Just wanted to surface briefly to ask for a list of songs you only listen to because of the song-redeeming quality of the instrumental solo they feature. There are a good number of these in my book, but perhaps the most striking example for me is the guitar solo in “Easy” by The Commodores.
This song is basically a cheesefest from treacly beginning to bathetic end, but — man, oh, man, did the dude who plays the guitar in that band get things right! I absoluitely adore that solo, and I will gladly lilsten to the entire steamer just for the chance to hear it played. Without the solo — uh-uh, buddy; no way I’m listening to that crap!
Check out the video above. You can tell watching guitar player dude that he knows he’s the best thing about that song. It’s his moment in The Commodores’ sun. Try as Lionel might, he simply cannot wrest control of the tune from Guitar Player Guy’s Six-String Moment. Play on, Commodores Guitar Player Guy, play on!
Last night, I drove the 100 or so miles from DeeCee to Richmond, VA to see a band I get kidded around a lot for ’round these parts: ZZ Top.
Some of you might be surprised to learn that this was the first time I’d ever seen the band, given my fan-boy love for almost all things Zeezy, and particularly Gibbonsian. Nevertheless, there I was, at a peculiar, very small outdoor venue (seemed more like a neighborhood park, and there couldn’t have been more than 1500 people there) — and I was frankly surprised how much the band rocked — with a weird, loping groove they seem to have developed in their dotage. I’ve never heard anything like it. If it weren’t mathematically impossible, I’d say that the whole band was playing behind the beat. Billy’s playing was especially stellar — I was worried what I might see, after witnessing some pretty shambolic TV appearances in recent years. No worries there; the Rev was ON.
Anyhow, the show was definitely worth the $20 I paid to see it, and might have even been worth the five-hour round-trip drive. But that’s not why I write!
I’m writing because ZZ Top was on my increasingly short list of “bands I really need to see while I still can/really should have seen while I had the chance.” I’m here to share my list, indicating whether or not I got to see the artists on it — and I hope you’ll share yours. Please note that historical impossibilities are not allowed — but missed opportunities are. Here, then, is my list, in no particular order, to serve as example: Continue reading »
I found this show tune track on the B-side of a Thrifty Music single from a Mystery Date-caliber artist, and was so impressed I tracked down the album in CD form. It’s not consistently good, but I’m glad I own it. So: this is both my entry into the Show Tune Hall Last Man Standing battle, and my Mystery Date challenge to you all. Who is this guy? For extra credit, tell me who produced the tune. Hint: he shows up in the RTH menu bar with some frequency.
Greetings, seekers of the bizarre, the unusual, the extraordinary, and the incredibly cheap! I come to you after a long hiatus to share the results of a particularly fruitful scavenge undertaken this past weekend at the thrift stores around the nation’s grand capitol.
During this excursion, I was lucky to find a small stack of vinyl 45s from Jamaica, obviously from a fan of the early- to mid-period “deejay” era in the development of popular Jamaican music. They’re on extremely weird, poorly printed labels — and a few have no labels at all, substituting instead a hasty crayon scrawl simply saying “DJ,” or (in the case of the most entertaining of the singles I’ve ripped for you tonight) the word “PUSSY.”
Anyhow, the point is, these are some fairly ribald tunes. The density of the Jamaican (in one case, Trinidadian) patois is such that I feel you could safely play any of these at work without fear of prosecution — but they are spicy. So, as part of my ongoing effort to goose traffic statistics for my beloved Rock Town Hall (see easily porn-searchable headline above), I’m attaching them here for all to enjoy.
The first tune is, in my estimation, the best of the lot: a 1974 number by a young Max Romeo, entitled Pussy Watchman. 2000Man may get a particular kompletist kick out of this, as the InterWeb tells me that Romeo sang backup on some tune off of “It’s Only Rock and Roll.” But this is from very early in Romeo’s career, and it’s a good one. Check it out!
Next up, another ribald selection, this time from the extremely obscure 1970s DJ “Charley Ace.” There’s not even a track name listing on the label for this single (though it does sport a monochromatic label saying “SCORPION!”) — but I choose to believe the song is called Do It Same Way, based on the moans and groans of the female lead in the piece. The InterWeb tells me, by the way, that Ace was gunned down on the rough streets of Kingston some time in the 1980s. RIP, Charley.
Last but not least, Trinidadian godfather of “soca” music, Lord Shorty, gives us all explicit direction in The Art Of Making Love. Again, I call 2000Man’s attention to this tune, in which — towards the end there — Lord Shorty gives us some guidelines as to what we might expect from various races as far as their boudoir behaviors are concerned. I immediately smelled a “Some Girls” rat in the mix. But, whether or not Lord Shorty was ripped off by Jagger and company, I strongly urge all basement-dwelling, pasty-faced members of the Hall to heed Lord Shorty’s advice. Dude obviously knows what he’s talking about.
Anyhow, that’s what I got for you this time around. Mod, Backoffice: if nothing else, please let me know how much traffic this effort generates!
So here I am, back from a long weekend in Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Germany, where I went to attend a wedding. Nothing particularly noteworthy to share in the music department, other than to say: you think American wedding bands are bad? Try dancing to a German one, Jack! (Side note/confession: I did in fact boogie down to a medley of Boney M’s finest hits.)
Anyway, I write to discuss a revelatory experience that struck me as having relevance to the world of Rock, and it’s this that I want to briefly describe to Townsman Great48 and the rest of you.
See, I knew going in to this wedding that the bride’s family was a.) very happy to see their wonderful daughter married; and b.) on the upper end of the economic scale — but I didn’t realize the family would pay to have the whole weekend catered by a Michelin two-star restaurant. And so it was that I was served jellied this, served in a reduction of that, next to stone-roasted the other thing, for two solid days. Pretty amazing.
But my last meal — in a beer hall in Zurich the night before I flew home — was the one that really knocked me on my keister: a huge plate of braised pig’s knuckle, home-made sauerkraut and boiled potato. Nothing fancy — at all — but I washed it down with first a Swiss lager, then a crazy good Dunkel, and I was astonished at how much more satisfying this meal was for me. And I’m a snob about these things!
As I sat there wolfing this down, I thought: there must be interesting analogs to my Swiss food experience in the collective brain trust known as Rock Town Hall. I mean, I feel certain that without thinking too hard, G48 and the rest of you can share stories about otherwise delicious, rich, complex Rock *that you loved hearing* in the same way that I loved every minute of fancy foodiness over the wedding weekend — that suddenly paled in comparison to the simple gustatory delights found in a slab of hard-charging Rock meatloaf, once you weaned yourself off the fancy stuff.
Am I making sense here, or is my jet lag forcing me to stretch things a bit too far?
As a lead-in to a piece that Townsman KingEd is working up that touches on the influence of Jimi Hendrix on a well-known Friend of the Hall, I thought it would be a good time to revisit this discussion, initiated by Townsman Hrrundivbakshi almost 2 years ago. We’ve fawned over the magic and majesty of Hendrix before, and Ed’s upcoming piece probably won’t be the last time. While we await our next related Hendrix-centered thread, think about what HVB and others said way back when.
This post initially appeared 6/24/07.
Today’s burning question
Why do we love Jimi Hendrix so much?
That’s not a trick question, by the way, or a snarky way of letting the universe know that I think he sucks major ass. ‘Cause I don’t. I think Jimi Hendrix was an astonishing, timeless talent — one of the few “rock” musician types that truly deserves to be placed in that awkward “genius” category.
For me, Hendrix is simultaneously forward-looking and free; focused and intense; hippy-dippy and sweet; brutal and bludgeoning. He was avant-garde without being precious, snide, or academic about it. His virtuosity never — and I mean that literally — never ceases to amaze me. There’s always something new and unbelievable to hear in a Hendrix song, if you’re listening with those kind of ears. And if you don’t, or can’t, listen as a player, it don’t matter, ’cause his songs are strong.
He also had a dynamite Look — man, that (pardon me, and insert 1974 Rottun Teef Keef “tracksssss…” voice here) “super spade” thing, combined with a stage presence that turned him and his guitar into one giant, raging rock hard-on, was just fucking unbeatable. Think of Mick Jagger or Robert Plant or any other white front man contemporary of Hendrix’s — in their rock posturing prime, on their best night — and they all seem positively tea cozy and cardigan sweaters compared to this dude.
But look — I’m opening up this thread because I just want to know how and why you love Hendrix as much as you do. I’m also looking for those spine-tingling recorded moments that make you wait in eager anticipation — like the hair-singeing opening notes to “Foxy Lady” or the moment when “Ezy Rider” comes roaring back into the main riff after the bridge, or — well, you get the idea.
