The World Wide Glen: Welcome to My Thoughtmare

2009-11-09T00:28:00.000-08:00

The Fourth Kind: Part Close Encounters, Part Exorcist, And 100% Not Real

Movie Review: The Fourth Kind

For those who take the subject matter seriously, it has been a long held belief that Hollywood doesn't have a very good track record when it comes to films dealing with the subject of UFOs and alien abduction.

In fact, most, if not all of the big-screen films based on actual UFO and alien abduction case files — from Communion to Fire In The Sky — have been disasters from the perspective of those who have either investigated or actually experienced such encounters.

In the case of Communion, author and contactee Whitley Strieber is portrayed in such a way as to suggest the only "close encounter" he has experienced is one of the psychotic kind. To anyone familiar with the abduction case of Travis Walton, there are entire scenes of his story as told in Fire In The Sky that simply never happened.

Like those films, Universal's The Fourth Kind purports, and in fact goes to great lengths to convince the viewer that it too is based on actual events — except that it isn't. The only back story here is rather the result of one of those viral marketing campaigns which most recently worked so well for Paranormal Activity.
The Fourth Kind centers on a series of unexplained disappearances occurring in Nome, Alaska (that part is real) which may be tied to alien abductions (that part isn't). Milla Jovovich plays Dr. Abigail Tyler, a psychiatrist investigating the cases. The title refers to what ufologists call a close encounter of the fourth kind, which involves alien abduction. Steven Spielberg's famous film Close Encounters Of The Third Kind refers to contact. This movie should in no way be confused with Spielberg's classic though.

In the opening scene, Jovovich appears as herself, and explains she will be portraying Tyler, and that the film includes actual audio and video footage from Tyler's case files. This illusion continues with director Olatunde Osunsanmi interviewing the "real" Tyler, and then throughout the film with split-screen images of Jovovich and the other Abigail Tyler often simultaneously reciting and acting the same lines and scenes.

As a storytelling device, it's a clever one and does seem to lend an air of authenticity to the story, as the events, some of which are pretty terrifying, unfold on screen. The trick is, however, revealed for the ruse it is, when some of the actors portraying the abductees are actually more convincing at expressing terror than their counterparts in the "real" footage. One scene which purports to show an abductee driven by madness to murdering his family, in particular, exposes the parlor tricks at work here.

Even so, The Fourth Kind plays this card right up until the end of the movie. It's a clever enough idea to a point, but one can only willingly suspend disbelief for so long, until it just becomes a distraction. By the time phenomena more closely resembling demonic possession than anything from classic alien abduction cases begins to manifest, the thin strings holding the plot together completely unravel.

What's left is an uneven mess that plays like one part Close Encounters multiplied by several times The Exorcist. The cast mostly gets an A for effort in a lost cause — particularly Jovovich and the actress portraying the "real" Dr. Abigail Tyler, and I'll even give director Osunsanmi credit for a noble try at something a little different as far as his storytelling method goes.

At the same time, though, The Fourth Kind loses points for trying a little too hard to push a story that simply doesn't hold up. Studio-created websites aside, a Google search for "Nome alien abductions" turns up little to support it.

While there have been some unexplained disappearances in Nome over the years, F.B.I. investigations suggest these may have been due more to bad weather, tough terrain, and close encounters of the alcoholic kind.

As escapist entertainment, The Fourth Kind is harmless enough. Even so, it fails to redeem or change Hollywood's poor track record for telling a good alien abduction story. Sadly, that record remains very much intact.

2009-11-07T19:59:00.000-08:00

Is Aerosmith Finished?: Steven Tyler Walks His Way Out

Steven Tyler, the eternally young 61 year old lead vocalist for Aerosmith has apparently decided to walk his way right out of the mega-successful American rock band.

According to numerous reports published today on the internet, Tyler has left the group to pursue a career as a solo artist. Guitarist Joe Perry says Tyler quit Aerosmith following a concert in the United Arab Emirates Abu Dhabi.

"Steven quit, as far as I can tell," Perry told the Las Vegas Sun. "I don't know anymore than you do about it. I got off the plane two nights ago. I saw online that Steven said that he was going to leave the band. I don't know for how long, indefinitely or whatever."

Aerosmith are of course no strangers to internal feuding within the band, often related to widely reported drug abuse in the past — and earning Tyler and Perry their infamous nicknames "The Toxic Twins" during the band's early to mid seventies years. Most famously, Perry left Aerosmith in the late seventies to form the Joe Perry Project, while Tyler carried on with replacement guitarists on the album Rock In A Hard Place, scoring a moderate hit with the song "Lightnin' Strikes."

Perry rejoined Aerosmith for the Done With Mirrors album, and with the newly "drug-free" incarnation of the band, went on to renewed success in the eighties and nineties with albums like Permanent Vacation and Pump. A remake of the band's "Walk This Way" with veteran rappers Run-DMC further re-established Aerosmith as one of the top bands in rock and roll.

Just this past summer, Aerosmith had to cancel a number of dates on their co-headlining tour with ZZ Top after Tyler injured himself after falling from the stage at a concert. The band also recently postponed an album planned for later this year.

In a conversation with Peter Makowski of Classic Rock magazine, guitarist Brad Whitford seemed to leave the next move for the veteran hard rockers wide open. Indicating the band would meet soon to discuss future plans, Whitford seemed to leave the door open for either packing it in, or possibly carrying on with a new lead singer.

“Nobody could replace Steven or imitate him – he’s one of a kind. But if somebody was willing to do it and the chemistry was right, why not?,” Whitford said.

It's certainly clear that Perry prefers that some form of Aerosmith will continue, with or without their lead singer and most visible member. "Right now I'm adjusting to how we're going to go on," Perry said.

2009-11-07T16:54:00.000-08:00

The Rockologist: The Thought, The Thump, And The Poetry

It's a funny thing about rock stars.

You'd think that so many of them have the world on a string, the tiger by the tail, or whatever you'd otherwise choose to call it.

Let's talk first about the lifestyle, or at least what we know about it as outsiders living vicariously through reading about it in the Random Notes section of Rolling Stone, or maybe seeing it in the nude pictures of Keith Richards lying on some beach in France we see showing up on the Internet.

And just for the record, if that particular image grosses you out, you are by no means alone.

Anyway, you'd think a life of selling millions of records, living in English countryside mansions, dating 20-something year-old super models into your 60s, and pretty much having the world as your personal oyster would be enough, right? Well, think again.

You see, for the select handful of rock royalty who have actually scaled the top of the mountain, there remains that one elusive final hill to climb, and that my friends, is artistic redemption.

It's one thing to top the charts on Billboard, but it's quite another to have the sort of pretentious types who sip wine at art galleries poring over your every word as though it were manna from heaven itself.

Even so, many have tried.

For rock stars like Mick Jagger, David Bowie, and Sting, for example, acting in films has represented the the most obvious avenue towards this type of validation, and as could be expected the results have been decidedly mixed.

Jagger, most notably, is back singing "Jumping Jack Flash" for the umpteenth time after getting mixed reviews in movies from Performance and Ned Kelly, to Freejack. Bowie did a great job playing himself in The Man Who Fell To Earth, and the less said about Sting acting in movies like David Lynch's production of Dune the better.

Of these, Sting alone refuses to give up however. He's spent the better part of the last two decades trying to reinvent himself as a solo artist dabbling in everything from jazz to Gregorian chants when all most of us want to hear is "Roxanne" with the Police one more time — and not have to pay 300 bucks a ticket for the privilege of doing so, I might add.

In so doing, Sting joins the likes of people like Peter Gabriel, Paul Simon, and especially David Byrne who seem hellbent on cramming culture down the throats of fans who would much rather hear "Burning Down The House" or "Shock The Monkey" one more time.

You know what I mean? Good.

Because rather than piss off all of the South African or Brazilian union musicians who play on records by Sting and David Byrne, I have a rather novel idea. Follow the poets.

Tribal rhythms and all aside, rock and poetry is the one combination which has worked best over the years to satisfy the need to reconcile commercial success with artistic credibility for attention starved rock stars.

Elvis Costello can record vanity projects with the Brodsky Quartet, and Paul McCartney can write his symphonies, but let's be honest here. Nothing works for rock stars quite like poetry.

Some rock stars are in fact naturals at it. For that you can reference Lennon, Dylan, Springsteen, and even Bono (at least on a good day). Others? Well they fake it really well.

The most obvious example here is Jim Morrison. By all accounts, the one-time Lizard King spent his final years wandering the streets of Paris in a boozed-out haze trying to connect with his inner Rimbaud, and left us with An American Prayer.

Drunken ramblings about a "Lament For My Cock" aside, that album actually has an oddly haunting, hypnotic quality to it too, played as it is to the surviving members of the Doors providing a lounge-jazz music backing soundtrack.

Of those rock stars who are still among us though, I would point towards Patti Smith and Tom Waits as the two greatest living examples of artists who combine the thought of poetry with the thump of rock and roll with any degree of success.

Patti Smith's landmark debut album Horses alone stands as something which qualifies her for goddess status. Nowhere in all of rock and roll will you find something that combines the raw punk rock urgency of her take on "Gloria" with the gorgeous stream of consciousness poetry of the amazing nine or so minutes of "Birdland" (a tonal poem, which to best I can figure has something to do with being taken up in a UFO). It is an absolutely spellbinding album.

Patti's work has been spotty since coming back in the '90s, but Horses is a masterpiece that on its own qualifies her as one of the true greats.

And then there's Tom Waits.

Waits is a different animal entirely. After writing songs that became hits for people like Linda Ronstadt in the '70s, Tom Waits has spent the better part of the last three decades traveling down the darkest streets and alleyways of the world, and singing about them in a voice choked with cigarettes, whiskey, and God only knows what else.

Over the years, Waits has taken on the character of everything from vagabond drifter to carnival barker, to create a persona that is truly unique in all of music. Even someone as mighty as Bob Dylan has been compared to him in the voice he has taken on in his most recent albums.

If there is any guy alive who sings about the seedy underbelly of society with legitimate street cred, it is Tom Waits. Sometimes, I even find myself praying for the guy, he makes it all seem so real. An advance listen to Waits' forthcoming Glitter And Doom Live (review forthcoming) is in fact what inspired this article.

The second disc — which consists entirely of "Tom's Tales" is particularly good.

If true artistic credibility means the ability of the listener to live vicariously through the words of the artist, then I defy anyone to find an artist more credible than Tom Waits.

It's all about putting it into words.

2009-11-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

The Politics Of Job Hunting

Bring Lawyers, Guns, And Money...

Before I get started here, I need to preface this article by qualifying a few quick things.

First and foremost, I have been gainfully unemployed for nearly a year now. I won't explain the circumstances, other than that they are related to the recession, which is far from being over, no matter what they tell you. Thank you, Mr. Bush.

Needless to say, I'm also not real happy about it. Just ask my landlord. Better yet, ask my fellow editors at Blogcritics.

I'm not sleeping well. I'm not eating right. I'm downright irritable. I live in a dump, I drink more than I should, and my feet probably stink to boot. I'm generally a pretty agreeable fellow and all, but these days even my loyal cat Smokey knows when to get the hell out of my way.

But I'm not a complainer by nature (well okay, not on most days anyway).

I understand why most employers require background checks, and I've also become more than accustomed to filling out very lengthy job applications. Even so, these are often quite invasive on a personal level, and require an accounting of one's personal life that is, well...extensive to say the least.

In the interest of rooting out all the sex offenders, the alcoholics, the terrorists, and the criminals, corporate America is doing a fine job of providing a template worthy of what, I'm quite sure, God Himself will use, come Judgment Day. Beware all ye sinners, because even God knows how to Google search your past.

But the thing is, somewhere along the line we, as a society, surrendered our rights to information that, in a decent world anyway, is supposed to be kept private. Even though I don't necessarily agree with it, I've learned to accept it.

But secondly, I just want to work, dammit.

Honestly, I do. Some folks on the government dole would prefer to stay there for as long as Obama grants those unemployment extensions. Much as they have thankfully sustained me for the past year, I'm not one of them. 300 bucks a week just doesn't cut it in an economy where filling the tank for an interview costs the same as the grocery bill. Never mind the smokes and the beer.

It used to be that applying for work was a simple matter of filling out a basic application, which for the fortunate was followed by an interview where the employer basically sized you up to figure out if a.) you were qualified, and b.) whether or not they liked you.

Not so, these days.

Having been out of meaningful full-time work for some eleven months now (side gig doing what I love most at Blogcritics for that precious beer money aside of course), I have applied for hundreds of jobs (most of which I am eminently qualified for). What I have found is that looking for work is the hardest full-time job I have ever had. Hands down.

There has to be a balance somewhere.

For those fortunate enough to get to that coveted first interview, what used to be a get-acquainted process of getting sized-up has become something more akin to a very hostile Roman arena where you are the Christian and they are the lions. These days a job interview is more about why they shouldn't hire you than why they should.

Meet the new boss, or maybe not. In today's reality, it's more like you better, you bet (God bless you, Pete Townshend).

But that isn't even what I want to talk about here. I want to talk about the application that is supposed to get you that ticket to the lion's den.

Quick question here:

How many of you keep a record of everything you have ever done for the past ten years, including names, dates, addresses, zip codes, and phone numbers handy? Well you had best start doing so, just in case of the event you should ever find yourself laid off.

Most of the pre-screening process these days takes place online. And where it used to be about the easy task of securing accounts at Monster, Career Builder, and the rest, and just clicking your mouse to apply for a job — these days that single click increasingly just redirects you to an employer website. Once there, nothing less than a complete accounting of your last ten years on this earth will suffice. That means names, dates, addresses, e-mails, and phone numbers of everyone you have ever known or ever will. The Social Security and drivers license number invasions into your private life are now simply a warm-up to the real inquisition.

I don't know about you, but when I leave a job (and I've left many), I usually want to just put it behind me (at least outside of keeping the most basic record). Not possible anymore. Anything less than the sort of full accounting worthy of a courtroom scene from Law And Order will result in a mistrial — or at least get you booted off the corporate website application process.

Somewhere, someplace out there, there is a genius lying in wait who will one day make a killing off of the next great innovation in our increasingly litigious society — defense attorney insurance for the unemployed.

Which leaves the scams.

Membership on sites like Monster and Career Builder virtually guarantees it — as well as all the accompanying spyware, malware, and viruses that are a given for anyone foolish or naive enough to sign up for them in the misguided hopes of actually landing a job. Talk about a screening process.

Trust me. I've had to wipe my computer more times in the past four months than I've had to wipe my ass. I wish I could say it was because I was busy pleasuring myself to porn or downloading suspect bootlegs. The sad truth is I've been unwittingly downloading job porn.

To those of you who have recently joined the ranks of the unemployed, all I can say is prepare for the adventure of a lifetime, and for the toughest full-time job you will ever have. And know that I feel your pain.

Buyer Beware.

To the rest of you out there in corporate America, despite my protests about your methods and all, I can absolutely assure you that I'm your guy, and that you won't be sorry if you sign me up for a lifetime of servitude to, well whatever you would have me do.

Just bring Lawyers, Guns, And Money.

2009-11-02T23:15:00.000-08:00

An Unexpected And Surprising New Album From An Old Friend

Music Review: Al Stewart - Uncorked (Live With Dave Nachmanoff)

Al Stewart's first all-acoustic live recording since 1992's Rhymes In Rooms is a little like reconnecting with an old friend.

Although not entirely unexpected, it's still a welcome reminder of just how fine a talent the one-time "Year Of The Cat" hitmaker really is. Especially when left alone in a room to do his thing unadorned by the strings and over-production of some of those records made back when Stewart filled arenas, rather than the smaller, folkier venues where he was recorded here.

On Uncorked, Stewart and his musical counterpart Dave Nachmanoff are simply two guys with their acoustic guitars — but together they create a surprisingly big noise. The smaller arrangements sound every bit as rich and full here, in a small setting, as on their studio counterparts, thanks to both a marvelously clear and crisp recording, and even more to just how well the two jell together as guitarists.

And that is really the most delightful surprise here. Although Stewart is known primarily for his songwriting talents, this is as much of a showcase for the guitar as it is for the rich wordplay of his songs. The main disappointment is that once Stewart and Nachmanoff really get going, it's not often clear just who is playing which part because they blend so well together.

"Last Days of The Century," for example, is at first propelled by what I presume to be Nachmanoff playing the bass part, with Stewart (again presumably) playing lead. Before long though, the two of them are ferociously trading solos in a blinding blur with all the deftness of Beck and Page in the Yardbirds, causing the audience to break into spontaneous applause at various points.

On "News from Spain," Nachmanoff plays Rick Wakeman's piano solo from the studio version — an "unenviable task" Stewart jokes — on guitar, and totally nails it.

But lest we forget his songwriting talents, this album also provides a worthy reminder that Al Stewart is one of music's more literate historical storytellers. Song titles from his catalog like "Palace of Versailles" and "Old Admirals" only hint at the rich escape lying within.

At their best, Stewart's songs are like rich tapestries originating from such places as 16th Century European battlefields ("Coldest Winter"). The stories are mostly told in the first person, and in such ways as to actually transport you there. Stewart's voice has also never sounded better.

Many of the songs here will be unfamiliar to more casual fans — an intentional decision by the artists, so there would be no overlap between this and the previous live album. So there's no "Year Of The Cat," "Nostradamus," or "Roads To Moscow". However, for the more devoted fans, Stewart does dig deep enough into the well to pull out chestnuts like "Bedsitter Images" and "Carol."

Whether you are already a fan, or you just love great songs, rich storytelling, and some unexpectedly wicked guitar playing, Uncorked is a wonderful new album from an old friend.

2009-10-31T01:36:00.000-07:00

Giving Up The Ghost: A Guide To Basic Cable's Paranormal TV Shows

Is it just me, or has basic cable been completely taken over by ghosts lately? No, I don't mean those fuzzy double images that show up during a rainstorm for those of you with rabbit ears or satellite.

I'm talking about the real thing here, as in things that go bump in the night. Disembodied spirits. The undead. You know, ghosts...

I'm not sure exactly where the trend of all these geeks running around with thermal cameras and electro-magnetic field measuring devices started, but lately it seems you can't turn on the TV without seeing a bunch of guys sitting in a dark room someplace — usually captured in glorious black and white — checking out such paranormal activity as shadows, creaking floors and headlights outside in the driveway.

Okay, I'll admit I'm not being completely fair here.

Some of what you see and hear on these shows is mildly interesting, and occasionally even somewhat compelling. More often however, you see these "investigators" jumping out of their skins and screaming "paranormal" pretty much whenever their equipment picks up a fly on the window.

The bottom line is reality TV is out, and unreality TV is in. These shows are freaking everywhere these days — it doesn't even have to be Halloween.

But the grandaddy of the bunch has to be the Ghost Hunters franchise on the SyFy channel. Before these guys spawned this lucrative enterprise, head honchos Jason and Grant were a couple of schmoes working for Roto Rooter. These days, the SyFy channel has become home to an empire that in addition to the original Ghost Hunters show, now includes Ghost Hunters International and the soon-to-be-launched Ghost Hunters Academy.

For my money though, Ghost Hunters also rides head and shoulders above the rest of this increasingly crowded paranormal pack on basic cable. As head investigators of T.A.P.S. (The Atlantic Paranormal Society), Jason and Grant largely approach their investigations both scientifically and with an open and even semi-skeptical mind. I like that.

These guys basically know their stuff, and using their nuts and bolts knowledge of things like pipes and drains gained through working their day jobs at Roto Rooter, they are actually able to quickly debunk a lot of the creaking floors and such they encounter while investigating alleged haunted houses.

The other thing that impresses me about these guys is the way their team of investigators painstakingly go through hours of everything their assorted video and audio gadgetry catches on these investigations. If it were me, I'd be bored stiff. So if nothing else, sifting through all of this "evidence" the way these guys do demonstrates both a dedication and a seriousness towards what they do that I have to yet to see from any of the other para-wannabes that have followed in their wake.

Occasionally they catch some pretty wild shit too, such as EVPs (Electronic Voice Phenomena) of voices that aren't supposed to be there, and video of things going beyond the dust in the air so often misindentified as "orbs" by some of the other shows out there. It also doesn't hurt that one of the Ghost Hunters is a pretty hot chick named Kris Williams. That girl can haunt my house anytime.

As always with anything on the tube, success breeds imitation, and the ratings of Ghost Hunters has spawned a whole slew of imitators and paranormal pretenders — some of them are good, some not so much, but none are as good as the original.

The Biography Channel practically turns into a paranormal channel of its own on Saturday nights, running a slate of shows including Ghost Stories, A Haunting, Psychic Investigators, and the inevitable latest entry into the paranormal sweepstakes, Celebrity Ghost Stories.

None of these are particularly compelling — unless your idea of goosebumps involves people like Sammy Hagar and Tom Arnold sitting in a darkened room and talking about the things they thought were under the bed as children.

A&E's Paranormal State is a bit more likable, and easily the best of the lot.

It revolves around a painfully earnest Penn State student named Ryan who investigates hauntings and the like in an effort to make sense of what seems to be some rather fucked up things he experienced as a child. His team includes a spacey chick named Elfie, a Russian guy named Sergey, and a revolving door of various psychics and professional exorcists who mix traditional religion and the occult to root out spirits during something they call "dead time."

Pretty spooky stuff, kiddies.

Over at the Travel Channel, they mix historical travelogues like Haunted History, with yet another team of would-be paranormal investiagtors on their Ghost Adventurers. I'd probably like this show more if the main protagonists acted more like the pros on Ghost Hunters, and less like macho assholes when confronting the spirits at such locations as haunted prisons and graveyards.

Speaking of macho assholes, they seem to be cropping up everywhere on these shows. Of the newer entries into the field, The Discovery Channel's Ghost Lab follows a pair of brothers who travel around the country in a van filled with all of the latest ghost-hunting gadgets in search of the undead.

I really wanted to like this team, except that they lacked both the professionalism and the healthy skepticism of Ghost Hunters vets Jason and Grant. On a recent episode, I admired the way they "phoned a friend" (in the form of a scientist) to get the straight scoop on Electro-Magnetic-Fields. But they lost me just as quick when they wanted to ascribe such fields to paranormal activity, rather than the discomfort that occurs naturally when lots of wires cause high levels of EMFs.

In General Electric terms, these guys were dim bulbs. Jason and Grant would've known better.

Worse yet however are the trio of nerds and jocks comprising the team on the A&E Channel's Extreme Paranormal. These guys actually scare me, but not in a good way. It's not just the way they are willing to label any shadow seen in a supposedly haunted prison as a ghost (and use electric drills to kill the undead bastard again), but also the way they do really dumb shit like diving into haunted lakes during thunder storms.

Led by the sort of big dumb jock you might remember from high school (and who has populated every B-grade horror movie since the dawn of time), these guys strike me as the very definition of people who have no clue of what they are doing, and who I fear will actually one day end up in a premature grave of their own.

But at least the cameras will be rolling, right? Note to the fat nerdy guy here — get out while you still can.

Between shows like these and all of the UFO and Nostradamus stuff on the History Channel, I see no signs of the proliferation of these paranormal TV shows slowing down anytime soon. The good news here is, at least you'll have something to watch when the trick or treaters show up tonight.

Better yet though, just rent that Dawn Of The Dead DVD. Yes, again.

Happy Halloween everybody.

2009-10-30T04:31:00.000-07:00

Bookmark The New Bio Bowie Bio

Book Review: Bowie: A Biography By Marc Spitz

Normally, I like to read books front to back much like everyone else, but Marc Spitz's new Bowie: A Biography is something else entirely.

I've found myself going back over it again and again, and placing those kind of little bookmarks all over it for reference the way you normally do with things like Shakespeare, the Bible, or Mad Magazine.

Okay, I was just kidding about the Mad Magazine part...

Like Spitz, I grew up on David Bowie and remain a huge fan to this day. As you might expect, reading and re-reading through Spitz's exhaustively researched book — which is easily the most thorough Bowie bio I have come across to date — has also brought back a ton of memories.

The biggest problem has been absorbing it all.

In his research for the book, Spitz conducted hundreds of interviews with those closest to Bowie — ranging from ex-wife Angie, to one-time sideman Peter Frampton, to Dick Cavett of all people. Spitz doesn't miss a trick here.

In the book, Spitz meticulously traces the history of the ever-mercurial chameleon Bowie through all of his various career phases. We follow the former David Jones from his evolution from young R&B loving mod and later beat-influenced hippie, all the way through his career periods and artistic incarnations as Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke, to the Plastic Soul Review, the Berlin trilogy, and beyond.

In doing so, Spitz makes the most effective case yet as to just how major an influence Bowie has been over the years. Particularly in the post-modern era which began in the late eighties with bands like Nine Inch Nails — but which can really be traced back further to the kraut-rock of Kraftwerk, and of course, finally to Bowie himself.

Reading through this amazing book, we also discover just how much Bowie's influence lives on today through bands ranging from Arcade Fire to the Killers (yes, the Killers).

Along the way, we follow Bowie's amazing journey as he moved through labels, managers (Tony DeFries), sidemen (the late, great guitarist Mick Ronson), rivals (most notably Marc Bolan), and addictions and identities (Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke), to become the icon and legend he is recognized as today.

The funnest part about reading this for me was going back to Bowie records I haven't listened to in years, and reliving my own memories as a teenaged fan.

From my earliest exposure to Bowie on the song "Moonage Daydream" (which I first heard on a promotional 4-song E.P. I got as a sixteen year old intern at Seattle rock station KOL), to witnessing Bowie's sparsely attended 1972 Ziggy Stardust show in the orchestra pit at Seattle's Paramount with my high school buddy Kim Murrell, the memories came flooding back.

Bowie and Kim had a rather spirited exchange back then, when, in a rare moment of getting up close and personal with his audience, "Ziggy" offered my fifteen year old friend the microphone. Remind me to tell you about it one of these days...because it's a great story.

I don't necessarily agree with all of of Spitz's critical assessments of Bowie's work here — I would definitely call comparing latter-day Bowie albums like Outside to the Berlin trilogy (reunion with Eno aside), somewhat misguided.

But for the most part Spitz gets it right here like no Bowie biography has to date.

Most importantly, he reveals just how much David Bowie is truly missed. I suspect I'll be re-reading and discovering new things here for weeks and months to come.

Come back David. All is forgiven.

2009-10-25T00:57:00.000-07:00

On Cornflakes, Critics, And The Personal Memoirs Of Robert Hilburn

Book Review: Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life by Robert Hilburn

One of the things you hear most often from guys my age is our pissing and moaning about the death of rock and roll.

Truth be told, a pretty good case can be made for it too. Certainly the most common complaints — the lack of any true megabands since U2, the decline of record sales, and the increasingly disposable pop of the Disney teen acts and American Idol — ring true enough.

The fact is, in today's musical landscape, the chances of a true game-changing phenomenon — one that affects not just the musical, but also the cultural landscape of America and the world in ways that the Beatles, Dylan, or even Nirvana did — just isn't that likely to happen. This probably has as much to do with how music is distributed to the masses these days as anything else. But that's another subject...

What I miss nearly as much as rock's golden age of the sixties, seventies, and eighties, however, is the brand of rock journalism which often went side by side with it — the type of writing I soaked up like a sponge in magazines like Creem and Rolling Stone as a kid, written with a fan's passion by guys like the late, great Lester Bangs.

Since I didn't grow up in Los Angeles (and therefore was unable read the music coverage of the L.A. Times), I was never that familiar with the work of Robert Hilburn, although I certainly knew of his reputation.

Reading his new book, however, it's certainly clear that he was, and still is, cut from that same old-school cloth of rock criticism that I miss so much. In fact, Hilburn's Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life is one of the best books on the subject of rock and roll I have read in a good long while.

Hilburn certainly writes from a perspective that is more informed than most — at times this book reads as much as a history of rock as it does as his own personal memoir.

But more importantly, Hilburn writes about the music he so clearly loves with all the passion of the most hardcore fan. This, more than anything else, is what separates Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life from the rest of the rock books you'll find in the music section at your nearest Borders, and also what makes it such a great read.

Although this is largely a personal memoir of Hilburn's career as pop music critic for the L.A. Times, it is also a fascinating journey through the history of rock and roll itself — dotted with Hilburn's personal memories of rubbing shoulders with such greats as Elvis, Lennon, Dylan, Springsteen and Bono.

Tracing his own history of discovering the music through listening to his uncle's records by artists like Hank Williams, and then later discovering R&B and of course Elvis, Hilburn goes on to describe how he liked the attention he got from the other kids in school through his writing, beginning a journey which finally landed him a gig with the L.A. Times, first as a stringer, then eventually as full-time pop music critic.

That part of Hilburn's story will primarily be of interest to writing geeks like myself. What gives Corn Flakes With John Lennon its more universal appeal, though, are the stories of how Hilburn endeared himself to some of the greatest musical icons of this generation — often to the point of becoming a personal confidant.

The common thread running through nearly all of them is how Hilburn was able to cut through the barriers surrounding musicians who were treated more like Gods — particularly during the sixties when rock was impacting culture like it hasn't at any time before or since. In story after amazing story here, we learn how Hilburn perfected this art mainly by first being honest, and then by connecting with them as fans.

And what stories.

In Corn Flakes With John Lennon, we travel with Hilburn to Folsom Prison on the occasion of Johnny Cash's historic concerts there. We go backstage and discover the shy, insecure person lying beneath the dynamo that was Janis Joplin, and are there on the night of Elton John's career-making shows at L.A.'s Troubadour club.

We meet John Lennon during his infamous alcohol-fueled "lost weekend" in seventies L.A., and later during the "house-husband" period of his album Double Fantasy, where we find Lennon's biggest vice to be the chocolate bars he sneaks when Yoko (who he refers to as "Mother") isn't around.

Sadly, we are also there for the funerals of Elvis, John Lennon, and Kurt Cobain. Hilburn's bedside interview with a grief-stricken Yoko Ono and later with Courtney Love in particular reveal a side of these rock and roll widows which clashes profoundly with their public images.

Most telling though is the way this book reveals the unique relationship between rock critics like Hilburn and the artists they write about.

Hilburn's various conversations with Bob Dylan over the years are particularly revealing — ranging from Dylan's changing his setlists at the writer's suggestion (and how he later chided him about it by asking if he brought a setlist with him), to the way the notoriously interview reluctant Dylan uncharacteristically opened up to Hilburn about subjects ranging from his "born-again" conversion to his songcraft over the years.

Hilburn also takes no less than Bruce Springsteen — an artist he clearly loves — to task for compromising his art by playing his old hits on the early nineties tour just after "The Boss" enraged many fans by disbanding the E Street Band. At another point in the book, Hilburn urges a young Bono, then known for scaling 30-foot high scaffolds and throwing himself into audiences, to scale down the "antics" and let the music do the talking. Bono, who was said to be haunted by Hilburn's stern lecture for years, nonetheless took the critic's advice to heart. It's no coincidence he wrote the intro to this book.

Corn Flakes With John Lennon ends on a somewhat depressing note however.

Although Hilburn tries his best to cover his glum appraisal of the present and future state of rock and roll with signs of optimism — pinning most of his hopes on people like Jack White and Conor Oberst — it's pretty clear that the wise old critic can see the writing on the wall. There is a tone of resignation in the final chapter here that perhaps rock music's time as a true life altering cultural force has indeed passed.

Corn Flakes With John Lennon is a must read for anyone who loves writing, but especially for anyone who loves rock and roll. It is also one of the best books on rock music I have read in a good long while. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

2009-10-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Dylan Croaks And Croons His Christmas In The Heart

Music Review; Bob Dylan - Christmas In The Heart

So it should be stated right upfront that this album isn't gonna' be for everybody. In fact, for most people, the verdict on Bob Dylan's first-ever collection of Christmas tunes is probably going to come down to which side of a central question you are on.

That would be "The Croak."

"The Croak," for those not already in the know, is the ragged, Tom Waits-like tone and quality Dylan's voice has taken on with all of his albums this decade dating back to at least Time Out Of Mind. Some people love it, while it makes others cringe.

As for me? I love "The Croak."

So the only real question for me going into this album was, will the harsh, sandpaper on cigarettes quality of Dylan's voice that works so well on a song, like say, "Thunder On The Mountain" sound appropriate on something like say, "Hark The Herald Angels Sing"?

And on that particular song, the answer is no, it really doesn't. The reason has more to do with the arrangement than it does with anything else though.

One of the reasons Dylan's voice works so well with his own recent songs, is because when he sings something with the fire and brimstone lyrical imagery of "Thunder On The Mountain," "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'," or even "Aint Talkin'," the apocalyptic world-weariness in his voice is a perfect match to the subject matter. Dylan also is a master of phrasing, so in his own songs every double-phrased or twisted syllable adds just that much more dramatic emphasis to the words.

On "Hark The Herald Angels Sing," as with the other songs on Christmas In The Heart, Dylan however plays it completely straight. The arrangements are as traditional as a holiday card from Hallmark, and likewise there are no twists of phrase in the vocal delivery. So, in the case of "Hark," this only serves to illustrate the fact that he just can't hit the notes.

Even so, and putting that little bump on the road to grandma's house aside (strictly in the interest of fairness of course), on much of the rest of this album Dylan does just fine.

Christmas In The Heart begins with sleigh bells — Sleigh Bells, for crying out loud! But by the time you hear Dylan, in all of his croaking glory sing "Here comes Santa Claus! Here comes Santa Claus!," you really can't help yourself from cracking up. Or, at least I couldn't.

Elsewhere, on songs like "I'll Be Home For Christmas" and "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" (complete with the most syrupy sounding female backup vocals you're likely to hear this side of the Lennon Sisters on the old Lawrence Welk Show), Dylan's croak substitutes for Crosby-esque croon surprisingly well.

And for the record, no, he doesn't tackle "White Christmas." Dylan always was a smart sumbitch'. Elsewhere, Dylan's take on "Must be Santa" borders on beer-barrel polka, while he offers up surprisingly credible versions of such traditional fare as "Little Drummer Boy" and "Silver Bells."

So it's an acquired taste to be sure. But since Dylan's doing this album for charity — all present and future royalties from the CD will go to the hunger fighting folks at Feeding America — I'm willing to cut him a break here. Besides, the CD actually isn't that bad, and in some cases ("Here Comes Santa Claus" for example) is actually pretty damn hilarious.

Just make sure that you dig "the croak."

2009-10-18T03:29:00.000-07:00

Sing A Song, Play Guitar, Make It Snappy

Book Review: Book Review: From Zero To Rock Hero: A Crash Course In Playing Rock Guitar by Owen Edwards

A year or so ago, I took it upon myself to try to learn to play guitar, after winning a shiny new black Fender Stratocaster and a Marshall practice amp in a contest.

After all, as everyone knows, those of us who write about rock music are in fact frustrated rock stars ourselves, right? Or so the myth goes...

Anyway, things went pretty well for awhile. I bought myself one of those Guitar For Dummies instruction books, and dutifully set about the task of learning the few basic chords of songs like "Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore" taught in the book. I figured I'd be playing like Hendrix or Clapton in no time.

But then something happened — well, two things actually.

The first thing that happened was the dreaded F chord, which was something that I just couldn't quite wrap my stubby little writers fingers around. You had to be one of those ambidextrous human rubber bands to master that damned F chord as far as I was concerned.

The second thing however, to be quite honest, was my own lack of discipline and a creeping sense of boredom with the whole thing. My first novel has been on perpetual hold for much the same reason.

So, like my favorite American president Richard Nixon, I gave up. Go ahead, call me "The Quitter." I dare ya'...

The truth is, endlessly practicing songs like "Home On The Range" will only take you so far for so long. The guitar has been gathering dust in my living room ever since.

I could have used a book like this one back then.

When Owen Edwards' From Zero To Rock Hero: A Crash Course In Playing Rock Guitar showed up unexpectedly in my mailbox earlier this week, I had to take notice. Here was a book which made the bold claim that in a mere six weeks, I could be rattling windows and pissing off my neighbors like the guitar hero I always knew I was born to be. Like that song by Traffic says, here was a book that promised I could "sing a song, play guitar, make it snappy."

I had to give it a try.

So the good news is, Edwards' book lives up to its lofty promise on at least one level. This isn't your average how-to guitar book. There's no easing you in with simple folk ballads and the like. Instead, Edwards cuts right to the chase. Following a day by day lesson plan, this is a crash course designed to unleash your inner Jimmy Page in the quickest amount of time possible.

Edwards wastes no time in delving into such basic rock guitar essentials as power chords, riffs, and even some very cool lead guitar tricks. Before long — assuming you follow the plan here — Edwards even teaches the would-be guitar hero such things as the "tapping" technique made famous by Eddie Van Halen. The book also comes with a CD to allow you to track your progress against the real thing.

Best of all, Edwards takes you through the necessary steps with an engaging narrative and plenty of great songs to get your feet — or rather your fingers — wet with. As you learn everything from Zeppelin to Sabbath to Metallica and AC/DC on your way towards becoming a rock star, there are also plenty of great stories and pictures here to inspire your quest towards future world domination.

This is the book I wish I had when I first won that damn Strat. With any luck, it is also the one that will finally inspire me to pick it up again. I'll keep you posted.

2009-10-15T18:28:00.000-07:00

Bruce Fans Remember 'The Light In Darkness'

Book Review: The Light In Darkness by Lawrence Kirsch

Like its predecessor For You, Lawrence Kirsch's The Light In Darkness is a beautifully put-together, limited edition coffee-table sized collection of reminisces from Bruce Springsteen fans.

What makes this a must-have for the Springsteen fan on your holiday shopping list, are the hundreds of photographs here — many of which were shot by fans as well, and thus are seen here for the very first time.

The difference with The Light In Darkness is the fact that this volume focuses specifically on the 1978 tour behind the album Darkness On The Edge Of Town. As most longtime Boss fans will tell you, this was the tour where Springsteen and the E Street Band largely solidified their reputation as one of the greatest live attractions in rock.

On this tour, Springsteen shows rarely ran under 3 1/2 hours, and when multiple encores were factored in, would often push closer to the five hour mark.

These were the days so fondly remembered by the fans who were there, when songs like "Prove It All Night" began with a blistering guitar intro that was longer than the song itself, and where "Backstreets" included a lengthy mid-song rap (then called "Sad Eyes") which eventually formed the foundation for the song "Drive All Night" on the 1980 album The River.

Here, on page after lovingly assembled page, these same fans recall their memories of seeing such legendary performances as the oft-bootlegged December 15, 1978 show at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom — one of the very final rock concerts to take place at the legendary venue. In the case of this particular show, several stories are recounted, including a beautiful photo essay of the show from Backstreets photographer P. Jay Plutzer, that includes many never before seen photos.
In addition to the hundreds of images and personal anecdotes from fans, there is a list of every show, and every song played during the Darkness tour. In another section, writer Roy Opichinski examines the songs left over from the original sessions for the Darkness album that failed to make the final cut — including both the ones Springsteen gave away to other artists like Patti Smith ("Because The Night"), and such lost masterpieces as "The Promise" and "Iceman."

The release of The Light In Darkness comes at a time where there is a renewed interest in the 1978 Bruce Springsteen album which forms its central theme.

Springsteen and the E Street Band have been recently featuring the album played in its entirety — most recently at the Spectrum in Philadelphia and at Giants Stadium in New Jersey — as part of the theme nights closing their current tour, where a classic album is performed from start to stop. It is also widely expected that a deluxe, remastered edition of Darkness will see the light of day sometime next year.

In the meantime, this beautifully done new volume from Lawrence Kirsch serves as the next best thing. For those who were there, it serves as a reminder of a time where great rock and roll seemed to make anything possible. For those who weren't, it does a nice job of telling the story of just why Springsteen and the E Street Band are so revered by the fans who were.

As a postscript here, a few Blogcritics have stories of their own that made the cut in the book. Look for Mark Saleski on page 96, and yours truly on page 52. The Light In Darkness can be ordered at the author's website (you'll also find a link at the bottom of this page).

2009-10-13T02:00:00.000-07:00

Daltrey + Vedder = Killer

Concert Review: Roger Daltrey At The Showbox Sodo, Seattle, WA, 10/12/09

I wish I could say I had the setlist handy for the Seattle stop on Roger Daltrey's current Use It Or Lose It solo tour, but I don't.

Which is unfortunate, because this was truly a case of a great show sandwiched within the middle of an otherwise merely good one.

The Who's Roger Daltrey is currently on his first concert tour as a solo act since the mid-eighties. He has no present solo album to support, but is rather playing these dates reportedly to get the vocal pipes into working shape for an upcoming Who album and tour in 2010.

That being said, Daltrey's Seattle stop at the uncharacteristically club-like setting of the thousand seat Showbox Sodo — his second date on this tour, and his first in the U.S. proper (the tour kicked off the previous night in Vancouver B.C.) — was truly a tale of two completely different performers.

For the faithful 1000 or so concert-goers who turned out to see a rare performance from sixties/seventies rock-royalty performing within the intimate club confines of Seattle's Showbox Sodo (Daltrey himself remarked at one point how he wasn't used to playing something other than an arena), there were really only two questions:

How much vintage Who material would Daltrey do, and was his voice in anything resembling working shape?

The former question was answered fairly quickly as Daltrey — backed by a capable band which included Pete Townshend's younger brother Simon — opened with a semi-acoustic version of "Who Are You?," which soon gave way to a slightly less familiar, but nonetheless welcome rendering of the more obscure Who single "Pictures Of Lily."

For the Who fans in attendance, seeing an icon like Daltrey performing such arena-rock standards in this setting had to represent something close to nirvana. Daltrey, for his part, also sounded great here.

Unfortunately, the latter part of this question was likewise answered midway through the set when Daltrey led the band through one of the Who's earliest singles, "I Can See For Miles." Daltrey's voice was strong here, but the song was also played in a much lower key than the more familiar original version, and by this time, it was all but obvious there would be none of Daltrey's signature screams forthcoming on this night.

A side trip into Daltrey's solo material from the seventies and eighties served mainly as an excuse for a much needed trip to the bathroom, or for a trip to the bar, or outside for a smoke.

From there, Daltrey's stories of how songwriter Leo Sayer provided many of the songs for solo releases like Ride A Rock Horse were certainly informative enough — but for those of us who were actually around back then, we remember Sayer mainly as the guy who wore clown makeup on one album cover, and had a few Bee Gees-era disco hits like "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing."

In other words, stuff we are better not reminded of.

But then, something great happened.

Daltrey's band began the chords to the Pearl Jam hit "Better Man," and sure enough, there was PJ's Eddie Vedder out there on stage with Roger. The two of them sounded great together, continuing on through a great version of "The Real Me" from Quadrophenia.

From this point on, Daltrey seemed to get a bit more of a fire under his belly as he powered the band through inspired versions of "Baba O'Reilly," and especially a very sweet sounding coda of the Live At Leeds staples "Young Man Blues" and "Shakin' All Over."

Now, this was what we came for.

Daltrey then brought Vedder back out onstage and said, "if I can't hit the high notes here, I've brought someone who maybe can." On a killer version of "Bargain," Vedder did exactly that, and then some.

By this point, Roger Daltrey's Seattle concert was transformed from a rather routine appearance of rock royalty going through the motions in a small venue, into something truly special. I can't imagine anyone leaving the Showbox Sodo feeling like they had seen anything less than real greatness.

Obviously, Daltrey won't be bringing Eddie Vedder along for the entire tour. It's also fairly obvious that on this very early end of the tour, the kinks in the set are still being worked out.

But for all you Who fans out there, I wouldn't miss this. Daltrey may not be able to quite hit the screams that he used to, but his voice is still surprisingly strong.

What I can say for sure, judging by this show, is that Roger Daltrey is nowhere near ready to be put out to pasture just yet. On this night, with help from Eddie Vedder, he turned a potentially good show into a great one.

2009-10-11T02:10:00.000-07:00

For Marillion, Less Is More Indeed

Music Review: Marillion - Less Is More

Less Is More, the 16th studio album from British progressive rock veterans Marillion may just go down as my favorite album from the band since their acknowledged masterpiece, 2004's Marbles — although not for the reasons you might expect.

As its title indicates, Less Is More is a stripped down effort — call it Marillion's Unplugged — in which the band take eleven songs from their back catalog, and basically perform them in mostly acoustic arrangements. But here is where I have a confession to make.

There is a huge, twenty something year long gap in my knowledge of this band. I was a big fan of Marillion's first incarnation with original lead vocalist Fish back in the eighties as a sort of baby Peter Gabriel-era Genesis. But then — like so many American fans — I lost track of them, up until about three years ago.

So as far as the remade songs on Less Is More go — which I assume have to come mostly from their pre-Marbles albums — I really have no point of reference to compare this music with. For me, these are essentially brand new songs. The thing is, I really like what I'm hearing here.

The most notable thing about Less Is More is Steve Hogarth's voice. Stripped of the full-on electric arrangements of Marillion's usual sound, it quickly becomes apparent just how crucial of an instrument Hogarth's voice is to Marillion.

On songs like "If My Heart Were A Ball," Hogarth's vocal sounds like part scream and part aching plea, and is the one thing separating this song from what otherwise sounds like a slower take on the Doors "Break On Through (To The Other Side)." Not that this is a bad thing...

For the most part, the mood of this album is very quiet, and to my ears at least, very late night.

Songs like "Wrapped Up In Time" and especially "The Space" provoke the sort of color and shade you might hear in a smoky jazz lounge around closing time. At least until Steve Rothery's guitar and Mark Kelly's keyboards kick in. On the former, Rothery's guitar adds just the right amount of flourish, while on the latter it is Kelly's haunting piano that does the trick.

On "Interior Lulu," the band probably come closest to the proggy sound of their other recordings, but even here the mood is a decidedly late night and laid back one. Set against an oriental sounding backdrop of strings and percussion instruments I couldn't identify if you paid me, Hogarth's dramatic, off-color falsetto vocal gives the song all the lift-off it needs.

Less Is More is a bit of a departure for these guys, but it is also a destination I wouldn't be at all disappointed to see them visit more often. At the very least, it's great to see a band like Marillion continuing to musically stretch itself this far into their careers.

Less Is More indeed.

2009-10-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

Will Blog For Promos: Making Sense Of The New Blogola

Whether you are a person who frequents blog sites on the internet, you own a personal blog, or you even write articles on websites like this one, you've probably heard about the FTC's intention to more closely regulate such things by now.

Established in 1914 by the Federal Trade Commission Act to promote consumer protection and combat anti-competitive practices, the Federal Trade Commission is the government agency charged with making sure all is fair in love and trade as relates to the American consumer.

More recently however, the FTC has represented three letters striking fear into the hearts and minds of bloggers everywhere, as the agency has begun to take steps towards regulating the wild, wild west world of the blogosphere.

Specifically, as of December 2009, the FTC will begin requiring full disclosure of any payments made to bloggers in exchange for product endorsements.

Such payments would include not only monetary compensation, but also the products bloggers often receive for review purposes — which in theory could mean anything from cars, trips, and the like, to the CDs, DVDs, and books thousands of bloggers routinely write about every day at sites such as Blogcritics Magazine.

So what does this mean for people who review music CDs and such on the internet? Perhaps a brief history lesson will help put this into the proper perspective.

Promotional albums — or "promos" in the industry vernacular — have in fact been part of the way business is done by the music industry for a very long time now. In addition to the thousands of writers and bloggers who receive them for review purposes, they are routinely sent out to radio programmers and DJs as well as what is left of the music retail community.

They are not only used to help determine which new releases get written about, but also what gets played on the radio, and what gets pushed in record shops through things like instore play.

They have also from time to time been used as an accepted form of currency in the record business, which has produced its own fair share of scandals over the years.

Although I wasn't actually around to witness it first hand at the time, I am old enough to remember the original payola scandals of the fifties and sixties as a student of music history.

The "pay for play" scheme was a big enough deal back then to prompt congressional investigations, and bring down a number of key figures, including no less than Alan Freed, the radio pioneer generally credited with coining the term rock and roll. Some of the scarier stories from this period also included rumors of organized crime types shaking down radio programmers who refused to play along.

By the time I was actually working within the record industry myself (in the eighties and nineties), the practice of payola had been supposedly cleaned up. In truth, it actually just shifted itself around a bit. This is where the idea of promos as an acceptable form of currency largely came into play.

On the surface, promo albums as a movable form of something with an actual tangible monetary value are essentially worthless because they are clearly marked as such. In the days of vinyl albums, they were marked with big white labels stating they were not for sale and were intended solely for promotional use, and the jackets also usually had some sort of hole punched in them.

These days, promo CDs go a step further through things like the practice of watermarking, and even more detailed labels stating that the recipient agrees to return the item to the sender — meaning the record label or PR firm — at any time upon request.

Still, this has not entirely stopped the underground promo trade, as any routine visit to sites like ebay will demonstrate. Back in the nineties, it was also not at all uncommon to see new releases being sold at used record shops a few days before the street date.

I have very specific memories of going to such shops when I lived and worked in the record business in L.A. back in the nineties. If you knew where to go back then, you could easily pick up something like the new Snoop Dogg release (to cite a specific memory) on the Thursday before it came out — because promo copies usually were sent out on that day. In the case of the aforementioned Snoop Dogg release, I can actually remember running into a low-level record executive I knew at the time unloading the cargo at one such shop.

What was even more common than underpaid industry types pocketing a few extra bucks by selling promos however, was the use of free-goods or "cleans."

Back in those days (before the creation of the industry reporting system system Soundscan), chart positions were reported to trade publications like Billboard using an honor system. The trades would call selected music retailers and ask them to report their sales figures for the week, which in turn would help determine chart positions as they appeared in the following week's magazine.

Since chart position — in theory anyway — influences both radio airplay and record sales, the practice of sending out unmarked "clean" product to retailers to put on sale (usually at a ridiculously low price) soon became a fairly common one. The idea here was that putting these items on sale would help influence chart position and thus, boost sales and airplay.

Although the practice began with independent labels and promoters, before long most, if not all of the majors, were also willing to play along. For the music retailers who reported sales figures, this was a "win-win" situation as it boosted their low profit margins, and in a few cases also provided underpaid employees a source of extra income.

In a rare case of the record industry policing itself, the practice of using "cleans" as a form of usable currency was halted (or at least, drastically curtailed) by the introduction of the Soundscan reporting system in the early nineties.

This system of scanning actual record sales was universally adopted by both the trades and music retailers, and the old school way of relying on word-of-mouth sales reporting was eliminated virtually overnight. Although some retailers probably found ways around the new way of reporting sales by actual scans, chart positions were now made largely far more accurate, and reflective of the actual marketplace. In doing so, another congressional payola investigation of the record industry was most likely averted.

The most immediate effect of all this back then, was how it changed the complexion of the record charts themselves. Country and hip-hop — both of which were always under-reported genres anyway — went overnight from being the industry's best kept secrets, to coming out of the closet as being the big-sellers they in fact had always been. In that respect, you could probably call Garth Brooks the first superstar who was essentially made by Soundscan.

So how does all of this relate to the present FTC ruling? In all honesty, outside of providing a history lesson, it probably doesn't. There is a big difference between what are traditionally referred to as promos, and the clean copies which were once used to manipulate chart positions and sales figures.

In today's world, a CD used for promotional purposes has been rendered virtually useless in terms of it having any monetary value. The CDs are in most cases clearly stamped with things like "not for sale" and "must be returned upon demand" which gives them a value of exactly nil. In other words, there is no widespread "blogola" here to speak of.

The practice of watermarking on many of these items also makes them something undesirable for most music fans to want to actually add to their collections. When you factor in the fact that many music companies are now delivering their promotional music to writers and bloggers through digital means, their value as a tangible, sellable item is likewise reduced.

That a collectors market for rare, promotional material continues to exist and probably always will, is however an undeniable fact. Any routine ebay search for something like "Beatles remasters" for example proves this to be true

Still, my best guess is that the intent of the FTC is more targeted towards those who still receive big-ticket items like cars, trips, and flat-screen high-definition TVs, than it is towards the lowly minions who blog about the CDs they receive on sites like this one. Even in this case, my understanding of the new FTC regulatory practices is that they are intended mainly to go after the big companies sending out the goods, rather than the bloggers who write about them.

Although there are exceptions, bloggers are for the most part unemployed or underpaid folks who do what they do largely for the love of doing it.

Speaking of which, if anyone out there reading this would like to employ my own services, I'm currently in the market seeking opportunities. My new sign reads "Will Blog For Money."

2009-10-04T23:46:00.000-07:00

Christmas Comes A Day Early For Seattle Dylan Fans

Concert Review: Bob Dylan And His Band At The Moore Theatre, Seattle WA, 10/04/09

Bob Dylan's fall American tour doesn't officially get underway until this Monday at Seattle's WAMU Theatre. But for a few Seattle fans lucky enough to get tickets, Christmas came a day early as Dylan and his band performed an intimate warm-up show at the 1300 seat Moore Theatre on Sunday night, October 4.

As someone who has seen Dylan live numerous times over the years, I can tell you from experience that his shows can be hit or miss affairs — sometimes wildly so.

The last time I saw him play with his current band for example — back in 2006 at Seattle's much larger Key Arena — the show felt rushed, and Dylan only played one song, "Thunder On The Mountain," from his then current (and still brilliant) album Modern Times.

Tonight however was a completely different story. Playing in the much more intimate confines of the Moore Theatre, Dylan was about as loose as I think I've ever seen him. Rather than stay behind his keyboard as he has on recent tours, Dylan prowled the stage, singing several songs without playing any accompanying instrument other than his mic.

He was also uncharacteristically animated, waving his arms about as he sang, and giving cues to the rest of the band by pointing his fingers at them. Dressed from head to toe in black, this was a much showier Dylan than you'd normally expect. On several songs, he also played his signature harmonica, which made for a nice touch on songs like "Shooting Star," "Ballad Of A Thin Man," and "Not Dark Yet."

Speaking of the band, they sounded simply amazing playing in such an acoustically perfect theater as the Moore. Returning lead guitarist Charlie Sexton in particular was a house of fire — he literally tore the joint down on rockers like "Highway 61 Revisited" and "Thunder On The Mountain."

Bassist Tony Garnier and drummer George Recile made for a rock solid rhythm section, although Garnier seemed to be having some sound problems during the early going (which were eventually ironed out). Rounding out Dylan's band were second guitarist Stu Kimball and multi-instrumentalist Donnie Herron (banjo, electric mandolin, pedal steel, lap steel, trumpet).

Dylan himself was in great form, reinventing his songs as he so often does in his concerts, but this time doing so more through his vocal inflections than with the actual arrangements.

On a stunning version of "Nettie Moore" from the Modern Times album for example, Dylan's voice went from a deep low register to a high pitched wail. He bit off the lyrics with rapid fire delivery, sometimes going from single to double phrases within a single line. The way Dylan emphasized the word "black" in particular -- from the line "the world has gone BLACK before my eyes" -- gave this song a much darker feel than the recorded version. If there are any bootlegs out there of this, I would love to get my hands on one. It was a standout even on a night where there were so many of them.

Even such Dylan standards as "Ballad Of A Thin Man" and the warhorse that is "Like A Rolling Stone" took on new urgency as Dylan's phrasing breathed new fire into them. When Dylan sang the familiar line "something is happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones" he once again double-phrased the lyrics, giving the song even more of an angry feel than the original. Anyone who says Dylan is a lousy singer, obviously knows very little about vocal phrasing — an art Dylan has mastered like very few singers around, outside of maybe the likes of Sinatra himself.

Dylan also did something he hasn't done in awhile on this night — he picked up the guitar for a few songs. Although you could see he was clearly struggling with it somewhat (Dylan rarely plays guitar live anymore, reportedly due to an arthitis condition), he sounded just fine trading licks with Sexton on "Don't Think Twice, Its Alright" and "High Water (For Charley Patton)."

Other highlights included a letter perfect "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'" from this year's Together Through Life album, and a fierce sounding "Gonna Change My Way Of Thinking," a song from Dylan's Born-again period which made for a very surprising choice to open the show.

Dylan and his band played a solid two hours — which is a little long by his usual standards, and seemed to have a great time for the duration. Dylan even smiled a few times.

Here is the complete setlist courtesy of Boblinks.com:

1. Gonna Change My Way Of Thinking
2. Shooting Star
3. Beyond Here Lies Nothin'
4. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right (Bob on guitar)
5. Lonesome Day Blues
6. I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)
7. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum
8. Not Dark Yet
9. High Water (For Charley Patton) (Bob on guitar)
10. When The Deal Goes Down
11. Highway 61 Revisited
12. Nettie Moore
13. Thunder On The Mountain
14. Ballad Of A Thin Man

Encore:
15. Like A Rolling Stone
16. Jolene

2009-10-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

Anvil: The Cautionary Story Of The Real Life Spinal Tap

Music DVD Review: Anvil: The Story of Anvil

If ever there was a story that needs to be told about how the music industry eats its own, The Story of Anvil is that story. As funny as much of this film is, it is also in many ways a cautionary tale.

In its limited theatrical release, this story of the real life Spinal Tap got considerable attention, and to be flat-out honest, that is exactly what initially drew me to it.

The joke factor here was obvious. Anvil: The Story of Anvil is the story of an eighties hair-metal band — complete with every possible stereotype you could ever imagine — who had their brief moment in the sun, sharing concert bills with the likes of Bon Jovi and the Scorpions, before slipping into obscurity.

And honestly, I've never particularly cared for the brand of hair-metal that bands like Anvil play. But the thing is, watching a film like this one gives you an entirely different perspective on the inner-workings of how the music business actually works, and how quickly they discard their own like yesterday's rubbish.

I signed up to watch this expecting to get a good laugh with lots of music-biz insider jokes — which I got. What I didn't expect, though, was to instead find myself inexplicably not only reaching for my hankie, but ultimately actually rooting for these guys.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil is an undeniable hoot in many ways, but it is also one of the saddest real-life rock-docs I have ever seen. It begins with Anvil's brief moment of glory headlining some sort of eighties Monsters Of Rock type deal with bands like Whitesnake, and then abruptly shifts to the present-day reality of a band whose members work day jobs in factories, and play gigs before maybe 100 people.

The opening credits say it all. Anvil is shown at a mega-concert with bands such as The Scorpions and the like, who all went on to sell millions of records — while one did not. Guess who that was?

Rock stars like Metallica's Lars Ulrich and Guns N' Roses' Slash offer up all their due accolades and respect. But in the end it all feels tragically empty, and you find yourself asking, "So where are these guys now?"

The thing is, even though these guys — especially the main players in Anvil, Robb Reiner (now there's a Spinal Tap connection if ever there was one), and Steve "Lips" Kudlow — may be down, they are never out.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil tells both the story of the enduring friendship of these two principal players, as well as their unwavering dedication to the idea that they still have a shot at the big prize of rock stardom. You see them with their families. You see them playing shitholes in Europe, being hopelessly mismanaged, getting dissed by their rock heroes, nearly coming to fisticuffs, and yet ultimately still refusing to give up their dreams.

And in the end, for all of their misguided dedication to a rock era which has clearly passed them by some twenty years or so — you find yourself rooting for them. I know I sure as hell did.

More than anything, Anvil: The Story of Anvil is a story which reveals how morally bankrupt the music industry actually is — and how they throw away yesterday's hitmakers as though they were trash. Watching that part of this film really sucks, actually.

I went into this DVD expecting to get a good laugh, and instead found myself choking back tears. And although this film has brought Anvil more attention then they have received in decades — they've been on Kimmel, VH1 and the like — I am equally sure that by this time next month they'll be back working their day jobs. That's just the way that this business works.

And it couldn't happen to a bunch of nicer, hard working guys. To any would-be rock stars with bright lights in their eyes, I cannot recommend watching this DVD highly enough. There is some hard reality here. Yes, you'll get some laughs, but you might also learn something.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil comes out this Tuesday, October 6.

2009-10-03T02:57:00.000-07:00

Wanna Whole Lotta' Zeppelin? Here's Your Stairway To Heaven...

Book Review: Led Zeppelin: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls by Charles R. Cross

Wow! As rock books go, they simply don't get much more complete than this. The fact that the subject of Charles R. Cross' Shadows Taller Than Our Souls is Led Zeppelin — who arguably stand only just behind the Beatles as the biggest rock band of all time — only strengthens the appeal of this book.

If you think that everything that could possibly be written about Led Zeppelin has already been committed to paper, you are for the most part absolutely correct. What sets this book apart from the rest, is the treasure trove of extras and bonus goodies you'll find thumbing your way through its pages. For Led Zeppelin fanatics, this is not just a must-own — it is in many ways a holy grail of sorts.

Shadows Taller Than Our Souls — its title is taken from one of the lyrics to "Stairway To Heaven" — is the Led Zeppelin fan's ultimate coffee table book. Housed in a beautiful hardbound slipcase, every page of this lovingly assembled book reveals a new surprise.

There are pages that fold out to reveal never before released photographs of the band, as well as things like reproduced ticket stubs and press releases nicely tucked in between nearly every page.

You get things like the original cover of the Atlantic Records promo E.P. for Led Zep's first album, an invite to Zep's first appearance at the 1969 Seattle Pop Festival, and the ticket stubs from Zeppelin concerts in the seventies (priced at the then outrageous price of $12.50 a ticket).

Towards the end of the book, there is even an original pull-out of the press release announcing Led Zeppelin's breakup following the death of drummer John Bonham. There is also an audio CD of a rare Jimmy Page interview with Trouser Press journalist Dave Schulps.

For his own part, Charles R. Cross focuses in on the music, rather than the sort of sordid sex and drugs and rock and roll details of previous Zeppelin bios — most notably Stephen Davis' Hammer Of The Gods. A wise move considering the fact that Zep's reputation for road excess has pretty much been covered to death in previous tomes.

Instead, the Seattle based music journalist, and New York Times best -selling author (Heavier Than Heaven: The Biography Of Kurt Cobain), takes the reader through an album by album, concert by concert retelling of the musical evolution of Led Zeppelin.

In Shadows Taller Than Our Souls, Cross takes you from how Led Zeppelin rose from Jimmy Page's original vision of a "very loud band" that would emphasize shades of both dark and light — did you know for instance that Joan Baez was one of their earliest influences? — to become the biggest band in the world.

In his very easy to read narrative — I read through it in a single sitting — Cross takes you into the recording studio during the creation of Zep's landmark debut album, through "Stairway To Heaven," Physical Graffiti and all of the rest, right on up through the band's final days and such post-mortem releases as Coda.

Cross also recalls Zeppelin's greatest concerts, as well as their biggest disappointments (those early Rolling Stone reviews), through the eyes of both of the seasoned critic that he is, as well as with the enthusiasm of an obvious fan. The excesses and the controversies are likewise documented, but the emphasis is always on the music — as it should be.

For Led Zeppelin fans, Charles R. Cross' Shadows Taller Than Our Souls is a must. Wanna' Whole Lotta Zeppelin? Here's your Stairway To Heaven.

Charles R. Cross' Led Zeppelin: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls arrives in bookstores this Tuesday October 6, which should make for many a merry metal ho-ho-ho come Christmas time.

2009-10-01T01:33:00.000-07:00

How To Save NBC's Heroes

So the new fall TV season is upon us. Well, sort of anyway. Much of the really good stuff that a lot of us tube-tubbies have been waiting for — can you say Lost anyone? — is actually still weeks, if not months away.

In the meantime, the new shows offered up by the networks so far seem to be a pretty mixed bag. ABC's Flash Forward is probably the most promising of a lot that otherwise includes Courtney Cox's Cougar, a new batch of witches from Eastwick, and the jacked-up, joy-riding EMT's of NBC's Trauma (warning: look before you open a car door anywhere in their immediate vicinity).

And then there is Heroes.

Few shows in recent memory have fallen so far, and so fast as this once promising series from NBC and producer Tim Kring.

The first season was pretty much a knockout (save for a less than satisfying ending). In each of the subsequent seasons however, Heroes has played itself out in such a way as to suggest that the writers never expected to make it past season one, and that once they did so, had no idea of what to do next or how to otherwise move forward.

If there has ever been a television series where it seemed the writers and producers were making things up on the fly as they go, Heroes is it.
Characters dying and coming back to life are such a regular occurrence on Heroes that the sort of shock value that television deaths are intended to produce has been pretty much stripped clean away.

Once strong characters like the deliciously evil Sylar (the still superb Zachary Quinto) and shadowy government spook Noah "HRG" Bennett (Jack Coleman) have had their "good guy/bad guy" roles flipped so many times, you'd think this was the WWE's Monday Night Raw. Of the other characters, Ali Larter's Tracy Strauss replaced an earlier character she played when the writers apparently couldn't figure out how to advance her original storyline.

In short, after the promising start of Season One, Heroes has pretty much been a complete mess, and by most accounts, this season will be a make or break one. So the question is, two episodes into this new season, just how super are these Heroes really looking?

And the answer is — they look surprisingly good. But there are also a few lingering reservations.

The parts of the Heroes story left over from last season — such as the dead/alive Sylar character who inhabits both the mind of detective Matt Parkman (Greg Grunberg) and the body of politician Nathan Petrelli (Adrian Pasdar) — are still a frustrating and unmitigating clusterfuck. Resolve this, or drop it already.

Ditto for the daddy-dearest babyface they inexplicably want to hang on HRG's glasses. I mean, screw all this "Claire Bear" crap, and let's see more of HRG as the sort of G. Gordon Liddy black-ops plotting government shithead we all came to know and hate in Season One.

Where these storylines go is anyone's guess, and quite frankly the sooner they are either resolved or blown to all kryptonite kingdom-come the better.

Why? Because, the new storylines are soooo much more promising. For one thing, if you need a shot of good old fashioned pure strangeness, there is nothing quite like a carnival troupe to up the creep factor.

Make it a time-traveling band of carnies with gifts like being able to alter the properties of ink in such a way as to produce tattoos that predict the future, and you've hit pay dirt, baby! Even HBO's sorely missed Carnavale couldn't muster that trick. Heroes also scored a nice coup in getting Robert Knepper to play chief carnie creep Samuel — a role he plays with all of the juicy relish, mixed in with just enough ambiguity, that such a truly evil character requires.

Another promising new development is the introduction of the newest hero Emma (Deanne Bray), a deaf woman who "sees" sound. Her scenes with a cello in this past week's "Ink" episode were among the most interesting to come out of this series in awhile. A promising new storyline with potential love interest Peter Petrelli (Milo Ventimiglia) — one of the Heroes who is in the most need of exactly that — could be just the sort of jumpstart this franchise so sorely needs.

So in the meantime, what do we about the rest of these Heroes?

Characters like Mohinder Suresh, the female Flash (check your DC comic books for reference), and the girl who cries the black tears of death appear to be gone forever and should probably stay that way. I also wouldn't be too heartbroken if the cheerleader we were all supposed to save in Season One went away for good (so Daddy Horn-Rims can get back to his dastardly cloak and dagger ways as a government spook).

Take Ali Larter's Tracy character with them while you're at it. I mean I like the eye-candy as much as the next horny old man, but her current character is only marginally more interesting than the one she used to play on the series. You know, the one they shit-canned.

Although the team of Hiro (Masa Oka) and Ando (James Kyson Lee) were once the heart and soul of this series, they have likewise outlived their usefulness. Still, they should probably be kept around to provide comedic relief and the occasional handkerchief moment. Ditto for Angela Petrelli (Cristine Rose), but only as long as there is a significant re-upping of her once so delightfully repugnant bitch factor. Maybe more plotting between her and HRG...yeah, that's the ticket.

Beyond that, the new storylines on Heroes look very promising, and for now at least, will have me waiting in anticipation each week to see what happens next. We'll just have to wait, watch, and see if anything interesting actually does.

I'll be rooting for them. Let's hope they don't blow it.

2009-09-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

Two Words For The Rock Hall: Alice Cooper

When I heard that KISS were among the nominees up for induction into this year's class of the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, I just about fell outta' my chair. I mean, KISS? I've got two words for you, Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame: Alice Cooper.

Sure, KISS sold more records and enjoyed a longer run on top, but Alice Cooper provided the blueprint for not only Gene, Paul, Ace, and Peter's act, but for the countless other theatrically based "shock-rock" bands that have come since — from Twisted Sister and Motley Crue, to Slipknot and Marilyn Manson. Most, if not all of these bands owe their very existence to Alice Cooper — a fact that many of them readily will admit to being true. At least, the smart ones will.

Beginning with the album Love It To Death, the original Alice Cooper band had a short, but phenomenal run as the biggest rock and roll act in the world in the early seventies, with a string of albums that also included Killer, Schools Out, and Billion Dollar Babies.

During this time, Alice Cooper also revolutionized the idea of rock and roll as theatre. Their elaborate stage shows revolved around the twisted, mascaraed Alice — a uni-sexual character straight out of your worst slasher-film nightmare, who ultimately paid for his crimes with onstage executions that included the electric chair, beheadings and hangings. Alice Cooper were universally reviled by parents, politicians, and the religious right as a result of these shows. Naturally, the fans loved them all the more for it.

After the breakup of the original band, Alice himself enjoyed sporadic success as a solo artist with albums like Welcome To My Nightmare — but with successors like KISS taking the greasepaint and the rock theatre a step further — things were never quite the same again.

It's high time the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame rightfully recognize the band who paved the way for KISS and others like them. Michael Bruce, Neal Smith, Dennis Dunaway, the late Glenn Buxton, and of course Alice Cooper himself. Members of the Academy (or whatever you call yourselves), I submit to you the original Alice Cooper Band.

2009-09-25T01:49:00.000-07:00

The Pineapple Thief Are My Latest Prog-Rock Obsession

Music Review: The Pineapple Thief - 3000 days

The Pineapple Thief are a progressive rock band who started out way back in 1999 as a solo outlet for the music of singer/songwriter/guitarist Bruce Soord.

So, if you are already sensing the Porcupine Tree comparisons here — right down to those damned PT initials — then welcome to the club. As was the case with PT's Steven Wilson, The Pineapple Thief's Soord followed a remarkably similar path — eventually recruiting a group of like-minded musicians to make his solo project, The Pineapple Thief, into a full time band.

But before you get your panties into a bunch over this, the comparisons basically stop there. And rather than refer to Pineapple Thief as a lowercase "pt," we shall henceforth call them "TPT." Just so we are straight here...

3000 days is an anthology of the seven albums that TPT have released since 1999's Abducting — which was for all intents and purposes a Bruce Soord solo album. Ten years, 3000 days later and, well you get the picture...

The last mention that I'll make of the Porcupine Tree connection here is the fact that TPT signed to K-Scope Records — who brought this release to my attention — upon the urging of none other than Steven Wilson. Just what I need, another prog-rock obsession, right?

Based upon this two-disc sampling of The Pineapple Thief, I have to admit that, yes, I will very likely be looking further into these guys. What can I say?

On songs like the opening "God Bless The Child" for example (taken from a 2006 album called Little Man), Soord demonstrates an undeniable knack for a simple, yet effective melody — even as the song is drenched in layers of acoustic guitars, handclaps, and distinctly exotic, Indian-sounding percussion. So far, so good.

Next, from last year's Tightly Unwound, comes the song "Shoot First." It starts innocuously enough with a rising drum roll, before breaking into a gorgeous burst of guitars and layered harmonies. And I am finding myself getting increasingly hooked. TPT definitely know which buttons to push.

Fans of Radiohead or The Muse are going to eat this band up — at least once the secret gets out. Like Radiohead, the lyrics take a backseat to the musical textures — they are simple but effective. On "Shoot First," the words "you're a beautiful soul/ in a beautiful world/ but the world was left behind" speak softly, but they also speak volumes.

On earlier songs like "Part Zero" (from the 2003 release Variations On A Dream) — Soord's plaintive cry "I'm doing all I can / but all I get is a suicidal plan" plays against a backdrop of alternately lilting acoustic and bludgeoning electric guitars. This is definitely layered stuff that I suspect will reveal far more depth upon repeated listens.

The bottom line is that I really like what I'm hearing so far. I am also most likely just scratching the surface with this review. Short verdict here? The Pineapple Thief are one of those great little discoveries that are sure to reveal far deeper levels of satisfaction the more I listen to them — kind of like, yes, the way I felt when I first heard Porcupine Tree.

I think I may be in trouble here.

The Pineapple Thief's 3000 days is a great overview of the first ten years of this — for now, anyway — largely unknown band. It will be in stores this Tuesday, September 29.

Be the first on your block. Take it from me.

2009-09-24T12:54:00.000-07:00

Yes We Know The Glen Blog is Broken: ~~Working On A Fix~~ We're Fixed...

Yes we see the same crazy shit running across this page as you do did...and we have no idea what caused it. Rest assured, we are still active (not inactive as the strange messages running all across the screen say), and are trying to fix the problem. Updates will be forthcoming.

UPDATE: Problem is fixed, although we had to lose a few things in the process. Our dialog boxes on the side bars (links, etc.) are now gone, replaced by simple headers that I hope to replace with another (smaller) font soon. The "wire-mesh" header and footers are also gone, but if some of your comments are to be believed, many of you didn't like those a whole lot anyway. We also had to lose the top navigation bar (it's actually still there -- it's just "hidden" -- but if you pass your mouse over the top, the boxes will magically appear).

The upshot though is okay...we're a little less fancy-pants looking. But at least we don't have all that weird shit running across the page saying we are inactive, etc. That was apparently the result of a problem that BloggerCoder -- who created our template -- is having with Photo Bucket. We'll leave the speculation there to you.

But there's also a lot to be said for keeping things simple, right? At any rate, we appreciate our readers patience today. And the bottom line is...

2009-09-19T02:02:00.001-07:00

Breaking Down The Beatles Remasters -- Snap, Crackle, Pop Baby

Okay, so here's the deal. I'm as excited about The Beatles Remasters boxed set as anybody. Unfortunately, living on the salary of a starving music editor pretty much precludes me from purchasing the whole damn thing right now...which sucks, because I've been salivating for it like the die-hard Beatles nut I am since last week.

That's the bad news.

The good news is that the kind folks at the record label sent me a really nice two-disc sampler to check out. Often, these promotional samplers are badly thrown together sorts of affairs that barely scratch the surface of what such massive undertakings have to offer. Not so in this case.

With 32 tracks spanning the entire career of the greatest rock band in history, this sampler actually offers a great cross-selection of the entire work. And, beyond that, it is certainly a nice little collectors item, and one which only further whets my appetite for the boxed set that I will someday surely buy — once I can actually afford it anyway.

But let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?

Because there is both good and bad to report about this much lauded remastering job. Most of it is as thankfully great as advertised though. The first thing you notice about these remastered recordings is that they are both louder, and quite a bit brighter sounding than what we've heard of the Beatles catalog since its sole transfer to CD back in 1987.

This has a particularly noticeable effect on the Beatles early work. "I Saw Her Standing There," to cite one example, literally puts you in the room with the band — which means the guitars crackle like never before.

It also means that the vocals have a bit of a weird echo to them however, which becomes a bit irritating on a song like "Please, Please Me." In that case, though, a never-before-heard guitar accent however saves the day. Even on the so-called "middle period" recordings like "Day Tripper," the vocal echo is a little bit irritating — but the rest of it is so damn clear it doesn't really matter.

The good news here, though, is that despite all of the high end here (and on the early recordings, especially, there is lots of it), Macca's bass also comes through like never before — proving that even back then he was one of the best. More than that, what these remastered early recordings reveal is that the Beatles were one hell of a rock and roll band.

But...Oh...My...God! The acoustic guitar strums on songs like "This Boy" and "Things We Said Today" are magnificent. Likewise, George Harrison's lead guitar has never rang so clear as it does here on songs like "And Your Bird Can Sing."

Unfortunately, such magnificence comes once again at the expense of more of that reverberating echo on the vocal harmonies (except in the case of "And Your Bird Can Sing," where Lennon's voice is out front where it belongs). Again, McCartney's bass is for the most part likewise put nicely front and center here on the songs I've mentioned.

Right about now, incidentally, I'm starting to sense a trend. Wasn't Sir Paul himself involved in the actual remastering?

For McCartney fans, this will be a good thing — but for fans of the Beatles vocal harmonies, a little less so. Still, there is no denying the general improvement soundwise. Echo aside, the sound has much more of a live feel to it. As advertised, it does really put you right in the studio — especially compared to what came before this.

Once I do eventually purchase this boxed set, one of the things I will be most anxious to hear is the soundtrack to Help! — which has always been one of my favorite Beatles records. Something about all those James Bond-ish instrumentals bumping up against the Beatles I guess.

Unfortunately, the sampler I got doesn't include what may be my favorite Beatles song from that album, "The Night Before." It does however include the often overlooked John Lennon gem, "You've Got To Hide Your Away." Like the other songs I've mentioned here, the acoustic guitar sounds just delicious — both clear as a bell, and crisp as a box of Rice Krispies. Snap, Crackle, Pop, baby.

Lennon's "Rain" is likewise a revelation here — his vocal is rightfully put out front, but never at the risk of one of Paul McCartney's best-ever bass performances. I can't wait to hear what they did with the other side of that original Beatles single — "Paperback Writer." By the time we get to Revolver, the harmonies on "Here, There, and Everywhere" are absolutely pristine.

But now, we get to the really good stuff.

By the time of Sgt. Pepper, the Beatles were expanding not only their minds, but their music as well. "Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite" might seem like a minor track from that album. But here it is an undeniable standout. The sonic layers that envelop the listener play like a kaleidoscope of sen-surround magic. The carnival calliopes and what-not are such that one can literally lose themselves within them. It's like hearing a song you might have overlooked back then — as I mostly did as a thirteen year-old Beatles fan — for the first time.

The songs from The White Album represented here likewise exhibit newfound depth. McCartney's bass on "Glass Onion" — which I never really even noticed before — rumbled through my speakers like an eighties NWA gangsta-rap joint.

By the time of Yellow Submarine's "Hey Bulldog," however, I had to literally drag my jaw off the floor. The stereo separation is nothing less than amazing. The backing vocals are occasionally buried a little, but everything else is as clear as a freaking bell...the guitars, the bass, and, well, you know...

But McCartney's bass is the real star here. Still, Harrison's guitar, Lennon's vocal, and even Ringo's drumming — which is probably some of the most underrated in all of music by the way — can each be heard on their own like never before. "Hey Bulldog" is, on it's own, worth the price of admission.

And then there's "I Am The Walrus." This has always been one of my favorite Beatles songs, and here it sounds positively amazing. The reason I always loved this song is because of the layers of depth — which at the time it was released were pretty much unprecedented for a single.

On the remastered version, each and every one of those layers becomes newly alive — from the cellos and what-not, to the weird backwards-masked vocals at the end from "Everybody Smoke Pot" to the song ending "I Buried Paul" (which fueled the "Paul Is Dead" rumors, and which Lennon always insisted actually said "Cranberry Sauce.")

I've always divided the Beatles into distinct eras — pre and post Sgt. Pepper. For those who favor the rawer sound of the band's early years, The Beatles Remasters put you right in the middle of the recording studio. There are flaws — which mainly boil down to the echo. But the recordings here also sound brighter, crisper, and clearer than ever before.

For fans of the Beatles more intricate latter recordings like Sgt. Pepper and The White Album, you will hear levels of depth here like you've never heard.

Based on this 32-song sampling, if you are a Beatles fan, do not walk, but run like hell to get this. You won't be sorry.

2009-09-18T17:46:00.000-07:00

What's Next For Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band?

The end of the road is about two months away, and for many fans of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, the big question is what's next?

After spending the past two years circling the globe numerous times on back-to-back tours behind two albums, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band will perform their final show November 22 in Buffalo, NY. The burning question on the minds of Springsteen fans here is, how "final" is final?

The answers to that may have come this week — well, sort of anyway — in a conference call held by band members Steve Van Zandt, Nils Lofgren, and Roy Bittan. Those same answers, as reported in articles this week at Billboard and Backstreets magazines (among others), however may have left the biggest question still largely unanswered.

"We are gonna take, I don't know how long — a year, year and a half, two years," Van Zandt said, before adding, "You never know, do ya? It could be the last show, could be the last tour. You never know. We do every show like it's our last show, anyway. But don't wait around; if you're waiting to come see us, come now. This is a good time to see us."

In other words, as to the question of whether or not this is the end of the road called E Street, the answer seems to be kinda', sorta', maybe. Here is what we do know:

The E Street Band does need the break. After two years which saw the band release two albums, lose a member (keyboardist Danny Federici, who lost his battle with melanoma), play the Super Bowl, and tour more or less non-stop, it could be argued that they are coming off one of the most active, but also tumultuous periods of their entire career.

Keep in mind as well, that these are not young men we are talking about here. Despite their advancing ages, it can also be said that the soon-to-be-concluded marathon treks behind the albums Magic and Working On A Dream saw the band playing some of their most high-energy shows ever.

We also know that at least some of the various band members have day jobs to go to back to. Max Weinberg has been going back and forth between the WOAD tour and his duties on The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien (with his son Jay filling the E Street drum stool on many dates), and Van Zandt has his syndicated Little Steven's Underground Garage radio show. As for the rest of the guys?

Clarence Clemons — whose health has been an ongoing source of both rumor and genuine concern — has a book coming out on October 21, a memoir called Big Man: Real Life & Tall Tales. Nils Lofgren has both a solo career and a successful online business teaching guitar lessons. Keyboardist Roy Bittan also has his own solo album in progress, titled Out of the Box, which he hopes to complete in time for a 2010 release.

With that already known, here is what we can make some educated guesses about as to what the rest of the future holds:

Springsteen missed the deadline for a 30th anniversary remastered edition of 1978's Darkness Of The Edge Of Town last year, and is likely to miss it in 2009 as well. But we do know that he is still working on it, and that an eventual release is planned — most likely next year.

Rumors of the set also featuring a bonus DVD with live footage from the legendary 1978 Darkness tour also seem to be pretty solid. The most likely source of this will be footage known to exist from tour stops in Phoenix, Dallas, and New York. Other possibilities for the set include a disc of outtakes, such as the coveted-by-fans full band version of the rare track "The Promise."

However, next year also represents the 30th anniversary of The River, so it is also possible — and even likely — that some sort of remastered version of that album will see the light of day as well. The 1980 double album is known to be a favorite of Steve Van Zandt's, although Springsteen himself has stayed notoriously away from playing such songs from it as "The Price You Pay" at his shows, making it a regular fixture on the wish-lists of some hardcore fans.

With the recent attention to remastering the back-catalogs of classic artists like the Beatles, U2, and the Rolling Stones, you have to figure that the Springsteen camp has been considering this as well. Early albums like The Wild, The Innocent, And The E Street Shuffle in particular could certainly use the digital upgrade. And then, there is always the long rumored Tracks II rarities box to consider. So there is no shortage of possibilities for new Springsteen projects coming down the pike.

A live DVD culled from the past two tours is also a strong possibility. Many of the shows are known to have been filmed, and most agree that Springsteen and the E Street Band's performances from 2007-2009 were among the strongest of their entire career.

As for Bruce himself? The most commonly held wisdom is that a more stripped-down solo album in the mold of Nebraska or Devils & Dust will likely be next, and could be out as soon as next year. A solo acoustic tour, or possibly one with a smaller band would likely follow if this were the case.

But of course the million dollar question is, what of the future of the E Street Band?

In the conference call this week, band members were predictably vague. But it's hard to imagine Springsteen retiring such a recognizable brand name at a time when they are hotter than ever. If Springsteen makes another rock and roll record — which he almost certainly will a year or two down the road — it's hard to imagine a tour taking place without guys like Lofgren, Van Zandt, Garry W. Tallent, and Bittan being on board — as long as they are healthy anyway.

Less likely to be back would be Clarence "Big Man" Clemons — as unimaginable as that might seem to some fans. As frail as some of Clemons health issues are now, the Big Man has been a trooper these past few years, doing his sax solos from his personal throne onstage. I can't imagine him coming back for another year-long jaunt around the world in a couple of years though. Max Weinberg's status is also iffy, given his commitments to Conan O'Brien — although the good news is that his young son Jay stands at the ready to assume the drum kit.

So is this the end of the road for the E Street Band? In its present form, probably. However, my best educated guess is that we will see another tour from some form of Bruce Springsteen's venerable crew — with a few familiar faces as well as some new ones — in about two years.

What's next? Stay tuned.

2009-09-16T01:34:00.000-07:00

Porcupine Tree At The Moore: Strange Setlist, Great Show

Concert Review: Porcupine Tree 09/15/09 At The Moore Theatre, Seattle WA

After having waited over two years to see Porcupine Tree in concert, the moment finally arrived this past Tuesday as PT opened the tour for their newly released album The Incident right here in Seattle.

For me, the story of the wait is a simple, but also a frustrating one.

You see, like most of America, up until very recently I hadn't discovered this amazing band. In fact, I missed their last stop here in Seattle on their tour behind the 2007 album Fear Of A Blank Planet by mere days. By the time I heard that album, Porcupine Tree were long gone. Hence the two-year wait for a return visit, as I meanwhile immersed myself in the band's rather substantial back catalog.

So the moment finally came tonight — and there is both good and bad to report. I'll get to the bad part first.

Unfortunately, I can't post a setlist here because of the songs they played during the second set — and yes for you fans out there who have tickets, they do play two sets — I only knew about three songs. For hardcore fans, this will no doubt be good news, as Porcupine Tree dips rather deeply into the vaults for the songs which comprise the latter part of the show.

For recent fans like me however, this meant hearing pretty much next to none of my personal favorites. There was no "Waiting," no "Dark Matter," and certainly no "The Sky Moves Sideways."

In fact, even when they surprised me with songs off of Fear Of A Blank Planet in the second set — there was no title track , and only half of "Anesthetize," the eighteen minute opus from that album. In honesty though, given that song's length, and the fact that PT had a new double album to cover, I was actually surprised to hear that one at all. — albeit in an abridged version. Truth be told, between the surprise of hearing it at all, and the ferocious way it was played, I've got no complaints whatsoever.

The only other minor bitch here was how my tickets — which were purchased through the fan club — were handled. It was basically an unorganized clusterfuck, which in the end proved completely unnecessary.

The whole point was to get a wristband allowing early access — when the seats ended up being reserved anyway. No complaints about the seats — they were 7th row aisle. Waiting for over an hour after the advertised time we were supposed to get them is another story altogether, though. It was a whole lot of waiting for what proved to be nothing. The good news is I met a lot of very nice people standing in line.

But with that now out of the way, this was a great show.

As expected, Porcupine Tree opened with the fifty five minute title track and centerpiece of their great new album, The Incident. Hearing this thing performed live is truly an amazing experience. For me the highlight was Steven Wilson's incredible guitar solo during the "Time Flies" segment, but the entire band sounded amazing — in particular second guitarist John Wesley (who plays a crucial role in recreating this complex album live) and especially monster drummer Gavin Harrison.

Following the performance of the disc-long opus that is The Incident, PT took a short break and then returned for a second set. For hardcore fans who have seen this band many times, the second set was probably a real treat as it leaned heavily on obscure, rarely played songs like "Russia On Ice," for example.

For me, while I was hoping to hear songs I've only recently discovered like "Waiting" and "Sentimental," what I did hear was so good I quickly ran out of reasons to bitch. In the case of "Sentimental," the band went for the Nil Recurring alt-version of the song (which is called "Normal" on that E.P.), which gave Steven Wilson a rather sweet showcase for his acoustic guitar talents. Plus, I got to hear the gorgeous song "Lazarus" from Deadwing, which was another unexpected, but quite pleasant surprise.

From Fear Of A Blank Planet came a rather out-of-the-blue, and quite frankly rather oddly shortened version of "Anesthetize," as well as "Way Out Of Here." Not what I expected, but both sounded great. The lone song from the second disc of The Incident was "Bonnie The Cat," which to me seemed an odd choice — as I'd have much preferred to hear the beautiful "Black Dahlia" or "Remember Me Lover."

But if it sounds like I'm bitching here, I'm actually not. Not at all. This was an amazing show. In a lot of ways it reminded me of when I used to go to see Pink Floyd shows in the seventies hoping to get the hits, and instead seeing Floyd open the show with their latest opus, and maybe getting a few things I know in the second set. I admired them for that then, much as I admire Porcupine Tree now.

If this tour plays anywhere near you, do not miss it.

2009-09-13T16:13:00.000-07:00

Porcupine Tree Return With Epic Prog On The Incident

Music Review: Porcupine Tree - The Incident

On the first few initial listens, Porcupine Tree's The Incident has both the look and feel of being the British progressive rock band's masterpiece.

Everything about this album — from its elegantly photographed cover art, to the fifty-five minute title track that takes up all of disc one — screams prog-rock epic. In these rather lofty aspirations, The Incident mostly succeeds. But there are a few bumps along the road to getting there.

The distribution of the songs for one thing, is, well a little weird. Clearly the epic track "The Incident," is intended to be the focal point. But in doing so, the four tracks on the second disc, which together comprise all of twenty minutes plus change, make them feel almost like afterthoughts. Compared to the sprawling fifty-five minutes of disc one, disc two comes off as something more like a bonus, Nil Recurring style E.P.

Which is really too bad, because these four songs contain some of the best music on the entire record. "Black Dahlia" is one of those haunting, melancholic sounding short songs that PT mastermind Steven Wilson seems to be able to come up with on a dime. A quiet keyboard intro soon gives way to a rising swell of mellotron voices here, as Wilson intones surreal-sounding lyrics like 'there's a cliche in your eye, file the edges down, soon be underground."

On "Remember Me Lover," Wilson kisses off a former flame with the words "It's so hard to get along, I always know what you're gonna say, and this too, I hated you, I wish you'd learn to keep your mouth shut." Ouch!

Musically, this song goes from another one of those great little melodic hooks that Wilson makes seem so effortless, into the sort of bludgeoning metal crunch that dominated PT's last album, Fear Of A Blank Planet.

Speaking of which, there's far less of that — meaning skull-crushing metal — on The Incident than I expected to see on the followup to 2007's FOABP. In fact, Wilson seems to be favoring the proggier sounds of earlier records like In Absentia and Signify again here. No complaints from me.

The nicest thing about the title track, monster-length aside, is the fact that it is still broken up into fourteen parts, each of which carry their own unique title. So despite the length, it still feels more like a set of stand-alone songs. No Jethro Tull style Passion Play indulgence here.

The mini-tracks range from shorter interludes like the minute and a half or so "Occam's Razor," — which opens The Incident with a blast of metallic guitar — to the eleven minute "Time Flies."

On the latter, Wilson sings "I was born in 67', the year of Sgt. Pepper and Are You Experienced." But musically, Wilson's head seems to be more in tune with Animals era Pink Floyd, and specifically the song "Dogs," then it does with the Beatles or Hendrix. While I want to give Wilson the benefit of the doubt and assume this is more of an homage than a rip-off, the similarities are striking to say the least. "Time Flies" basically plays like a sped-up version of the Floyd song — right down to the guitar soloing that closes it.

Still, and with that minor quibble aside, "The Incident" largely lives up to its advance billing as the rightful centerpiece of this album. It's just a great sounding piece of work.

Lyrically, it follows a loose narrative about a traffic accident Wilson apparently witnessed. Musically, it moves from quieter pieces like "The Seance" to eerie sounding, rhythmically off-kilter stuff like the five minute piece within the piece that is also called "The Incident." Wilson ties together all these elements with his usual great guitar playing, as well as his uncannily great ear for hook-laden melody.

In less gifted hands, something this ambitious might not have worked. But what has always separated Steven Wilson and Porcupine Tree from many of their prog and metal peers, is the way PT focus on the songcraft first — even with that occasional fifty five minute long opus.

The Incident is a great new album by one of the best kept secrets in music (at least in America). It arrives September 15 just in time for their tour, which also kicks off this Tuesday in Seattle. I can't wait.