from Hitting the Note: 8/10/03; 9/25/04; 9/18/05; 3/20/09 (that one has 45 minutes of Clapton); and 3/26/09.

My second honorable mention is Ani DiFranco. In the late ‘90s I knew of her as a “punk/folk” singer who had her own record label; but my wife, who I met in 1997, was a fan, and it wasn’t long before we made our way to a show together (With Kerry Carley and Donna Moran). Seeing Ani live made me a believer; I remember leaving my party to wander closer to get a better look at Ani and band during the slow jam “Come Away From It.”

I’ve heard her talk about how in the folk singer pantheon Bob Dylan is the brightest star, whereas she was always more influenced by Joni Mitchell (certainly the way she uses guitar tunings is evocative.) But for me, there’s more than a little Patti Smith in there too, because on stage, Ani is both a poet and a shaman. Her concerts—at which, invariably, you’ll hear three new songs you’ve never heard before, even if you have the record she released yesterday—are cathartic, communal happenings where something profoundly mystical and medicinal is going on between artist and performer. Shamans are healers. Very few musicians have had that shaman thing going on; Bob Marley comes to mind, and definitely Patti. Ani has it as well.

She’s also an absolutely great acoustic guitar player. Her style is uniquely rhythmic and percussive, as is her vocal phrasing, the net effect of which is that she manages to create polyrhythms and counter-rhythms with just one voice and one guitar. It’s truly uncanny to behold. So there is an undeniable funk to the folk; she puts the hips in hippie. With a band around her, the effect is even more beguiling, as the rhythms, cadence and poetry draws you inexorably into the music.

If there is a criticism, I’d say it is her sometime inclination toward overtly political songs. I've always believed that the more powerful political statement is a song about one farmer, not about Big Farming (Mellencamp's "Rain on the Scarecrow" comes to mind.) But on songs like “Tis of Thee” Ani manages to scale down the political into the personal, weaving a compelling compelling narrative that places her squarely in the tradition of great American folk music, going back to Woody Guthrie.

She is a major voice who put out at least two great records in the decade, but like a true folk artist she made her art a night at a time, in the moment. I’ve probably seen her 25 times now, and she’s way at the top of the list of artists I consider must-see acts. The live work is amply documented via the Official Bootleg series at Righteous Babe; try the newest, from Chicago, 9/22/07, with her latest four-piece, and full of the new happy tunes, 2 CDs for the can’t-beat-it price of ten bucks.

My artist of the decade has to be Ryan Adams. He was the frontman for Whiskeytown, a raucous alt.country band during the previous decade when he was known to be, shall we say, reckless in his… well, everything. He announced his arrival as a solo artist in 2000 with Heartbreaker, a great, sad country break-up record that made a lot of rock magazine best-of-decade lists. He followed it up with the incandescent Gold, in 2001. In 2002 he was supposed to put out five records, but that didn’t pan out; the best of the sessions was collapsed into Demolition (a play on the term “demos.”) But it wasn’t hard to find the studio bootlegs for Suicide Handbook, Destroyer, Pinkhearts Demos, Exile on Franklin Street, and 24 Hours.

In 2003 he put out Rock’n’Roll, which may be seen as a Paul Westerberg homage; on the same day he released the first half of Love is Hell, which came out with less fanfare but which was the better record. Then a pivotal event-- in January 2004 he fell off the stage and broke his hand. There was talk of retirement (in fact he’s retired from music right now), but instead he essentially relearned to play the guitar, embraced the notion of playing in, as opposed to fronting, a band, formed the Cardinals, and by the fall of ’04 he was playing out with the first Cardinals line-up, working through some new material, dropping in the occasional Dead cover.

2005 was his year. Adams put out three albums, all outstanding: first Cold Roses, a double album of exquisite (American) beauty, about which more below; then Jacksonville City Nights, more twangy and country, with more narrative in the songs and the nod in the direction of Whiskeytown that many fans were waiting for. Both were credited to Ryan Adams and the Cardinals. Then late in the year, 29, a solo record with a skew to sadder piano songs, each one playing out like a little movie (save for the title track, which was essentially a rewrite of the Dead’s "Truckin’.”)

So we’re six years in, and he’s put out 8 official albums, at least five unofficial ones, and there’s not a stinker in the bunch. Meanwhile the Cardinals came out of the gate great as a performing entity—the 2005 shows, featuring songs from the new records before many of them had been released, are preserved and memorable. Somehow, the band managed to turn over three of five members in two years and get better each time. In 2006 Adams produced Willie Nelson’s Songbird, with the Cardinals as backing band; ’07 brought Easy Tiger, an extra half an album in the form of an EP, and a gorgeous string of acoustic shows through the spring and summer. If you aren’t flustered by bittorrent and FLAC, do yourself a favor and go get this one right now. You’re welcome.

Adams also began an enchanting musical partnership with Phil Lesh, the bass player from the Grateful Dead, in 2005, with Adams joining the band for some Lesh gigs, including a noteworthy New Year’s Eve show. Lesh continued to include Adams songs in his repertoire long after, and they sounded great alongside the Dead, Beatles, Van Morrison, Band, and Dylan songs he also covers. I saw Phil Lesh & Friends on February 19, 2006, and in the first set they moved from “China Cat Sunflower” into the Adams nugget “Cold Roses,” then segued via jam into the Jerry Garcia solo tune “Cats Under the Stars.” I was sure many there mistook the Adams song for an old Garcia original they couldn’t quite place.

The Cardinals kept getting better, Adams sobered up, put out Cardinology in 2008, released 10 free albums of hip hop, metal, and studio tomfoolery through his website, married Mandy Moore, and retired from music. So now you’re all caught up.

Really, a hell of a decade, in terms of both quantity and quality. If he never plays another note, for my money he’s already a hall of famer.

Herewith, the list.

OK then. Enough preamble. Here’s the amble. As a rule, I tried to include only one title per artist; there are two exceptions to that rule, Ryan Adams and Ani DiFranco. Derek Trucks came damn near putting another one here as well. And don’t sweat the actual numerical rankings too much; I didn’t. There’s a standard error of about 3-5 slots.

40. Tan Sleeve, Bad From Both Sides (2003): Tan Sleeve is Lane Steinberg and Steve Barry, who had been two thirds of the secret/legendary ‘80s power pop band The Wind. Even more important, I went to summer camp with Lane.

Bad From Both Sides is, for me, their best work, a lovely invocation of the Big Bs (Beatles, Beach Boys, Big Star, Bert Bacharach.) Check out their exquisite cover of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” perhaps my favorite rock coverage of Henry Mancini. I also love “Equidistant,” “Destruction,” and “It Doesn’t Snow in New York Anymore.” In addition to being melodic and poppy, they’re also eclectic and funny.

And I can’t say this enough; Lane, I’m sorry about that incident with the softball in 1972.

39. Beck, Sea Change (2002): Beck is hit or miss for me, and his biggest hits aren’t my biggest hits. I liked Tropicalia, loved the totally funkadelic Midnight Vultures. On Sea Change the smart nerdy techno white guy gets his heart broke, and he writes some of his most human and direct songs ever; “Lost Cause” will break your heart. I love albums that have a sound to them; this one does. It is sad and gauzy and floaty and white and atmospheric, and it stands apart from the rest of Beck’s catalog for the rawness of the songwriting and the directness of the presentation.

38. Mudcrutch, Mudcrutch (2008): Mudcrutch were a bunch of kids from northern Florida who moved out to LA in the early ‘70s to make a record and become rock stars. The record company wasn’t so keen on the sessions, but they liked the bass player. So long story short, the bass player moves over to rhythm guitar, a couple of line-up changes, and presto! Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Mudcrutch finally went and made their breakthrough record in 2008. If it had come out in the early ‘70s it would have placed them squarely in the Eagles/Burritos school of country rock (Mudcrutch guitarist Tom Leadon’s brother Bernie actually played in both those bands.) Lots of Southern California style country rock with all members singing, although Petty clearly sings the most. Heartbreakers Benmont Tench (keys) and Mike Campbell (guitar) are both always studs; of particular note amongst all the laid back country rock is a nine-minute track called “Crystal River” which, Petty said in concert at the Fillmore in April ’08, “runs through Florida… and occasionally my mind.” The song builds and flows like Neil Young’s “Down by the River,” melodically evocative of “White Bird,” and is a tour de force for Campbell, one of rock’s most underrated players, who usually does his thing in a tightly structured song (think “American Girl” or “Listen to Her Heart”) but here gets to take his time exploring, climbing, crafting some of the best guitar work of the year.

Late in ’08 they put out a live EP with an even better version of “Crystal River,” plus a killer take on Jerry Lee Lewis’s “High School Confidential.”

37. Susan Tedeschi, Wait for Me (2002): I came very close to including her 2005 Hope and Desire, a great soul record on which she put down the guitar, gave her regular band the record off, and worked with producer Joe Henry; the album is a cousin to the Solomon Burke release elsewhere on this list. But Wait for Me is really Suzie T in the pocket. If Bonnie Raitt and Buddy Guy had a baby in the ‘70s, that baby would be Susan Tedeschi. And as Mrs. Derek Trucks, she’s a part of the Allman Brothers traveling road show as well.

Wait for Me is hard not to like if you dig the blues. She sings the hell out of everything, including “Gonna Move” and “The Feeling Music Brings,” both originals and signature songs now; and her killer-diller cover of Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice” (even better than the Four Seasons!) The live album from Austin City Limits is also pretty good and might even be more essential; it has all three of those songs, some of her other signature tunes (“Lost Lover Blues”), and also “Angel From Montgomery,” so you can make your own Bonnie Raitt comparisons. But for some reason I tend to shy away from live recordings on these lists; probably because it’s hard to tell where the live albums, the “official bootlegs,” and the actual bootlegs leave off and pick up; for example, I’d probably direct you to 10 commercially available concert recordings from the Allmans before I’d point you to their actual “live album” from the decade, One Way Out (which is way good, but not as good as, for instance, 8/24/04.)

36. New Pornographers, Electric Version (2003): Along with Wilco and the Shins, this is a band I really wish I “got.” A Canadian indie-rock super-group including Neko Case, who I mention because she sings country songs and is a redhead, the Pornographers have put out four albums this decade of quirky guitar rock that you want to call power pop, only it isn’t, not really. The music is full of hooks, but they are inverted, subverted, combined, twisted, layered, delayed, so that they come at you but in very non-traditional forms; not a lot of verse-chorus-verse here. These are the kind of songs you have to hear 15 times before they sound catchy; then you can’t get them out of your head.

I don’t know what the consensus is, but Electric Version, the second, is my favorite. (Editor's note: after I posted this, Ron Everhart wrote to tell me he thinks Twin Cinema is probably the best of the four New Pornographers records. Knowing Ron, he's probably right.)

35. She and Him, Volume One (2008): She being Zooey Deschanel, indie film sweetheart, him being M. Ward, indie rock sweetheart. This is a cheerful collection of folksy pop songs, definitely and deliberately evocative of the radio fare of the ‘60s and ‘70s (the two covers: the Beatles, Smokey Robinson.) Your wife will totally love this. And you can play it for your work friends if you don’t want to go with Norah Jones.

34. Jack Johnson, Sing-Alongs and Lullabies From Curious George (2006): On Paper I should love Jack Johnson, surfer dude, mellow king. Sometimes he's so mellow, though, you're afraid he might rot.

This plays like a kids’ record, plain and simple, the soundtrack from the Curious George movie. And I had a 2-year-old when it came out. And, well… it’s breezy, giddy, wistful, full of great songs, irresistible for kids of all ages. A great record for a family drive on a lazy spring day.

33. Gov’t Mule, Banks of the Deep End volume 1 (2001): Obviously a band best served live. When bass player Allen Woody, Warren Haynes’s best friend and musical partner, died in 2000 Haynes embarked on a three-year period of catharsis, wherein he channeled pain into passion by writing, playing, and touring, splitting time between three different bands (Mule, Lesh, the Allmans) while opening shows as a solo act. He used work as therapy, bestowing upon us a ton of great work in the process. This is the first of a series of Deep End projects that included 2 CDs, a live CD/DVD, and a movie, all of which were specifically done in tribute to Woody’s memory, with a pantheon of different bass players anchoring the now-bottomless Mule throughout.

While the Mule records are generally calling cards for the live shows, and fans generally quickly put aside the formal album releases for official and unofficial live recordings, this one merits a place here, because it includes many of Haynes’s best-loved and best written songs: the beautiful ballads “Banks of the Deep End” and “Beautifully Broken”; jam band anthem “Soulshine” (already on an Allman Brothers album); the jazz instrumental “Sco-Mule”; and scorcher “Worried Down With the Blues,” a staple of Allman Brothers shows since the mid-90s. There’s also an absolutely smokin’ 9-minute read on the Creedence song “Effigy” that will put hair on your chest.

Haynes can’t decide if he’s a soul man, an ass kicker, or a singer-songwriter. At his best he’s all three. He’s at his best here.

32. Bob Dylan, Modern Times (2006): If you would have said, 25 years ago (twenty-five years!) that Bob Dylan would be a vibrant, relevant artist doing some of the best work of his career in the 21^st century, you would most surely have been branded as a madman (and who could have quarreled with that assessment, just projecting forward off the trajectory from Blood on the Tracks to Empire Burlesque?) Yet here we are, with this grizzled old blues cat from another time, making records the old fashioned way, and making them really, really well. Volume 8 of the Official Bootleg Series, a 2- (or 3-) disc set of later-period outtakes, provides an impressive overview of how rich and nuanced his recent work has been, and if I included anthologies on this list that would be a top-10 pick. For me Modern Times is the best of his four official studio records this decade (although Love and Theft is a solid contender for this list as well.)

In the sixties Chess blues artists like Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters put out a series of records called The Real Folk Blues, presumably to capitalize on the fact of folk music suddenly becoming commercial and popular. The blues, the implication was, were the “real” folk music. If that’s the case, then later-period Dylan might well be called the real blues folk, because Grumpy McRolling Stone has turned into a bona fide blues cat.

31. King Crimson, The Power to Believe (2003): Crim goes through periods of activity and inactivity. The activity had ended in 1996, followed by a phase wherein subsets of the 6-man line-up convened as the “ProjeKCts” for musical experimentation. In 2000 one of those ProjeKCts became King Crimson again, putting out The Construction of Light. It wasn’t quite there; frankly the songs, and Belew’s lyrics, weren’t up to snuff. Several EPs and tours later came The Power to Believe, a beautiful, terrifying work that sounds more than anything else like the shattering of spun crystal. My wife says King Crimson makes her want to kill someone; my friend Henry considers this an apt description, and a compliment.

30. Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002): This album sounds like nothing so much as songs falling apart, like a sad somewhat alt.country record slipping out of song form and getting sucked into a lost vortex of static and radio noise. Which is great; I’ve been fond of the “song form decaying into chaos” gambit since Jefferson Airplane came out of “The Ballad of You and Me and Pooneil” with “A Small Package of Great Value Will Come to You, Shorty,” 45 years ago. So I’m still not quite sure why it’s supposed to be so effing brilliant when Wilco or Radiohead (see also, “Kid A”) does it.

Be that as it may, I do like the shtick when it’s done well and with heart, and Wilco does a nice job here. Wilco is definitely a band I wish I “got.” Like the Shins and the New Pornographers, I’m sure that one day I’ll put in the time and Wilco will just snap into place for me. So I’ve got that to look forward to. Foxtrot does have a beguiling and alluring quality to it, and it takes you on a sonic journey, starting here, ending way the hell over there. It’s still a good listen, and if it isn’t as revelatory as the rock cognoscenti would have you believe, you still ought to own it.

29. Paul McCartney, Memory Almost Full (2007): Every record he’s put out since Flaming Pie has been heralded as a return to his Beatle sound. None of them are. To my ears, since Linda died he’s sounded old, brittle, and mortal, which is not how I like my whimsy served, and frankly, some people just want to fill the world with silly love songs. Undermine the whimsy on a McCartney album and what have you got left?

On Memory Almost Full, which vies with the Fireman release (Macca with producer Flood) as his best of the decade, Paul doesn’t find his inner Beatle, but oddly enough, he does locate his inner Wings. “Mr. Bellamy” is clearly more than a passing acquaintance of Mrs. Vanderbilt, “Dance Tonight” has the full-on whimsy mojo and it’s not hard to imagine it on Ram or Red Rose Speedway, and the medley toward the end—including “Vintage Clothes” and “That Was Me”—strings some unbelievably likable songs together while revisiting his Beatle past: “Mersey beat n' with the band, that was me.” Some of my pop friends thought Chaos and Creation was the real deal, but having Radiohead’s producer do Macca was not a good idea. No, this is the real goods—“Gratitude,” “Ever Present Past,” Only Mama Knows”—maybe a final burst of melodic genius from the cute one. It took me three plays to fall into this record, and I haven’t fallen out yet. Well done, Sir Paul.

28. Lucinda Williams, World Without Tears (2003): Of course you loved 1998’s Car Wheels on a Gravel Road—it was the great album you knew Lu had in her. Then Essence came out and you were all, WTF? And then World Without Tears came out, and you were all, OK, that’s the follow-up to Car Wheels I was craving. World Without Tears is brutally honest, gripping, at times raw, at times melancholy. But it sounds great, especially her weary slur in “Ventura” and “Those Three Days.” Her best of the decade, and I think a great album.

27. Future Clouds and Radar, Future Clouds and Radar (2007): Robert Harrison’s Cotton Mather made one of the best pop records of the ‘90s (Kon Tiki, which sounded like John Lennon fronting Big Star in 1979.) FC&R is his next band. Their debut is the kind of album they invented the word “sprawling” for. Vintage psychedelic rave-ups give way to gorgeous pop songs and vice versa. It’s a double album of classical rock and power pop psychedelia, with that everything-but-the-kitchen-sink effect that usually means genius, over-indulgence, or both. Here I’d have to call it some of both.

26. Thad Cockrell and Caitlin Cary, Begonias (2005): Caitlin Cary was in Whiskeytown for a spell, and is one of Tres Chicas. I’m not really familiar with Cockrell outside of this album; Wikipedia tells me he has three solo records out as well. Begonias is an album of country duets, beautifully played and sung, mostly sad songs, which is how you want your country duets. The first song, “Two Different Things,” leads into the chorus with, “What I want and what I got are…”

I’ve given this record as a gift several times, including, apparently, to my brother on two different occasions (both times with the Ollabelle debut.)

Also of note, the country duet records made by Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez, which if you like this, you are sure to like as well; I’d recommend Red Dog Tracks.

25. Ani DiFranco, Evolve (2003): Evolve was the sound of a folksinger shedding her skin. Ani had begun playing with her 4-piece band around 1997, added horns, made Reveling/Reckoning, made a DVD and a live album… and that arc was done. By 2002 she was playing solo shows (see her official bootleg from Carnegie Hall), and while her band is on Evolve, the record always sounded to me like Ani poking her beak out of the shell, looking toward the next musical plateau. Indeed there is a butterfly on the cover, and an egg on the actual CD. On the title track I hear just Ani’s voice and guitar, and I do not believe that is a coincidence (“We are trying to be born… we are trying to evolve.”) The shows around the time of Evolve, which first featured these songs, were without band, and Ani was a girl-with-a-guitar for a good 18 months before beginning to flesh out to her next band, adding Todd Sickafoose on upright acoustic bass (when I peruse my collection of her official bootlegs, it looks like he shows up in the Spring of 2004.)

Ani put out a couple of records next that didn’t grab me (Standing Stone and Knuckle Down) but by 2008’s Red Letter Year, and with husband and baby daughter in tow, Ani had gone all happy on our asses—including a lyric reminding herself, “Don’t forget to have a good time.” As a three-piece or four-piece, anchored by Sickafoose, who hangs on her every movement, giving back precisely the note, the riff, the melody she needs, Ani now sings happy songs, a strange happenstance for her core audience, and not least for the little folksinger herself. The happy songs are lovely, and it turns out you can find happily ever after and still write a great song. For me, the arc to that place begins on Evolve, a funky, catchy, forward-looking piece of art that will make your ears dance.

24. Ryan Adams, Heartbreaker (2000): The record that announced to the world that the wild drunken front man for Whiskeytown was gonna be a contenda. Full of aching, heart-breaking, beautiful alt.country ballads, and if you were inclined to miss the lineage from Gram Parsons, he makes sure you don’t by singing one of the prettiest ones here as a duet with Emmylou Harris. There are some rockers (“To Be Young”), but the best songs are the soft ones: “My Winding Wheel,” “Oh My Sweet Carolina” (with Emmylou), “Come Pick Me Up,” “Why Do They Leave.”

Heartbreaker showed up on several best-of-the-decade lists, but for me it wasn’t Adams’s high water mark; it was an incantation. At his worst, he’s whiny, weepy, wallowing, sloppy and self-indulgent. At his best, well, let’s just admit that each of those descriptors has been applied to Dylan and Neil Young at some time or another. He’s not the voice of a generation, but he makes great records. Next up he’d make a great rock’n’roll record (Gold) and soon he’d be fronting one of the best live bands around.

23. Florapop, Sunshine Saturday (2003): Florapop is a married couple who named their kid McCartney, and that ought to tell you about 40% of what you need to know here. This record sold, I’d wager, maybe 5,000 copies, but I’m damn glad one of them was to me. It is Beach Boys-inspired, California sunshine pop, a nostalgic romp through the days of your youth (if you’re about my age) when you’d look forward all week to watching cartoons on Saturday morning. The music is a paean to being a kid, and being carefree, and to Saturdays and sunshine and color. The way they manage to evoke the whimsy and innocence and feel of those times is truly uncanny; I don’t know if they’re evoking being 12 universally, or specifically being 12 in 1971 or so, but it sure works on me. When I told Mark Flora in an email that the record sounded to me the way a sweet tart tasted (the big ones, the ones that filled your mouth with sugar, but there was no way to bite them so you just stuffed it in and sucked) (and no, that wasn’t dirty), he took that as a compliment. Which it was. I break this out early every summer, for those carefree days on the beach.

22. Los Super Seven, Heard It on the X (2005): They started off half Los Lobos spin-off, half Tex-Mex supergroup. On this, their third record, there is nary a Lobo in sight. The X is a tribute to the border radio of the ‘50s and ‘60s—the title track is a ZZ Top cover referencing the powerful Mexican stations that beamed all across Texas (Mexican radio station call letters begin with the letter X.) The record features more Tex than usual but still plenty of Mex, with a core band including Calexico (we like them a lot) and Austin guitar hero Charlie Sexton, and different vocalists offering up Tex-Mex border radio staples. So you get treats like John Hiatt singing “I’m Not That Kat (Anymore),” Lyle Lovett blowing the doors off of “My Window Faces the South,” Joe Ely nailing Bobby Fuller’s “Let Her Dance,” and Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown singing “See That my Grave is Kept Clean.” And Delbert McClinton, Raul Malo, Freddie Fender forchrissakes, Rodney Crowell, Rick Trevino… all in all, a great romp through a great sound, a great batch of songs (two, fittingly, by Doug Sahm.)

21. U2, All That You Can’t Leave Behind (2000): You have to hand it to U2. Same four guys, and a supergroup in the ‘80s, the ‘90s, and the ‘00s. Has anyone else managed to do that?

You loved 1987’s Joshua Tree, don’t try and tell me you didn’t. But that record was the culmination of a drive to the top of the heap that finally saw them get too big, too earnest, too mythic. Afterward, there was only one way for U2 to go—and that was to deflate the myth, to go all ironic on your ass. Hence most of the ‘90s; Zoo TV, the Fly, and Pop. But by 2000 U2 had gotten to a place where they could push through the sly wink and just make a kickass rock record again, and fortuitously they chose to do so. In an interview, Bono described this album as U2 re-applying for the title of world’s greatest rock band.

Their work this decade was strong—three fine records, and at least as much stuff released to the fan club (some of it better than the official records)—but the first one was the very best, wherein they go back to doing what they do beat, which is making the hair on your knuckles stand up. You knew they were back 5 seconds into the first song (“Elevation.”)

Live, of course, they have remained one of the very best bands in rock.

20. Sufjan Stevens, Come On Feel the Illinoise (2005): Freak folk was a trend I tried to go with, just to prove to myself my ears weren’t old, until one too many Devendra Banhart records made me give it all up. But this sucker is a heck of a piece of work, and was Paste’s best of the decade. It doesn’t rate that highly here, because I don’t fine myself called back to it; I actually rated it more highly when it was out than I do with a couple years passed.

Stevens was supposedly going to record an album for each state—he’d done Michigan already. Of course that conceit would have required him to live to about 140. This weird, brittle work doesn’t sound like Illinois—I’d expect the state to sound more like Buddy Guy, whereas on Illinoise, as I wrote in my round-up of the best of 2005, “One minute vocals and acoustic guitar, the next synths and glockenspiel and he's channeling Phillip Glass.”

There are titles here like “Casamir Pulaski Day,” and “Decatur, or a Round of Applause for Your Stepmother.” A lot of people have pointed to the eerie piano ballad, “John Wayne Gacy,” as a highlight, me included. Gacy, of course, was a notorious Illinois-born serial killer; here’s a spooky video of the song.

In April 2008 when I happened to be in Chicago for the Counting Crows appearance at the Apple Store, I asked them what records they’d liked recently. Duritz waxed immediately about Illinoise, and even said that they built one of the songs on the “Sunday Mornings” half of their ’08 album around the piano part from “John Wayne Gacy.” If you’re reading, Adam, I forgot which one, and sorry you didn’t make the list.

19. Robert Plant and Alison Kraus, Raising Sand (2007): Raising Sand won album of the year at the 2009 Grammys, so I guess my tastes are pretty mainstream after all…

For me, the artist here is producer T-Bone Burnett. No offense intended to the blond prima donna (or to Alison Kraus), but Burnett has quietly weaved one of the most compelling discographies of the decade, beginning with the sound track to O Brother Where Art Thou? (which triggered a bluegrass resurgence, and featured Ms. Kraus); and including but not limited to soundtracks to both Cold Mountain and a Mighty Wind, and fine records by Elvis Costello, the BoDeans, John Mellencamp, BB King, and Warren Zevon’s last, The Wind. Oh, and this.

Bluegrass queen Kraus and—well, I’m sure you know Plant, he took his shirt off a lot in the ‘70s, yowled on blues songs, and was in a band with a guy who played guitar with a bow, and who collectively achieved some degree of popularity. Anyway, somehow, the Appalachian roots of Kraus and the Celtic roots of Plant (and believe me, his roots are showing) meet smack dab in the middle of T-Bone’s rootsy acoustic Americana. Burnett plays acoustic guitars and brings out the usual crew—including stringed instrument whizzes Norman Blake, Greg Liesz, and Marc Ribot. The result is a timeless, moody, spooky music, the two voices melding like otherworldly aches, over the most tasteful picking you’re likely to find. I didn’t get to see them live, but I’m sure it was a drag dealing with the aging frat boys standing on chairs hollering “Whole Lotta Love!”

18. Calexico, Hot Rail (2000): Calexico is a Tucson-based band that brings an indie-rock sensibility to Tex-Mex border music. This is Americana with a distinctly Tejano, mariachi vibe, right down to the trumpet. Feast of Wire, from 2003, and Carried to Dust (2008) are also fine records, although Garden Ruin (2006) strays from the organic rootsy sound that they do best and plays too slick. There was also an EP with Iron and Wine in 2005, and a supporting co-headlining tour where each band played separately and then they did the EP together, and that was a musical highlight of the decade as well.

Hot Rail was strongly recommended to me by a man known only as the Tour Mystic… it is a beautiful and spooky thing, a late night record, recorded from a mythical place where Tejano and classic Coltrane meet up, with a dash of Sketches of Spain for good measure. It is border radio re-imagined as make-out jazz. And Hot Rail is the kind of record where the silences—the notes they choose not to play—say as much as the notes they do play. The music breathes, occupies its own space in your living room. Go there, don’t mind the smoky haze, and be careful not to drink the worm.

17. Cloud Eleven, Orange and Green and Yellow and Near (2002): Cloud Eleven is really one guy, Rick Gallego, although ably assisted here by contemporary Cali posters (and Brian Wilson band members) Nelson Bragg (who’s own Day Into Night was a candidate for this list) and Probyn Gregory. The title is a line from a Byrds song, but it also describes the music herein. This album comes straight from some parallel version of 1968, Southern California sunshine with some buzzy kick and bite, kind of like if Roger McGuinn and George Harrison had joined the Beach Boys after Smiley Smile. If in fact this record had come out in 1968, we’d all know it as a classic. Gorgeous vocals and harmonies, great concise pop songs that will make your ears happy. There were a lot of so-called movements and trends in music in the ‘00s; I wish the resurgence of SoCal sunshine pop, which generally orbited around Brian Wilson and the people who moved through his touring band, had garnered as much attention as, say, bands from Brooklyn who were influenced by Duran Duran.

16. Fleetwood Mac, Say You Will (2003): Or more accurately, the nine Lindsey Buckingham tunes on the proper album plus the Lindsey-sung Dylan cover on the bonus EP. Lindsey is one of my favorites, and he actually put out two solo albums in the decade, plus a live record (making the’00s an insanely productive time for him.) I wanted Lindsey on this list because he’s one of my absolute favorites, but I keep coming back to his songs on this record, more than either of the solo works, although both (Gift of Screws and Under the Skin) contain some solid gems.

In the mid-90s Lindsey cut a solo record tentatively titled Gift of Screws as follow-up to the gorgeous Out of the Cradle. For reasons that elude me, it never came out. So when it was time for Fleetwood Mac to reunite and shift some units, he had a trove of tunes all ready; even better, serendipity-wise, John McVie and Mick Fleetwood were already on a bunch of ‘em. So all that remained was to layer on some Stevie Nicks vocal tracks, and voila! Fleetwood Mac songs.

Nicks didn’t want to do “Come,” a scathing Buckingham FU to an ex-girlfriend that she feared people would think was about her. (Really? Still?) But we know it’s actually about Anne Heche.

A couple of the Nicks songs are OK—in particular the title track—but then, not a one of them made it onto my iPod. This is on my list as the best Lindsey Buckingham record of the decade.

15. Solomon Burke, Don’t Give Up On Me (2002): Please, for the love of God, can I get a witness?

One of several great, true soul music records produced by Joe Henry in the decade (also including Susan Tedeschi’s Hope and Desire, which almost made this list, and the multi-artist session I Believe to My Soul, and the Costello/Toussaint collaboration The River in Reverse.)

But this is Burke’s show. Henry’s talent here is to facilitate while staying out of the way; on the liner notes he describes himself as the corner man to Burke’s boxer. The album was recorded live in the studio in LA over a four-day period, and features guest spots by Daniel Lanois on guitar, and by the Five Blind Boys of Alabama. The songs are mostly unrecorded originals (some written specifically for Burke) by people like Tom Waits, Brian Wilson, Van Morrison, Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe. Not too shabby. The band is in the pocket and perfect and restrained, falling like autumn leaves around the vocal arrangement Burke brings to the take. Burke’s own church organist, Rudy Copeland, falls in like a second skin, an instrumental response to Burke’s incantations, putting the spell in Gospel.

Because Don’t Give Up On Me was recorded live in the studio, and is comprised of songs the players were learning at the time, you can hear the music breathe as the songs take on form and life. You’ll listen to this, marvel at how fresh it sounds—contemporary recording technology applied to the kind of soul music they mostly stopped making when Al Green first hung it up-- and wonder why no one makes records like this anymore. I’m going to guess, it’s because not many can. Call it the make-out record of the century, call it an old pro doing what he does best, call it a lesson in love and soul-- but by God, call it!

14. The Little Willies, The Little Willies (2006): In 2002, you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone who wanted to play you this great new album by this great new singer—Come Away With Me by Norah Jones. You heard it in Starbucks, at the chiropractor, in your wife’s friend’s car. Naturally, all this ubiquity put me off it (I couldn’t listen to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours until 1983); my reaction to Norah at the time was a desire to go back to an earlier Jones, Rickie Lee, of whose work I found Norah to be derivative…

…much better this release, from one of Norah’s numerous fun side projects. The Little Willies are a sort of urban hipster country band, the name referring to their alleged beginning as a Willie Nelson cover outfit. The Willies included Norah, then-producer-boyfriend Lee Alexander on bass, and the always exquisite Richard Julian (the ill-rewarding “songwriter’s songwriter”) sharing vocal and guitar duties. The band’s zeitgeist is perhaps best captured on the closing track, “Lou Reed,” wherein that quintessential black-clad Manhattan hipster is observed going cow tipping. A mix of covers and originals, including the Leiber/Stoller Elvis tune “Love Me,” the country song “Streets of Baltimore” that I’ll always associate with Gram Parsons, and of course two Willie Nelson tracks. This one stuck in my CD player for months; it still rewards, and is instantly likable and fun.

13. Lewis Taylor, The Lost Album (2007): The Lost Album was originally slated to come out in the ‘90s (when Taylor was a Brit blue-eyed soul man.) It is a poppy, colorful summertime romp, full of ringing and harmonies and colorful guitars.

This is one of those records where you’re going to want to play “spot the influences,” so let me make it easy for you. The Beach Boys are in there for sure (in fact on another record Taylor covers Brian Wilson’s “Melt Away”). But the biggest influence by far is Todd Rundgren (and Taylor has been known to encore live with Todd’s “Everybody’s Going to Heaven/King Kong Reggae” medley from the 1973 Todd album.).

A lot of other artists have mined the Todd-and-Beach-Boys vein to good effect (the one-man bands New Radicals, A Simple Carnival, and June and the Exit Wounds come immediately to mind, and maybe even Matthew Sweet.) But what separates Taylor, I think, is the way he manages to run amok in his own record, laying down the tracks, the lead instruments, the vocals, the harmonies… and then sort of dancing and squirting colorful joy all over the top, supplementing the studio craft with unchecked id. Especially vibrant and noteworthy—and most evocative of Rundgren’s early-mid period work—is the Jackson Pollack way Taylor uses lead guitar to splay color across the outros of songs.

So sure, this record is derivative, and if that puts you off, so be it. But I’d argue that all the best music is derivative, the sound of artist or artists assimilating something that came before and making something new, or pushing what came before forward in some way. Taylor might not actually be breaking a whole lot of new ground here, but if you want a soundtrack to doing the snoopy dance on the beach, here it is.

12. Alejandro Escovedo, A Man Under the Influence (2001): One of Bruce Springsteen’s favorites, and one of America’s great and tragically unsung voices, Escovedo made a lot of fine music this decade (By the Hand of the Father, Real Animal, and especially the live string quartet recording Room of Songs). But this album was his best. It was produced by the dBs’ Chris Stamey, who was fresh off his work on an unreleased Whiskeytown album, and features ex-Whiskeytown members Ryan Adams and Caitlin Cary. But really this is all Escovedo, pure border town grit and heartbreak, part Freddie Fender, part Lou Reed, part Chuck Berry, part Iggy Pop, part Keith Richards. It’s basic Americana rock-n-roll at its best, Austin Texas style.

There really isn’t much else to say. He’ll break your heart and shake your moneymaker, sometimes in the same song.

11. Jim Boggia, Fidelity is the Enemy (2001): Shortly after 9/11 I found myself working the merch table at a Saturday afternoon show for David Bash’s International Pop Overthrow festival in New York City. The first act was a guy from Philly with an acoustic guitar, slated to play a solo set (I knew he was from Philly because I heard him on the phone talking about what song he wanted to do for a George Harrison tribute, and he said “Wah-Wah—the song, not the store.”) He sound checked with a lovely version of the Beatles song “Long Long Long” (Also a Harrison tune.) When he brought me his CDs to sell, he reveled in showing me all the Beatle and classic pop-inspired touches—the name of the label (Scrapple), the apple on the CD itself. “I threw in every cheap trick in the book!” (About which, we agreed, capital C, capital T was probably more appropriate.) The booklet to my copy of Fidelity is the Enemy is inscribed, “To Josh—thanks for selling me. Jim Boggia.” I sold 18 of them that day—most I’ve ever moved.

It is possible that Safe in Sound or Misadventures in Stereo are better records—they certainly sound like they had more money behind them—but this one is my sentimental favorite and absolutely remains the one I’m closest to; I think probably the home-made feel of it serves to enhance its charm. Like all of Jim’s work, it is imbibed with the feel of the Beatles, and of classic sixties and seventies rock and pop in general. His catalog is essentially an homage to his (and my) record collection—songs with titles like “Bubblegum 45s” (on this one), “Listening to NRBQ,” and “8 Track;” an EP of Beatle tunes; and his brilliant covers of the Faces (“Debris”), Queen (“Somebody to Love,” spot on, just voices and acoustic guitar), and especially the Kinks “Waterloo Sunset,” which includes his brilliant deconstruction of, and master class on, the backing vocals on the original.

In the liner notes to Fidelity Jim calls it his “love letter to Pop music,” and he references Mal Evans, Todd Rundgren, Paul McCartney, Emmitt Rhodes, Brian Wilson, and Jon Brion. A group of artists who, collectively, triangulate this record pretty well. I love it, and I love Boggia. (special note: I played with Jim live once—him on piano, me on invisible trumpet, backing Jill Sobule at Joe’s Pub on “Cinnamon Park.”)

If great Pop music is bad for you, then Jim Boggia is a casualty. I’d like to think I’m right there with him.

10. Drive-By Truckers, Southern Rock Opera (2001): I came late to this band, first hearing 2008’s Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, then doubling back to check this one out. More exploration is clearly indicated.

If I told you that this double-album was a rock opera about Lynyrd Skynyrd, you’d probably think I was pulling your leg. But it is. Ultimately it is about more; it’s about coming of age as a rocker in the south in the early ‘70s, but damn if that doesn’t make it very much about Lynyrd Skynyrd, who are central throughout, and who’s tragic story frames, provides context for the piece. Southern Rock Opera is about “the southern thing,” coming to grips with the baggage of, and then finding redemption for, the culture and heritage of the south. The pantheon of Alabama luminaries is a three-headed Mount Rushmore here—Skynyrd’s Ronnie Van Zandt, football coach Bear Bryant, and George Wallace, who’s own story—embodying the racism of the south that made it so easy for Yankees to generalize, then winning 80% of the black vote the last time he ran—is presented as one of many microcosms of the paradoxical nature of that “southern thing.”

There’s a lot of drinking and bad behavior; the very first song ends in a tragedy, with the protagonist’s best buddy and girlfriend in a fatal car accident the day before high school graduation; when they tell of it the next day, everybody says that “Freebird” was playing on the stereo. And it goes from there, two sprawling records, the first set in the ‘70s, the second set in the present. Of course there are three guitars, like in Skynyrd, but this doesn’t sound strictly like southern rock to me, not unless you count Exile on Main Street as southern rock. Which I do, sort of.

Southern Rock Opera is a work of art that is distinctly of the American south, with a consistent, compelling, and subversively intelligent narrative (I don’t think the Truckers want you to know how literate and smart they are, because they wouldn’t want the other good ol’ boys to find out.) It is almost gothic novel as rock’n’roll record. So you can follow the narrative arc and appreciate what the band has to say about the southern experience; or you can just lose yourself in all those guitars. For artful narrative, holistic cohesion across two sprawling discs, and for the sheer gritty rocking out that ensues, I have no choice but to mark this one of the decade’s best.

9. Ollabelle, Ollabelle (2004): Ollabelle is a roots rock ensemble usually fronted by Levon Helm’s daughter Amy, who are part of papa Levon’s Midnight Ramble musical universe. This, their debut album, is pure lightning in a bottle, like the Cowboy Junkies record Trinity Sessions; a document of something magical, the spooky whole exceeding the sum of its parts. I first heard of Ollabelle when they opened for Ryan Adams at the Beacon in late 2004; Adams sat in on guitar, set up unobtrusively in the back.

I don’t know if Ollabelle are religious, but this is a deeply religious, spiritual, gospel sort of record. Just look at the song titles; “Elijah Rock,” “No More My Lawd,” a spooky, haunting take on the old blues “John the Revelator”, and two songs with Jesus in the title (and he pretty much shows up in every song here.) The record plays like, and feels like, a revivalist river baptism.

I met Tony Leone, the drummer from Ollabelle, outside the Beacon at a 2007 Allman Brothers show; he wanted to get inside. He just kind of casually mentioned that his band had played the Beacon recently, and so I asked him what band. Since Allman Brothers Tour Manager Kirk West is big Ollabelle fan, that was good enough to get him a backstage pass.

8. Josh Rouse, 1972 (2003): If my wife were to make a list like this, Rouse would occupy several of the top-10 slots. This record, a tribute to the year both he and his guitar were born, was supposed to be musically evocative of the time. I can’t decide whether it is or it isn’t (the opening line of the first track: “She was feeling 1972, grooving to a Carol King tune…”) But it is lush, poppy, folky, soulful, certainly drawing influence from ‘70s soul of the “Betcha By Golly Wow” variety, as well as ‘70s singer-songwriters of the James Taylor variety, not to mention ‘70s pop like “Brand New Key” or “Brandy.” The net effect is that this is sheer ear candy, in continued heavy rotation at our place. “Love Vibration,” “Come Back (Light Therapy),” and “Rise” are probably my favorite tracks, with funky percolating bass underneath pretty melodies and plaintive singing.

Each record Rouse has put out since has been lovely; Nashville, Substitulo, and City Mouse, Country Mouse, not to mention his various EPs and download-only releases. Next time your wife’s friend plays you the Norah Jones record, play her some Josh Rouse. She’ll love you for it.

7. Todd Rundgren, Liars (2004): In my formative musical youth, I was a fanatical Todd fan from, say, 1978 through 1985. I loved his work. But by the time this century rolled around, I’d kind of written him off as a contemporary artist. He’d put out The Individualist, a middling effort, in 1995; then a record of bossa nova versions of his own hits, and Up Against It, a record of show tunes he’d composed for a play of the same name, which is pretty much unlistenable. Then there was One Long Year, a weak accumulation of the odds and ends he’d already put out through his ill-fated Patronet online music service… and that was it. For my money, by 2004 this wizard, this true star, hadn’t put out a notable album since 1993’s No World Order.

And then this. Thematically constructed around the concept of the lies we tell each other (and ourselves), Liars is a brilliant, textured, synthetic work that ranks, for me, among his 5 best albums ever.

Like a lot of Todd’s work over the years, Liars sounds like the technology with which it was recorded. You hear computers and synthetic sounds, and very little that reminds you of guitars or pianos. But for me, that’s part of the charm of the album; it’s meta-textual, even the music is a lie. Importantly though, the songwriting is outstanding. “Past” and “Sweet” are reminiscent of his Philly soul-style ballads; and “Afterlife” and “Wondering” are nice and poppy, while “Truth” and “Future” could, if rearranged for the appropriate style of the era, fit as songs on any of his best records.

Rolling Stone called Radiohead’s Kid A the best of the decade. I played that and Liars back to back in preparing this list, and I’ll tell you what, I don’t see how anyone could be taken with Kid A and not be blown away by Liars; all the same high-tech trickery, but Liars adds songwriting and soul.

When I saw the Liars tour in Manhattan, I ran into Todd out front, and told him the truth: “I did not see an album this good coming.” He took it as the compliment it was supposed to be. And the tour smoked; the live DVD is recommended as well.

6. Brian Wilson, SmiLE (2004): Let’s get the criticism out of the way first. Wilson is a casualty, he doesn’t even play the keyboard he sits at in concert, and he’s totally propped up by a band of talented acolytes who just want to pretend they’re in the Beach Boys.

Fine. Whatever. SmiLE is a great song cycle, containing some of his greatest compositions (or “teenage symphonies to God”)—“Surf’s Up,” “Heroes and Villains,” “Good Vibrations.” This isn’t the Beach Boys version (if you want that, you can find recreations that follow this running order, assembled by fans off the original tapes.) It has Wilson’s now-brittle, shaky voice at the center, with most of the hard stuff executed by a great cast of supporting musicians who collectively virtually define 21^st century California Beach Boys pop—including the Wondermints, Nelson Bragg, and band leader Jeff Foskett (all of whom made records that vied for consideration on this list.) There is so much talent assembled here, all musicians who were raised on this stuff, who totally get it, who have assimilated it until it comes out their pores. And the blueprint, the original song cycle, does indeed turn out to be a work of fractured genius.

A final note. Both SmiLE and my daughter were released in 2004. I played it for her most of the first year of her life; in fact until she was 2 it was a steady diet of SmiLE, Pet Sounds, Beatles (who she still loves), Elvis, and Ricky Nelson. I think it seeped in. To this day she has a killer ear for great pop.

5. Ryan Adams, Gold (2001): This is the album that made me say, “Holy Toledo, I love this guy.”

Gold came out right around 9/11, and in the days and weeks that followed the events of that day, the lead track, “New York,” became something of a rallying cry, a defiant exclamation that “I still love New York.” (Never mind that the song was about a girl, not a city.)

I think I nailed it pretty succinctly at Amazon, where my review is the lead one for this album. Allow me to pilfer from myself, noting that “…the whole thing had masterpiece written all over it from the very first spin at my home in September of 2001. As my wife so aptly said, ‘It has that sweet familiar ring of every album you ever loved as a kid.’ Which, if you are our age, means it feels like Van Morrison, Neil Young, Dylan, Exile-era Stones, like that. It hits you in that ‘Into the Mystic,’ ‘Brown Sugar,’ ‘Everybody Knows This is Nowhere’ place. Do you like that place? Yeah, me too.”

Songs like “Stars Go Blue,” “La Cieniga Just Smiled,” “Answering Bell,” and “Firecracker” sound like you’ve known them all your life. “Somehow, Someday” manages to hit you with two hooks in a row. If there is one criticism about Gold, I’ve heard some say that the first 8 songs are the whole album. While I agree it is front-loaded, those 8 songs alone would make this a great record. And “Wildflowers,” “Harder Now That It’s Over,” and “Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard” aren’t even among them.

4. Derek Trucks Band, Songlines (2006): Jam bands are, it is axiomatic to say, best appreciated live; the fans eagerly buy up the new studio recordings, learn the songs, and then proceed to file them away, opting instead to listen to the live bootlegs that in the digital age are literally a click away at all times. In fact, many so-called “jam bands” probably hate the term, and only merit that description because their art is best appreciated on stage, not in the studio. The two classic Miles Davis Quintets, for example, would be jam bands.

By that circular definition, the Derek Trucks Band is indeed a jam band. So when this studio album came out in 2006, it was quite an accomplishment-- because Trucks and band had managed to take that magic in-the-moment mojo and filter it through the prism of the recording studio, making a near-perfect album that is the ideal combination of great playing and great songs. From the opening invocation, Rashaan Roland Kirk’s “Volunteered Slavery,” through the wistful, soaring “This Sky” that closes the record, every song pulls you in further, tugs you forward, deposits you squarely at the doorstep of the following track. In between, there’s straight-up blues (the 8-bar “Crow Jane,” “Chevrolet”), reggae (a Toots Hibbert cover, “Sailing On”), Sufi world music (the “Sahib Teri Bandi/Maki Madni” Ali Khan medley), and some almost-radio-friendly pop (“I’ll Find My Way,” “I Wish I Knew.”)

Of course, the thread weaving all these styles together is Derek Trucks’ guitar. Only 30 (despite going on his 12^th year in the Allman Brothers Band) Trucks is probably the definitive guitarist of his generation, a master of tone and feel. Derek plays guitar like Miles and Coltrane played horns, he is not limited by such conventions as scales and notes, and it often sounds like he’s not so much playing as painting with sound. He is one of those players—like Carlos Santana—whose presence on a record is unmistakable the first time he steps up and solos.

Credit too goes to Count M’butu, whose percussion work also serves to blend and bleed the styles together into a seamless whole.

3. The Jayhawks, Rainy Day Music (2003): Their early records were great, and 1992’s Hollywood Town Hall was, for me, a high point of ‘90s rock’n’roll and the whole “alt.country” twang thang. Then Mark Olson left, and they made another really, really good record (Tomorrow the Green Grass), and then they kind of lost their way. On Rainy Day Music, they found it again.

I always feel like I’m damning a band with faint praise when I compare them so directly to a different band… but this record is very much like an early ‘70s Eagles album, like say the Desperado record, all harmonies and acoustic guitars and electric guitars and weepy, longing, pretty cowboy songs. Rainy Day Music reminds us, if we need reminding, that good songs well-played (on actual, you know, instruments) and well-sung never goes out of style. I think what makes this one so damned good is the songwriting; “Stumbling Through the Dark” (on there twice, just like “Desperado”), “Tailspin,” “All the Right Reasons,” “Save It for a Rainy Day,” and “Angelyne,” to name 5, are just exquisite. I played it in the house recently, and my 5-year-old Beatlemaniac daughter was singing along with songs the first time she was hearing them.

If there is a criticism here, it is that the record is front-loaded; the first four songs on the album are on that list of five songs I rattled off just a second ago. But heck, isn’t that what shuffle is for?

2. Ani DiFranco, Reveling and Reckoning (2001): When I showed up for the ride circa 1998—I’d had a couple of records, but my then-girlfriend; now-wife was a fan, and so we went to see Ani live at Battery Park-- Ani was working with a four-piece band, bringing what had once been thought of as punk-folk into the jam band realm, which was a testimony to how tight and flexible that combo was live. We went to a bunch of shows, the missus and me, and we came to call the young ladies in the crowd “clip girls”—20-somethings with tank tops and spaghetti straps, tattoos, and clips holding their parted hair to either side. They were like the mostly-female version of Phish fans, spinning and twirling to the groovy sounds. Then in 2000 Ani added two horns to the band, which I thought removed some of the live spontaneity—horns requiring charts-- and that’s the line-up that was in place for this sprawling masterpiece.

This might not be her best or most consistent collection of songs (consider Out of Range), but it is, for me, her best record, a double album that captures the arc of a major phase of Ani’s career at its zenith, that is, I think, the only studio work of hers that approaches the shamanic ecstasy of her live work. Reveling is the happy, joyous, break-beat romp; Reckoning is the more traditional folkish meditation, although the two discs each boast some of both styles (and lots of others). Together they comprise a double album, the breadth and scope of which is still, almost nine years later, a thing to behold. There are techno-folk mash-ups (“Aint That the Way”), sound collage poetry (“Tamburitza Lingua”), moody meditations (“Rock Paper Scissors”), achingly beautiful political folk songs (“Your Next Bold Move”), and lovely romantic folk songs (“Imagine That.”) Keep in mind that Ani had put out three albums in the past three years, so this explosion of songs was almost too much to absorb. But it has legs, and we still give these two discs a spin every now and again around our place, and we still love them.

1. Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Cold Roses (2005): I loved this when it came out, it has only grown on me over the years, and I consider it to be a stone cold classic. Not much I can say about it now that I didn’t already say when it came out, here; in that post I mentioned that he is spotty live, but to be clear, the Cardinals are nothing short of outstanding live.

Adams broke his hand in January 2004, took some time off healing, relearning the guitar, and apparently listening to a lot of Grateful Dead; this beautifully crafted double album (one of three records he put out in ’05) is a sort of homage to the Dead’s two acoustic masterpieces, American Beauty and Workingman’s Dead (“Rosebud” is actually about Jerry Garcia’s guitar.). But Cold Roses is a timeless work, country rock that harkens back to Mick Taylor-era Stones, the Band, Neil Young, Van Morrison, and the Band. I know that’s a lot to lay on the guy’s shoulders, but Adams is up to it. Apparently he’s retired from music. I don’t believe that will hold up, but if it does, he’s already given more than his share. Many of the songs on Cold Roses remain staples of Adams and The Cardinals live work through their most recent shows, in early 2009, which helps to codify them as classics: “Magnolia Mountain,” “Let It Ride,” Mockingbird,” “Cold Roses,” “Meadowlake Street”… these are songs that take on beauty with age.

******

Other artists and records that made the slightly longer short list: Cowboy Junkies (Trinity Sessions Revisited), Derek Trucks (Already Free), Prince (Rainbow Children, 3121, One Night Alone), Flaming Lips (Yoshimi), Ryan Bingham (Mescalito), Dan Zanes (Catch That Train!; imagine John Fogerty making a kids record), the Shins (all three but mainly Chutes Too Narrow), The Silos (When the Telephone Rings), Neil Young (Greendale, which I loved in 2003 but which didn’t age well for me), Radiohead, Iron and Wine, My Morning Jacket, and Modest Mouse.

Bring On Your Wrecking Ball

2009-10-11T14:05:00.004-04:00

Bruce Springsteen wrote this song to open each of the five shows in his run, just completed, to close down Giant Stadium. He first played there in 1985.

"Wrecking Ball" at Giants Stadium

Derek Trucks and Carlos Santana

2009-10-08T23:09:00.003-04:00

Enjoy.

Pretty Hate Machine

2009-08-14T13:20:00.001-04:00

The Nazis were one of the most horrific manifestations of society ever. They were perpetuators of genocide, killing millions and millions of innocent people, young and old.

Can someone explain to me how wanting to make sure every American gets all the health care they need is somehow evocative of the Nazis?

Stop, the Love You Save May be Your Own

2009-06-30T11:28:00.003-04:00

There can be no question the the life of Michael Jackson was a sad one, that his story is one of tragedy. The general narrative is this: overbearing, abusive father drives kids, and particularly young, fragile Michael, to show business stardom. Great talent, great records, horrid home life. Awkward teen years, great solo record (Off the Wall), unbelievably greater follow-up (Thriller), capitalizes on new form of music video to become biggest star on planet, appears at height of fame on the Motown 25th anniversary special, kills there, does the moonwalk, thus convincing the world he can indeed bend physics and gravity to suit his whims. Co-writes "We Are the Word," feeds the hungry. Burns hair in Pepsi commercial... and... slowly, excruciatingly, it all goes bad from there (literally.)

Somehow he went from looking like this:

to looking like this:

He claims this was all resulting from various diseases; TV plastic surgeons have diagnosed him with dysmorphia, the syndrome that drives people to become "addicted" to plastic surgery. He also claims that his skin turned white from a rare skin disease, vitiligo; but others assume it was some sort of bleaching process. Hard to miss that the nose, the hair, the skin all ended up looking as "un-black" as possible.

Where I come out on MJ is that he is less a freak than a victim. Take a very troubled, disturbed, abused little boy, give him all the money and fame in the world, and get out of his way, and, well, watch out. He's going to live in an amusement park. he's going to buy a monkey. He's going to have a lot of sleep-over dates.

See, Michael has said numerous times that his father robbed him of his childhood. But I think he had that wrong. It looks to me like he had a 50-year childhood. What Joe robbed him of was adulthood. I believe something very bad happened to MJ in his early teen years, happened at the hand of his father, and that thing scarred him badly for life, essentially trapped him forever psychicly as a 13- or 14-year-old. On some sad level, when he had boys over and they spent the night, in MJ's head it was a playdate among eqals, not a man/boy thing. And definitely not a sex thing.

So I choose to remember him three ways: singing "I Want You Back" and "ABC" with his big brothers (the former may well be one of the 10 greatest recorded songs ever); spinning and gliding through the "Billy Jean" video; and moonwalking at the Motown anniversary show. The moments when the light shone through the darkness and filled us all with song. The rest is the tragedy, and I'm letting it fall away from memory.

I Want You Back

2009-06-25T21:25:00.002-04:00

So How Come...

2009-06-01T14:33:00.003-04:00

...my kid instinctively knows to adopt a rock'n'roll sneer when posing with electric guitar?

5-13-09 at Oakland's Fox; A Night of the Earthy Blues

2009-05-21T07:41:00.005-04:00

So a belated dropping of the other shoe on the Fox shows, a week out, re: night 2...

First off I would be remiss if I failed to mention how grand it was to see the ABB on the left coast, in the house with the BAABBA, an extended family who put out a web of welcome throughout the place. You know who you are.

I had found the first show to be one mofo of a rewarding experience, almost too generous with lush offerings of "Jessica," "Rocking Horse," Dreams, and "Mountain Jam." How to follow up this heavenly show?

And as it turned out, the answer was with an earthy show. Night one was all air and water; night two was earth and fire. Which of course means the blues...

Done Somebody Wrong >

You Don't Love Me

Midnight Rider

New Instrumental >

The Sky is Crying

Come and Go Blues >

Good Morning Little Schoolgirl

Whipping Post

Revival

The Same Thing

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

Leave My Blues at Home

Dreams >

Elizabeth Reed

Southbound

Imperceptibly, the tuning and tinkering has fallen into a shuffle, and you realize the show has begun... and that soon the shuffle will resolve into "Done Somebody Wrong." Warren plays nice, round jaunty runs. Then a jumping, economical (that means short) "You Don't Love Me," followed by the just-so story of "Midnight Rider." Then the band rolls out their new instrumental. The theme has a kind of Zawinul vibe, making me wonder if maybe Oteil is the writer. Warren looms large, playing some burly, muscular lead like he's clearing a forest. Both nights I had a sense-- very likely imagined-- that Warren was enjoying this respite from the Dead, with whom he tends to play in an ambling, less immediate and more exploratory style, reveling in the straightforward ass whup of the Brothers and the blues (to be clear, I'm a fan of both). Derek takes a while to fall into place on his section, but of course finally he does, drifting closer and closer to Oteil until some musical magnetism has joined them like Siamese twins sharing a heart. I think I've seen every public performance of this piece thus far; tonight is the best I've liked it.

Then the drippy-slow, classic archetype Chicago Blues intro to "The Sky is Crying" (by Warren I think, but don't hold me to it.) Warren grinds out some earthy soul, then rocks you like your back aint got no bone. Derek lays some slide over Gregg keyboard testimony, he goes all slippery, staying barely on the blues tracks but pulling you out of your seat. Finally Warren goes back into the vocals, defiant... the crowd loves it. Oaksterdam knows its blues.

A breezy "Come and Go Blues," then Warren is up again for "Schoolgirl." More manly blues. It's one of those nights where the band makes the blues something big, larger than life, like a freight train of redemption that rolls over you and lays you flat. I don't think anyone else makes the straight blues this powerful... Derek stretches out on the outro, ringing into toffee. Warren changes axes, then pushes him with chording and body language, until you can't stop the train, have to let it roll on... then it crashes, and back into the riff, spot-on, the crowd releases a collective ovation, then vocals and out.

The set closes with "Whipping Post," all the way down to the deep dark bluesy bottom. They did this the first night of the Clapton sit-in at the Beacon, and like then it makes the first set feel like a whole show compressed down. Derek and Warren spray some whupass, then Oteil leads them off on a light, nimble excursion, Marc accenting over the top. Derek meets him with lines that question at the "Post" melody, then he stings and floats. Oteil goes way down low to grab the bassline and give it a good yank to call it all home. A perfect end to a set that sears through the jet black night of the soul, lights the sky with fire...

The density of the first set and the fact of the Dead being in town between gigs makes us all think that something is up for set two; "I smell trouble" says Becca, twitching that adorable nose. But no...

"Revival" opens the second set. A nice sprightly version; after it's done it gets interesting. Warren is a cool breeze; then he pulls the whole band through a keyhole, and on the other side it is "Revival" but inside out. The music makes some "Jessica"-style white light, then of course it barrels back to a right-side-out "Revival" from this side.

The first chord of "The Same Thing" is tossed off, hangs there a moment alone as an invocation, then the song chugs on. Oteil does his thing in the middle, taking the reins, and now he's turned it from Chicago blues into funk, an adjustment that turns out to require only the most subtle of tweaks. Derek and Oteil merge their beams, then Derek wanders over to Warren, brings him the mojo. Derek and Warren do a fiery dance to close; bam! A highlight.

The crowd adores "Dixie;" Derek is like a noble eagle. On "Leave My Blues at Home" Derek and Warren meet up in the middle of the stage and just wield the hell out of this shit. Then another bam! "Dreams."

At the Fox run in September 2004 "Dreams" was the only song repeated across three nights-- they played it at all three shows, but each night a different guitarist took the lead, told the musical story of the song. I commented on the diversity of repertoire to Warren after the last show: "You only repeated 'Dreams' across the three shows, but..." and he finished my sentence for me with a mischievous cackle: "but they were all different." And of course I understood what he meant.

Which is all a long-winded way of saying that this is the one song repeated from the night before, but on air night Derek played it, so of course tonight, on earth night, Warren plays it, and it is different.

Warren, the band put out the music like it's nourishment, bracing, and it pushes you back even as you soak it up. The band shimmers and shudders on return, which amazes and delights the assembled congregation... and the born-again waltz back down the mountain. The song is big, hard-hitting... and totally different from last night's read, which floated me off downstream. This one pins my feet to the floor.

The music spills out after the song ends, and I remember Johnny Flash's imagining of Butch's direction to Clapton on March 20 as the band prepared to segue from "Dreams" to "Elizabeth Reed": "We don't stop here!" And they don't, so you know where this story is going. Finally they roll over into the song. It is the dreamiest number of the evening and I get lost in the music, a sea of dark blue... Warren plays some blue flame. The music falls away into the four-man drum solo, Butch up front, Oteil on Butch's kit. Then back into Lizzy and out. "Southbound" is the inevitable and somewhat anti-climactic encore.

After the show there was a dichotomy of opinion amongst the cognoscenti on which of the two nights was best; the split was interesting, with almost everyone having a distinct preference. Me, I think I liked the first night best. But we're splitting hairs here. The two shows taken together were a yin/yang presentation, both great, and which one you liked best was a function of which mode speaks to you best-- air or earth. Two outstanding shows, one the perfect compliment to the other, two sides of a precious coin. When these suckas are available for download (I'm making that assumption because they were selling the CDs for takeaway at the gigs) I'll be able to luxuriate in them at my leisure and decide for sure which I prefer. Although I'm pretty sure the answer will be, "both."

Allman Brothers Rock House in Oakland

2009-05-13T18:15:00.000-04:00

So I had the great good fortune to find myself in San Francisco concurrent with the first-time-in-six-years arrival of the Allman Brothers Band in the Bay Area, at Oakland’s laid back, lovely (well, I thought so) Fox Theater last night.

Don’t Want You No More >
Not My Cross to Bear >
Trouble No More
Walk on Gilded Splinters
Who’s Been Talkin’
Statesboro Blues
Don’t Keep me Wonderin’
And It Stoned me
Jessica

Melissa
Aint Wastin’ Time No More
Rocking Horse >
Dreams
Black Hearted Woman >
Mountain Jam

Preachin’ Blues
One Way Out

Let me tell you up front, this was one mofo of a satisfying show. It left me wondering what they planned to do for the next night; they didn’t leave a whole lot on the table.

On the bluesy slam into “Not My Cross to Bear” Warren brings me back to 1969, a heck of a feat because I was only 10 years old and 4 years from even hearing of the Allman Brothers. A timeless, grounded evocation; then Derek rings out with a wave of tone that unfolds across the room.

“Gilded Splinters” rides in on an easy, greasy wave of percussion, an especially funked-up, swampy N’Awlins version. At the end the two guitars intertwine like dancing flames.

So now it’s the slot in the set for Warren’s first vocal, and as if often the case, “Gilded Splinters” is followed by the steady voodoo Latin-tinged beat that underscores “Who’s Been Talkin’,” for my money one of the best songs in the repertoire right now. It is as if Howlin’ Wolf has been re-imagined, with Carlos Santana in the Hubert Sumlin role. Derek and Warren play wispy Latin lines, a beautiful extended Yin/Yang conversation that gives way seamlessly to the song’s melody, then Warren’s vocals. Warren plays a graceful, flowing solo, then ignites; Derek takes the band into hyperdrive, then the crowd erupts when they hit the mark and are back into the song. Warren, again, appears to be the causin’ of it all as the music gently fades.

“Statesboro” is next, recognizable and popular, but the fact that it is better-received by the crowd than the previous song is anomalous…

A passionate “Don’t Keep me Wonderin’,” a tight songish rendition of “And It Stoned Me” (apparently big in the Bay Area), and then the band tumbles into what turns out to be a truly epic read on “Jessica.” The drums crash through as the band romps into the theme. Derek goes all shiny-light, then Warren grabs you by the ass and gives a good yank. Then, instead of a rush to the climax, the music seems to spontaneously fall away. From the chaotic stillness Derek and Warren embark on a new melodic excursion that, of course, picks up momentum, hits critical mass, and seamlessly turns back into “Jessica.” A big, big close to a big song. As I say, epic.

Thank God this is intermission, because I am emotionally exhausted.

The second set begins with a particularly lush and breezy “Melissa.” On “Aint Wastin’ Time No More” Derek takes us on a little vacation; then Warren lays down a nice little three-day weekend. The sound, I should mention, is exquisite, at least where I’m standing; full and clear as a bell. It’s one of those nights where you’re a thirsty flower and the band is the sun…

Oteil lays down a sprightly little vamp, the drummers fall in, Warren sears over the top (it’s kind of like a blackened Cajun jam); Derek speckles over that; inevitably the music creeps toward resolving into “Rocking Horse.” Warren goes deep into the big muddy on his solo section, then Derek takes the band major key for what Ron E. calls his “happy kid-on-a-tricycle song.” “Rocking Horse” has become another epic, and tonight it is redolent of narrative. Back into the darkness of the “Horse,” then a fat hanging note that the band grabs onto and uses to whip itself around into “Dreams.” Mostly I drift away; Derek squeezes out shimmering gobs of molasses.

“Black Hearted Woman” is next, an assault; the mid-section, where they switch over into the Dead’s “The Other One” riff, is made of the intensity of forward motion. It feels like the drum solo, but no… they finish the song, then fall backward into “Mountain Jam.” Maybe it’s just me, but it is a dreamy version. As the music falls away after the front end, Oteil lays down some narrative from the underside (which rhymes with “thunda-cide.”) Then he gets to the end of the story, and the drums…

…some time later ensemble “Birdland” quotes call me back from my drum-induced trance reverie. The band moves into a beautiful musical space, full and rubbery, elongating space and time… “Little Martha” bubbles up, quite distinctly… then, back, back to the theme and close. More narrative, more epic.

After a show like this, I know there’s really only one way out… but because this is a night of just a little bit more, Derek and Warren come back alone and offer up “Preachin’ Blues,” Warren singing, Derek playing the delta blues. Then, “One Way Out.”

All in all one heck of a show. The bar is high for tonight.

EC Was Here

2009-03-21T11:53:00.004-04:00

(Photo cribbed from the New York Times)

Usually when I write about a concert, I jump right in. But this one was to epic, too profound not to step back and ponder it, holistically, in the light of the morning after.

To bottom line it: OMFG. O. M. F. G.

Thursday night The Clapton rumors were all over the Internet. Tickets outside were going for hundreds of dollars apiece. The anticipation was so high that it would have been easy for the thing itself to miss the mark. That the band so thoroughly exceeded expectations is a profound credit to all involved. The first set was a monster-an entire three-hour Allman Brothers show crammed into one bulldozing, stampeding whirlwind assault. "I could go home happy now," I heard more than one fan say. Then the second set offered up some lovely palate-cleansing and preparatory music before finally Clapton came onstage, three songs in, for a six-song suite that was brilliantly conceived, well-rehearsed, beautifully executed, well-paced, fluid, seamless, delightful. Up there on stage is Warren Haynes, Derek Trucks, and Eric Clapton; that isn't a front line, it's a freaking pantheon. After the show we all just looked at each other with stupid grins.

But I digress...

...something jazzy rises from the stage like a purple mist, dissolving into the 3-man "Little Martha," chiming, gorgeous. Then 'Statesboro Blues;" I don't know if it is the band, or being surrounded by friends, but every note sounds extra good. Warren pulls the sunshine through his slide. Gregg shines, then Derek. Then the band eases into the laconic shuffle of "Done
Somebody Wrong," stays there a bit until Derek plays the lines of the riff. Warren's solo is fat and round and slippery and in the pocket. "Revival" features some tasty and deliberate slide work by Derek on the extended break, then Warren picks it up and plays the second half of the solo Derek began. As Warrant takes over, Derek summons Farmer over to switch guitars.

"Woman Across the River" is OK, if you like hard, relentless, forward-hurtling face-melting blues. Warren's solo about halfway in begins auspiciously, Warren calling out precise notes; then Derek does fast runs up the neck over a center of chewy drummy goodness. Warren brings the song to a big, arcing finish as Derek finishes it out with a busted string.

A swampy "Don't Keep Me Wonderin'" gives way to a rare-as in, I've never seen one before-first set "Whipping Post." Part of you is wondering, what are they trying to prove, but then part of you sort of knows. Warren puts a lot of body English on his opening salvo, then the band falls apart around him, and Warren plays the notes between the silences. Then muted forward thrust, Warren piercing and true. He makes a deal with the devil, and explodes into hot waves of dark light. It is something to behold. Then the vocal section, then another sprint up the hill before the music dissolves into waves. Derek plays a trademark Derek solo, using the volume knob like he does to squeeze out dewy green droplets. Then a magnificent
crescendo and decay, Derek flirts with "Liz Reed" territory, then he goes all impressionistic, then back to the song for a big, thundering ending to a big, thundering set.

And, damn, it is only intermission.

Gregg comes on alone to begin set two with a solo piano rendition of "Oncoming Traffic," immediately evocative of the '05 acoustic sets. And it is a lovely, moving rendition. But there is an extra mic set up on stage, and a light green strat set up nearby, and the effect is inevitably one of showing your five year-old a giant cookie before serving dinner. Sure, she may like chicken and broccoli. And she'll eat it with gusto. But she's fixated on that damn cookie.

To be clear though, "Oncoming Traffic" was sublime. Same with "Come and Go Blues," which features thick juicy work by Derek. "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl" features Danny Louis from Gov't Mule on keys, and Marc on Jaimoe's kit. The song comes on with a snaky, insistent waddle into the opening vocal section. Then Derek goes for the gut, Warren stings, Derek stings. Then Derek goes off the hook, as the kids say, before returning perfectly to the song. Derek steps up on the post-song stretchy play-out, then shrinks down to a tinkle.

And finally, the cookie.

The ovation is intense.

"Key to the Highway," and immediately the mofo is ON it. Clapton takes the vocals, Warren spanks it, Derek soars, then Gregg takes a verse ("Give me one kiss mama."). Then Clapton goes off and gets it again. It's just an 8-bar blues, but there is a multi-minute standing ovation. Butch, sticks aloft, bows to Clapton in the "We're not worthy" mode. Big fun. But we're just getting started.

Next up is "Dreams," a brilliant choice. It is to Clapton's credit that he wants to assay this ultimate Allman guitar vehicle; he could have easily fallen back on something familiar to him from his own or the classic blues repertoire. Derek is the focal point, as he is for much of Clapton's time on stage; the song rocks like a boat on a lake in summer. Clapton takes the first solo slot, peeling off note clusters; then he floats off on his back into the song. We drift along for the ride, until he pulls up and Derek enters. His solo builds and builds until he is bouncing bright shards off the walls. Then an exquisite moment as he hits the return note and the band throttles back onto the waltz time of the verse. The stops and changes are almost too much fun.

Next Clapton and band ask the musical question "Why Does Love Got to be So Sad." Derek tosses in the arty flourishes on the chorus, then Clapton takes a vintage Clapton run, and Warren sears; smoke rises from his strings. In front of me, Becca turns back, smiles. then Derek takes us all the way home, truly, home to that happy place deep inside. Then Derek and Clapton fly together. Eric sings through his guitar, Derek an angel above. Warren has stopped playing, letting the two of them have the space they need; then he joins in, the music is like colorful tears of light streaming down your face, three men taking turns reaching in and touching your heart, the band in the opposite of a hurry, until finally, inevitably, the song touches down. It almost makes you want to cry; to call this music beautiful would be trite.

I need a moment.

"Little Wing" is different, elegiac, yet picks up in the exact spot "Why Does Love." leaves off. Warren and Clapton sing the verse together, then Warren takes a soaring solo, evoking-well, evoking the British gentleman on the right of the stage, He hits that spot that hurts with pleasure, lingers there. Derek's lead gives way seamlessly to Clapton, Oteil throws down, finally everyone turns to face Butch, who drives the song home.

When Susan Tedeschi comes on we know it's going to be "Anyday." Warren does a little nasty, then Susan sings the verse, Warren plays skronky. Warren and Susan sing into the same mic for the chorus, a happy song radiating its joy; then Derek renders that joy on guitar.

If you've come this far then really, I don't need to tell you that they come back and encore with "Layla." Derek plays the Duane licks over Clapton's vocals, and Clapton positively sings the crap out of it. Danny Louis is back onstage, joining Gregg for the classic piano coda to the song; Clapton provides some chiming strat tone, then Derek, Derek, Derek. The band locks onto the classic groove, drums, bass, guitars all melding together, Derek peeling over the top, just leaning on the endorphin lever, quite literally causing the room of 3,000 to secrete joy. Finally, inevitably it is over.

The lights come up, we look around at each other, smiling. There is nothing to say; just an unspoken, "I know, you know." This is why we have come. It is why we keep coming back.

Monday 3/16

2009-03-19T16:44:00.001-04:00

note: image swiped from http://www.glidemagazine.com/hiddentrack

The band launches right into “Statesboro Blues”; Derek takes two nice solos. Then “Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’” keeps on going, refusing to end, Derek pulling the squawking blues, Oteil bouncing back the bottom. Together the two of them hit the note.

“Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’” has pulled us all the way into the show; “Hot ‘Lanta” sounds immediately great. Gregg and the guitars take a round of crisp solos, Warren, Derek and Oteil lock in, push, into a big, deliberate end.

One of my favorite junctures in an Allman Brothers gig is the point, a couple songs in, where Warren gets his first vocal. This song often sets the direction for the rest of the set. Tonight there is a long, slow simmering run of picante foreplay; Warren is a total tease… then finally, the music flips over into “Who’s Been Talkin’.” Warren ladles on the gravy, Derek goes off, then he slips into double time, the band rolls and tumbles forward, Derek rings the bell, rings it till Warren calls everyone home for dinner. Then the final verse, and Derek and Warren get small, sublime over a gentle drums and bass bed.

A tight, cascading version of “Come and Go Blues” is followed by “Desdemona;” Derek plays a fiery, building solo that totally connects with the crowd. On his turn Warren hits on the “My Favorite Things” theme, to the inevitable delight of all, then works on variations over the chords; soon he’s into prolonged 12-alarm territory (this feels like a “Warren night.”) When he pierces his own pyrotechnics with the return note, the crowd goes nuts.

Beacon vet and Duane Allman cohort John Hammond comes on for a three-song stint to close the set. On “So Many Roads” the energy in the room drops, as gauged by the ratio of sitting-to-standing in the orchestra… but midway in they lock in and pull you back up. Then “Shake for Me,” a jaunty little song they’ve played with Hammond twice before; Gregg takes a nice turn, Derek takes several. Warren adds some nice slide on “Cryin’ for My Baby,” a nice bluesy way to end the set.

The second set provides something you don’t often get at an Allman Brothers concert: an estrogen buzz. The divine Bonnie Bramlett joins Gregg in a duet of “Oncoming Traffic,” Gregg on piano, the two of them on great, soulful weathered vocals. You can hear the whiskey and smoke. She stands center stage; the rest of the band is clustered off stage to the right, watching. Then Bonnie’s lovely daughter Bekka and the rest of the band come on for “Comin’ Home,” a song Bonnie wrote with some ‘60s Brit guitarist named Clapton. It is raucous and unbridled, with both women wailing; Bekka especially is over-the-top pumped to be here and whips up a tiny, demure little frenzy.

“Only You Know and I Know” follows, Warren is lovely on the verse, Derek on the outro, and Oteil is the rubber band man, but this is a song, not a jam, and it is a full-on party. The answer to “are we having fun yet?” is an emphatic “Yes!” (Actually, more like, “Yes, lawdy!”) Bekka leaves, Hammond comes on, and a painfully sweet “Come On In My Kitchen,” in retrospect inevitable. Gregg sings, slurs, growls; Hammond plays very slowly very, very well, putting the whole world into a simple lick. Then Hammond sings a verse, then Bonnie; Derek begins to tart it up just a tad, then he busts out, Warren’s aggressive chording egging him on. Hammond vocals, Bonnie vocals, a fast veteran round robin; Warren plays some slide into a nice Gregg run, into the closing, “Goin’ to be rainin’…” Mmm-mm.

Hammond off; Bekka back, Susan Tedeschi joins the Bramlett gals in the Allman-ettes over on the right, Bruce Katz is on keyboards for “The Weight,” back to the Aretha version. Susan sings the blazes out of the first two verses, Bonnie takes the third, Bekka the fourth, the three of them wrap their dark honeyed voices together for the gospel-style chorus. Katz rolls out a sprightly solo, the girls with call-and-response vocals over the top. Derek takes a melodic solo, then Susan glances over, and with a tiny crook of the finger takes the song from him for the final verse. Oteil is over by the girls, and if he were any happier, he’d burst. Bekka instigates a round of “on me” over Derek soloing that pushes the happy needle to 11.

Chicks. You gotta love ‘em.

The guests are off for a nicely played “No One Left to Run With,” an extended but earthbound version to ground the set to a close.

Derek and Warren come back alone for “Preachin’ Blues,” Derek playing, Warren singing. Then “Jessica,” Derek playing nice, round lines; his section has happy feet. Warren pokes, probes at that spot, you know what I mean… you don’t know what it is, but you know you’ll know when he hits it. He keeps poking, the band falls away from him, Oteil gets fast fingers… the band stills, Warren sets down his ax, walks off. Oteil and Derek make beautiful watery tonal exposition together, not a bass solo, but a lovely piece of music. Derek does gentle chiming with the drummers as Oteil goes all slappy; finally Oteil busts a move to hand off to the drummers. A brisk drum solo, the players return, Warren picks right up where he left off, rides the melody, hard, and then, yes, thank you, THAT’s the spot! Exactly!

See y’all Thursday.

Saturday Night 3-14-09

2009-03-19T10:42:00.000-04:00

The first Saturday night is an epic show, a heaping helping, double-stuffed, supersized, meaty, beaty, big and bouncy. It’s also jazzy, but we’ll get to that…

Another “Little Martha” opener, lovely, with Oteil joining Derek and Warren. Then Derek works it on out on “Aint Wastin’ Time No More,” a song that was made for him; Warren offers a nice solo at the end. Then right into “Walk On Gilded Splinters,” heavy on the back end as Warren and Derek slather on the Tabasco. Next Oteil turns around, offers the drummers a funky, almost Philly soul bassline. Warren pours hot lines over a happenin’ little groove, Derek soars over the top… then it flips over into “Rocking Horse” with a mighty oomph.

Out of Warren’s solo on the mid-section break, the music ebbs, slows to an almost-stop; Derek plays gently over the sound of winding down. Oteil pulls out into a happy gallop, and Derek paints over the top, then he’s taking his “Rocking Horse” solo, but over what is now a totally different song. Then, finally, bam-bam, Warren takes us back to the Horse for the back end vocals… and out of the song, beautifully into “Gambler’s Roll,” dripping with dewy blues. Warren squeezes out teardrops of tone. All it is, is the blues, but no other band, anywhere, makes the blues this epic. Gregg sings the hell out of the song; the “Rocking Horse” into “Gambler’s Roll” is a stone cold highlight, bluesy and sweaty and perfect.

“Revival” starts and ends as a dance party, with a hot jam in between. “Woman Across the River” is twelve minutes in the smokehouse, nothing subtle, just the fire, Warren and band shoveling coal with frantic urgency. Then Randy Brecker and drummer Lenny White join the band for a rare, divine first set “Dreams.” Brecker’s trumpet embellishes the verse as he punches in between Gregg’s vocal lines; Warren comes in for his solo like a lion, goes out like a lamb. Then Brecker does the dance of life at the precipice of the abyss, the pure essence of the song after all; Derek gets on his pony and rides. Brecker blows cold steel over a hard outro.

Gregg strums into a lovely, lilting “Melissa” to start the second set. Then Robert Randolph comes on for “Lovelight;” with drummer Adam Nussbaum sitting in for Jaimoe. Brother Robert testifies on the pedal steel, then Brother Gregg on the vocals. I’ve heard from the Moogis home audience that Randolph was low in the mix; but he was plenty loud in the house. Randolph rollicks with band, throwing off white light until the song is almost “Jessica,” with Randolph shining over the top. Then the music yields to a muscular drum interlude, Nussbaum still on Jaimoe’s kit, then out of the drumming a slow, gradual, snaky entrance into “One Way Out.” But it picks up speed quickly; Warren goes around two times, then Randolph goes around two times, the second time going through the roof.

Nussbaum and Randolph exit, Lenny White and Randy Brecker return, and slowly music begins to seep out that takes shape as the Miles Davis tune “In a Silent Way.” The Brothers have assayed this number before, but never like this. Brecker sounds vaguely Spanish, directly evoking Miles Davis himself on a slow opening theme that is clear as a bell (and of course, if you were a bell, you’d go—well, you know.) Derek floats overhead, Brecker runs the voodoo down, Derek and Oteil are totally simpatico, drawn visibly, physically to him. The Allman Brothers sound bubbles up through the jazz at the part near the end that hints at “Birdland” (why does this song sound like “Birdland”? “Well, Zawinul wrote ‘em both,” Oteil pointed out to me once.) The Allman Brothers blues and the Miles jazz blend together, Derek composes on the spot as the music wanes, then 1, 2, 3, 4 and “Liz Reed.”

Brecker goes all Spanish/Latin/jazzy, right in tune with the song; Derek rips, it is a less introspective, more hard-charging night for him. He leans over to Oteil, and they put their flames together. Gregg’s solo is “on,” Warren careens out of time, frenetically, perfectly forward, faster, hotter, then the riffs deliver a release into the drum solo; more nights than not so far, there has not been a true drum solo. This one is taut, muscular;, then Oteil joins in, then legend Stanley Clarke strolls out to appreciative applause. He checks in with Lenny White, still on Jaimoe’s kit; then leads the furnace, laying down a rumble of low thunder. He adds an exclamation point of bass, high-fives Oteil, then walks of. Very “who was that masked man?” Hard not to wish he’d been on stage for the entire “In a Silent Way” and “Liz” interlude, but he had a gig on Long Island and probably got out of a car, dashed in the door, strapped on the bass and hit it.

Derek is back, he and Oteil improvise over drums; then Warren and Gregg return and Derek and Warren do the push me/pull you into the closing theme.

So now it’s 11:40, already a long show, so you figure, a quick “Southbound” and out. But no—Butch thump thumpa-thumps into “Mountain Jam.” Warren, Derek, and Oteil each suggest the theme to “Birdland,” a brief consensus is reached and Warren solos over the melody; then he goes off the page, and back into the “Jam” jam. Soon Warren gives a sort of a Norse head toss, and the music turns over into “Dazed and Confused,” a big scary vibe, Warren puts it to bed, Butch brings “Mountain Jam back, and an awfully big finish. This one will stick to your ribs.

ABB: Friday 3/13/09

2009-03-16T14:32:00.002-04:00

There is a trade-off with the guest-heavy shows; you get some magical, once-in-a-lifetime moments, but the flow of the show can seem a bit choppy. Instead of one long narrative arc, you get more of a short story anthology…

The “Midnight Rider” opening is a sprightly version; then “Don’t Keep me Wonderin’.” On the end, Oteil erupts in joy, bending from the waist; Greg is moved to actually stop playing, and raise his hands in the air. The band tumbles through the pocket to the close. Then a slow groove intro with some Warren nice slide builds into the “Done Somebody Wrong” shimmy.

Next up is the new instrumental; it seems to meander a bit at first, then Derek brings some bite, and the song climaxes nicely, ending in ringing, lingering tone. Then the Asbury Jukes Horns take their places on the right of the stage, over past Oteil, for Warren’s rendition of “Into the Mystic.” Derek’s twangy slide lines give way to Gregg’s swelling organ, then the chorus; it is a moment. Then the horns, then horns, organ and vocals, and it is sweet soul music; the band rocks your gypsy soul. As always, the Jukes horn section is spot-on, tight, campy swingin’ fun.

Speaking of which, Warren brings out “TV’s Bruce Willis” for “One Way Out.” Last time he sat in, I thought he overplayed; but tonight Willis was almost remarkably good, playing blues harp like a harder-dying Sonny Boy Williamson. The crowd obviously loves him. Warren tosses Butch a nod, there is a drum break, then the two guitars spin out the licks, Willis wailing over the top. Gregg sings the hell out of the close, then Warren launches immediately into the snaky riff of “Smokestack Lightening.” Willis is immediately on it, into Warren’s vocals. Then Haynes and Willis roll all around in the bluesy mud together; Willis shouldn’t be this good. Derek moves to the fore, plays faster, higher up, the band follows him, then a crunchy return to riff, Willis blowing, and Warren singing the final vocals. I liked it.

The horns come back out for ‘Southbound,” and they are glorious high camp. There are other horn sections that sit in with the Brothers, and everyone is good; but the Jukes are the only ones who also have “an act.” Here they work it for all it’s worth, blowing synchronized, syncopated brassy bursts. La Bamba takes a solo over the other horns, then some speed demon guitars and sax locomotive. The horn players are swaying together to the beat like an old time horn section from the movies; if they are southbound, it is to south Jersey. The song ends the set with a happy exclamation point.

Boz Scaggs is onstage for the beginning of set 2, fronting the band for a sweet, self-contained four-song mini-set. Dylan’s “It Takes a Lot to Laugh (It Takes a Train to Cry)” is an 8-bar blues, Warren is pure sweetness. Boz and Gregg trade verses, then the band lays on a rubbery “Rainy Day Women” groove and they are immediately deep down in the pocket. Then Boz quickly counts in the jaunty “Sick and Tired.” The horns are back, and it is instant soul revue, and right in Boz’s strike zone. Then “Aint No Love in the Heart of the City,” a minor blues with a serious “Thrill is Gone” vibe. Boz, Gregg and Warren trade off the vocals.

Then, finally, the blues juice spills over into “Loan Me a Dime.” Derek, of course, announces himself immediately. The next 13 minutes flow by in a state outside of time; it is 1969, when Boz’s version of this track with Duane came out; it is summer 2000, when the Brothers played this almost nightly. Of course the horns are still out, punching those charts for the part that on record is the extended fade. Derek pierces your heart, deft, fierce… the horns blow. Please, you think, don’t end. Then Derek steers the band beautifully down and around, slow again, to the verse. It is a little slice of heaven. The place erupts in a spontaneous ovation; Warren and the horn players are all applauding vigorously as Boz exits the stage.

Inevitably when the Jukes are in the house, you know you’re going to get “The Same Thing.” This take is full of fury. Oteil busts out in his mid-section slot after the first run-through of the song, then some Oteil/Derek/Jukes fury. Then Derek meets Warren in front of the stage for some guitar fury… the horns play the riff, brightly, full of color, to a shimmering end.

“Wasted Words” follows, Warren offering a nice extended slide attack on the outro, then a nice hand-off to Derek, who questions, probes over an insistent rhythm. Then, imperceptibly, they have moved into “what song was this again?” territory, and Derek tears through what is essentially now an entirely different song. Finally he nods to Warren, who pulls the jam back to the “Wasted Words” stopping place and close. Highlight.

Several times during “No One Left to Run With” Warren looks up at Allen Woody’s image on screen. There is an extended, monochrome jam, then the Bo Diddley riff, and they decay into spaciness and color. Warren provides an extended, valiant attack, with Duane literally looming overhead (courtesy the slide show.) Finally he chords the riff to call the band back; this takes a while because they don’t wanna come. Then finally the Bo Diddley beat and out.

The “Whipping Post” encore is dark and colorful and full. About a third of the way in, Derek, Warren and Oteil are hosing out colorful purple washes of tone; they all run together and ring. The music falls apart, then moves through different places until it has circled perfectly back to the pre-vocal slam. It is a cool, watery version, now go enjoy the rest of your Friday night.

The Allman Brothers at the beacon: 3/9/09

2009-03-13T10:33:00.004-04:00

I’m disinclined to write reviews that are as long as the ones I've done in the past, because everyone has Moogis now and gets to see the show at home, and besides, I forgot my notebook…

These are the 40th anniversary shows for the Allman Brothers, a 15-night run at the Beacon, newly refurbished. I'm ticketed to 10 of the 15. And a note for my loyal readers: I have an article in the rpogram for the shows. Very humbling... thanks to all my friendsat Hittin' the Note.

So the beacon is beautiful, shiny, classical, and majestic, and has “new theater smell.” Much has changed, and on balance I’d have to say the changes are to the good. It feels a little more formal, perhaps not the best environment for a hall full of Peachheads, but on the other hand, hey, we deserve it.

Derek crunches up the “Little Martha” opener, it is both faithful and fresh, and sets the tone for the night, and the run. Warren dirties up “Don’t Want You No More,” Gregg wrings all the juice out of the “Not My Cross to Bear” vocal; Warren feels him back, plays expressive blues. Derek says hello with some fat, hanging slide, then dashes up the fret board to a cat scratch crescendo.

A drummer gumbo heralds one of my favorites, “Gilded Splinters.” Then “The Same Thing,” Warren goes all skanky, meanwhile Oteil is having himself a little party. Warren and Derek finally careen together and the band smashes to a close. Then a big “herald” kind of space, like before “Les Brers” or “Liz Reed,” and the band is into a new instrumental, open, airy, jazzy, spacy, chimy. Derek slips into the song, like a guy with a newspaper easing into a hot tub; then when he’s good and ready he goes. Oteil pours buckets of bottom. It’s good.

“Leave My Blues at Home” locks in, Derek stings, it ends with a bam! Then Taj Mahal sashays out for a killer three-song set… On “Leaving Trunk” his harp and Derek’s guitar meld together. “44 Blues” wobbles along, a joyous rollick; Derek and Warren go a different kind of crazy. Greg chimes in nicely, then Taj caps it, tossing a pitch perfect Howlin’ Wolf imitation into the vocals. Then ”Statesboro Blues” brigs the set to a fun, sweaty close.

Levon Helm and posse are on stage to open set two, beginning with a lovely “Ophelia.” Derek steps forward for a round, then Oteil, then guitarist Larry Campbell, then Levon sings again; Brian Mitchell pounds out some nice honly tonk piano. Helm’s kit is on the right side of the stage , and he, Derek, Oteil, Campbell, and singer Teresa Williams seem almost like a little mini-band within a band. Campbell plays pretty lines on “I Shall Be Released,” and Warren nails it. Then “The Weight” is almost too much fun. Levon sings two verses, Gregg sings the third, beautifully, then Taj Mahal comes back out to slay everyone with the last verse. Derek’s melodic lilt is, I don’t know, lilting and melodic. Whew. Big fun.

“Black Hearted Woman” is a big set piece. Then an upbeat “Stormy Monday,” out of which the “Mountain Jam” mist fills the room. Finally they turn over into the song, laying on a big noisy front end. The band chugs along like a steady rollin’ train; some pretty Warren exposition on slide; he tosses in a little “Birdland.” Derek and Oteil respond in that “the band is a living organism” sort of way. Warren casts high curving solos into the mist… then into drums, but never just drums. Derek and Oteil vamp with the drummers, then back to the theme, then away. One of the spaciest “Jams” in recent memory. Warren comes on to lay down a little extra impetus… as if that is necessary. Then into a majestic back end, and an exquisite soft touch down, Derek wailing over the top with a sort of “Friend of the Devil” feel. Then a false ending, more theme, and finally Butch booms out the night. The “Southbound” encore is a nice way to unwind.

Really, a hell of a showing for the first night.

I've Lost My Faith in Love...

2009-03-12T14:48:00.001-04:00

click here to see why.

How do you Like Them Apples?

2009-02-09T12:06:00.010-05:00

So my daughter comes home from neighbor Jack's house this weekend and announces, "Guess what I ate? Apple slices!" Turns out she actually likes them! A fruit! But I did not appreciate the depth of her affection for the spherical source of sustainance until the following day at the supermarket...

Finally: Top-25 Albums of 2008

2009-01-05T11:12:00.010-05:00

Not a lot of preamble. Here are my favorite 25 records of 2008, a little late. As always, these are one old guy's favorite records of the year, not an attempt to quantify some objective measure of the "best." And no, I haven't heard TV On the Radio.

1. Cowboy Junkies, Trinity Revisited: The original Trinity Sessions came out in 1988; I discovered it 2 years later. That record, recorded in Toronto's Trinity Church with one mic, is a haunting 3AM classic, music that exists outside of time. It is the Junkies’ blessing and curse that they will always be the band that made that record. Here, on CD and DVD (I still haven’t watched the DVD), the Junkies try to catch lighting in a bottle a second time, re-recording the same song cycle in the same place 20 years on, this time assisted by friends Natalie Merchant, Vic Chestnut, and our home boy Ryan Adams (this, for me, was the recorded Ryan Adams highlight of the year.) Is it better than the original? Probably not. But it is better than a remake has any right to be. Is it the songs? The church? Don’t know. This take is richer and more colorful than the original, although the starkness of the original was the source for much of its charm. I didn’t expect the Cowboy Junkies to top this list, but this record came out early in the year, and I kept coming back to it, and nothing else felt right rated higher. RIYL: The Trinity Sessions.

2. Drive-By Truckers, Brighter Than Creation’s Dark: Their rep is as a modern-day, smarter Lynyrd Skynyrd crossed with alt.country. I’d never listened to them before. Now I’m wondering where the hell I’ve been. This is their first record without guitarist Jason Isbell, and I think I’m going to have to go and buy some back catalog (used, of course.) The characters in these songs feel real, flawed, and somehow heroic (or anti-heroic, like the guy with the crustal meth addiction.) And something about the sound of this record keeps evoking the Stones’ Sticky Fingers (and specifically, “Dead Flowers.”) I may be rating it too high, but time will tell. RIYL: Sticky Fingers, Jayhawks, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

3. Alejandro Escovedo, Real Animal: Escovedo makes weather-beaten, manly rock’n’roll, influenced by the Velvets and the Stooges, making judicious use of a violin. He’s sort of like Austin’s answer to Lou Reed. No less an authority than Bruce Springsteen swears by him. I was bummed at his last record, which was all synthed out and slick and did not do him justice. This one, on the other hand, is one of the best works of his career. He’s a world class songwriter, simple and honest and true, and the music that wraps and delivers the lyrics is earnest and beautiful. Check out the achingly beautiful “Swallows of San Juan” (“like the swallows of San Juan, I’m gonna get back some day…”, sung over a melancholy violin.) And the rockers rock. Escovedo’s probably never earned more than $30K in a year, but he’s a hero. RIYL: Lou Reed, the Silos, alt.country.

4. She and Him, Volume One: The him is M. Ward; the she is indie cinema’s favorite best friend, Zooey Deschanel. She wrote and sings the songs (although there are two covers; a Beatles and a Smoky Robinson.) Evocative of the light and breezy radio pop of the early and mid-70s (think “Brand New Key”), and if you’re scouring this list for something new to check out, probably the most immediately and universally likable record here. Nice vocal arrangements (remember her singing “Baby It’s Cold Outside” in Elf?); happy music that suits a weekend morning to a T, and which wouldn’t sound out of place at your local Starbucks, but don’t hold that against them. Check out “This is Not a Test.” I hope there will be a volume 2. RIYL: “Brand New Key,” Dusty Springfield.

5. Jim Boggia, Misadventures in Stereo: You can pretty well triangulate Jim’s musical DNA by the covers he’s done over the past two years, through podcasts or other one-offs: among others, the Faces (“Debris”), the Kinks (a stellar “Waterloo Sunset," complete with a lesson on the backing vocals), Queen (“Somebody to Love”) and of course the Beatles (“Penny Lane.”) Often thought of as a power popster, but I think he’s somewhere between power pop and singer-songwriter; brilliant melodies (I’m talking, McCartney-brilliant), great vocal arrangements, winning songs, tasteful playing. The record plays to me like a love song to his—and my—record collection, and it will make you long for the days when you cruised around listening to Foghat on the 8-track in your Camaro back in ’74, even if you weren’t born yet. RIYL: CSN, Josh Rouse, the Beatles, the Kinks.

6. Calexico, Carried to Dust: A nice return to form after their 2006 release, Garden Ruin, which went all glossy and pretty and citified. This is back to what they do best… moody, elusive Americana with a heavy dose of Tex-Mex, music that unfolds slowly, breathes, washes over you, makes time slow down. Every instrument that is here, is here for a reason. I love a record that makes a mood. Thanks again to K-dub for turning me on to them. RIYL: Moody Tex-Mex Americana. Los Super Seven, Ollabelle, Mariachi.

7. Mudcrutch, Mudcrutch: I wrote about this band here, but that was before the record came out. Mudcrutch was a band of kids from north Florida who’d relocated to LA in the early ‘70s, and were very much in the style of contemporaries the Eagles (Mudcrutcher Tom Leadon’s brother Bernie was in that band) and the Flying Burrito Brothers, and of course the Gram Parsons-era Byrds. After a couple of singles the record company decided they liked the singer, so he moved from bass to rhythm guitar, and the band reformed as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Here, 35 years after the fact, comes their first record. Petty is back on bass, joined by the original Mudcrutch line-up, which features Heartbreakers Mike Campbell (lead guitar) and Benmont Tench (keys). Everyone sings, although of course Petty sings the most. It’s mostly country rock (Petty called it “space age hippie music” in concert), including “Lover of the Bayou,” a Byrds cover. But for me the centerpiece is the nine-minute "Crystal River"—which, Petty said at the Fillmore (the real one, in San Francisco), “runs through Florida, and occasionally my mind.” Nine minutes of slow burn, in the tradition of the Crazy Horse classic “Cortez the Killer,” and a tour de force for Campbell, one of the great unsung heroes of rock'n'roll. RIYL: The Heartbreakers, the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers, the Eagles.

8. Bob Dylan, The Bootleg Series Volume 8: Telltale Signs: My own rules generally prohibit the inclusion of an anthology on the year-end list, and really, I’m not sure where to rate this. But most of these songs have never been released, and the thing plays like a cohesive work, and hell, Rolling Stone had it on their list, so I’m putting it on mine. Comprised of outtakes and a couple of rarities, dating from the Daniel Lanois-produced Oh Mercy album in 1989 through 2006’s Modern Times, and just basically one hell of a bluesy root-rock record. This is a 2-CD set, with a collector’s edition 3-CD version running a hundred bucks (of course, some people, I aint condoning this mind you, but some people just bought the 2-CD set and found the elusive third disc on bootleg download sites.) Moody, down-in-the-groove, an alternate history of Dylan over the past two decades in much the same way Springsteen’s Tracks was an alternate history of the E Street Band. RIYL: the real folk blues.

9. Gary Louris, Vagabonds: Louris, ex-Jayhawk, makes a lovely record that lives somewhere between that band’s alt.country on the one hand, and timeless ‘70s folk rock on the other; the companion piece Acoustic Vagabonds, an EP with acoustic versions of 6 of these songs, underscores the folk-rockiness. This record is a worthy follow-up to the ‘hawks’ 2003 Rainy Day Music, and augers well for the pending Louris/Marc Perlman release Ready for the Flood, due in January and an early contender for the 2009 version of this list. Nicely produced by Chris Robinson (Black Crowes, father of Kate Hudson’s kid) with a winning organic vibe; Robinson will also be on board for Ready for the Flood. RIYL: The Jayhawks, swampy alt.country hold the twang.

10. Lindsey Buckingham, Gift of Screws: Buckingham put out three solo records between 1981 and 2005; now this is his second in three years. We Lindsey fans are wholly unaccustomed to such abundance. 2006’s Under the Skin was all soft and acoustic-like; this one rocks out. The original Gift of Screws was apparently rejected by his record company in the mid-90s, so he raided it to populate the 2003 Fleetwood Mac record Say You Will; this is then the second iteration of Screws. I’m a sucker for that signature plunkety plunkety, thumpety thump sound of his (think “Tusk”) and the brittle, glassy guitars and the hot/cool, passionate vocals. Like all Lindsey B records, this one sounds like a million bucks. RIYL: Fleetwood Mac but not Stevie Nicks, “Tusk,” Go Insane.

11. BoDeans, Still: One of four T-Bone Burnett productions this year that I considered for this list (along with Mellencamp, B.B. King and T-Bone’s own.) Their first album in 1986 (also produced by Burnett) was called Love & Hope & Sex & Dreams, a line from the Stones song “Shattered.” The title of this record references the next line of that song: “And STILL surviving on the streets…” Twenty-two years on, Kurt and Sammy continue to tap into the vein of rock’n’roll mined by Springsteen, the Everly Brothers, U2, Chuck Berry, the Stones. Their voices—Kurt’s watery singing, Sammy’s gravely sandpaper voice-- wrap and melt together like honey and scotch, like leather and lace, like a grilled ham and Swiss. There is a simple, earnest truth to their songs that has made growing older with them particularly rewarding. Good work if you can get it, indeed. If there was any justice these guys would be in the rock’n’roll hall of fame. RIYL: Harmonies, simple guitar songs, the idea of rock’n’roll mattering worth a damn in life.

12. The Fireman, Electric Arguments: The Fireman being comprised of Flood, who maybe you know as an in-demand producer (U2, Nine Inch Nails, Smashing Pumpkins, Killers); and Paul McCartney, who you recall is The Cute One. Unlike their past instrumental recordings, this one has songs on it; Macca plays all the instruments and sings, while Flood, uh, produces. Some have called it McCartney’s best record in years, and while I quite liked last year’s Memory Almost Full, those folks may be right. I tend to like McCartney least when he tries to sound contemporary (as on Chaos and Creation, where he worked with Nigel Goodrich, who produced Beck and Radiohead.) But if you like the Beatles you’ll love “Two Magpies” (I wish my friend Joe could have heard that one.) Meanwhile, some of the tracks are really onto something here, with McCartney soaring jubilantly through Flood’s heady, swooshy textures (“Sing the Changes.”) It sounds, others have said, like he’s having a blast. Song titles include “Light From Your Lighthouse,” “Sun is Shining,” “Dance Till We’re High,” and “Universal Here, Everlasting Now.” Damn if it isn’t uplifting. RIYL: Paul McCartney.

13. Lucinda Williams, Little Honey: Ooh, snap! It’s Lu’s curse now that every good record will be “the best since Car Wheels.” But this might be, even though I loved World Without Tears as well. It lets its hair down and rocks. She’s got herself a fella, and whereas last year’s West was all downbeat, dealing with the death of her mother, this one is all, “My boyfriend’s back.” RIYL: alt.country, rock’n’roll, the Shangri-las.

14. Ani DiFranco, Red Letter Year: Wherein Ani has a baby and gets all happy on yo’ ass. “I’ve got myself a new mantra,” she sings; “it goes, ‘don’t forget to have a good time.’” The songs are great—among her best collection of songs ever—but they come off better live with the 4-piece than on record, where the studio seems not to be her friend. (Although I may be punishing the record for how much I dug the shows.) Still, the opening (title) track—on which the protagonist takes mushrooms in New Orleans on New Year’s Eve, and which is bookended by a reprise with a New Orleans band that closes the record—sets the tone for a personal and global exploration. See her live though. RIYL: The Happy Woman Blues, Out of Range.

15. Ollabelle, Before This Time: Surprisingly, this live record doesn’t have the magic that their debut studio record had. But it has Amy Helm and a lovely cover of the Dead’s "Brokedown Palace," and I think it’s better than their second one. RIYL: Cowboy Junkies, Levon Helm, the first Ollabelle record.

16. Todd Rundgren, Arena: Todd did a guitar rock tour with a band in late ’06 and early ’07, and liked that so much he holed up in his closet in Hawaii and recorded this—an entire album of big, stoopid (not the same as stupid), loud, fist-pumping, guitar-driven arena rock. Usually he’s a studio whiz, working out the songs live after the fact (see, 2004’s Liars.) Here, the songs were writ to be played live, and in fact his tour this year—which culminated in a private gig in Philly on New Year’s Eve that we were lucky enough to attend—featured the entire album, played front to back. To my ears, the songs don’t entirely work on the record, not given the way they come alive on stage with the interplay of the band inhabiting them, and the size and scope and force and 3-dimensionality of the live experience. If the record was as good as the show it would rate way higher. As it is, there is more hot guitar playing here from Todd than he’s offered up in years, and I think I’ll pick “Weakness” and “Bardo” as my two favorite tracks. RIYL: AC/DC, “Black Maria,” head banging.

17. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes: I kind of had to put this one on here for hipster cred… Like a lot of new artists I like, the Foxes (5 guys from Seattle) are enamored, a good two generations removed, of the more poppy music of the ‘70s, which is to say, my youth. All harmonies up the yin yang, kind of like CSN meets the Benedictine Monks. Strangely pastoral, lots of layered voices and acoustic guitars. RIYL: CSN, Gregorian chants.

18. Susan Tedeschi, Back to the River: Back to the river indeed. After her last release, which was a departure from her hard blues sound and more of a ‘70s soul record, a la Al Green, she’s back to the deep muddy river of the blues, belting them out like a 250 pound black woman at church (the sight of Susan demurely strolling out at an Allman Brothers show, in sweats and glasses, all soccer mom, then singing like this, continually amuses.) Husband Derek Trucks is on four tracks, and Doyle Bramhall II (from Clapton’s band) makes appearances as well. This is what the studio blues sounds like today. RIYL: A little gospel, a little hot mama in your blues.

19. Matthew Sweet, Sunshine Lies: Poor Matthew Sweet. Like the Cowboy Junkies and Trinity Sessions, he’ll forever carry the weight of Girlfriend, a classic power pop record and one of the best break-up records of all time. Every release is greeted with the expectation of, “Will it be as good as Girlfriend?” And it never is, because there are bands in the rock’n’roll hall of fame who’ve never done a record as good as that one. Sunshine Lies sounded way better to me on the beach in July than it does now—it needs the summer to activate its charms—but this is a rockier record from Sweet and a good one. I’m looking forward to his next collaboration with Susannah Hoffs, wherein they cover songs from the ‘70s. RIYL: the rockin’ side of Sweet.

20. Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Cardinalogy: Ryan’s first sober record, and so I’m prepared to give him a little slack; getting sober seems to be the primary theme here, which is probably a one-record detour (and then back, let’s hope, to dysfunctional relationships.) The band sounds great, and there are some great songs here—“Cobwebs” is especially intense when he opens his live shows with it, and “Fix It” could sit next to anything on Easy Tiger. But the second half of the record drags, and given the artist’s high points this decade, it’s hard to call this one of them. But I still love the guy. RIYL: The Band, sobriety.

21. Brian Wilson, Lucky Old Sun: It is easy to criticize Wilson, saying for example that nobody’s home, that he’s a shell of his former self, that he pretends to play the piano while talented acolytes surround him and prop him up. Well, fine. Call this record an homage to Wilson and the Beach Boys, with his shaky but charming vocals over the work of those acolytes. But we’re talking about the people responsible for some great records, like this one and this one and this one. Wilson has managed to attract and surround himself with a modern-day all star team of musicians who grew up shaped by his pop sensibility, who arguably do Wilson better than Wilson does. Lucky Old Sun is essentially a pop opera memoir, "my life in music" in 45 minutes. Main criticism: Brian does the spoken word interludes (written by Van Dyke Parks) himself, instead of getting a professional voiceover guy. Mistake. Otherwise, solid B+, and really, who would have thought we’d get a B+ from Wilson at this stage? RIYL: Wondermints, Jeff Foskett, Nelson Bragg, SMiLE.

22. B.B. King, One Kind Favor: Another T-Bone production, and according to many, the best B.B. record in years. Truly amazing that the guy makes so vibrant and compelling a record at the age of 83. Burnett surrounds him with a great combo, including Jim Keltner (drums) and Dr. John (keyboards) and the result is a rootsy, fresh but timeless blues record. Like the Mellencamp record (see below), a meditation on mortality. One criticism: 50+ minutes is too long for a blues record. RIYL: The blues.

23. Sheryl Crow, Detours: I discovered her opening for the BoDeans in 1993 (“All I Wanna Do” wasn’t all over the radio until the summer after.) I bought her first record the next day. It remains, I think inarguably, her best, but she’s managed to carve out a niche as a classic rocker, with Clapton (461 Ocean Boulevard), Neil Young (Harvest) and the Stones (Sticky Fingers) as touchstones, and hell, that stuff is popular. At least it is with people my age… This is, I think, one of her stronger outings since the debut. Some of the lyrics are heavy-handed (a little too much on the spurning boyfriend and the evil administration), but my advice there is, don’t listen to them. Just feel the songs and sway to the rhythm guitars. RIYL: Tuesday Night Music Club, Harvest, 461 Ocean Boulevard, Sticky Fingers.

24. John Mellencamp, Life, Death, Love and Freedom: Despite the title, there’s really not a lot of life, love or freedom here. And that leaves the big ol’ dirt nap. Not exactly a Saturday night dance party record. Mellencamp has mortality on his mind, making this record—and not Buddy Guy’s—the logical bookend to B.B. King’s; both are beautifully underplayed, T-Bone Burnett-produced ruminations on creaky old bones and the footsteps of the grim reaper just off in the distance. Honestly I’d rate it way higher if it were more cheerful. But you can like this even if never moved byy this artist before. RIYL: Mortality, Lou Reed’s Magic and Loss.

25. David Byrne and Brian Eno, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today: I have to say right off, not the best work of either collaborator, alone or together. Eno made the music, then Byrne wrote lyrics and melodies and added the vocals; I don’t think they were in the same city once for the recording. It works though, in a sort of disassociated, eerie way. I have a feeling that one day this record will “pop” for me and I’ll wish I rated it near the top of the list. But until it does… RIYL: I’d like to invoke Remain in Light here, but that wouldn’t be fair. Probably more apt: the Eno/Cale collaboration, Wrong Way Up.

I also liked: the live disc that came in the Prince book that my wife got me for Christmas; the Old 97s; Counting Crows (more Sunday mornings than Saturday Nights), Van Morrison; T-Bone Burnett; the Black Crowes (a lot of people rated this one very highly; the addition of Luther Dickenson from the North Mississippi Allstars was a brilliant stroke); and Beck.

Ann Coulter's Jaw Wired Shut

2008-11-25T19:38:00.001-05:00

Why didn't someone think of this sooner?