stray cat blues.

2011.

2011-12-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

Baron Wolman sent me this photo of us, taken after I interviewed him in November. We both happened to be in London at the same time. Lucky me!

I'm back in Los Angeles. I spent the last three months zigzagging from Paris to London, a fitting cap on an astonishing year. I had high standards for this year, but not even my loftiest dreams could compare to the year I actually had. To make London my temporary home and to build a life for myself there. This is something I had long wanted to achieve, and the fact that I went and did exactly what I aspired to is just the first of many things this year that make me so genuinely excited. Throughout the year's tribulations (because there were those too!), all I had to do was think, 'You're actually living your dream.' And then I would promptly be content and appreciative of the life I'm living. Because everything was better than I dreamt it, and that's partially because it was real and in the flesh. I went from zero to one hundred, and I quickly went about learning from the best. In the last year, I've been consistently surrounded by brilliant individuals, witnessing people hard at work, and drinking up engaging conversation. In the beginning of the year, I knew none of these people, had never been Paris, and had only fleetingly visited London. Now we're on first name basis and both Paris and London feel a bit like home. Its so far removed from everything I had known, yet by year's end, its all become integral to my life. I've gotten used to what previously left me starry-eyed.

In other words: I've been serenaded by Cliff Richard, hit on by Sandie Shaw, and wined and dined by the best. There was that Ringo incident, visits to some of the world's greatest art museums, memorable gigs, and even more memorable interviews.

Upon returning home to LA after all of that, I was not content to relax into what no longer felt like my norm. I quickly made the decision to move to Paris, a city I had never visited and hardly dreamed of. Paris had no relation to the goals I had for myself, nor had I ever imagined living there. Still, it was a rather sumptuous idea, and off to Paris I went. I was instantly moved by the city and stunned by its inspiring qualities. It was uncharacteristically warm for the time I arrived, and I quickly met a variety of interesting people. I explored every corner of Paris - basking in every inch of its museums and gardens (and bars and cafes) - at first wondering how it could ever feel like home. But by the end of it, it most certainly did. My life in Paris was an interesting dichotomy of utterly delicious memories and some significantly less so. But despite the latter, I don't regret going to Paris for a minute. It was exactly what I needed - thrusting me into a new environment, entirely foreign, as I made yet another new life for myself. This time I had no help, which made it all the more liberating.

I left Paris two weeks earlier than I had planned, beginning a series of unexpected events and constantly being on my toes. My last week in Paris showed me what great friends I had made while there. A week of madness - exciting and exhausting. After a quick jaunt through Amsterdam, I then inevitably returned to London, where more mayhem awaited me. Another curveball, more proof that I have the greatest friends (In three cities! So lucky!), and amazingly what turned out to be such a fun week. From Paris to London to LA, I was able to see everyone I love in the span of two weeks. Simply visiting London always results in me running around like a madman, on a mission to see everyone and do everything in a limited amount of time. I'm always on the go (and usually in ill-suited shoes, of course), exhausted by day's end, but it always pays back in spades.

I left London in time to be home for Christmas. Though throughout the two day festivities, I fell asleep more than once. (Jet lag and stretching my limbs across every available sofa.) Its been nice to see my family and do absolutely nothing for the first time in a year! Its been a completely exhilarating year. I can't think of something I haven't done this year. I suppose when I go for something, I go for it completely. If not, what's the point? I went after everything I wanted from this year and got even more. There were bumps along the road, but I need to get used to the fact that there always is. I was temporarily daunted by the blows of the last few weeks of my adventure, but instead I'll chalk it up to a massive test of endurance. Everything I've done was worth it. I refuse to be tamed by a few setbacks and while I have yet to wrap my head around just what my next adventure will be, I know I can't sit still for long.

It has admittedly been a me me me year. The crazy goals I held and what I needed to do to achieve them. Though I went through my adventures alone, there was always an amazing group to aid me along at each post. I can only hope to help make this next year as great for all of you as you've done for me this year. (Though don't expect the barrage of inappropriate jokes to conclude.) Unlike 2011, I don't at all have a concise plan or goals for 2012. LA is warm and my time here is shaping up to be quite thrilling. But as I said, I can't sit still for long. Sans plan, I'm content with knowing that whatever I do with this coming year will be incredible.

Cafe in the backstreets of Montmartre. I returned here on my final night, gathered with friends to reflect on our wild time in Paris over cafe creme and desserts.

2011-12-02T06:47:00.001-08:00

I was sitting on these steps as I wrote this. It was either bawl or write. There was also a Christmas tree in the grand foyer. Oi. I took these photos from Wikipedia, but no less effective, right?

Sitting within l'Opera Garnier. I feel overwhelmed by the resounding beauty of the place, that I'm here at all, and that one day I won't be. My entire year has been a whirlwind. Travel, friends, writing, flirtations - I've been given such a generous taste of life's pleasures. From drinking wine on the steps of Sacre Couer (memorable but seedy) to sitting here scribbling in my notebook, in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been, I'm awed at how far I've really come. To walk these hallow halls with hardly a soul in sight, listen to rehearsals, and be given a personal tour by a lovely staff member are such privileges. Perhaps we take it for granted because, as I've learned, things aren't very difficult if you just go after them. You try, you do... Voila, Paris. I've checked so many things off my nonexistent to-do list this year that I find myself wondering, What else? What next? What could possibly top the experiences I'm having? Yet as each unfurls, I find that no matter which route I take, I always seem to have a fantastic time. I meet wonderful people, do incredible things, and forget to worry about where life may take me next. Just think - some people never get to see such sights. For some it takes a lifetime. To have done so much in a single calendar year gives me such powerful assurance that my life will continue to be the intoxicating journey it has been. And there's so much time!

Each time I look up, I can hardly keep from looking back down, because its too much. So grandiose, literally breathtaking... How am I supposed to get on the metro after this? How can one be so moved and love a city so much? Why can't I be omnipresent and be a million places at once? I love so many of them. How am I ever supposed to be content to just sit still when there is so much to see and do - and I haven't even done the half of it. Each day in Paris I'm met with the sensation deep in my stomach, saying, "Don't go home. Just stay out, stay here forever." To even fulfill my obligations is increasingly a chore, because its so dreadful in there, and it couldn't be more inviting out here. Fuck all of that, I just want the city.

Soon the tides will change. I await that as well. Familiar yet new, productive and self-sufficient. This year has been kind to me. Wised me up, showed me a good time, and I can't even begin to articulate how its shaped me as a person. I'm so ripe to be moved by all of it. No stone unturned.

Doolittle, Pixies, 1989

2011-12-02T03:29:00.001-08:00

After 1988's compelling yet commercially inaccessible Surfer Rosa, the Pixies reconvened to record their most concise and successful album Doolittle. While still noisy and boasting jagged guitars, producer Gil Norton reigned in the abrasiveness of Surfer Rosa and helped polish Black Francis's melodic songcrafting abilities. Doolittle defined the Pixies as a band of blunt force, direct and volatile.

Varied and ambitious, yet concise in its delivery, Doolittle displays the group's every strength. Bold chords, shrill anti-guitar solos, boy-girl harmonies, and lyrics drenched in erotic mythology. The reggae-tinged storytelling of Mr. Grieves and Crackity Jones, a blundering tale of Francis's crazy Puerto Rican former roommate, see the expansion of group's compositional skill while retaining their eccentric humour. Still, the album able to spawn three singles - the spiraling, surrealist-inspired Debaser, the brilliant pop accessibility of Here Comes Your Man, and most notably Francis's brooding enviromentalist anthem Monkey Gone To Heaven.

For me, however, the album's most enrapturing guise is the cryptic sensuality and unorthodox kink that runs through various numbers. As showcased by the rhythmic panting and brute force of Tame, Dead's barbaric retelling of David's seduction of Bathsheba, and La La Love You, the album's atypical love song. The most vivid display is on the album's undoubted highlight, Hey. The lustful and desperate pining is punctuated by Joey Santiago's ardent guitar tone, Kim Deal's drowsy bass lines, and the overt sexual undertones of Francis's lyrics ("Uh, said the man to lady. Uh, said the lady to the man she adored, and the whores like a choir go 'uh' all night"). Endless songs are written about sex, but how often are they actually sexy? Hey is.

The album was a success on both sides of the Atlantic, though moreso in the UK. It made many Best Of lists in '89 and its power still resonates. The Pixies were a doubtless influence on the various music tides that succeeded them, namely grunge and Britpop, despite disbanding in 1993. The band has since reunited and are currently touring America, playing the whole of Doolittle (albeit not in album order). My friend Matt went and sent me the set list. Nice friends.

2011-11-24T14:55:00.001-08:00

My Parisienne life is typically most enticing by night and my days are spent generally eating, writing, dancing around an empty house. To get out of the house before noon is a statement. And yesterday it was. To Musee d'Orsay, where I further proved my distaste for the Impressionists, neo-Impressionism, and particularly Van Gogh. I listened as pretentious English speakers waxed poetic about what each Van Gogh portait meant... Such shit. Instead, I was enthralled by turn of the century furniture, paintings of scantily clad women, the stunning salle de réception, and the model of l'Opera. (An American boy stood next me and exclaimed, "This reminds me of Inception!") To my immense delight an exhibition titled Beauté, morale et volupté was simply my favourite V&A exhibition of this year, The Cult of Beauty, revamped and retitled! It marked the third time I had seen it. Wandering around the museum itself was enough to give me that Paris feeling - wistful and grateful of what a thrilling time I've had, now and generally. To then be transported into the alluring world of the Pre-Raphaelites was all too much. I hugged my fur coat and was gloriously overwhelmed. By all of it. I live in Paris. Sometimes you forget. I feel so disengaged from the general idea of what Paris is. Its certainly not berets, baguettes, and la Tour Eiffel. (The latter mostly just serving as a reminder that I live in Paris!) Paris is about meeting a million strangers a night, exchanging numbers and mutually promising to see each other very soon, but never calling. Its about entering a city and not knowing a soul, yet enjoying the company of many. Staying up late, waking up early, and being totally inspired every time you walk out your door. To live in Paris makes you illustriously thick-skinned, impervious to what might normally get you. The city itself is all you need. Only now am I beginning to realise that, like London, I will have a continuous and prosperous relationship with this city. As I stood in that museum, all I could think was, I can't wait to get home and write.

Viewing the art itself was like visiting an old friend, as I knew each masterwork that awaited me. Notably absent were the recreation of Rossetti's Tudor House front room and The Beguiling of Merlin by Burne-Jones, but unlike the V&A, the exhibition was free (with museum entry)! Funnily I had rushed to see the exhibition a second time before leaving London, not knowing when I'd ever get to see such wonders gathered again. Now here we both are in Paris. All too good. From there, I was unleashed onto the 7eme, walking along the Seine, dipping into the many antique shops that line that particular quarter. Past l'Institut de France and into Saint-Michel, with le Depart Saint-Michel aglow with holiday lights. Seeing that, I went across Petit Pont to see if, perhaps, the Notre Dame tree was up yet. My timing couldn't have been better. As I approached I saw the tree, and the man decorating it! Up and down he went, manually hanging each ornament. The queue for the cathedral itself was remarkably short, so I strolled through. From there, down rue Saint-Jacques to admire the men who loiter around Sorbonne, before my dizzying morning was met with the reality of ligne dix.

It was just one day of many, but each seems to be thrilling in some way. Could one ever grow tired of Paris?

Every Picture Tells A Story: Conversing with Rolling Stone's Founding Photographer Baron Wolman

2011-11-22T04:16:00.000-08:00

As revolution exploded in the mid sixties, there was one man who captured it best. Beginning as Rolling Stone's first chief photographer, Baron Wolman was on hand to photograph countless landmark events of the next decade. He was onstage with Santana at Woodstock and left Altamont before the violence ensued. From Jimi to Janis, his archives act a comprehensive look at the luminaries of the era. After three years at Rolling Stone, he left to pursue a variety of other ventures, beginning with Rags, a counterculture fashion magazine. From aviation and aerial photography, to the ruthless and sensual original Roller Derby, and a year on the road with the Oakland Raiders, Baron Wolman has certainly explored what he calls life's "big buffet table". Overlooking the Thames from ten floors up, I probed Baron on his vast career as a photographer. Less focused on the subjects of the photos, I am far more intrigued by the passion with which Baron entered each field, and why they attracted him initially. Of each subject, he speaks with pure fascination and a limitlessly humble nature. Baron recently released a new book, Every Picture Tells A Story: The Rolling Stone Years.

Baron. Book. Like. Follow.

How did you end up in Berlin in the sixties?

I was a counterspy. Somebody had to catch the spies that they were sending over. It was a way of fulfilling my military obligations. Back in those days, if when you finished college, you didn't go into graduate school, they drafted you into the army. But if you agreed to do something special, whatever it was they wanted you to do, and give them an extra year, they'd let you do something cool. First, I chose to be in the Intelligence Corps, then I chose to learn German in language school. When I got to Germany, they said, "Where do you want to go?" I thought, Berlin sounds good. So I went to Berlin. Photography had been a hobby for years and years, but it was in Berlin that it became a profession. I was there when the Berlin Wall was going up. I took a lot of pictures, wrote a story, and sent it to my hometown. They ran the entire thing on the front page of the features section saying Local Boy on the Front Line of What Could Be World War III. They sent me a check for fifty bucks, so I figured I'd make my hobby my profession. That was the period I decided it was what I was going to do, because I was getting paid for something I loved to do anyway.

Where did you go after Berlin?

To Los Angeles. I stayed there about eighteen months and got married. My ex-wife was a ballet dancer. I became an impresario, producing ballet at theatres in LA. But there's the traffic and the air... She wanted to dance for the San Francisco ballet and I wanted to go back after visiting and loving the place. We drove north and wandered around, wondering where we wanted to live. We drove through the Haight-Ashbury and said, "Look at those hippies. They look like our kind of people." So we found a place to rent in the Haight.

Did you start shooting music because you loved it or because it was conveniently near you?

Because it was there, but I also loved it. It was one of the many cool things to shoot. I think Ross [Halfin] for example, had much more of an affinity for the music. For me it was just another subject, that I happened to love. I didn't have the passion for it like those guys. I saw myself as a photojournalist. I saw photography as a way to discover the world. When I would want to meet beautiful women, I would photograph them so I could interact with the subject. I liked sports, so I started shooting NFL. When I wanted to take aerial photos, I bought a plane and learned to fly. I'd open the window, steer with my elbow, and take pictures. Photography was always a way for me to find out more about life for myself.

What was initially thrilling about being at Rolling Stone?

The great thing about being at Rolling Stone was to be involved in something that was just starting. Its fun to be at the start of anything, to be an integral part of something that we had no idea of how long it would last. I had been part of other projects that had been good and ended up failing in one way or another - really good, cool things. It just seemed like a cool idea. The music was good, there was free music in the parks, the Fillmore Auditorium was there, the Avalon Ballroom was there. Music was everywhere and it was very photogenic. I didn't get paid, so it was just a commitment I was making to something that seemed like it was going to go somewhere. This idea sounded good. There was no guarantees but it sounded good.

How did it eventually become less than stimulating for you?

It was stimulating, but after about three years... Because I wasn't a music fan, I was interested in life, in every aspect of life. When I got to a point with something where I felt I knew and understood it, I wanted to move onto something else. I began to feel I was taking the same pictures with different faces. I photographed Jimi Hendrix, for example. There is simply never going to be anyone like him again, and I knew that. This guy was like a shooting star. A lot of bands asked me to do pictures, but it was just four guys and another four guys. You did the best you could and tried to get good pictures, but it was too repetitive. I see life as a big buffet table. If you get stuck at the appetizers, you don't get all of this wonderful thing we call life. That's good and bad. You never really explore that one subject fully, but I felt I explored it enough for me.

Describe your time shooting the majority of Bill Graham's Days on the Green at Oakland Coliseum.

It was cool! The Days on the Green - holy fuck, it was one after another. Have you read the Wikipedia page on it? He was brilliant, Bill Graham, and what he brought to those concerts. I never would have seen half of those bands if it wasn't for those concerts. I had never photographed Led Zeppelin and that was the only time. Same with AC/DC.

Why did you choose fashion as your next endeavor?

I had shot for Vogue. I enjoyed shooting for Vogue, but not the way they said I had to shoot. They told me I had to put Donovan in clothes they sent me, so they could refer to the retailers. But I liked working for them, working for Vanity Fair, for anybody that would hire me. I did a really good job at working for most of the magazines. Another funny one was a gay editor telling me to make sure Ryan O'Neal took his shirt off. He didn't care. There was another movie star I went to photograph. I showed up in she's in this sheer blouse, completely naked underneath. I wasn't sure if it was how she wanted to be photographed or if she was doing it for me...

Maybe a bit of both.

You know how LA is.

Then you started a fashion magazine, Rags.

The reason I really liked it because one of my friends had been at Vogue and another at Harpers Bazaar. They saw Rolling Stone and they said, "What we need is the fashion version of Rolling Stone. Can you help us get this started?" I told them, "Not only will I help you get it started, I'll be part of it with you." I had had my run at Rolling Stone and I knew how to raise the money and all the details. Rolling Stone moved their offices two streets over, so I took over the old Rolling Stone offices, hired some of their people, and that's how we started. It was real, true fashion. We believed that true fashion starts on the streets. Somebody throws stuff together, walks down the street, a designer sees it and turns it into something. A lot of our photography was done on the street, getting people who looked cool. You see more of that now. That's where the innovation comes from. We had the best time. It was a really fun magazine. The reason we didn't keep going is that we hit a big recession and the advertisers weren't paying their bills. I couldn't fund it forever. For example, when we reviewed albums, we wouldn't review the music, we'd review the clothes the artists were wearing on the covers. It was a hugely successful thing for me. It changed how Women's Wear Daily approached fashion. We saw the dramatic changes. We were written up in Time and were on TV all the time. It was exactly what women wanted. They didn't want to be told to wear something unattractive, so we opposed it. We called it fashion fascism. In those days, you didn't have the freedom of expression you have now. In the sixties, there were huge changes happened where individuality was suddenly honored. You didn't have to fit into the mold. Before that, you had to fit into the mold. My dad always said, "The clothes make the man. Wear this stuff and people will treat you differently." In those days, he was right. But none of us wanted to be like marching soldiers in society. We were creative individuals and we wanted to express that. That's really what that whole hippie revolution was about. You heard it in the music and you saw it in the clothes. The two together, Rags and Rolling Stone, were perfectly symbiotic.

How did your relationship with the Raiders start?

I had friends who were working in the NFL. They gave me an assignment one day to go out and shoot the 49ers. Then I discovered the Raiders and thought, Who are these outlaws? It was the perfect time for them. By then I had started a book publishing company [Squarebooks]. We'd been doing books on lots of stuff, like the building of the Golden Gate Bridge [Spanning The Gate]. Its a killer book, still in print. We were all football fans and decided we'd spend a year with the Raiders and do a book about it [Oakland Raiders: The Good Guys]. These guys were outlaws, they were different, marching to the beat of a different drum. I knew by then that the only way to get good pictures was to have access. We went to Al Davis and said, "We need access to your team. We want to spend a year with your team and do a book. You can look at the text after for accuracy but you can't change our editorial point of view." He said that we could do it. "Come along." We spent the whole year with the Raiders, as many days of the week as we wanted to. We went on trips with them, on the planes, to away games. We photographed them, talked to them, hung out with them.

What prompted you to learn to fly?

I'd always wanted to fly. I never thought I would be good enough to be able to fly. I saw people that were flying and thought it was a language I'd never learn. Then a friend of mine, who was also a photographer, wanted to learn to fly as well. There was a third guy and a girl. We all got together, bought an airplane for something like 3000 dollars, and we all learned to fly on that plane. What really intrigued me about it, apart from the fact that not many people did it, was you could go out and be like a bird. Fly around with nobody in your way. The pictures you could take were a really unique perspective of our planet - how we fucked it up, the beauty, and the combination of the two. The first book I did, California From The Air: The Golden Coast, showed the entire coast of California. It showed where it was still beautiful and where we had destroyed it. It had really good text that talked about both aspects of it. It became another tool of photography. It was so exciting. I'd say, "Do you want to go flying? Let's go flying. Put your hands on the control wheel very lightly. Gently pull back." And then the plane would go up and they'd go, "Oh my god, we're flying!" It was so great to do that with people. Its something we want to do, to free ourselves from the ground somehow, spiritually or physically or both. I'll never forget how many cool experiences I had with first time riders in that plane. In order to get the kind of pictures I liked to get, I'd fly low and slow. Its nice, but if anything happens, it happens fast. I was flying back from Monterey to Santa Rosa, and all of a sudden the engine quit. I had no power. I had to do an emergency landing. Fortunately, it was successful. Up until that point, I had total faith in the machine. But it broke, and if it broke once... It broke in a very convenient place. I was able to glide into a nearby airport. After that, I fell out of love with it. I sold it when I moved to Santa Fe in 2001.

What do you strive to achieve in a photograph?

I believe in my vision of the world. Whether its your face or that landscape, I believe that there's something there worth saying. I try to communicate what I see and what I believe. For example, with the music photographs, there was no music videos or anything at that time. The only way people who didn't attend a concert were able to experience it visually were still images. What I tried to achieve then was what it was like to be there at that moment, at that concert, with that person singing or playing guitar.

Do you still shoot at all?

Not much, a bit on my point and shoots. I have my heavy artillery but I don't use it much anymore. I'm not excited about photography now, for a lot of different reasons. Not the least of which is the advent of digital photography, where everybody has a camera and everybody is a photographer. That doesn't bother me. That's good news and bad news. Digital has democratized photography. That's good. Its released a huge amount of visual creativity that many people didn't even realise they had. That's exciting. On the other hand, there are so many images. Its hard for the best of the best to bubble up to the top. When it does, it goes by so quickly. Its not held in the same esteem that it was when I was working, when it was really an important way of communicating. It still is, in a whole different way. Now its just one of many. I don't like being one of many. One of the reasons I changed subjects so frequently was when other people started doing it, it was less interesting to me. I did roller derby and that was really exciting. I had been told by my father, "Don't hit women." I saw these beautiful women slamming into each other, rolling around. I thought, This is almost sexual! It turns out my friend's dad invented the original roller derby. So again, I got total access, and it makes all the difference. If you don't have access, you might as well not be a photographer. I had a great time.

Whom do you most wished you photographed but didn’t get the chance to?

Well, I shot a Beatle, George Harrison, but wouldn't it have been nice to shoot all four? The list is endless. I was lazy, first of all. I shot Pink Floyd when they first came to San Francisco. Didn't go to the concert. Bands would come through and I'd sit at home with my wife. I wish I had gone to more of the Day on the Green concerts. I would have loved to have shot Tom Petty and John Mellencamp. Mellencamp, there was something very soulful about the guy. He had easily accessible ideas in his music. But in the beginning, in his albums, he was using black and white photography the way I loved black and white photography. I was just waiting for the call. But I was usually caught up on assignment, so I didn't have time to go chasing people. I got some pretty damn good people though.

What goals do you have for yourself now?

My biggest challenge now is to figure out what to do with the archives. Of course I'd like someone to buy them, but to also steward the archives. Someone who cares about music, knew how important the collection is - not because I did it, but because it exists historically. I'd like them to make the pictures accessible for the future. That's a big challenge. Beyond that, I'd like to find the passion in photography again. Take the cameras and follow through another exploratory journey. It seems as if sadly everything has been photographed, not by me. But almost everything that I did, I was around early on in the development of that subject.

Why did you decide to do this book?

The main reason is I very deeply believe that the pictures themselves tell a story, but there are also stories behind the pictures that add flavor and character to the experience of looking at them. These stories and these pictures will survive me. Jim Marshall had great stories, and Robert Whitaker had great stories. But the stories are gone. Somebody should get these stories. Once they're gone, they're gone. I think they're stories that need to be left behind. Then Dave [Brolan, photo editor] said, "You've got to do a book!" I said, "I don't have enough pictures." He was the driving force. He arranged the contract. He was the one who pushed me to do it. We went to Paris, because we both wanted to get away. I gathered the pictures and we sat at the cafes everyday. He had his recorder and he'd record my stories of each picture. I'd go on and on. He then sent me this big transcription. I then had to go away with that. The guy who wrote the introduction, Jerry Hopkins, lives in Bangkok. So I went to Bangkok for two weeks and sat in a beautiful hotel room, making it into something you can read.

If you had to pick one photo that best encapsulates your career, which would it be?

There ain't one, darlin'.

What's your favorite of your music photos?

I always go back to the book's cover, the Jimi Hendrix photo. That particular photo was perfect. There's nothing you could do to that picture to improve upon it. The elation and ecstasy on the part of the musician... Photographically, it was positioned perfectly. The next moment would have been less interesting. The previous moment would have been less interesting. That was the moment. Everything there works. If you look at it, you get it! You get what Jimi Hendrix was all about. The length of his fingers, how he held his guitar, playing left-handed, the way he dressed, his expression, the light all around him. There was a big burst behind him. It just happened.

Photos by Baron Wolman. © Baron Wolman

2011-11-19T18:58:00.000-08:00

What a thrill two months in Paris have been. To get to know and love the city has been limitlessly rewarding. Open champagne bars, tiny absinthe haunts, dancing all night with delicious looking Parisienne women, raspberry tart as a ritual, dropping into Shakespeare and Co, a bit of domestication, crepes at midnight, sharing a bunkbed in a place I've never been, a cheese platter and a fluffy bed in Normandy, Pont Neuf inspiring by night and in the stillness of the morning, audible gasps at Versailles, stolen chocolates, meeting a single person for coffee and it changing your perspective radically.

A friend and I once missed the last metro and were given a ride by a generous stranger. He played the Who and Ray Charles, prompting an elaborate singalong with myself as the only participant. Another stranger in the car became a persistant suitor and surely it was my Ray Charles impression that wooed him.

A quick jaunt to London, my first without my entire life stuffed into a suitcase. A bustling weekend, always in a hurry, but what a lovely one. In just three days and nights, I was reminded of the immense possibilities that lie anywhere you pursue them. On display for strangers, reacquainted with friends. As time passes, I appreciate what this year has been. From London to Paris. From exactly what I dreamed to what I never considered. Such polar opposite social circles, such different kinds of fun, but my chameleon ways show how affluent each proves to be. Perhaps Paris can be filed as my 'sowing my wild oats' phase, to have nothing but fun as an aspiration. Nothing was familiar to me coming here, but there isn't anything remotely frightening about that. Its been immensely rewarding to be surrounded by nothing but what is new.

Now I stand in a very fortunate position. Complete freedom and such good choices. Such good choices. I'd like to just crystallise this moment of having everything to choose from and having it all right where I want it. Youth, not a single obligation to anyone or anything, and fully taking advantage of my ability to dabble in whatever I fancy. Happy with this year, my life, myself, and the excitement each continues to attract.

2011-11-08T08:22:00.000-08:00

Buckets Of Rain, Bob Dylan

Buckets Of Rain sees Dylan helplessly honest and all too aware of the qualities in a woman that simultaneously pain and entrall him. Both his stance within the song and its accompanying musicianship are defenseless and stark, having the power to subtly move the listener with its universal truth. Its bittersweet and unstately, but musically and lyrically pure, and you believe him. For just an instant in that expansive songbook, you feel the walls come tumbling down, and never was Dylan ever so confessional again.

Groovallegiance, Funkadelic

One Nation Under A Groove is Funkadelic's most revered and best selling album, and I'm not sure why. The title track is a classic and acted as my introduction to the P-Funk collective, but after journeying through the depths of their catalogue, I find the album itself less than satisfying. Groovallegiance acts as a standout, mostly because it doesn't try to. With its placid groove and rare showcase of Funkadelic's varied vocal abilities, Groovallegiance doesn't seem to make an effort. It isn't flashy, but its still able to ascend to a peak by the song's end. A subtle nod that P-Funk were more than dazzling costumes and bizarre politics.

First Step, Faces

Its taken me a while to get around to a proper First Step phase, but its really grown on me, surpassing Long Player and enjoying its place as third-best Faces album. Though its unapologetically ragged and unrefined, it clearly defines all that the Faces stood for. They were ballsy, using a Bob Dylan cover as the opening track to their very first album. They were instantly versatile, from the white boy soul of Devotion to the twangy brilliance of Stone. Additionally, as the two aforementioned numbers prove, Ronnie Lane was shaping up to be a remarkable songwriter. The album holds odd gems, like Pineapple And The Monkey, which I strangely find to be one of its strongest selling points. The amorous flair of McLagan's organ and the understated, elegant sensuality of Ronnie Wood's guitar sums up each of their talents so well, capturing what they could do as the Faces and no one else. Wood already possesses a distinctive groove, one that was lost when he joined the Stones. Even a song like Look Out The Window, which may first seem too much of a jam, is a perfect portrait of what kind of band the Faces were. They got off on their own playing and followed that instinct to a hilt. First Step sees this feat at its most unpolished and shows how unnecessary the frills can be. Not to be played alongside Rod Stewart's latter solo albums, beginning particularly with Blondes Have More Fun.

Head, Prince

Prince has been appearing on my iPod a lot lately and I'm not complaining. Whether prompting a bit of wiggle behind my desk, or putting a kick in my step on the streets of Paris, Prince is never not a good idea. I find particularly hard to sit still to the ever so bawdy Head, defining a perfect era for Prince. Overtly sexual, shocking to others, himself unapologetic, helping to bring in a new type of sexual renaissance. Of course, Prince remains all of these things, but there's a grittiness about his early career that I'm drawn to.

Run For Cover, The Dells

The Dells are hardly name-checked among soul legends, but their 1968 album There Is is surely all the convicing you'll need. Its not quite as vamped up as other soul albums of that era, still possessing a hollow doo-wop vibe of the late fifties. Run For Cover is my current favourite off the album, with its perfectly contrasted harmonies punctuated by sly horns and a simple guitar riff. Put it on and swivel in your seat.

Steely Dan

Though just two weeks ago I sang the praises of the immaculate skill of Steely Dan as Walter Becker and Donald Fagen's studio workhorse, I'm equally drawn to their first three albums, on which they operated as a proper rock group. On rotation lately has been a haphazard selection plucked from their catalogue. The jovial horns on My Old School, the backing vocals on Kings (provided by the ladies who would later call themselves the Blackberries, touring with Pink Floyd, the Stones, Humble Pie, et al), the three part harmonies on early songs like Turn That Heartbeat Over Again (and the mispronunciation of Paraguay), the subdued energy and Hal Blaine's drumming on Any World (That I'm Welcome To). But mostly I'm into starting my days by slinking around the kitchen to Do It Again whilst making breakfast. The sultry bossa nova rhythm is what initially enraptures (and prompts said kitchen slinking) but the sheer ability to include an electric sitar solo and a busy organ solo into what was the band's first hit is what solidifies its greatness. Entirely unorthodox but remarkably easy to listen to - only an inkling of what was to unfurl over the next eight years.

Walk Like A Man, The Four Seasons

Frankly, I'm generally uninterested in the glossy doo-wop of this era. Too kitschy, too contrived, too tidy. But the endless clapping and Frankie Valli's falsetto dancing around Nick Massi's bass are irresistably likeable, forcing me to control the urge to clap and wave my mane to the beat while on the Paris metro. Nothing spectacular on this track, like much of the aforementioned doo-wop, but plenty of clean fun.

Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From The First Psychedelic Era

I purposely dodged this album for a while. So much of that 'first psychedelic era' (and every proceeding one, right?) is just noise, noise, noise. Erratic guitars, bad DIY-style vocals, and sloppy garage production. I listened to Nuggets mostly to confirm or deny these strong opinions. With it being quite a lengthy compilation, I found a bit of both. From The Electric Prunes' fuzzy guitars to the Amboy Dukes' raunchy blues, there are a few gems to be found. But by the time you reach side four, even the songs you like begin to irk, as it is after all mostly noise. But, put on Count Five's Psychotic Reaction and walk anywhere and your life will be greatly enhanced. I promise.

Run Of The Mill, George Harrison

With an album as deliciously expansive as All Things Must Pass, it takes a while to get around to each number. When I discovered the album, I hardly ever listened to disc two, while religiously spinning disc one. To know the album as a full entity is a gradual journey, allowing you to be intimately acquainted with each number. (AKA Sandinista! syndrome - there's too much of it to like all of it at once. Some of it will take a while to seep in and by then you'll have already played other tracks to death.) Somehow Run Of The Mill eluded me as a favourite, even during my disc one phase. But perhaps that adds to its allure now, making a bit more fresh to me than the rest of the album. This debt is mostly owed to the atmospheric Phil Spector production and the era-defining horns by Bobby Keys and Jim Price. Its truly the horns that make this song a bit magical, swelling in all the right places. The massive contributions of Bobby Keys and Jim Price will never be praised enough, as they genuinely elevated every track they played on. Their sound defined the early seventies Stones sound just as much as Keith Richards' open tuning. Run Of The Mill is just a sole example of their excellence.

A Side of Vinyl: Side Two of The Yes Album, Yes, 1971

2011-11-03T07:54:00.000-07:00

The sequencing of an album is of vital importance to its presentation. What if Mercy Mercy Me didn't follow God Is Love? Or, imagine the medley at the end of Abbey Road in a different order or containing different songs. When listening to vinyl (my preferred listening experience when my record collection is within reach), the fateful seperation of side one and two is of similar importance. Take side two off Exile and you're left with a rather weak album. In many instances such as this, I'm instantly drawn to the strength of a particular side of vinyl. My first example in what could become a semi-regular feature is The Yes Album by Yes. Released in 1971, the album depicts a group coming into their own. The Yes Album is a document of the discovery of their 'signature sound'. Recently recruited Steve Howe helped cement this feat and the ensuing success of albums like Fragile and Close To The Edge.

The album's sequencing and division on vinyl very clearly draws out their strength, weaknesses, and the various themes associated with their catalogue. Yes are, of course, prominate players in that genre deemed 'progressive rock', which I can shamlessly say I know nothing about. Blatant indulgence in music generally does not interest me - and as prog seems to be built entirely on indulgence, I digress! Side one of The Yes Album exemplifies these qualities all too well. I find Yours Is No Disgrace and Starship Trooper to be incredibly dull. Yes, they progress. And they progress, progress, and continue progressing until they've lost your interest altogether. Between the two lies newcomer Howe's blatantly Davy Graham indebted The Clap. But not that kind - Howe was endearingly inspired by his infant son's attempts to clap while nestled in his stroller.

Side two, however, showcases all that I enjoy about Yes - the harmonies, the residual 60s idealism, and only an underlying taste of 'progressiveness'. I've Seen All Good People transports me to when I was about ten. My brother had just started school for the first time and in his class was a girl whose mother had played violin on a Yes tour. This reinstated my mother's love of the band, and everyday when she picked us up from school in her red Saturn, this song played - limitlessly connecting it to warm California days with the windows down, not a single care. I had forgotten all about this, until before leaving London, I was played a Yes bootleg including the track. Then and now, I've found the All Good People section of the song dire and contrived, but the ascending, anthemic power of Your Move is timeless.

In contrast, A Venture is surely an example of the underlying taste of prog, yet its skillfully masked by its pop song length and chorus. While closing track Perpetual Change is my favourite off the album, it very much dances near the lines of disarray. Its when the song is at its most minimal that it is strongest, baring Jon Anderson's vocal abilities, as well as he and Chris Squire's increasingly cosmic lyrical themes ("As mist and sun are both the same/We look on as pawns of their game").

Though occasionally indulgent and perhaps a tad dated (I kind of think Yes is predominately for old men who were there and glossy-eyed at the time), The Yes Album holds some rich moments, punctuating the group's best qualities. The albums that followed only further drifted into side-length tracks, fantastical lyrics, and instrumental wanderings. The Yes Album gives you just a taste, which may be all you need.

Aja, Steely Dan, 1977

2011-10-25T09:11:00.000-07:00

With their highbrow sense of humor and innate ability to finish each other's sentences, Steely Dan stood no chance of being led by anyone but Walter Becker and Donald Fagen. Though they had been friends for just a few years, when they began playing with guitarist Denny Dias and what was then his band in 1971, they began playing Becker/Fagen compositions immediately. (Dias' ad in the Village Voice memorably read, "Looking for keyboardist and bassist. Must have jazz chops! Assholes need not apply.") By 1975's Katy Lied, guitarist Jeff 'Skunk' Baxter and drummer Jim Hodder had become disenchanted with Becker and Fagen's reluctance to tour and their own diminishing roles in the studio, leaving the group before recording began. (Original vocalist David Palmer had been relegated to backing vocals by their second album, Countdown to Ecstasy, quitting the group shortly after.)

Beginning with Katy Lied, Steely Dan became an ambitious study of composition, with Becker and Fagen employing a myriad of session musicians to achieve their concise vision. When they began recording Aja in 1977, their vision had reached its pinnacle. With its refined textures and immaculately detailed production, Aja stands as Becker and Fagen's most sophisticated and rich collection of songs.

It is surely the album's title track that most demonstrates what such notorious studio perfectionism could lead to. With its idyllic opening lines ("Up on the hill..."), the track quickly transforms into a Latin-tinged shuffle. It reachs its climax as numerous guitars meet in harmony, drifting into a gracefully subtle guitar solo, accented by the song's Asian theme. The section of the suite concludes as Wayne Shorter takes an awing sax solo, accompanied by Steve Gadd's dextrous drumming. Less than fifteen minutes into the album, they have jarringly pulled out all the stops.

Side two opener Peg was the album's glossy hit single, reaching #11 in 1978. While easily the album's simplest tracks, its also its most infectious. Boasting a Chuck Rainey slap bass line (after strictly being told by Becker and Fagen not to employ the slap technique) and Michael McDonald's dated yet irreplacable backing vocals, I'm still most drawn to the subtle and sleek guitar work that underlies the track. Recommended to all that haven't seen it is the Classic Albums episode featuring Aja (beginning here), particularly the segment when they go through the unused Peg solos. The story goes that at least six renowned studio guitarists gave it a run, but were duly dismissed. As Becker and Fagen playback a few, its evident that the deliciously warm tone of Jay Graydon's chosen solo was unquestionable.

Though eventually Becker and Fagen's utter perfectionism caught up to them, leading to their demise amidst drugs and personal turmoil, Aja showcases their immense talents and knowing ability to helm an album. It remains the group's best selling album, and was a sensation on either side of the Atlantic, hitting the top five in the US and the UK at the time of its release. Deemed a classic by many, Aja fits comfortably in its own nook of contemporary music. Not jazz, nor rock, there's nothing else quite like it.

Alice Cooper: Fire, Freaks & Johnny Depp!

2011-10-25T05:10:00.000-07:00

Fire and freaks is what the audition called for, as Alice Cooper began his search for bizarre accomplices for his Halloween Night of Fear gig on October 29 at London's Alexandra Palace. As the hopeful contestants unveiled their acts for Alice and his panel of judges, I was on hand to witness the spectacle.

Gathered in a tent on a scorching day in Hyde Park, the show proved to be Alice's eccentric, if not occasionally grotesque, take on X Factor. The show ranged from a lingerie-clad, Little Shop of Horrors influenced sadistic dentist; Snake Fervor sticking pins in her arm and lighting them on fire, later extinguishing them with her mouth; Britain's Got Talent rejects Girls Roc, breathing fire and stripping to latex; a cringe-inducing contortionist Chris Cross; Sophia Landi and her flaming bullwhip; and Ruby Blues, rocking to Motorhead as she took an angle grinder to her guitar.

As the auditions came to a close, I joined Cooper in the shade for a quick chat about hellacious onstage injuries, his friend Johnny D from Kentucky, and an unusual visit to Brian Wilson's house with Iggy Pop.

AC: This is my kind of thing. I like to look at something and be surprised by it, rather than think "Oh, I've seen that before." There were a couple things tonight that were unique to me. The whip on fire was a great idea. If you take all the lights off and have whips on fire like that, it would look great onstage.

How is it going to tie into your performance?

AC: It decorates the show. The main show is the New York Dolls, then we go on. Our shows are inherently theatrical. We dress our shows so its the main freak show. When you walk it in, its sort of like, this act is over here, this act is over there... It turns into a sideshow. Wherever you look, there's something going on that's totally different. I think that's what these acts do, they round out the show.

Was it a hard decision?

AC: No, we tried to figure out which would work in the context of the show. One girl could blow fire further than anybody. The smallest girl blew the biggest fire! One girl had the whip, that was really interesting to me. One girl was just 1940s burlesque, which was kind of interesting. I was waiting for that one thing, though, that made me go, "Whoa!" It just wasn't there tonight. Just didn't make me go, "Wow!" If Arthur Brown had lit his hair on fire, I would have gone, "OK! I understand that!"

What freaky things have happened to you in your career?

Oh, every night is like that for us. There's always those Spinal Tap moments, where this is supposed to happen, but that happens. I use a sword onstage and I stick it in the stage. Once, I used the sword and it went right through my leg, came out the other end. At the time, I had so much adrenaline onstage, I didn't really feel it. It hurt a little bit, but it wasn't the worst thing ever. I thought, I'm in the moment right now, its in my leg, leave it there! The audience thought it was a trick. The band knew it wasn't! Every time I'd walk, it'd spurt a little. After the show, with the audience gone, I went, "Ow!" I took a bottle of whiskey and poured it there. I thought, "What would Stallone do? He'd take a cigar and cauterise it." Every night something happens. I fell offstage in Vancouver one night and I broke all my ribs on the right side. I got back up and finished the show. I didn't really feel it right then, but I later had twenty eight stitches in my head. I didn't realise I had a concussion until the forth song, when I began seeing double. When the show is going, you don't stop the show. No matter what happens, you keep the show going.

What about the time when you visited Brian Wilson's house with Iggy Pop, and he played you the greatest song of all time?

Iggy and I are sitting there waiting, and this is Brian Wilson, one of the greatest writers of all time. He sits down at the piano in the sandbox and starts playing Mama Little Baby Loves Shortnin' Bread. We laugh and he says, "No, this is the greatest song ever written." He was dead serious. We were like two little kids, we said, "OK! Why is that the best song?" He said, "I don't know. Its just the best song in the world." This is like McCartney telling you that. You say, "OK, I guess you're right!" Iggy and I looked at each other and thought, "Is that really the greatest song in the world?" It was 1978 or something like that.

How was the gig at the 100 Club? [Cooper played an intimate gig at London's legendary venue in June.]

It was more fun than anything, because we were just a bar band. I told the guys in the band, "We're a bar band tonight." When you put a show on sale and there's only 300 tickets, its going to be 300 of your most devoted fans. It ended up being a party for the people who are always in the front row, every time we play Britain. I know the first forty people, and they were all there. I said, "Since I don't have the make-up on tonight, I can talk to you." Alice would never talk to an audience, but last night was without Alice there. It was just us being a rock band. We invited Johnny Depp to come up and play guitar, because he's a really good guitar player. He's not just Johnny Depp, the great actor. He's a musician, we see him as a musician. He came up, plugged in, and I think everybody was surprised at how good he was. The guy is a great guitar player. We looked at the emails and the Twitter, everybody said, "Its going to be Slash and Ronnie Wood, this guy and that guy!" When I introduced Johnny D from Kentucky, the fabulous old blues singer, he comes up with his head down. You could see the light bulbs go on. The girls in the front were going, "That's... Johnny Depp! Johnny Depp!" But he's so cool, because he's just a guitar player. That night he wasn't Johnny Depp, he was just a guitar player. We've become really quick friends now, because we recognise him as a musician, not just an actor. He's a valid guitar player. Any time he wants to come up and play, and we're both in town, feel free. We've always given that priviledge to any really great guitar player. He's in the same place as Brian May, Slash, or any of those guys.

Alice Cooper's Night Of Fear tour kicks off tonight in Sheffield, hitting London's Alexandra Palace on Saturday. Welcome 2 My Nightmare is out now.

Gilded Palace Of Sin, The Flying Burrito Brothers, 1969

2011-10-20T06:36:00.000-07:00

In 1968, with the release of the International Submarine Band's Safe At Home, Gram Parsons began his visionary amalgamation of country and rock. The following year saw him fleetingly join the Byrds, launching a potent musical relationship with Byrds founding bassist Chris Hillman. Parsons lent a strong influence on the pioneering Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, before abruptly quitting the group of the eve of a South African tour. Hillman too soon left the group, allowing the duo to collaborate as the Flying Burrito Brothers. They rented a house in the primarily residential San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles, calling their abode Burrito Manor. "[Of] all the bands I was ever in, the most productive time was living with [Parsons] in Reseda in 1968," says Hillman of the time. "I was getting a divorce and so was he. We woke up in the morning and we would write every morning." They were joined by pianist and bassist Chris Ethridge and pedal steel luminary Sneaky Pete Kleinow. Picking up where Sweetheart Of The Rodeo left off, The Flying Burrito Brothers' 1969 debut Gilded Palace Of Sin presented the vast scale of Parsons' talents, standing as the strongest effort in his limited studio canon.

Commencing with the jaunty Christine's Tune, side one is a near perfect side of vinyl. Sin City endures as a classic display of the strength in the Parsons/Hillman songwriting partnership, while similarly exhibiting their glorious two-part harmonies. Still, I find myself continuously most moved by the album's only covers. The Burritos introduce an elegant infusion of soul, by way of two Chips Moman/Dan Penn written Muscle Shoals gems - Do Right Woman and Dark End Of The Street. (Both hits in 1967 for Aretha Franklin and James Carr respectively.) Each number exemplifies what Parsons referred to as 'cosmic American music' and does so with much grace. The former boasts staggering harmonies by Parsons, Hillman, and an uncredited David Crosby on its chorus, complimented by Kleinow's exalted pedal steel. The latter, a tome to an illicit lover ("Its a sin and we know that its wrong/Oh, but our love keeps coming on strong") features further pedal steel, delicately flirting with Parsons' piano. Though rather than the skill of the musicianship, its the limitlessly honest and fervid delivery behind each performance that allows the songs to transcend beyond simple compositions, carrying the weight of something much stronger. Such intimacy is additionally displayed on Hot Burrito #1, done no justice by its frivolous title. An ingenuous show of vulnerability, its Gram Parsons at perhaps his most defenseless and certainly his most soulful hour.

While hardly a chart topper upon its release in early 1969, the influence and timeless air of The Gilded Palace Of Sin remain relevant. Many artists inspired by the group have gone on to attain greater success, but the Flying Burrito Brothers, authentic and staunchly traditional, remain the crowning achievement of the genre they helped pioneer. Parsons hardly lived to see the burgeoning interest in his legacy, dying in 1973 at the age of 26. Still, as he declares on side two opener Wheels, amid the churning of fuzzy guitars, "We're not afraid to ride, we're not afraid to die." And a ride it was.

Who are the sexy bitches on the cover? They entrance me a little.

2011-10-14T16:30:00.000-07:00

Mr. Beck's Strat.

What a month I've had.

I departed from Los Angeles on a foggy morning late last month. Accidentally discovered an auxiliary cable in a rental car on the way to LAX, soundtracking my venture through the fog as the city woke up. On the plane, I sat beside a couple in their sixties. The man peered over and caught Harold and Maude on my computer screen. "I love that film," he told me. "My daughter and I used to watch it together."

Plane, tube, train, home away from home. Strange that it takes only nine hours to reach something I spent three months away from. London felt new again. Run-ins with Jeff Beck who showed me photos on his new digital camera, telling the tales behind each photo with genuine excitement. Spending my days in a nearly abandoned office, working on this, the sound of my shoes trotting back and forth with cakes and cups of tea filled to the brim. (Apparently gentlemen don't fill their cups all the way, but I was quick to point out that there were no gentlemen in sight.) Always catching the last train home. Turning people back on to the brilliance of Van Halen II, because Outta Love Again is even better before lunch time, and having an office of old men erupt in disappointment when my iPod on shuffle fails to capture Cowboy Song leading into The Boys Are Back In Town. We even once stalked Britney Spears. Stones in each of my kidneys resulting in 24 hours of morphine, dull food, and the old woman next to me sneaking me orange juice. And my adventures were just beginning.

Office, cab, train, plane, Paris. It takes just fifty five minutes. I felt as if we simply circled above London yet arrived to the indescribable, majestic sight of Paris. It seemed like so long since I had been genuinely moved by the sight of the city. Its grandiose beauty and simultaneous grit instantly enamoured me. From literally the moment I arrived, I knew I had made a good decision. It may have been an impulsive one, but they haven't failed me yet.

I always said London in the sunshine was best, but weeks of Paris in the baking heat were bliss. The positive influence simply being in Paris has is difficult to articulate, as is the profound inspiration found everywhere within the city. I'm effortlessly driven to read more and write more. Arriving at a flat on Ave Montaigne to start the weekend and catching the Eiffel Tower glistening on the hour, picnics in the park, dodging gypsies, little bars in Pigalle, being serenaded by a Caribbean guitarist while perched outside a bar in Bastille, people from all over the world, every single one in Paris to do something interesting. Montmartre until the sun comes up, from a cramped cafe to the shoebox flat of a stranger. Overpriced lunchs in St Germain. Idyllic home living, back gardens, cheese, wine, and so much bread. Waking up before the sun on a regular basis, dancing with a three year old when I would typically be sleeping, and teaching her to high five. Standing in the middle of Jardin des Tuileries after a stroll down rue de Rivoli, the gardens still damp from an afternoon rain, headphones in, still in last night's clothes, Arc de Triomphe to the left, the Louvre to the right, and in that moment considering staying in Paris forever.

My phone broke and I don't have a camera with me, AKA stark updates.

Beards: William Holman Hunt

2011-09-04T23:28:00.000-07:00

William Holman Hunt was a colorful character. He founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, alongside John Everett Millais and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Millais was an elegant and sophisticated prodigy of the Royal Academy of Art, while Rossetti was a stunning and sensual English-bred Italian of infinite artistic potential. Hunt, like Millais, was a member of the Royal Academy, though he had been previously rejected. This led Hunt to be rebellious, garnering the nickname 'Maniac'. Defying the rationalism of Renaissance artists like Raphael, the brotherhood sought the spiritual qualities of medieval art. It was Hunt who would remain truest to this notion. Millais happily fell into domestication with Effie Gray, formerly Effie Ruskin, and their eight children. Rossetti gradually lost his mind, holing up in his Chelsea home with his growing brood of wild animals. After a tumultuous attempt at converting a siren barmaid, Annie Miller, into a wife, Hunt dedicated himself to religious art. (Though he found time to controversially marry his late wife's sister.)

Hunt had a vivid eye for color and detail. As Hunt grew older, his eyesight grew weaker, leading him to give up painting. He insisted he simply couldn't obtain the quality he aspired to. As Hunt grew older, his beard also grew increasingly unruly. This earns him an instant spot in my continuous thread of beards, joining the ranks of parts one, two, Roy Harper, and Jim Henson. Beardy genius is always coveted.

Though I've gravitated more toward the unapologetic sensuality of Rossetti's work and the stately elegance of Millais', Holman Hunt was the first Pre-Raphaelite I loved. His 1905 interpretation of The Lady Of Shalott hung proudly as the centerpiece of my childhood home. I continue to be spellbound by its vibrant colors and varied patterns.

2011-09-03T18:12:00.000-07:00

2011-08-29T04:58:00.000-07:00

I'm moving to Paris. My endless search for thrills and inspiration will never cease.

Someone recently brought to my attention that maybe I should pack it in, stay in one place, create something with a definitive path. I dwelled upon this thought for a long while. No, I've decided, I don't want that. I want to do everything, all that I desire. In this moment, staying put is the last thing I crave. I want to explore the world. There's so much to do. I think of myself as a shy person, timid and cautious, yet I find myself making these decisions that call for behavior that is all but timid and cautious. I love it. I realised that sometimes you need to update the way you view yourself. I had crystallised a particular vision I had of myself, and upon taking a step back to look at myself, realised much had changed. I'm the type of person who sees something she wants, and gets it. I don't care if its unobtainable, impossible, or out of my reach. I lure it into my reach and capture it. Don't step on people in the process and do things without fuss. Is there any other way to go about things? One must be fiercely determined to get what they're after.

So do everything you dream of. Even if its crazy, impossible, and unrelated to your current life. Write, travel, make friends, go to nice restaurants, eat lots of cake, tell jokes, do something that makes people notice, dance, touch, be there for someone when they need it, drink, talk about stuff you love, do something embarrassing and don't be embarrassed by it, blow kisses, talk, cry, read really good books, meet people you admire, do something you wouldn't normally do, be admired, wear sexy stockings under your dress for no reason, and listen to music.

In two weeks, I'll touch down in London, for a taste of my last chapter before stepping into my next. See you soon, Paris. I know you'll treat me nice.

2011-08-28T23:59:00.000-07:00

I haven't written here in a while. With my final synopsis of my London voyage, I put it all out there, warts and all. From there, I separated myself from the internet. I continued with a collection of flippant 140-character entries, but lost the desire to share everything with everyone. I want to think before I post. This blog particularly, I hope to be a meaningful and concise take on my own adventures and the things that I love.

While this platform has transformed into a sprawling tome of my travels and what I've encountered along the way, lest we forget, it all began as a simple way to express my admiration for music. Its what mattered most then. In the intervening time, much has gone on. From an Argentine summer to uprooting myself to London, this blog has documented every journey. Even still, its always been about music. It somehow instigates every adventure I undertake, creating its own linear timeline. Most memories are punctuated by music, with each song sending me reeling into those back pages.

The remarkable emotion of truly loving a piece of music, or the collection of musicians who crafted it, is unfamiliar to most everyone. The pure and sublime ability to move the listener in a way completely unlike anything else. Some may say its unimportant, they're jaded. Its what leads people to write about it, read about it, photograph it, aspire to play like it, or simply listen to it time and time again. Music is classic. Music is important.

These are the songs that soundtracked my life in London, and other times too. As I listen to this stunning collection of music, I'm reminded of the remarkable ride I was on. Soon I will embark on a new one. Music will accompany me and it will be grand. I expect nothing less.

Ceremony, New Order

Of any song, it is New Order's cinematic debut single that most encapsulates my six months abroad. Mojo did a feature on the early days of New Order, leading to the ambient brilliance of Blue Monday. I transcribed and fact-checked its every word, as the office stereo spun the group's best. I had just come back from a long lunch, as the sun streamed in from New Compton Street. It was one of those blissful sunny days in London, the kind that make everyone gush about the weather. Everything about the day was simple and perfect. Just as I sat down and began to swivel in my office chair, Peter Hook's bass began to throb. As the guitar surged, the song flourished into a textured collage of sounds. Though possessing a sensuous glow that enraptures with every listen, it also carries a coldness, like the air-conditioned studio it was recorded in. From that moment on, Ceremony accompanied many moments. Whether walking to work or touching down on an airport runway in Los Angeles, Ceremony enhanced every minute.

Surf's Up, The Beach Boys

As I palmed through Mojo 60's, reading about Brian Wilson's drug addled demise, I had a sudden urge to listen to the Beach Boys' most underrated album, 1971's Surf's Up. From Feel Flows to 'Til I Die, this forlorn collection of songs is a stirring look at Wilson's decline, as well as the last bout of true greatness from the group. Stemming from the abandoned Smile sessions of 1966 and 1967, it was the lush title track that gathered my attention this go around. In particular, it was the simplistic, fluid way Brian Wilson hummed "Surf's Up/Mmmhmmm, mmmhmmm, mmmhmmm". Those few seconds meant everything during a week of light rain, minimal sunshine, and brisk walks to the train station. I listened to him hum every morning. Its the hum that bridges the gap between Wilson's meditative ballad and the radiant climax of harmonies. It exemplifies the strength in Brian Wilson's vulnerabilities.

Sailor, Steve Miller Band

Though discovered during Mojo's feature on Steve Miller, it wasn't until I was once again living in the USA (horrid pun intended) that Sailor became a favorite. Glyn Johns joined the band once more for their second studio outing. From the haunting unraveling of Song For Our Ancestors, to the revved-up mirth of Living In The USA, this 1968 blues-psych gem proves the early talents of Steve Miller.

Live at Ronnie Scott's, Jeff Beck

A mesmerizing live album and an unyielding testament to the ever-evolving talents of Jeff Beck. Though his peers have surpassed him in success, it is Jeff Beck who is truly the last one standing. I was thoroughly enamoured with this DVD upon its release, and became reacquainted with its album in London. It accompanied many wine weekends and rainy walks through Covent Garden. (The shuffling rhythm and cascading licks of Nadia are perfect for rainy walks.) Showcasing Beck's every strength, from the rugged and barbaric (Stratus), to primitive leads over crunching reggae (Behind The Veil), and elegant and operatic slide (Angel). There's also the added perk of Beck's best live band in recent history, Tal Wilkenfeld and Vinnie Colaiuta.

Pi, Kate Bush

Miss Bush was, of course, featured on the cover of Mojo, which inevitably led to office stereo churning out the staff's favorite KB albums. Whether Aerial was played during that time, I'm unsure, but I certainly played it myself. I rode the train through the south of London, as the atmospheric production of Pi filled my headphones. The morning saw the sun grow brighter and I read the provocative tales of the Pre-Raphaelites. Now months later, Pi brings to mind the vivid saga of the despair of Effie Gray, trapped in an unconsummated marriage with the brilliant but troubled John Ruskin, while falling into an affair with the Pre-Raphaelite premier genius, the dazzling John Everett Millais. As a young woman, Kate Bush possessed the same porcelain elegance and doe-eyed allure of the likes of Effie Gray, Lizzie Siddal, and Jane Morris. To associate her with them seems reasonable.

Miles Davis at Isle Of Wight

I find the grace with which Miles Davis transformed his career to be so awing. To take on such sudden change, with such fluid eloquence, and transition so radically. He leapt from such polar opposite ends of the spectrum, yet each was teeming with brilliance. Despite disappointing his loyal bop fans, he carried through with a pioneering energy as he embraced electricity. His performance at the Isle of Wight is primal and uninhibited. He specialised in pure innovation.

Season Of The Witch, Donovan

Of all rain soaked memories (and because I'm discussing London, its excusable), Season Of The Witch was the most wet. I skipped through Soho, balancing in my heeled boots, watching as others ducked beneath umbrellas. My hair was sopping wet, make-up likely running, as I made my way to the photo lab. I made no attempts to dodge the rain. The smell of it and the cryptic and possessed sounds of Donovan made it too good to pass up.

Cowboy Song, Thin Lizzy

This remains the sound of elation, then and now. The bewitching combination of reminding me of my father and the reissues spinning heavily when I first arrived in London only add to its allure. Though the studio take is sufficiently ballsy, the Live And Dangerous is vital. The rousing rhythm section drives, as the duel guitars ascend. Thrilling. Guitar harmonies excite me generally, especially when they reach such towering octaves. To top it all off, you have the swift segue into The Boys Are Back In Town. Alongside the segue from Sick As A Dog to Nobody's Fault on Aerosmith's Rocks, it is a classic moment in music history. It may have been helped along in the studio, but you can't help but feel like you're witnessing something special.

And it is.

Something About England: What Six Months in London Taught a California Girl

2011-07-25T01:18:00.000-07:00

I've been back in LA for nearly a month.

So there it is. I resided in London for six whole months. I did everything I set out to do. And then some. After this, blogging about it will conclude, so here it is: warts and all.

First, immense thanks to every single person who made it what it was. For them, it was their day to day life. For me, I came expecting adventure, magic, new excitement... I see in hindsight that I was gloriously accommodated. Every box that I had left myself to tick was appeased in a major way. I must keep reminding myself that I'm very, very fortunate.

I also must keep in mind that this journey was frankly a unique one. I left behind everything I knew to carve out a life for myself in an entirely foreign city. I knew literally one person, I had very little bearings of the city, and no definitive plan. It started as a simple holiday, after all.

I never intended for it to become what it did. I suppose I intended to do the things I did, but not in the way I did them. I certainly had a mental check list of things I wanted to accomplish, and was on an eager search to achieve them. Luckily, I fell in with someone who was also in search of something. Some say that people come into your life to serve a particular purpose. Maybe that was true of this encounter. I suppose we pushed each other along, rallying each other to the respective destinations we would happily find ourselves in.

It’s the relationships that I built that stay with me, more than an encompassing affair with a city or even the activities I did there. I suppose what I never illuminated much is that I could very much feel out of my depths. I was surrounded by people I was fond of, that I admired, and whom intrigued me. But they were all virtual strangers to me.

Let's be completely frank. I was dealing with utter lunatics - and they'd all gleefully admit it. Lucky for me, I was bred into lunacy, and am American to boot. Everyone was a bit (or a lot) crazy, 'in their own world', and did little to hide it. I worked in an environment of (as I described it on my last day) 'nit-picky old man stuff'. Yet I identified with this, and understood it. Similarly, around my temporary abode, we randomly shouted nonsense, had terrible nicknames, made animal noises, sang rather than said most things, and were generally obnoxious. I fit right in. My social life was much of the same. Call them lambs, piranhas, what have you... It was all silly encounters, dazzling conversation, and most of all, fun. Really, hats off to the sublime maniacs that I got to know. How boring life would be if all my friends were sane.

For I entered a world that was very much established. People weren't changing. They were guarded, jaded, and settled in their ways. I stood as the opposite - young, impressionable, yet stubborn. I was simultaneously vastly open to change and staunchly against it. Some opinions consistently fluctuated and some never changed. I happily tried to bend over backward, but sometimes felt twisted and bound.

Things were, at times, sticky. But no matter what, I'm happy everything played out as it did. Everyone got what they needed. It was enough. I frequently struggle with that thought. I think instead, if something is great, why not milk it until it’s dry? Likely an American sensibility. But I'm learning there's much wealth in knowing when the time is up. Leave 'em to it. It was enough.

That included entering a work environment. I felt a bit out of touch as I found my footing, but soon, praise trickled in. I felt comfortable. Comfortability is vital to my functioning. I thrived and had 'the initiative to do so.' It was never difficult, because I thoroughly enjoyed doing it. Music, learning, writing, cakes, writing about albums you love, discovering albums you hate, sprawling out on the floor with old copies of Sounds and making a joke out of it, respecting the people you share an office with, cracking the difficult ones, seeing how it all works, interviews, fast-paced events, 40 minute deadlines, going with the flow, and somehow hitting the mark every time. Hugs and kisses to say goodbye and knowing it was all worth it and that it’s far, far from over. It’s the one thing I can look back on and not pick apart. I cherish that immensely.

I learned so much. Not just on the professional front, but about people and how they function with each other. It never fails to intrigue me. But rather than observing, I ended up in the thick of it. I think the common denominator in every person I encountered in their wondrous work ethic. Brilliant, talented professionals, each with their own set of quirks and flaws, pushing at 100% at all times. Most, if not all, took everyone as with them or against them. And thus, expected everyone to travel at such high velocities at every minute they surrounded them. Everyone had I previously known seemed dull, had different interests, and left much to be desired. I was surrounded by people who excited me, stimulated me, and most of all, challenged me. I was reluctant to accept such a challenge, but I do, I do, I do! One once told me, "You have to just blow people's minds." And they all excelled at it in their own little way.

I learned that sometimes, you just need to keep your mouth shut, or 'keep it vague.' A tough one in a realm full of gossip, confidants, and not-to-be-repeated secrets. But alas this is one I'll take with me.

I learned that when surrounded by over-achievers, 'geniuses', hard workers, and high standards, you need to do more than what's asked. In fact, you probably won't even be asked, just do! I'm admittedly no good with this one. I like clear lines, steady direction, given tasks that I can throw myself into. Guessing what pleases people makes me unsure of myself, but this is something that came at me again and again. A lesson worth learning. Noted.

I learned that in order to get what you want, you need to ask, and ask, and ask, and ask a bit more. You need to nag, charm, and do all that you can to sway everything in that direction. People are absorbed in their world, but most respond to determination, passion, and persistence. Even though 'everybody is a wanker until proven otherwise' (I haven't quite gotten behind that philosophy), people do appreciate drive and believe in helping when they can.

The biggest mistake anyone can make is not taking away the lessons their experiences taught them. The world hasn't stopped spinning and life continues despite the fact that I don't work for a magazine every weekday, rendezvous over cake and in cabs, and trot home to make coffee, scan images, and write emails. I can only hope that I left a lasting impression, for I did the best that I could. And from here, it has room to breathe. The only agenda I'm now living on is my own. I've proved to myself that truly anything is possible. I hoped for it, I went after it, I got it. In every way, and the future is too vast for it to be over. So off to my next adventure... More exciting people, more interesting locations, more lessons to be learned!

And note to self, don't you dare ever feel sorry for yourself. You had the best six months that you could ask for! I think sometimes I wanted praise, but maybe it should be enough to give yourself a pat on the back. You did it. Now keep doing it. "That's all you need."

Post-script; Someone once asked me what my ambition was. He presented it as a 'big question' and I drew back, played coy, and I'm not sure that I ever gave him a direct answer. But for the record, my ambition is everything I got and everything I continue to go after. Just a thought.

2011-07-25T01:00:00.000-07:00

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Seven

2011-07-25T00:26:00.000-07:00

I've been back in LA for a month, though it took that month to digest those six. Until now, I haven't really even wanted to think of all that went on. I just wanted to throw myself into other things, namely familiarity and plotting my next move. (You won't be disappointed, I promise.) This post will stand as a celebration of all that happened in London. I've had such wondrous experiences. I could never even articulate the grand times I had. It was such fun. Working with people who knew what they were doing, seeing it all in action. Playing with people who certainly knew how to play. I was shown London from the vantage point of a handful of people who were able to showcase its every asset.

Plentiful work days, late nights, wine weekends, lavish dinners, piranhas, home cooked dinners, photos taken always, generosity, wisdom, constantly being exposed to music, strange encounters whilst in transit, cake for the whole office, being surrounded by intelligent people who were willing to share what they knew, quiet nights in, mentorship, sweets from the corner store, making friends out of strangers, lambs, lots of cake, persistance in every field, and London while the sun shined.

Its a strange thing, walking into a life full of firsts. Luscious city at your feet whenever you wish, fascinating people, stimulating company, creativity appeased, temptation at high volumes. You don't realise how impactful and overwhelming these new situations can be. Its the most exciting sensation. I learned so, so much. I struggled sometimes, to make sense of it all, but I came out all right. I'm also excited by the thought of people coming in and out of your life, unexpectedly but necessarily. I felt more alive than ever. Sometimes it all came over me and I wasn't sure what to do with it all. But even in those moments of vulnerabilities, it was a divine rawness. A starkness. I was feeling it all, ready and willing to let it take me over. I wanted to feel things I had never felt, and experience things I had never experienced. In hindsight, I know I took away from it all that I wanted to. And needed to.

Before departing London, I was sure to visit the Aesthetic Movement exhibition at the V&A, as it was due to close sometime this month. So jarringly beautiful that I did laps around the exhibition, not knowing when I'd ever get to closely devour these masterworks ever again. In terms of art, it was perfect collection of things that moved me. Any art lover who missed it sincerely missed out, and I just knew I had to revisit it before I went. I followed it up with a shopping trip in Knightbridge, which seemed to become a post-V&A habit.

The weekend that followed was a grand one. Hard Rock Calling hit Hyde Park and I filed in on its last day, mostly for a bit of Rod Stewart. Sunshine, tiny shorts, free bar, and good company made for a luscious near-final day. By the time Mr. Stewart took the stage, I was ready to dance. His act itself contained every song you could hope for, but he seemed to put little effort to his performance. He didn't strive for excellence. All was forgiven when Ronnie Wood hopped onstage for Stay With Me and Maggie May. It was genuinely a lovely, lovely day. (Entirely unrelated, here's a bit of Rod by moi for Mojo and grab the McCartney issue before its off the newsstands for more of my contributions!)

Hanging with Mr. Cooper

All did not feel so lovely, lovely the next morning however. My last full day in London was one of my longest, and one of my happiest. After a sluggish morning, I was headed for Mojo. I ran through my morning routine before quickly debunking to Hyde Park once more. This time the occasion was Alice Cooper's Fire And Freaks audition, a search for bizarre vaudeville type acts to support him for his London Halloween show. I was treated to a show of scantily clad women, breathing fire, sauntering around in lingerie, sticking pins in their arms, and taking a angle grider to a guitar. Not quite what one expects Monday afternoon, but my work days were all but typical. I then perched under a tree, where I was joined by Mr. Cooper himself. We chatted about a visit he made to Brian Wilson (in his sandbox piano!) with Iggy Pop in the seventies, he praised Johnny Depp as a guitar player, and he listed off horrid injuries he had suffered onstage. A lovely, soft-spoken yet chatty, fully accommodating interviewee.

It was then back to Covent Garden, where I made the world's best M&S run. I had my arms full of English goodies to take home to LA and was equipped with cake for the Mojo team, something that had become a routine with me and seemed only fitting on my last day. I practically crawled up Wardour Street for a final errand, with the day turning hellishly humid. Back at Mojo, the day ended ever so quickly, as hugs and kisses were abundant. Sincere thank you's were exchanged, as I was ushered to the door, blown kisses trailing my exit.

I probably could have broke down in happy tears right there, but it was on to more goodbyes. Sitting in a park, dying from the heat, reflecting on all that had happened in the last months and where I would end up next. A final cab ride that I didn't have to fight for, squeezes, not saying goodbye, clutching the Evening Standard and catching my train, welling up in tears, as alas, the ride was over.

I was likely Lunatic of Victoria Station, smiling as I cried, because there it was. It all happened. I was happy. It was the right time to close the book on everything. I had done it.

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Six

2011-06-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

So, there's obviously a bit to say. It got to the point where I was overwhelmed by how much has gone on between my last post and this one. But as I'm departing for LA next week, I figured my perspective would change. So I'm making every effort to sum up my journey thus far. Its been a magnificent one. And judging by my current track record, each day is only going to grow more fruitful, more exciting, and further aspirations will unfold each day. Its all quite extraordinary, and seems to only be continuing down that path! I can't see my time in LA as anything but a good thing, for it will not only give me time to further appreciate the glorious adventure these last six months have been - but it also allows me the opportunity to plan for the future. I'm so thrilled to see my family, friends, and bask in the superlative Los Angeles sun. I genuinely feel like the luckiest lady on the planet, for I have such an sumptuous life on either side of the Atlantic. I get to temporarily step out of my life here, knowing that I've literally accomplished everything I was after and I get to come back! I get to saunter back into my life in Los Angeles, experiencing only the very best assets of the city I share a love/hate relationship with. Friendships will resume as if no time has passed and family will be ever present. Life, I can truly say I adore you.

But obviously much has ensued in the last month... I watched the incredible Blu-ray release of Rory Gallagher's Irish Tour '74 and fell a little bit in love with him, his music and his attitude toward it.
Throughout the footage, he just exudes an innate sweetness. I find his devoted workman ethic toward his craft and the fact that he never seemed to be desperately chasing success to be standout feats. He did what he did, he did it well and he was content with that. Still, he never had a wife, long time girlfriend or any children. His devotion led to what one can only perceive as a sadness and loneliness, as he drank himself to oblivion, leading to his untimely death at forty seven.

I also saw Queens of the Stone Age at the Roundhouse, on Josh Homme's birthday. (See next issue of Mojo for my summation of the evening!) Though I can't boast immense knowledge about the Queens, I enjoyed myself immensely. They have a great vibe about them, with Homme successfully riling up the entire audience. The crowd was engaged and having a grand time (some quite actively expressing as much). The band played the entirety of their scorching debut, followed by requests from the audience. Afterward, we debunked to the bar above the Roundhouse. Josh Homme, despite the fact that it was his birthday, was endlessly attentive and, dare I say, tender with every fan that approached him. Finally he whispered "I have to get out of here!" and escaped.

For Mojo, I interviewed the chatty and attentive Jack Steadman of Bombay Bicycle Club, the truly fabulous Nona Hendryx of Labelle (who went above and beyond), and Ben Ottewell of Gomez. Ben and I bantered back and forth about the glory of Led Zeppelin II and his immense praise for Mr. Page. Nona's interview is in the next issue of Mojo, and the others will follow, I imagine.

Also for Mojo, I ventured on a coach through the depths of Surrey for a Ringo event. Mild controversy surrounded the piece I penned for the Mojo website, which I will allow you to judge for yourself. The Mojo staff was fully encouraging, but acted accordingly under the powers that be. Read it here.

You can also read a piece I penned for the Mojo website, on my immense love of Joni Mitchell's Blue. More of the sort will follow. I also got my first contributor credit in this month's issue with Bob Marley on the cover.

Finally, Mojo did a special edition titled Mojo 60's, which I had an active hand in. Its now on sale and you can get it here!

A tale of discovering the Rolling Stones...

2011-06-20T04:59:00.000-07:00

The end of the sixties were a tumultuous time for the Rolling Stones. From drug busts to ill-conceived albums (Their Satanic Majesties Request), the future looked dire for rock and roll’s premier bad boys. 1968 saw them prove their musical strengths with the illuminating Beggars Banquet, but all was not well in the Stones camp. Founder Brian Jones was kicked out of the group and replaced by baby-faced Bluesbreaker Mick Taylor. Soon after, Jones drowned in the pool of his idyllic Cotchford Farm in Sussex. The remarkable Let It Bleed is the sound of the Stones truly getting back on their feet and kicking into high gear.

Before the album’s December 1969 release, the Stones embarked on their first American tour since 1966. Tour manager Sam Cutler took the liberties of declaring the band “the greatest rock and roll band in the world” and nobody disagreed. The benchmark tour became legend, immortalized in the film Gimme Shelter. The release of Let It Bleed at the end of the year further cemented their mythic status. On the same day of the album’s release was the disastrous Altamont Free Concert, during which an eighteen-year-old boy was stabbed, caught on camera for Gimme Shelter.

While Beggars Banquet was the first Stones LP I discovered, Let It Bleed brought on a tidal wave of encompassing Stones obsession. I engulfed myself in the many tales of their wanton lifestyle, as I gleefully boogied to what I now view as their most vibrant, buoyant album.

Let It Bleed is an album that perfectly exposes the raw talent of the Rolling Stones, in the midst of their most creative period. Its also perhaps the first album to capitalize on the raunchy aura that surrounded the band, captured on the sensuous Live With Me, driven by Keith Richards on bass, as well as the title track (“There will always be a space in my parking lot, when you need a little coke and sympathy”).

The cool seduction of Midnight Rambler acts as the album’s centerpiece, though it’s a composition best displayed on the live album that followed Let It Bleed, Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out! The number was taken to tantalizing heights onstage by Mick Taylor, proving that he was certainly the most musically endowed Stone.

Still, it’s the cryptic air of Monkey Man that stands as the album’s gem. The gradual layering of instruments adds excitement and Keith Richards proves himself to be a devil on the guitar, providing jumpy riffs and sensational slide.

The band close the curtain on the sixties with the hymn-like You Can’t Always Get What You Want, their take on love, politics and drugs. Simultaneously conveying optimism and disillusion, the song is the perfect closer to an album that defined an era.

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Five

2011-05-19T16:36:00.000-07:00

Life has been a heady juxtaposition of difficult, exciting and unexpected as of late. So much is coming out of left field and moving forward everyday. To be on your toes is required, but I'm constantly reminded of how much fun I'm having. This was particularly evident when I was away from Mojo for three weeks and I was allowed much time to myself. At first, I frantically worried what I would do with myself without a 10.30 to 6.00 routine. Alas, I fell into a luscious routine. My time away from Mojo coincided with scorching London heat. I would roll out of bed when I fancied, queue up the stereo and lay a blanket down in the back garden. I'd settle with a good book (then: a captivating tale of Dante Gabriel Rossetti's doomed wife and muse, Lizzie Siddal... now: a far more comprehensive take on all of the Pre-Raphaelites' private lives. So fascinating!), a bit of sparkling wine, some fruit, said fruit in said wine! I'd lounge in the garden until the sun dissolved, sometimes earlier to jet off for a museum wander, cinema experience or a bite to eat. I would write throughout the night and when the stars emerged, I'd debunk to the garden once more. This time equipped with my iPhone and the truly awing app Star Walk (thank you JP), I would admire the constellations that loomed above me. The accuracy of the map, the vastness of the sky and the stillness of the night were all quite inspiring and humbling. The nights were sometimes graced with thunderstorms and summer rain, which I love. I left the door to the house open and I basked in the smell of the rain hitting the garden - a most intoxicating scent. After my starry adventures, I'd typically curl up next to the fire, watching films like Manhattan, Charade or Miles Davis at Isle of Wight.

I visited the Imperial War Museum, intrigued by the Holocaust exhibition. Its eloquently put together, with the incredible Nazi outfits on display. I found this fascinating, because at the very least, they did get military regalia right. What I found most unsettling when the endless tales of Jews who died or went missing, with personal stories featured throughout the exhibition. A dress worn by a girl as she attempted to escape the Nazis, a full scale model of the Auschwitz concentration camp and a glass case full of burnt shoes were all a bit much for me, however. I quickly cascaded through the museum’s chronology of war, from World War II to Iraq, as I felt quite a desire for fresh air. It was quite heavy within those walls, as depressing as it is insightful and illuminating.

I thought my lush daily routine would continue, until I was summoned by Mojo to visit Libertines land. The band were premiering their Roger Sargent directed documentary, There Are No Innocent Bystanders. I went to the Troxy in East London (not my favorite part of London!) for the East End Film Festival’s opening night. To be frank, the film focused around a load of pretentious idiots, mumbling around East London, attempting to convince the audience of how influential and all mighty they are. I wasn’t convinced. The hoard of hobnobbing Londoners wasn’t my scene in the slightest, with everyone strutting about. I loathe the Libertines, I loathe their whole schtick and I loathe the idea of anyone falling for it. I left the flurry of booming music, alcohol and mingling folk almost immediately after the film had concluded.

The royal wedding came and went without much fuss on my part. Public transportation was hellish that morning, but other than that, I had free wine in Mayfair then went book shopping at Hatchards in Piccadilly. The sun was shining and it was a grand afternoon.

There was also a lacklustre visit to the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery. Have I gushed about the Cult of Beauty exhibition at the V&A? I must! Though touted as an exhibition of the Aesthetic movement, it highlights the Pre-Raphaelites in a phenomenal way, showing the respective movements’ connection to each other. The entire exhibition truly defines ‘beauty’ and I find myself very much in tune with the era’s definition of beauty. The billowing gowns, the flowing hair, cherub faces, elegance and grace in spades. The inclusion of furniture and other various aesthetically pleasing pieces of the era completely enhanced the experience. It was one of the great exhibitions, inducing a buzz, leaving you in awe and walking out utterly inspired. (It helps that the adjoining bookshop is done up nicely!) I couldn’t recommend it more.

Ice cream at the V&A.

Alas, after I’d spent an afternoon wandering Christies with Halfin and Page, we assembled for lunch and, amidst conversation, I enthused to Jimmy about the Cult of Beauty (as we’ve previously discussed our shared interest in the Pre-Raphaelites). He suggested we skip over to the V&A, as we were five minutes away. Still, we were too late! The exhibition had closed for the evening, so we toured the museum and the bookshop, exchanging anecdotes about art, gossip of the era and what we like. My kind of day.

The Midnight Special.

2011-05-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

At Mojo, I have the illuminating task of perusing video clips, culling from my own taste to whip up something suitable for the Mojo reader. I call upon all of my favorites (as spell check tells me, "favourites!"), including diving through the lofty archives of The Old Grey Whistle Test. Last week led me to another vast catalog(ue) of seventies greatness... The Midnight Special. On this side of the ocean, The Old Grey Whistle Test was lapped up feverishly, as was Don Kirshner's Rock Concert and Midnight Special in the States. Running from 1973 to 1981, the series was created and produced by Burt Sugarman, airing on NBC after The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. Sugarman had the distinct pleasure (at least that's what I'd call it!) of being engaged to Ann-Magret in 1962, and produced Celebrity Sweepstakes and The Richard Pryor Show. Still, its his ninety minute musical variety program which I most covet. Named after the traditional folk song, most famously interpreted by Leadbelly, with the show's theme a 1965 Johnny Rivers version of the classic. Music programs had traditionally seen acts lip-sync to prerecorded music, or record live vocals over prerecorded tracks. Midnight Special boasted live performances from a dizzying list of acts, spanning genres while perfectly capturing an era. To even attempt to illustrate Midnight Special's illustrious history would be a task, but I've scoured YouTube for a few of my favourites.

1974 was a make it or break it year for Aerosmith. They had recorded their sophomore release, Get Your Wings, and set off to the road. By 1975, with the release of Toys in the Attic, Aerosmith were a full-blown success story. 1974 saw them striving to reach that point and this clip shows them in action. The band look sensational (Joe Perry's tanned chest, adorned with a bedazzled jean jacket and drug paraphernalia dangling from his neck!) and the performance, while a condensed version of the song, shows why they became what they did.

Though I don't find this particular performance terribly stimulating, the extreme effectiveness of Marvin Gaye's creative output is undeniable. Ed O'Brien of Radiohead and I recently bonded over the incredible, unrivalled brilliance of What's Going On, and just a few weeks ago, I called up Let's Get It On to wind me down after a heady work day. However, what makes this a clip of note is its kitschy allure. The bedazzled jean jumpsuit (taking a page out of Joe Perry's book on the bedazzled jean?) and the leisure-suited backing singers leave me indebted to seventies fashion and the Midnight Special for immortalising such magic.

Though Lowell George's untimely death occurred just two years after this clip was recorded, the Feats are undeniably caught in their prime here. 1969 to 1979 was an incredible time for the band, particularly Lowell George... Better yet, here they're joined by Emmylou Harris (who doesn't seem certain on the words, but flails her arms enthusiastically to overcompensate), Bonnie Raitt and Robbie Robertson protege Jesse Winchester.

In the vein of pretty ladies who can croon, 1973 saw Linda Ronstadt hit Midnight Special with a shattering rendition of Long, Long Time. I've always felt the country-tinged ballads were the best showcases of her vocal capability in her early career, when she so frequently immersed herself in spunky covers and Eagles-esque "country rock".

Oh... JB, JB, JB. Wolfman Jack gives a glowing introduction to the man himself and accurate it damn well is. This performance does not even come close to encapsulating the near manic energy of a great James Brown performance (I would slay to see the man in his day), but the combination of James Brown and Midnight Special is particularly grand. Follow this up with a savage YouTube/James Brown party, as I just did.

Here the Faces tackle Rod's solo hit You Wear It Well. He and Ronnie Wood do a bit of endearing gymnastics, but still, if I'm not mistaken, this is the last Faces concert. It does succeed in capturing the band's primal yet infectious attitude. Don't you totally want to party with the Faces? Except maybe Tetsu?

I have such an affinity for crazed and simultaneously genius musicians. Sly Stone lives that stereotype to a T. This is 1973, he has not even reached his full wild potential, but when he breaks into devious laughter and mindless mumbles, you know you're getting the full Sly experience. The strange similarities between Sly and Jimmy Page's dress sense are just dawning on me. Sparkly cosmic goodness.

I love blatantly dated video clips. Next up, Playboy After Dark?

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Four

2011-04-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

Goodness fucking gracious, my life is incredible. As my last bout of updates briefly dove into, its occasionally overwhelming being here. So much I want to accomplish and a limited amount of time to get it all done. But I've been over the moon as of late, taking care to be extra appreciative of my current predicament. I've gotten everything I hoped for, and then some! I suppose in some ways I've become so used to the way my life is, that I forget how far I've actually come. Something clicked in me yesterday. I was walking up a flight of stairs, swiftly turned, caught something out of the corner of my eye, and wham! I realised every little aspect of my life is something I didn't have before, and that I wanted so very deeply. Now here it all is... And I am beyond indebted to a few that have made it utterly possible. As I said, my life is incredible, and I'm steadily having phenomenal experiences and fostering magnificent acquaintances. I'm getting to see life from such an interesting and unique perspective. I'm surrounded by people who are far from my peers, which takes on an otherworldly quality. I'm certainly not having typical experiences. I wish I could say it seemed odd or unusual, or that I struggle to behave properly, but I really feel remarkably... comfortable. Secure, not always, but comfortable, yes. I'm just... happy. And so very content. Also knowing that every step further that I take is because of my own hard work and my own merit feels inexplicably WONDERFUL. I have one foot in the door and I am clawing my way to the other side. As I said before, sometimes I wonder how I'll do it all, but so frequently I'm overcome with this resounding sense that everything will work out. And I believe it, and I'm instantly put at ease. It will all work out because it has to and I'll relentlessly keep going until it does. And yet, in some many ways, it already has. This is what I need to remember in times of distress. I just need to remember that the harder a goal is to obtain, the greater the reward. Its a matter of not being put off by the struggles and defiantly truck through them. And I damn well will. I've already gotten so much that I aspired toward. In a way, I've gotten everything I wanted. I just want it all to last and continue forever. That's the fire beneath me at the moment.

A vital part of all of this is coming into the fold at Mojo magazine. Within days of arriving in the office, I was sent out to interview the charmingly well-trained Sir Cliff Richard, the erratic yet professional David Gest and the very soft-spoken Lamont Dozier. The unlikely trio were promoting Cliff's as yet unrecorded soul album, executive produced by David, including songs written by Lamont. I watched as the media frenzy unfolded, including David Gest placing his hand firmly upon a television host's head, and proclaiming that he was going to 'save' him, in proper religious grandeur. He then launched into a rant, with the word 'circumcision' thrown in for good measure. If nothing else, you can say that David Gest knows how to play the game. As I waited for the gang to be assembled for our interview, I sat next to the genuinely dazzling Freda Payne. (Pushing seventy and is an utter babe.) As David Gest approached, he took Freda's phone from her, as she spoke to her boyfriend. They laughingly caught up, as David made jokes regarding Freda's breasts (again, utter babe) and passed him on to Lamont, "one of the few men in this business Freda hasn't slept with." Soon after, I was sandwiched into a booth, with Cliff to my left and David's lavish fur-lined coat brushing against my right. Cliff oozed professionalism, speaking calmly and attentively answering every question. When I asked if he ever thought himself to be a rebel, he replied humbly, "I just love to sing." I said to him, "But you were too sexy for television!" He swiftly reminded me, "I still am!" As David commented on Cliff's soulfulness, Cliff quietly began singing. So yes, add 'Being serenaded by Cliff Richard' as another experience I've had. Lamont Dozier was immensely quiet, and I took care to tell him so! I must admit, of all of them, I was most in awe of Mr. Dozier. He has penned endless classics, which hold a great deal of resonance to me. I enjoyed such a generally bizarre encounter, and can assure you that whatever they whip up will be... interesting, at the very least.

Mojo 210 with the Ramones on the cover. New issue out this week. Kate Bush on the cover in the UK, Black Keys in the US. My slave work is deeply engrained in both issues and I encourage you to go pick them up!

Life at Mojo continued including me learning everything you could ever possibly want to know about the Black Keys, being exposed to new music by the minute, discovering shopping-while-on-lunch-break (a dangerous feat when you work in Covent Garden!), spontaneously buying cupcakes for the entire office (possibly prompted by free champagne on my lunch break...), and becoming endowed with New Order knowledge on a similar Black Keys level. I've swindled my way into the very fortunate position of seeing a magazine take shape each month and witnessing every tiny detail that goes into it. I've become involved in the process and there is honestly no better spot for me. In an office, littered with salt and pepper hair, teeming with knowledge, and oh I just want to soak it all up. The most sensational people have entered my life in the last four months and I just never want to leave.

Most recently, I had the great pleasure of covering an informal gathering of the FAC, that being the "Featured Artist Coalition". I was introduced to the very friendly and attentive Dave Rowntree of Blur, with whom I chatted for quite a while. Propped on a spacious balcony off Tottenham Court Rd, He eagerly answered every inquiry and we had quite the laugh, giggling about a mutual friend. Dave introduced me to Nick Mason, of Pink Floyd, of course. I must say, I was quite jazzed at the prospect of meeting Mr. Mason. He did a proper job of appeasing me, then fled off into the night! Next up was Sandie Shaw, towering in her magnificent high heels, legs bared. A bit shaky at first, even apologising to me, as she nursed a plastic cup of wine. Following the conclusion of our interview, Sandie petted my fur coat. She purred, "Is this real mink? You're so cute. I was cute once. I'm not now, but you are. Have you met Ed? You must met Ed! He's absolutely gorgeous!" Ed, of course, being Ed O'Brien of Radiohead. Sandie quickly grabbed me by the hand and we swanned inside to meet 'gorgeous' Ed. Ed was polite, chatty and utterly charming. He apologised for being 'talked out' and still fulfilled my every request. A lovely gent and a lovely night.

Also, my glorious friend Brian Wheat, the manliest looking one in the above photo, has a new song out and an album to follow! Known predominately as the bass player in Tesla, Brian also slinks around on bass with his other group, Soulmotor. Below is the video for their number, Down in Mexico. The Coasters, they are not, but sensuous no less!

What goes on:

2011-04-21T17:44:00.000-07:00

I wish so desperately that this was bigger, because I am digging your jumpsuit (and accompanying camel toe), JB.

There It Is, James Brown, 1972
For my commute to work every morning, I strive for music that is uptempo and as funky as can be. My favorite album for the past few weeks has been James Brown's There It Is, with the title track serving as my main inspiration. Its by far one of the most exciting ways to commence an album. My ringtone is currently 3:43-4:00 of this song, but it doesn't have quite the same effect without all the build-up leading to it, for you need to hear as the band ascends and ultimately climaxes in a frenzy of grooves. The band just gels so perfectly, with the rhythm and horns married so brilliantly. For the record, not wiggling a bit to this number while waiting for the tube is a task indeed.

I was going to go for a photo of a younger, more suave Johnny Otis, but this remarkable combination of leisure suit, beard and dated sunglasses suits the mood. Thanks to the watermark we also know this originates from Wolfgang's Vault, because who doesn't want a Johnny Otis lobby card?!

Country Girl, Johnny Otis, 1969
This lost funk gem is another current favorite. Otis and his teenage guitar prodigy of a son, Shuggie, come together for thick and raunchy funk at its greatest. With just enough soul and blues integrated into the groove and the obligatory sexual innuendos, I'm desperately in need of more songs of this variety. Funk, humor, grit... Much coveted.

David Ruffin (or as I will so adoringly call him, 'homie with the glasses') was obviously the most swaggering of all the Temptations.

Get Ready, The Temptations, 1966
Equipped with soul, funk, and palatial harmonies, the Temps are my kind of group. Their brilliance comes as a surprise to no one. Still, the revved up nature of Get Ready instantly sets a pace once it begins. The shuffling rhythm combined with their radiant vocals manages to showcase their best assets in under three minutes. Its also the last song Smokey Robinson ever penned for the Temps. Though I enjoy the Norman Whitfield compositions of post '66, its a damn shame Smokey didn't come back for more.

Completely out of date and irrelevant? Yes. Greased up and topless, therefore utterly worth posting? Also yes. Makes me cringe a little, I hope to make others equally uncomfortable.

Early Sunday Morning, Isaac Hayes, 1971
Isaac Hayes, or as my brother fondly recalls him, Chef from South Park's magnum opus, Shaft, a gritty soundtrack of the blaxploitation (let us quickly be awed that spell check does indeed identify that as a real word!) variety. The album is heralded as Hayes' crowning glory, despite his laborious years as the premier songwriter (along with David Porter) at Stax. My chosen number off Shaft came to me rather randomly. With my iTunes on shuffle, as I applied my make-up in the hazy pre-work morning hours, out comes Early Sunday Morning. Its lush, cinematic and moody tone instantly turned the flick of my mascara wand into a subtly magical moment. iTunes so cleverly followed this up with Sally's Tomato, off Henry Mancini's Breakfast at Tiffany's score. Another stroke of soft lensed cinematography brilliance.

Let us please note, in nearly every Al Green photo, he has his eyebrow cocked with the ultimate come hither stare. In every photo! I'm beginning to think that's how his face is. Still, I went for the most suggestive.

L-O-V-E, Al Green, 1975
Al Green, you foxy, foxy fool. Al Green's body of work is something I only occasionally dip my toes into - one of those acts where you have to dalliance moderately, as to not too swiftly soak up the splendor. An Al Green craving came upon me the other day and this track immediately appeased it. It just has that infectious, explosive energy that I love, especially when the back-up singers chime in on the chorus. Al Green boasts soul and passion in spades and churns it out with effortless cool. This is the type of song they tag at the end of romantic comedies, as the screen fades out on the happy couple conclusively in love. But! There's a reason for that. Its elated charm would have the desired effect of you bouncing out the cinema, feeling gleefully (read: nonsensically) optimistic yourself!

There's also a few things I'm rapidly becoming well-versed in (Whoa, discovering the Black Keys and New Order simultaneously via working on their interviews for Mojo) that will call for writing once it feels more lived in. I can also say the new albums by Cults, Beastie Boys and My Morning Jacket are respectively incredible.

Oh and a perhaps regrettable post-script... I did a Q&A quite some time ago and have since (especially since being in London) received quite a few more, ranging from "What are you doing, and how?" to "What's your guilty pleasure?" and "What shade is your lipstick?"I try to respond to them all as they come, but as there are a handful that are endlessly repeated, perhaps another Q&A post is necessary? So send more my way, if that's of any interest, and we'll see what rallies together... michelleyoshinoberry@gmail.com

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Three

2011-04-09T20:08:00.000-07:00

Its been nearly a month since I wrote my last installment of London updates... Oops. Life is moving so fast. It overwhelms me at times. I simultaneously try to savor it, yet make sense of it. Everything I hoped for, I'm steadily receiving. Its the sensation of trying to hang on to it all and make it sustaining that frazzles the mind occasionally. Still, all it takes its a ray of sunlight, a particularly brilliant piece of music, or an exciting correspondence to snap me back into the moment and make me fully appreciate how wonderful it all really is. I always said, "If you can dream it, you can be it..." Oh, how true it is! But when a dream reveals itself to be a real, living task that you're now actively participating in, you think, "Wait! I didn't dream this far!" So, here I am, rolling with the punches in the city I dreamed of, in the line of work I dreamed of, surrounded by the people I dreamed of. Give us a pinch.

So, right! Over a month ago (sorry!), I attended Jeff Beck's private screening of his new DVD, Rock 'n' Roll Party: Honoring Les Paul at the British Music Experience inside the O2. We took a boat from Westminster Pier and who should be on the boat other than Ronnie Wood and his lady friend Ana! After introductions and a bit of chatter, we arrived at the O2. Everyone immediately began posing for Halfin's camera. I was warmly greeted by Mr. Beck, whom took my hand and laid on a sloppy kiss. Ronnie nibbled on a burger (or two...) and Jeff cracked into booze that was hidden away. He and his lovely wife Sandra cuddled up for Halfin's camera, as Jeff exclaimed to me, "His shots are amazing! I could be doing this [sticks finger in nose] and they'd still look great!" By the time the showing had commenced, Beck was in a liquor-induced fit of giggles. He was seated directly behind me and by far the best part of the evening was his running commentary - excitably noting which numbers he enjoyed and enthusing whenever another performer was particularly hot. The DVD itself is a stunning tribute to the talents of Les Paul, with Beck perfectly capturing the sweet tones of his recordings with Mary Ford. Rockabilly chanteuse Imelda May handles Ford's vocal parts, innovative vocal layering et al. Still, I didn't feel May's vocals were well-suited for Ford's vocals. However, she delivered scorching performances on bawdier numbers, like the Shangri-La's "Remember (Walking in the Sand)", which includes an inspired guitar intro by Beck - a standout moment of the film. A night for the books, topped off with a free Worn Free Jeff Beck tee shirt, thanks to Harvey Goldsmith. When Sandra saw the tee shirt, she exclaimed, "Jeff still has the original!"

With Gustavo, another Halfin character...

Backstage at Dingwalls, Foo Fighters soundcheck.

The excitement only continued as the Foo Fighters hit London, beginning with a bash at BAFTA to celebrate their new film. The following day, we rode from Soho to Camden, where they holed up for a vibrant three hour set at Dingwalls. I can't say I'm a massive Foos fan, though their existence has certainly been noted. (The Learn to Fly video evokes pre-pubescent memories.) However, their live presence was phenomenal. Dave Grohl, besides being an incredibly nice guy, is a killer frontman. The energy between the 300 or so people crammed into the venue was infectious, as Grohl sufficiently revved everyone up. Though they indulgently played their whole new album (yawn...), their remaining two hours were a blistering, endless cycle of songs that everyone knew. It was everything a rock show should be and, despite not adoring nor despising the Foos, it was an inspiring experience and reminded me just why the power of music carried me over an ocean. This was followed by an all-nighter at Bungalow 8, surrounded by the scantily attired and the wheelchair adorned? Oh yes. Never short of a sight.

And that's all for now, as I must save a few stories! Until next time...

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part Two

2011-03-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Material for this column is developing faster than I can write it! Every single day spent in this city brings new excitement and stories for the books. Still, I'm continuing to back track and get it all up to date, so off we go!

Shooting for the current cover of Guitar World, I assisted Ross Halfin on a shoot with Jeff Beck. I am certainly a fan, and though I had seen him on my last jaunt in London, this was first time we were formally introduced. And I could not say lovelier things about the man... As he walked in, I was amazed by his understated presence. No air about him, no frills at all... As he posed with his newly repainted Strat, he fiddled with the strings. I grinned behind my hands and thought of how jealous my dad would be in that moment... Intimately jamming and "shooting the shit", as they say. He was noticeably uncomfortable at the beginning at the shoot, but he eventually grew relaxed. It was incredible how once he got comfortable and hit the right poses, he just looked like such a star. All of a sudden, there was a presence about him - that certain quality just emanated from him. We posed for photos and he blew me a kiss on his way out the door, as I sipped my tea. Its wonderful when people are exactly how you'd like them to be. Though a bit shy, once comfortable and among friends, Jeff Beck is warm, gracious and funny. As lovely a man as he is a guitar player.

The evening was topped off by more memorable viewing, which led Ross to tell me, "I think you need to go to bed, you're having too fun of a day." Indeed. I went to bed feeling utterly giddy.

Life in London continued on with Anita Pallenberg sightings in Mayfair when in a cab to YSL, getting ridiculously excited any moment the sun is out, watching unreleased footage of amazing bands and trying not to smile like an idiot, wandering around museums, when the sun streams into the kitchen and music is blasting, using the Small Faces as a marvelously effective "getting dressed up to go out" soundtrack, memorable nights out including visits to enchanting locations and conversation worth remembering. The gang temporarily debunked to America and I made a quick visit to my homeland, Los Angeles, but I must admit it only made me appreciate London more upon arriving...

Just a few days after arriving back in London, a lovely collection of people gathered at the Charlotte Street Hotel to sign Sojourner: Ross Halfin Travels. Mister Halfin himself, the always dashing Mister Page, the endlessly charming Baron Wolman, Catherine and Nick Roylance of Genesis Publications, always witty Kaz, and the subtly hilarious Dave Brolan. Such extraordinary company! It was wonderful to be surrounded not only by people I've come to know well, but also by people who are so incredible at the jobs they do. I looked around and thought, "Every single one of these people are absolutely brilliant at what they do." Instead of feeling intimidated or insuperior, I felt so damn proud. I want to soak up every ounce of it and glean all that I can. After a remarkable dinner, shared apple strudel, and a bit of jasmine tea, we even spotted Martin Sheen, in town for one reason or another. Such a wondrous evening... Should be more like it.

Until next time... With tales of interviewing Sir Cliff Richard, David Gest and Lamont Dozier to boot!

A lengthy, comprehensive piece on the Faces I can't be bothered to think of a witty title for.

2011-03-12T16:17:00.000-08:00

"You fancy comin' over and we'll have a little play?" said bassist Ronnie Lane, as he nervously propositioned a jam to Ron Wood. Lane was uncertain and directionless, as he and fellow Small Faces, Kenney Jones and Ian McLagan, had recently been abandoned by Steve Marriott. After combining pop, rock and roll and psychedelia, Steve Marriott grew tired of being viewed as a "pop star". He'd wasted no time in teaming up with The Herd's Peter Frampton, drummer Jerry Shirley, and Spooky Tooth bassist Greg Ridley, to create the bluesy, soulful sounds of Humble Pie.

Ron Wood, a fan of the Small Faces, was distraught to hear that the band, without the presence of Marriott, had dissolved. Though Lane was a stranger to him, Wood acquired his phone number and expressed his disappointment over the band's inactivity. Wood gladly took up the offer to play, though the shy and unfamiliar duo played with their backs to each other. Soon, Wood and the remaining Small Faces began rehearsing in a warehouse in South London owned by the Rolling Stones. Ronnie Lane was a close friend of Ian Stewart, pianist and Stones roadie, who allowed them to occupy the warehouse rent-free. They were occasionally joined by other London musicians of the day, but it quickly became evident that the core group was made up of Wood on guitar, Jones on drums, Lane on bass, and McLagan on keys. Wood, still involved with the Jeff Beck Group as a bassist, brought along the group's vocalist. In walked a young Steve Marriott devotee, with rooster hair and burgeoning confidence. He was called Rod Stewart and he wasn't allowed past the top of the stairs. Frightful of recruiting another egotistical singer with dreams of going solo, the group only allowed Stewart to listen from the control room. Though, in due time, Stewart was eventually invited to join them. Suddenly, their buoyant, spontaneous jams were serious business. It may have taken two men to fill the void left by the explosive Steve Marriott, but Wood and Stewart, armed with their experiences as blues rock matriarchs in the Jeff Beck Group, were well-equipped for the job. After a formal invitation was extended to Stewart, the Small Faces became the Faces and history was ready to be made.

By the time the Faces emerged from the Bermondsey Street basement, their identity was formed: a sublime juxtaposition of jovial debauchery, drenched in raw rhythm and blues. A liquor-laden band, they were never short of a laugh, but always capable of crafting soul-stirring music. They soon set about capturing this air of merriment on record. Their self-produced debut album, entitled First Step, was released on Warner Brothers Records in March of 1970. More focused on capturing a vibe than documenting precision, the album is not their strongest effort. Still, standout tracks include the first of many Ronnie Lane penned ballads, "Devotion," and the boisterous "Three Button Hand Me Down", boasting Lane's sensational bass playing. Also featured is "Around the Plynth", a rewritten take on the Jeff Beck Group classic "Plynth", laden with invigorating slide guitar from Wood. "Flying", with its slow buildup, paints a clear portrait of each musician's strength - with the bass high in the mix, glowing organ, tasteful guitar, powerful drumming, and Stewart's ever-raspy nodes, rhapsodizing with gospel backing vocals, courtesy of his can-do-all band mates. The interplay between Ron Wood's sky-scraping slide and Ian McLagan's luminous organ end the track on a high note.

The following year, 1971, was a grand one for the Faces. The beginning of the year saw the release of Long Player, also self-produced. While haphazardly compiled, the album sufficiently captures the magnificently frisky and lively aura that emanates from their music. The vivid, warm and playful "On the Beach" excels at just that. "Richmond,' Lane's lilting ode to the verdant London town, showcases the serene and sensitive songwriting he did so well. Occupying a large portion of Long Player is a take on Big Bill Broonzy's jiving classic "I Feel So Good," a perfect depiction of their enthralling stage presence and heavy audience participation.

Also released that year, was Rod Stewart's third solo album, Every Picture Tells a Story. With the Faces' musicianship featured heavily throughout, it boasts their trademark spirited and careening sway. The accidental hit single "Maggie May," originally included as a B-side to the Tim Hardin penned "Reason to Believe," made Stewart a coveted solo act. Though this feat would conclude in the group's untimely demise, they continued to go from strength to strength in 1971.

They concluded the year with the release of their strongest studio effort, and by far the most
successful, A Nod Is as Good as a Wink... To a Blind Horse. Of their four studio releases, A Nod Is as Good as Wink... is surely the most eloquently compiled, feeling more like a consummate album than its two predecessors. This is perhaps due to the aid of Glyn Johns, their first co-producer. In addition to their rousing hit anthem "Stay with Me," the album contains the humor and charm of Ronnie Lane on "You're So Rude," a forlorn look at romance with "Love Lives Here," and the brilliant closer, "That's All You Need". A true Ronnie Lane gem, "Debris," also shines. When Lane harmonizes with Stewart, the song reaches a superlative moment. Though Rod Stewart is noted as one of the finest vocalists in rock and roll and beyond, Lane's ethereal composition stands up remarkably. Rounding out the album's highlights is "Too Bad," a jaunty rock and roll number complete with boogie woogie piano, inviting group vocals, and a driving groove. The album comprehensively captures the band's energy, acting as the greatest studio documentation of the band's musicianship and enchantingly playful atmosphere.

Though 1971 was a peak year for the Faces, the following year was not quite as successful. Despite touring extensively and receiving enthusiastic reception, Rod Stewart's focus on his next solo outing, Never a Dull Moment, resulted in growing tension within the band. His solo success was beginning to eclipse the band's own success, with the album's lead single "You Wear It Well" becoming a hit on both sides of the Atlantic. Never a Dull Moment would be the last Rod Stewart album to feature every member of the Faces.

The band returned to the studio for 1973's Ooh La La. Stewart had grown increasingly distant from the group now being listed in concert as "Rod Stewart and the Faces," a moniker that became a bane to the other members of the band. Plagued by his frequent absence, the album's recording was held together by the presence of producer Glyn Johns and the talent of Ronnie Lane. The album's opener "Silicone Grown," co-written by Stewart and Wood, conveys the uptempo vitality Stewart simply could not achieve on his own. "Cindy Incidentally," an infectiously grooving pop song, provides a highlight of the band's recording career. While the wistful hymn of love "If I'm Late on the Side" combines the tender songwriting skills of Lane and Stewart's own romanticism. Still, it is Lane on his own that shines most. The delicate and soothing "Glad and Sorry," coupled with the endearingly tranquil "Just Another Honky" demonstrate his preeminent song-crafting abilities. Drawing the curtain of the band's recording career is the perfectly quaint title track, with a charmingly flawed vocal performance by Ron Wood. His brusque yet sprightly delivery represent the ravishing dichotomy that defined the Faces: boozy but never sloppy, limitlessly frisky but always on it musically. "Ooh La La" captures their playful, relatable allure - with no help from Stewart, mind you.

Though it took the Faces essentially two years to disband after the release of Ooh La La, their respective interests were clearly rooted elsewhere. Ronnie Lane left the group in 1973, beginning a solo career the following year. He was replaced by Tetsu Yamauchi, on the suggestion of Free's Simon Kirke. 1974 saw the release of Ron Wood's I've Got My Own Album to Do, the title a jab at Rod Stewart's lack of interest in the Faces, and Stewart's critically panned Smiler. As Stewart became further infatuated with pop music and America, Wood was becoming closely acquainted with the Rolling Stones, with Keith Richards taking up residence in his guest house. The Faces continued to tour, with a lacklustre live album entitled Coast to Coast released early in the year. Though they dabbled in the studio, accompanied by Yamauchi for the first time, it resulted in just one single. Their final offering, "You Can Make Me Dance, Sing or Anything," was released in November of 1974, with "As Long As You Tell Him" as a B-side.

The Faces toured America twice in 1975, with Wood carrying on guitarist duties for the Rolling Stones between tours. December of 1975 saw Stewart announcing the end of the Faces, unbeknownst to his hardly nonplussed band mates. A prospective Faces tour was canceled, with Stewart taking up residency in America with the new beauty on his arm, Britt Ekland. Wood became a full time member of the Rolling Stones, becoming predominately a rhythm guitarist, with his distinctive skill as a lead guitarist being forgotten. While Ronnie Lane became a modest solo act, before being stricken with multiple sclerosis. His illness prompted the star-studded ARMS concerts in 1983, bringing together such luminaries as Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, and Eric Clapton in London and across America. Following the death of Keith Moon, Kenney Jones acted as his replacement in the Who from 1979 to 1982. Ian McLagan frequently appeared with the Rolling Stones and continues to carry on a successful career as a session musician. The various guises worn by each of the Faces may near exceed the music itself in levels of notoriety, but their succeeding work is frankly dull when compared to the magic concocted by the Faces.

Though they were only active for six years and released just four studio albums, for such a group of raw talent, the Faces stand as the greatest testament to their respective talents. Influencing bands as diverse as the Sex Pistols (Glen Matlock got the gig as bassist after performing Lane's remarkable contribution to "Three Button Hand Me Down"), the Replacements, Oasis, and Pearl Jam, their remarkable imprint on rock and roll has not been forgotten. Their recent reunions, even with Simply Red singer Mick Hucknall in the place of Rod Stewart, were warmly received. They could do it all, from soul serenades to boogie rave-ups, and they did it adorned with five sloppy grins. Their joyous and swaggering bravado coupled with their freewheeling, reckless spirit remain timelessly charming. Along with their underrated musicianship, you have the perfect recipe for a sublime rock and roll band. And they were.

Something About England: A California Girl in London... Part One

2011-03-06T13:37:00.000-08:00

When I entered this glorious city for only the second time, on the eve of the new year, I was expected only to stay for a month. Once given a taste of a life one could only dream of, I knew I had to stay as long as I could. I had intended to write a wrap-up of every spellbinding adventure upon returning home to Los Angeles, but now, I'll be damned if I do return on a permanent basis. Still, it would be criminal for me to not document what is shaping up to be a fascinating time of my life. Its my coming of age, its my dreams coming true... Its everything this blog was ever supposed to lead to. These things must be documented. So, I'm trawling through photos, Twitter updates, and the like, which document what a dizzying whirlwind of magic these past two months have been. Things are only going up from here... And I plan on writing about every moment of it.

From strolling through museums - bursting with knowledge and brimming with charm, to drinks in Soho and dinners in the West End... Ringing in the new year, celebrating my birthday... Coming home as the sun comes up, trekking across muddy Hampstead Heath at 6am, as festivities only begin to ensue... Introducing Indian cuisine to my appetite, sitting cross-legged on the floor reading every old issue of Rolling Stone in leather-bound form... Bites, lambs and piranhas, new music entering my realm constantly... Running into Noel Fielding in Soho, transatlantic Pet Sounds dance marathons via video chat, meeting Monsieur Page for coffee, Bungalow 8 nights, decadent cab rides through London at the break of dawn... Those magnificently frequent moments of realising everything is as I dreamt it and I am so. fucking. happy.

Richard Thompson at the Royal Festival Hall, 18th of January
Thompson, while a phenomenal guitar player with an ever-distinctive tone, tends to meander. Though his songs carry a wondrous mood, quite sensuous and romantic, they contain no substance. Unfortunately, the songs I found pleasurable a few minutes in were then extended far too long, and made boring. His band were sublime, each taking a solo on the amorous "Al Bowlly's in Heaven", but again... Those solo, for the most part, tended to stray. Thompson also made the distinct error of playing his entire new album as the first half in a two-part set. Can I just say, I loathe when acts do this. Still, all in all, my respect for Thompson swelled after the show, I would just advise tidying up his live act...

Thin Lizzy at Hammersmith Apollo, 23rd of January
Thin Lizzy, instantly reminiscent of my father, leaving me surprised at how many songs I knew! Musicianship was certainly present, but a spark was not... Perhaps the notable absence of the late, great Phil Lynott was where they went wrong. Ricky Warwick, despite his most laudable attempts, could not duplicate "Black Elvis". The band got a bit solo-happy, though this pleased the masses of older gentlemen, all looking touched and elated by the sight. Any half-decent moments were ruined by the fact that the band played for far too long. The show certainly didn't send me spiraling into Thin Lizzy obsession, though it did a damn good job of making me appreciate what they were in their day.

Until next time, with stories of assisting Ross Halfin, shooting Jeff Beck, a trip to Los Angeles, the signing of Sojourner: Ross Halfin Travels by Genesis Publications, Jeff Beck party with a Ronnie Wood cameo, Foo Fighters at Dingwalls, and beginning work for Mojo Magazine... As I said, a new chapter is unfolding in my life, and I plan on taking you all on this adventure with me. This blog is about to get some life pumped into it... Alas!

I've Got My Own Album to Do, Ronnie Wood, 1974

2011-03-02T12:48:00.000-08:00

The scene: The Wick, Ronnie Wood's lavish home, nestled in London's verdant Richmond. With Keith Richards holed up in the guest house and a revolving door of the most talented musicians of the day, creative energy was certainly bubbling at the Wick. Though the same could not be said for Wood's main responsibility: the Faces. With Rod Stewart becoming increasingly distracted by his promising solo career, the Faces had been left to flounder in 1974. For I've Got My Own Album to Do, Wood rallied together a sensational group of talent, to stunning results. Recorded in his basement studio, the album is a standout of the time. By 1974, Rod Stewart's solo graces had nearly left him and the Rolling Stones, the band Wood would soon join, had suffered under the strains of Keith Richards' spiraling heroin addiction. I've Got My Own Album to Do puts a lid on the striking output that had stemmed from the involved Faces and Stones, beginning in roughly 1968. Unfortunately, it was all downhill from there.

The album commences with "I Can Feel the Fire", co-written with Mick Jagger and telling of the collective influence of the moment: reggae. With exaggerated Jagger backing vocals and heavy organ, the song showcases Wood's sublime skills as a collaborative songwriter. Also written during the same session was "It's Only Rock 'n' Roll", clearly proving Wood fit right in with the Stones. Within a year, Wood would join the Stones on their 1975 Tour of America, temporarily bouncing between guitar duties with the Faces, who also toured that year. The Faces' live take of "I Can Feel the Fire", including on Five Guys Walk Into a Bar, stands as my favorite rendition.

George Harrison scarcely wrote songs collaboratively, but for the follow-up number, "Far East Man", the respectively lush guitar works of Harrison and Wood come together gracefully. Also included on Harrison's solo album of that year, Dark Horse, Wood's version encapsulates the uniquely hazy and lulling atmosphere found on I've Got My Own to Album to Do. The relaxed energy of the recording is limitlessly engaging. As their slinky guitar flirt around each other and Harrison's backing vocals peak through Wood's bonhomie delivery, it is as tranquil as it is quaint.

"Mystifies Me", Wood's radiant paean to his then-wife Krissy, carries on the aforementioned lulling atmosphere, though this time written independently. For many musicians accustomed to being a band, going solo doesn't suit their musicianship. They enjoy getting comfortably lost in the shuffle and melding into one. For Wood, though certainly not a front man, working solo benefits his playing, rather than hindering it. His solos take on a careless air, transcending to a soulful place neither the Faces nor the Stones have access to. He is allowed to take each note to places it must go, without having to mind when the next organ solo, drum solo, or bass solo will arise. Having utter control over the composition of the tracks is nothing but a gift for Wood. Though that isn't to say that Rod Stewart's featured backing vocals on this number do not absolutely elevate its quality.

Also featuring Stewart, "Take a Look at the Guy" is certainly a jiving, rollicking number, worthy of any Faces record and, in fact, frequently included in their live sets. Still, while this is certainly a compliment, it does work against the track. It is purely ordinary, failing to boast the stately ambiance that make the album a gem.

But as the track coolly fades into the luminous "Act Together", the album reaches a superlative moment. Credited as a Jagger/Richards composition, it certainly has the strength and soul of the duo's best efforts. With Richards on synthesizers, integrating with Ian McLagan's tasteful organ, it accomplishes everything the Faces or the Stones failed to accomplish in 1974, and it does it beautifully. Richards' disheveled backing vocals blend marvelously with Wood's equally discordant delivery. The two rely solely on emotion, not technique. When they throw over the Stones-esque gospel back-up singers, the track can get no more dazzling... "Act Together" stands as a lost gem in the era's back catalog.

Performing as Ronnie Wood and Friends at Kilburn, 1974. Released as a DVD entitled "The First Barbarians"

Unfortunately, its immediate successor, "Am I Grooving You", penned by sixties impresarios Bert Russell and Jeff Barry, does not stand up quite as nicely. While a funky and slinky number, with grunts and groans from Mick Jagger, it simply does about as much for me as similar Stones tracks of the time... At first prompting a bit of hip swiveling, the song eventually grows monotonous.

"Shirley", an odd proposition for the eponymous lass to be Wood's secretary, is similarly prosaic. Both tracks are occasionally entrancing, but overall are suitably forgettable. Five and a half minutes of Wood proposing that Shirley "take some notes, keep in touch with people" isn't exactly appealing.

The album picks back up with "Cancel Everything", an illuminating tome about love and long distance communication. From the elegant movement of the guitar, as the track slowly ascends, flirting with the shuffling rhythm, combined with the grand, explosive vocals... To the primitive nature of the record and Wood's unabashed compassion... It all comes together in a way that is just meaningful. The pure vulnerability of the track and the raw sweetness of it all are unrivaled when conveyed with such splendorous musicianship. Sensitive, yet sensual, unrefined, yet perfectly executed - the song is everything a great recording should be.

Typically, a solo record means one will take all lead vocals and showcase their talents foremost. Still, as he's proven, Ronnie Wood does nothing in an orthodox fashion. For the Jagger/Richards penned "Sure The One You Need", Richards himself takes on lead vocal duties. Together with Wood, the guitar slinging pair showcase their "ancient form of weaving". The track isn't bad by any standards, still, I frankly find the "ancient form of weaving" rather bland. The most exhilarating moments on the record stem from Wood seamlessly diving into solos and embellishing the songs with ornamental licks. Yet, the "ancient form of weaving" seems to be a tried and true method for the exuberant coupling. My distaste for the trite shuffling makes "Sure The One You Need" stand as no more than a second rate Stones track from a third rate era.

Luckily, Rod Stewart accompanies Wood for the stirring "If You Gotta Make a Fool of Somebody". As Wood's guitar soars with sleek and sinuous tonality, Stewart ardently enriches the dulcet number. The song perfectly combines the stark melancholy of heartache with the raw warmth of the record. Wood manages to showcase Stewart's strength without placing him in the forefront, carrying on the album's merry tradition of rearranging musicians in a fashion that is anything but normal. This album overall stands as a fly-on-the-wall look at a productive, months-long bender at the Wick - perfectly capturing the elusive energy that surrounds the musicians' unguarded moments.

The album closes with "Crotch Music", a funky rave-up that fails to penetrate in any area. Clocking in at six minutes, the tune goes nowhere, though thankfully, it doesn't seem to try. Suitable for nowhere but the tail end, classify it as album filler...

While perhaps not Exile on Main St or A Nod Is as Good as a Wink..., I've Got My Own Album to Do is a striking portrait of a transitional moment in rock and roll history. With Wood traipsing the world with one of the era's most exciting groups, while being courted by the most legendary, this album captures the interesting aura surrounding the man about town. Playful, rousing and poignant, Wood seamlessly collected his most talented cohorts and created an album that's both playful and intimate. Hats off to you, Ronnie.

Just believe and you can't go wrong.

2011-01-06T17:38:00.000-08:00

I'm so damn lucky and SO grateful for the experiences I've had, am having and will continue to have. Everything is on the up! Literally, every dream I've invested myself in, made my ENTIRE life for the past few years, its all well on its way to coming true. Its true, I've been a shit blogger as of late. But you know what, I've gone through soooo much bullshit in the past six months. And now, there's no bullshit. There are petty responsibilities, but I'm not upset. I'm goddamn elated. So yes, hardly anything coming from me, but why? Because I'm living it! Everything this blog is about, everything I've dedicated myself towards, is the very reason why I'm sitting in London right now. As I flew over, feeling nauseous, I made sure to take notice: Michelle of a few years ago would die right now. I don't want to be jaded.

Its amazing to think that all I did was once listen to a few choice records. Records that inspired me so much, that I listened to more records like it, records that inspired those artists, records that were inspired by them. I became infatuated with London and carved out a life for myself. I couldn't have been more far removed from that life. For the record, I am still leagues away from the aforementioned life I carved out for myself. But I'm on the fast track. I'm like those bitches at Disneyland who you curse for spending more money and getting to cut in line. (Or, just get a wheelchair. It works.) But I didn't spend more money (or feign an illness), the inkling of magic that has trickled into my life has come entirely by my own merit. Its come because I'm willing to do everything to get to my dreams. Its come because I have such a sensational amount of faith. I've taken on this guise, this mantra of sorts... Whenever something doesn't happen, I think, "Its not supposed to happen yet. I'm not fully prepared to take it on completely and reap its every benefit." Because, I shit you not, there are things that I forgot I dreamed about, that are now happening. And I'm still dreaming. Whenever I accomplish something, I dispose of it. Its true and its unhealthy as fuck, but its true. So I must admit, prior to writing this, I felt sort of strange about not being as excited as I was the last time I came here. Seriously? Jaded on trip two? Get a grip. And I am. Because I'm seriously in the infant stages of everything. I am getting accustomed to my surroundings. I am getting more comfortable will wholly being myself even when I'm intimidated (its honestly the best route) and if you're nervous or out of your league, just say so! People find it limitlessly refreshing when someone is so not shy about who they are. I mean, don't you? And yeah, people are just like you. They are you, right? Cut from the same cloth. I personally loathe when someone puts on a facade, so why the fuck would you want to do the same?

This post was intended to be a super serious look at how music makes me feel and how its led me here, so that when I go, "Hey let me interview you! [Blog link here]", people go, "Oooh! She gets it. She gets why I'm in music in some form." But this could actually mean nothing to a particularly fascinating interview-worthy individual, but those who will get it are the ones who know what I'm about. The ones who, over the last... year and a half(?) watched me prosper. Watched me grow, and stall, and dream, and wish, and get excited. Unabashed excitement. This used to be my total creative platform and now I just cringe and think, "Fuck... I'm lame."

This has nothing to do with anything - but I love the vibes of the Tupelo Honey set.

But it is, it is about the music. And I intended on that subject, because its something we all know. You're not in music, or you don't read silly music blogs, if you don't have it. Even the most jaded, money-hungry fuckers you'd run across, they know it. They feel it. Its why we're all here. That's why everyone (uh, or those who aren't utterly deprived), go to gigs, listen to records. We all love that feeling. So, no ego, anywhere, ever. It all boils down to the same thing. Musicians are just fans (even if they often want to be thought of as super-Gods), and they're just chasing that feeling. I always remind myself that even the people you worship and admire, they're just babies in diapers somewhere. Little pipsqueaks who know nothing of the world. They are those people, and like everyone else, they still bear a bit of that baggage. (Honestly, when you cut it down to the basics and think "Even John Lennon had to be potty-trained", well then, how can he possibly be a God?)

I love that feeling and I love chasing it, and I hate that I haven't been hit with anything incredible lately. Or rather, I hate that I haven't written about what's hit me. But I love where my life is heading. And I promise that next time something TOTALLY inspires me. I'm gonna come write about it. That is the only difference between myself now and before. And, well, now I can hole up in a room and just do it - luxuries, man!

Won't You Call Me, Miss O'Dell?: Q&A with Chris O'Dell

2011-01-03T19:23:00.000-08:00

She worked at Apple and George Harrison ("Miss O'Dell") and Leon Russell ("Pisces Apple Lady") wrote songs about her. She worked for and became closely acquainted with everyone from the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, to Bob Dylan and Eric Clapton. After a chance meeting with Beatles press officer Derek Taylor in Los Angeles, she soon moved to London to aid the Beatles in their radical Apple schemes. She was twenty and they would soon churn out The White Album. She sang on "Hey Jude", watched the Beatles unravel and was present on that fateful rooftop. Soon after, she lived with George and Pattie Harrison, acting as a personal assistant and general cohort at their manor, Friar Park. With her acquired skills and worldly experiences, she was recruited as a member of the Stones' touring troupe. She ran drugs for Keith Richards and can be seen on the cover of Exile on Main St. But unlike many other tell-all tales of the period, O'Dell offers an interesting perspective, that of a working woman, a viable component in the rock and roll machine. She was one of the very first female tour managers, helming touring operations for the Stones, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, George Harrison, Bob Dylan and countless others. She experienced her first love and heartbreak with Leon Russell, just as he had turned from session mastermind to solo star. Another boyfriend, Jim Gordon (then of Derek and the Dominos, who later fatally stabbed his mother due to diagnosed schizophrenia), chased her rabidly around the band's London flat with a knife, while under the influence of cocaine. Chris O'Dell experienced rock and roll's prime period from every angle, before a quick jaunt in English aristocracy, as wife of the Honourable Anthony John Mark Russell, and mother of son William. O'Dell now works as an addiction counselor in her home town of Tuscan, Arizona. She penned the illuminating tome, Miss O'Dell: My Hard Days And Long Nights With The Beatles, The Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton And The Women They Loved.

Visit. Friend. Follow.

Prior to your run in with Derek Taylor, what goals did you have for your future?

Can't say that I had any concrete goals. I was just taking life as it came at that point.

Can you even imagine what life would have been like, if not for that serendipitous meeting?

I probably would have stayed in LA and in the music business. Or gotten married!!

Of all the surely memorable music moments you have witnessed – from James Taylor serenading you in your bathroom, to the Beatles on the rooftop, to the countless performances you saw from an intimate point of view on tour - which stands as the most stunning musically, not necessarily historically?

I always remember being in the room when George was playing guitar and singing at Friar Park. Or other places where it was just him playing spontaneously. Same with Eric with him strumming his guitar in the den. Those were the private and special moments.

If you can, sum it up for me in a sentence or two, what about the power of music kept you around for so long?

Music says what we cannot say ourselves. It reaches a deep spiritual part of us and every time I sat in the studio or on the sided of the stage, I felt so complete.

You vaguely mention Lauren Bacall paying a visit to Apple, whom is one of my utter favorites. Were you there for that? If so, do tell!

Yes, I remember her coming with her two children one day. They landed in Derek's office, I believe. I don't remember if I actually saw them or the rumor just spread through the building - as it often did.

After your relationship with Leon Russell, it seems you found love vital to happiness – strongly contrasting your previous casual flings. Is that true?

I think it was my first rejection/broken heart. That wakes anyone up to the value of relationship and love. I certainly, like many girls, had the fantasy that there was this one guy out there for me. But in fact it was several!!

The Jim Gordon incident is absolutely horrific. How was revisiting that tale and how does it feel in light of his later fatal attack on his mother?

Scary! But at the time, I didn't realize the implications. I just thought he was too high.

It seemed that at the time, you viewed your life as sort of boring if you were not in the company of people like George and Pattie Harrison. Would you say that is reflective of your confidence at the time?

Well, that would certainly be true. But what was also true is that they were my friends. I liked being with my friends. Life was not boring however. I was still hanging out with other friends like the Dominos and Mick Jagger. But Pattie was my girlfriend.

I just recently viewed Cocksucker Blues for the first time, and you are included in a bit of that footage. The film depicts the Stones’ world as rather dark and sometimes unappealing. Did you see it that way? You do not particularly portray it that way.

That movie made every thing looked pretty base. But that is how Robert Frank photographs life also. He goes for the rough, dark side of life. It wasn't quite that dark. But it was nuts at times.

What became of the book on women in rock and roll you were writing with Pattie Boyd in the mid-eighties?

Still sitting in my closet.

I adore your tidbit about Cameron Crowe – any other charming tales of bumping into him throughout the years?

Cameron and I became great friends for a while. He called me when Elvis died. Today we have little contact but he did email me and congratulate me on my book.

You worked for Bill Graham, one of rock’s most powerful at that time. What were your thoughts on him personally, and how did it feel to be an important asset to that machine?

Bill was an amazing man. I think he is the one man I worked for who was fair and loyal to his employees. I admired him. But he was also rough and brash.

Nearly everyone that you worked with, from Bob Dylan to Mick Jagger, has a persona that has become synonymous with their existence. Would you say you plunged the depths and saw these people for who they really are – rather than who they’ve been made out to be?

I'm really not sure they are that much different. They aren't actors who take on characters. Musicians are who they are to a degree. So, yes, I may have know them better - their vulnerabilities - but they were still the people we all saw.

You only briefly discuss your time spent touring with Led Zeppelin – what moment spent in their company was the most fun?

I actually only participated in one concert in Frankfurt. After the concert we went to a club and got smashed. That was fun. Pattie reminded me recently that we went to a party after one of their concerts in LA and Robert Plant pushed her in the pool. I don't remember that.

Now for general music talk, what was the last album you listened to in its entirety?

Leon and Elton's new album. [Leon Russell and Elton John's The Union]

Who and what are your top five favorite artists and albums?

I love Smokey Robinson, I love a lot of R&B. In fact, that's about all I listen to now. Classic Soul on XM. But of course, the Beatles' music is also high on my list. I have just about heard enough for a lifetime by now, however. Love the Stones. They are such a great rock and roll band.

Is there anyone you wish you had known, or known better?

I wish I had known Smokey Robinson.

You seem to have an optimistic outlook on life, what goals do you have for yourself now?

Right now, my goal is to help people with addiction and eventually retire with my husband to an island!!

Twitter.

2011-01-02T03:52:00.000-08:00

I'm officially on Twitter... Until I catch up on sleep, school work, writing and settling in, that'll probably be the best way to track my London adventures. I caved and I'm ashamed, but there it is... Me, Twitter.

!!!

2010-12-06T16:54:00.000-08:00

My next London excursion is booked and confirmed. I'll be trotting along those luscious streets from December 26 to January 27! An entire month of whimsy. Get ready to read about my mad adventures. Its due to be even wilder than my last voyage.

xxx

"Rain on the Roof" by the Lovin' Spoonful

2010-12-05T02:39:00.000-08:00

I used to listen to this song obsessively, as fall turned to winter. In the morning, the light was blissful and poured into my room abundantly through the vast windows. The chipper nature of the song was utterly fitting and simply the memory elates me. The emotions that accompany the memory are especially vivid. At night, it would delicately rain, as I bundled up with bottomless cups of tea and thick socks. I stayed up 'til all hours of the night, alone, usually writing and lapping up the immense inspiration the weather and John Sebastian provided for me. Solitude, great music, inspiring weather. That life seems so far away now. I miss the windows.

Luckily, when life seems grim for a bit, it pays you back in spades. More on that very soon xx

Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together.

2010-11-21T00:59:00.000-08:00

Small Town Talk with Carol Caffin, publicist and close friend of the late Rick Danko of the Band

2010-10-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

"I'm afraid if I give you an interview, that you'll stop talking to me." Rick Danko of the Band said those words to Carol Caffin, early in their friendship, which spanned ten years - a lifetime in Danko Standard Time. Certainly it felt like a lifetime for Mrs. Caffin as well, who continues to regularly document her time spent working as Danko's publicist on her blog Sip the Wine. As a teen wild about Bob Dylan, Caffin first spotted the Band on Saturday Night Live in 1976, and was utterly swept up from there. From lusting behind her television set to Allen Ginsberg doing shiatsu on her on their way to a Dylan concert, Carol Caffin is full of lively stories. Yet, her writing is limitlessly humble and her honest and passionate prose leave you feeling like Danko was your best friend. We spent over three hours chatting on the telephone back in April, and despite running on minimal sleep and reeling from personal tragedies, she was a truly engaging conversationalist. Her raspy East Coast accent jumped when mentioning first hearing Dylan, meeting Danko for the first time, and her Ginsberg story surely permitted giggles from both ends of the telephone line. Her tone also significantly dropped when she spoke of Danko’s passing, but she does not hesitate to live up to her promise of telling Danko’s story. She is the main protector of his larger than life legacy, and she ruthlessly fulfills this role, warts and all. I did my best to illustrate the musical timeline that runs perpendicular to her life, because rather than an “insider”, Carol is simply a music lover.

What is your first truly memorable moment of being absolutely taken with a piece of music?

Every memory I have in my life is associated with music - every important memory and some not so important memories. The thing is I was born in the sixties. I was just writing about this recently, because I realized that even as a toddler, on some intuitive or otherworldly level, I realized it was a special time. I was born in 1962. I was born as the residual crap fifties music was dying out. Not to say the fifties was a bad time for music, there was a lot of innovative music - but by '62, if you look at the charts, doo-wop is sort of becoming tired. It was a transitional year. The very first song that I remember in my life is "Downtown" by Petula Clark. I was a baby. It was the first song that I recognized that I wanted to hear. Then I think Peter Paul and Mary's "Blowin' in the Wind". The first song I ever bought with my own money was "Age of Aquarius". The first music that moved me, powerfully moved me, was "Positively 4th Street" by Bob Dylan. That was the first song where I said, "Oh. My. God." "Shelter from the Storm" may be my favorite Dylan song, but it’s hard for me to name my favorite Dylan song. The first song I discovered on my own - it wasn't my brother playing it or my mother playing it - I bought a Bob Dylan album. It was the one with "Positively 4th Street". There was this homeless man on the street in Philadelphia, and I saw this Bob Dylan album, and I bought it for a quarter. "Positively 4th Street" was the first song that I just literally had to stop, catch my breath, and play it again. I had never heard anything like that.

1976 was my first year of high school, and I would come home from school and literally look through the phonebook. I remember I called directory assistance in New York to get the phone number for John Lennon's music publishing company, and asking them if they needed anybody. I tried to fake an English accent. At that time, John Lennon was alive, and it was incredible, and I thought, "Some way, I'm gonna do this." It was just music, music, music. There was never a chance I wasn't gonna do it.

What was your first sort of insider moment, where you knew someone and became involved behind the scenes?

Well, there was a guy in 1982. I always did things in an unorthodox way, you have to know that. In 1982, I had been commuting to community college, and I was transfer student. That summer before I transferred, I worked in a record store. The Philadelphia music scene was really sort of happening. It was a local music scene, but Philly is a major city. There was a guy in Philly named Robert Hazard. He was really nobody outside of Philly, but in Philadelphia, he was the top local artist. I saw him one day doing an in-store signing in a record store, and I just passed him a note. I thought, "Oh my god! He's doing this; I would love for him to do this for our store!" I guess he thought I was coming onto him or something, but I wasn't! I was totally not thinking like that! I just wrote him a note and said, "Would you be able to do this at my store?" He gave me his manager's number, and hooked me up with his manager, and I set up this little appearance at a neighborhood store. He and I just clicked, and became friends. He knew that this was all I wanted to do, to be in the music business, and he decided that he was gonna show me the ropes a little bit. He invited me to go with him on a press day, and I met all these big people at radio stations and TV stations, where he was doing all these interviews. It turns out that he was on the cuff of relative stardom because he's the guy who wrote "Girls Just Want to Have Fun". He passed away a couple of years ago, and I was really very sad about it. I really had a place in my heart for him, because he did open some doors. There were like four big radio people I met that day, and I remained friendly with all of them. It doesn't sound like much, but for a kid in college... You know, I wasn't a groupie or anything, I didn't take drugs, I didn't sleep around, I wasn't looking to hook up with a rock star. In fact, I was such a good girl, that one of the first things Rick ever said to me was, "Oh man. You're one of them good girls, ain't ya?" I really wanted to work in music; I had no desire to just hang out. I never had a desire to be onstage, I was too shy to do that. I never felt like a frustrated musician, because I have no musical talent whatsoever. But I remember when I was kid, I can't explain it, but there's a certain smell of a concert hall. It’s almost like you can smell the instruments, and stage, and the amplifiers. When you go into a concert hall, its real cold, because they have the air turned up. There's just this aroma, it was, to me, what somebody else would consider being high. It makes your adrenaline just surge, and it makes your heart pump. Nothing gave me that feeling except music. Recording studios have that same smell, and I don't know if it’s the soundboard or the instruments. Then you'd hear that sound of the amplifiers, before the musicians went on, and nothing ever gave me that feeling, still to this day. And back then, there were no computers, no Google. So you had to figure it out for yourself, make up your own rules, or know someone. I just wondered, "How did the newspapers know when a group was coming to town? Who tells the newspapers?" I wanted to do that, I wanted to be involved in that.

"Me & Robert Hazard, just before his song "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" made Cyndi Lauper a star. September, 1982 - this was the first "promotion" I ever did - an in-store signing at a local Philly record store."

You mentioned that Robert Hazard thought you were hitting on him. Have you faced any hurdles being a woman in a predominately-male field?

You know what, I know this is probably not the standard answer, but I really never did. I knew where my head was. I got hit on many times. Of course you do, you get hit on and asked out. But when they know right from the beginning, what you're about, and that you're serious, and you handle yourself in a professional way... And your knowledge! When they see that you have the knowledge, and that you have the drive, and that you're not there to sleep with them or tag along - I think they learn very quick that this is someone who is real, and she's not trying to hang around or go out with some musician. I never really had that problem, I was really lucky for the most part. I met a lot of big people, mostly men - probably 80 to 90 percent men, when I first started, if not more. Its different now, but back then, there were men and a couple of women, and most of the women were there to hang out with the guys. But I really never encountered sexism that I can think of.

When did you start writing about music professionally?

I've always written about music. I worked for the school newspaper, and wrote about music in grade school, high school, and college. Throughout my life, I never thought of a cutoff point between doing it for myself and doing it professionally. So I can't say there was one moment, because even in college, my senior project was a fake rock band. I put a fake rock band together and did all the media for it, in the eighties. Everything was around music, and I was a music editor at a college paper.

So even before the Band, you were thoroughly immersed in music as your profession.

Oh yeah, oh yeah! Oh my god, I'm embarrassed to tell you the first concert I went to was Three Dog Night. Everything in my life is connected with music - every feeling, every loss. Some people have their career and some people have their hobby, and for me, since I was really young, I didn't even know what a career was. That was how young I was. I just wanted to "do music". I didn't know what form it was gonna take, but at some point, I guess I was in ninth grade. I just said to myself, "Since we do have to work, my work is going to be the same as my pleasure. There's not gonna be a difference. As long it involves music, or writing, or preferably both. And people, like three points on a triangle. Then I don't care what you call it, I don't care if there's a name for it." So that's what I did. I wrote for some local Philly weekly newspapers and local music magazines in the eighties. I also worked for an entertainment lawyer, in the eighties, before I met Rick. He was the top music lawyer in the city. Every single job that I had was with this tunnel vision. I was gonna learn all about each aspect of music. I worked in a record store, and I learned all the record labels and the distributors. I memorized them. I would go up and down the aisles. I wanted to know who distributed each label. I was obsessed. I can remember getting in trouble at school because of music. I went to Catholic grade school, and my parents were strict, but they didn't censor what I read because I was a good kid. I was always home, and it was a different time. Parents weren't censoring what you were reading, because where could you get anything that wasn't appropriate? What they didn't know is that I went to the library with my hippie sister-in-law, when I was ten, and I took out the book Buried Alive, a biography of Janis Joplin. I wrote a book report on it, and one of the nuns sent a note home from school. I was a straight A student, but they said, "Are you aware of what your daughter is reading?" My mom was old-fashioned, but she read my book report, and said, "She said that Janis Joplin was a good person who was misunderstood. I don't see what's so wrong with that." My parents were very old-fashioned, but they were very cool in their way. But I have all of my papers, all through high school, that say, "This is great, but you really need to write about some topic other than music."

What was your first exposure to the Band?

Oh god, now this is embarrassing. I'm going to lose, like, all my credibility. I'm sure I heard "Cripple Creek" and "Dixie" and "The Weight", because you just had to hear those songs. But my very first exposure to the Band, when I realized who they were, when I said, "Wow. Oh my god", when it CHANGED me, was October of 1976 when I was barely fourteen years old. In fact, it was October 28th, and I know that because I'm looking at my diary. I wrote about them in my diary that night. It was the night they were on Saturday Night Live, which was like three weeks before The Last Waltz. I believe Buck Henry was the host, and they sang "Dixie" and "Stage Fright" and "Life is a Carnival". And, you know, you're fourteen years old and you're all about hormones. What I always joke is if I could pinpoint my transition from childhood to puberty, it was during the Band's set on Saturday Night Live in '76. That was my first exposure to them, and at that time, Saturday Night Live was still a relatively new show. It was, like, the second season, I think. Kids my age, you're still excited that you're allowed to stay up that late at night. There could have been a nuclear war and you didn't move from your seat, because that's where you heard and saw all the great music. It wasn't just the groups that were popular, it was the groups and the musicians that were really, really cool, and who were really influential. I mean, the first time I saw Tom Waits was on Saturday Night Live. Rickie Lee Jones... Van Morrison... It was incredible! You would see all of these very influential, seminal musicians, and then there was these guys. I remember Buck Henry introduced them, and I believe he said something like, "There about to give their final concert at San Francisco's Winterland." I don't think it was called The Last Waltz, it was just that they were about to break up. I remember when they came on, I'd love to say it was the music that hit me, but they were just so GORGEOUS. I mean, Rick, my god, was like Romeo. And Robbie and Levon... They were just all so charismatic and beautiful. Just when that's starting to sink in, how great they look, then the music was just like, "Wow! They're such incredible musicians!" That was my first exposure to them, and it stayed with me, really stayed with me. Long before YouTube or anything like that, I remembered all the details of it.

What was your emotional response to the music?

I have to say honestly, at that time, I didn't have a big emotional response to the music. Except to "Dixie", I thought that it was almost majestic. The music was almost, it didn't sound like anything mainstream or anything on the radio. I just knew it was important music. I know that that probably sounds silly, but it just had that sound. It wasn't just music, but it was important music.

Did you have any expectations about the Band, from when you first saw them on SNL, leading up to your involvement with them? And would you ever have imagined that it would turn into what it did - with you still writing about them, particularly Rick, almost every day?

No, I didn't think this then. I didn't think in 1976 that I would be writing about, or involved with, the Band or anybody in the Band when I was forty-seven. When you're fourteen, you think that when you're forty-seven, you're in a rocking chair with little glasses. But I did think from the minute I met him in 1990, I knew that he was gonna be in my life until one of us died. I knew that instantly. I just didn't think that he was gonna die... I thought that would have been a much longer time. I didn't know how that would manifest. I just thought I was gonna work with him for years to come, which I did for a decade, which is a long time especially for someone like Rick or anybody in the Band! The only reason that ended was because he passed away.

Can you tell me about your first meeting with Rick, the first time you guys interacted?

Oh god... I met him at a Band concert. I was just a fan, and after the show, my friend and I walked around to see if we could spot them. Not looking for them, but to maybe see them or spot the tour bus. Levon saw us from inside the tour bus, and waved to us. We both looked at each other, and turned around, because he couldn't be talking to us. But he was, and he waved us over, and asked us how we liked the show. He said, "You girls sure brightened things up out there tonight." I don't know what he meant by that, but I guess because we were kinda young, and it was an older crowd, at that particular show anyway. I don't know how I had the balls, for lack of a better word, but I asked Levon, I said, "Um. Do you think Rick would say hi?" But then Rick came out, and it was just amazing to see him in person. He had this real sweet smile, and he kissed me on the cheek. I said, "Wow. It’s so great to meet you." He asked me my name, and he said, "Its great to meet you, Carol." For some reason, he took his backstage pass off and stuck it on my jacket. I have no idea why, because the show was over. We talked for a really long time, and then he invited us to the next show, and put us on the guest list. We just hit it off, and I'm sure you've read a lot people saying that when they met Rick, they felt like they already knew him. But, for me, this was very intense. I felt like I grew up with him, you know?

"Me, Rick & Eric, May 1992"

Yeah, that's what I was gonna ask, actually - Why Rick? Of all of them, why Rick?

Well, Rick was my favorite. He had always been my favorite. I loved Levon's voice and stuff, but Rick... Before I knew him, his voice, he just had this sweetness about him. Other people are sweet and appear to be nice, but his sweetness was really deep. It just came through in the songs. You also have to understand that at the time, there was nothing. There was no YouTube, or anything. There was a couple bootleg videos of the Band. It was really just The Last Waltz, and that movie, Man Outside. I didn't really collect bootlegs, I wasn't that kind of fan, where I listened to every single concert. But there was something in his voice. That song "Sonny Got Caught in the Moonlight" by Robbie Robertson, off his first album [Robbie Robertson]. Well, Rick's voice in that song... I would just listen to that part, and think, "Oh my god. This man must be so sweet! How can you that be sweet, and be as old as he is?" I never expected to meet one of my musical heroes, and you know, you just wanted to take care of him.

How did it foster into a working relationship?

Well, he invited me to the second show, and I'm sure you've read the post about when he fell asleep on me. That was the second time. He invited me to the show, the show got rained out, and the show was rescheduled. Somehow, we split and he said, "Do you want to get something to eat?" And we just ended up talking, and talking, and talking. Michelle, I'm not kidding... Never in my life had I been in a situation where I just ended up talking with someone all night, and I mean ALL night. We fell asleep! Head to head! When I woke up, it was like, "Kill me. Kill me now." We had talked for so long that I had lost track of where I was, and I was never really nervous with Rick, except for the first time, the first minute. Then it wore off, and I just felt like we were connected. But this was just crazy. I was really embarrassed, like, what am I going to do? He's sleeping on me! And I was sleeping on him!

That's so great, from watching him on Saturday Night Live to having him asleep on your shoulder.

That's what I mean. It was very surreal, very surreal. It was almost like this dichotomy, where I would totally not even register that this is Rick Danko. I just didn't, that was gone. That's what was weird. When I first met him, I noticed that scar. That's what I focused on, that scar. That was like, how I knew it was him, because I know that scar. But then that scar took on all this meaning, like vulnerability, and not get all otherworldly, but it was symbolic. It was like the scarlet letter. It was so deep, and blatant, and right in front of me. For the first couple minutes, it was, "Wow. This is Rick Danko." But as soon as he talked to me, it was like, "Oh my god." I really felt like I knew him. I didn't care how I looked. I was wearing a jean jacket, I don't know if I was wearing any make-up, I had been in the sun all day. Usually, if you're meeting, like Bob Dylan - I have met Bob Dylan, and when I met Bob Dylan, I was in an after-five dress. I was worrying, "Do I look good? Is he gonna think I look okay?" As if he's gonna care what you look like, you know? With Rick, I didn't feel like that. It felt instantly familiar.

How did it involve into such an important friendship - from one meeting to a lifelong experience for you?

Okay, after the night we fell asleep on each other, I just assumed I would never see him again. Or, if I did I would just go see the Band in concert, and that would be the end of it. But we kept coming back in touch. I had done some writing about the Band, and I did a profile on him for this silly rock magazine. I was so unbelievably shy, that I would have died before I would give it to him, so a friend sent it to him. Then he invited me to another show, and it evolved from there. Then he called me. He just called me out of the blue. Rick calling me would have been, like, no chance. It would have been like John Lennon calling somebody. I don't even know how he got my phone number! I never even asked. When I picked up the phone, I just heard [imitates deep, audible breath]. A breath like that. I just almost passed out. I knew it was him, because he had asthma. There's this scene in The Last Waltz where he's walking down the hall with Scorsese, and you can hear him breathing. You don't even have to listen closely, because it’s so loud. He had asthma and he had really heavy breathing. As outlandish as it was, I knew that was him on the phone. He was like [hilariously imitates Danko's voice], "Hey Carol, its Rick Danko. Got a minute?" He just asked me if I would be interested in doing some work with him, and from there, it didn't just happen. There were a lot of bumps in the road, but he knew that he could trust me. He just knew it, and it took a lot, I think. Well, it takes a lot for anybody, but any musician, they just get screwed a lot. I think he just intuitively knew, and it just grew from there. Plus, we just really got along. It was like a comedy routine, because I was always doing something to embarrass myself, inherently. Then he would make a joke out of it, or vice versa.

How well acquainted were you or are you with the other members of the Band?

Well, I knew Levon. He was always very sweet to me, but I didn't hang out with the guys. It just never felt right to me. I don't think Rick ever really thought of me as a hanger outer type of person. I was always working when I was with them, and when I was up in Woodstock, I was always with him. So I would see Levon around, and he was always very kind to me. He offered to teach me to roll a joint, kindly offered, and Rick said, "Oh man, come on man, you know she don't smoke." Garth was a sweet man. I've talked to Garth over the years, he knows me, and he has said some really sweet things about my work over the years. He trusts me, which is very important to me. But I don't have that kind of relationship with them, where I go and hang out with them. It just never was, even when I was working day-to-day with Rick. I've met Robbie a couple of times.

Right, didn't you describe him as condescending?

You know, he was condescending to me, I have to say. If it wasn't that it was happening to me, I kind of could've seen where he was coming from. If I could've bottled the look on his face, if I could just step back from it, it’s actually pretty funny. You know, here's this woman, much younger. Rick was twenty years older than me. You see a woman and this older man, and you're being introduced as his publicist. Its kinda like, "Yeah right." When I wrote that piece, I guess I felt that way then. But when I look back on it, it really is kinda funny. If it wasn't me, I would have totally understood, but it was condescending. But people are complicated, everybody is complicated. Everybody comes with history and their own set of notions that are based on their experiences. So who am I to judge? I don't know what Robbie's experiences were. All this feud stuff, I just wish it would go away.

The strange thing is, is that it still remains.

It still remains, and the thing is, nobody knows except those five. Rick did not badmouth people, he kept the doors open. I think that why he got along with everybody. There were people, I'm sure. If somebody screwed him over, it was duly noted, and he'd never trust them again. But he never badmouthed Robbie. He just didn't.

And the other time you met Robbie?

I met Robbie once at Bearsville, and another time when I was already working with Rick, but I didn't tell Robbie I was working with Rick. He was at a radio station in Philly, and I just wanted to see him. I wasn't gonna go say, "Ohhh man, I'm Rick's publicist. I've been hanging out with Rick!" I was always shy about that stuff. I met him and I said hi, and he signed a picture for me. I didn't tell him anything about me, and he wrote, "Dear Carol, lovely to meet you." That night, I called Rick and told him that I met Robbie. He was like, "Euuugh." I was kind of excited about it! I was a fan! I was like, "Guess who I met?" He was like, "Who?!" And I said, "Robbie!" And he was like, "Euuuugh." But that was it. I didn't tell him anything, I was kind of incognito. Not that he would know anyway, because he wasn't in touch with Rick on a daily basis then.

Your blog notes that its part of a promise you made to Rick. Can you elaborate on that, and express what you're trying to accomplish with it?

I just promised Rick that I always be there for him, basically. I would always be there for him and I would always be his friend, just like in the song "Come Runnin'". I would basically do whatever I could to help him, in any way that I could, as long as I was here. I don't know if that makes sense, but that's basically what it is. And also, to tell his story. We talked about me telling his story quite a few times, and he would say, "You're gonna tell my story one day." At first, I was like, "Oh yeah right..." He always said that he loved my writing because it was honest and it felt real. Of course, you think the person is just saying it to flatter you, and maybe he was. I don't think so, because he would tell me if he didn't like something. Rick wasn't vain at all, but there were a couple pictures we thought about using. He'd say, "Nah nah nah..." He wouldn't say, "Don't use it!" Just, "Nah." He knew that as long as I was here, I would look after him, is the only way I can really say it.

And you mentioned that you were doing a book?

I've been working on a biography - the book that Rick and I had talked about. It’s been in progress for a very long time. It’s been very emotional. Sometimes it’s harder when its someone you knew and cared about. If it was on a complete stranger, like Van Morrison, I would have had it done two years ago. But this is not a linear path... Even though I knew him for a relatively long time, it was just one portion of his life. He had had a whole life before that. I've been talking to lots of people. I was talking a lot to his brother Junior, and Junior passed away a couple of months ago. It was very sad, but thankfully, I got talk to him quite a bit. So it’s a work in progress, but it’s a lot of work.

What stands as your proudest achievement in writing about music, and what more would you like to achieve?

I don't know if I have one particular thing that I'm proudest of, because I consider it all part of one. It’s just part of who I am. I just like to be able to relate music to life, and I like being able to connect with other people. I like when someone says, "I know just what you mean." Or, "Thanks, I felt that too." Or whatever! Just when it touches a nerve. I'm just glad that I'm able to do what I love to do, and to write. When it’s part of who you are, you just do it. Sometimes when I write about things that are really personal, I'll take a deep breath and say, "Just do it. It’s the truth, just do it." You can't have a spin on the truth, it just is. I just use that as my mantra, that the truth will make you free. Be honest, but be sensitive - I try to do both. But whatever it is, it’s gotta be real. I just don't want fluff, that's my greatest fear.

Branching off into more general music talk, what is the last album you listened to in its entirety?

Cryin' Heart Blues [a collection of Danko studio sessions and live recordings], which I was listening to today.

What are your top five artists and top five albums of all time?

Dylan, Rick and the Band, the Beatles, Van Morrison, and right now, Phil Ochs. I don't know if he's etched in stone in my top five. Dylan and the Band as one and two are, like, a part of my soul. The Beatles, I really feel like I've come to a stonewall with their music. It doesn't move me anymore, which is very sad. But I still know what the Beatles have always meant to me. Van Morrison, as an artist, is on another plain totally. Dylan, Blood on the Tracks. That was my life-changing album. Music from Big Pink, The Brown Album, Astral Weeks, and The White Album.

You mentioned that you met Dylan, did you meet him through the Band?

I didn't meet him through the Band. That's actually kind of funny... I met him the night that he got the Lifetime Achievement Grammy. This was also very surreal. Columbia Records gave this decadent party at the Rainbow Room in New York, and it was invitation only. It was just for Columbia artists. At that time, I was working with Rick, but I still had a "day job". My day job was working for a music management company in Philly, and one of our clients was Grover Washington Jr, who was a jazz musician on Columbia. He was on tour, so he couldn't go to the party, so he gave me his invitation. My boss, also couldn't go, so he gave me the other invitation. My best friend and I went, and we finagled our way into meeting Dylan. We went and I said, "I don't care who else here, I couldn't care less." We were in the elevator with Mariah Carey, Michael Bolton, Diana Ross was there... It was funny that the Band, they were all on the guest list, but none of them showed up. It was 1992, and they were legimately somewhere else. They didn't just skip out on it, although they probably would have anyway. So that's how I met Dylan, and he actually smiled at me. It was very uncharacteristic, and you know, Dylan likes to play games with people. I had an opportunity to meet him again, and I chose not to, because I did not want to be in that situation. That's when I went to Saratoga with Allen Ginsberg, when I was staying at Rick's place in Woodstock.

Well, that sounds like a story...

It’s a crazy story. Allen Ginsberg did shiatsu on me in the car, on the way to Saratoga. It was crazy, CRAZY. Rick was home, and like, "Okay... Call me if you need me. I'll leave the porch light on." He totally could not believe that I paid for Dylan tickets. He was like, "You should have talked to me!"

Were they all in touch?

They were in touch, from time to time. It was the way Rick was with everyone, "I'll see you on the road." It wasn't like they hung out, but they always had a friendly relationship. It was like, they saw each other when their paths crossed. Their paths crossed over the years. That night when Dylan played Saratoga, I was staying up there, and Rick had some shows. It just a crazy, surreal, crazy, crazy situation.

WAIT, so you went to a Dylan concert with Allen Ginsberg? Is that what I'm grasping?!

Yeah! You're totally not following my story!

Oh my goodness! I thought you DIDN'T meet Dylan because you went to Saratoga with Allen Ginsberg! I can see where the word "surreal" comes in!

I was staying up in Woodstock, and a dear friend of mine happened to be a publisher, who was friends with Allen Ginsberg. He helped Rick out and he helped me out a lot. He was also, like, Rick's unofficial road manager. As a thank you, if Rick was away when I was in Woodstock, this friend would allow me to stay in his house. As a thank you to him, for helping me out, and for helping Rick out... This friend was a major Dylan fan, and I bought tickets for Dylan. So I was in Woodstock, and we were gonna see Dylan. When I was up there, Allen Ginsberg decided to show up at my friend's house. We were gonna go to the concert, my friend and I, but Ginsberg showed up. He said, "Oh, I don't think you're gonna be needing those." He literally got on the phone and got second row seats and backstage passes, so my tickets were not necessary. It was crazy. So we went to the concert with Ginsberg, in my Honda Accord. That's the normal part of it. I'm gonna have to tell you the crazy part of it some other time! [Carol touches upon the story in this two-part piece of hers.]

At the end of the day, why do you think the Band still matters?

The Band were not derivative. The Band was soul music, in that it came from the soul, and spoke to the soul. They culled from music of the country. They culled from American music, but they did not take it and water it down. They took it and made it richer, and they made it their own. It was real and timeless. That's why I think they still matter, and people are really starting to appreciate them now. With a lot of great artists, it takes time. With some great painters, it took centuries. Thank god, Rick got to see some of it, and Richard, a little. But thank god, Levon, Robbie, and Garth are really getting to see the appreciation. Its genre spanning and generation spanning.

Long wires between us, oceans screen us, from understanding everything we want to say.

2010-10-15T01:50:00.000-07:00

This deserves to be shared. That is all. A lengthy piece coming on I've Got My Own Album to Do. Inspiration by the ton. Come and get it.

Black Cab Catastrophe to "Spanish Bombs" by the Clash

2010-10-11T19:26:00.000-07:00

Its no secret I'm listening to music nearly every waking minute - but not until I wrote about jamming to Jeff Beck's "AIR Blower" in the bathtub did I realize how fun it is to write about music inspiring those moments; sometimes even making those moments special in a way they wouldn't be ordinarily. Films have the luxury of having music playing at the most bombastic and melancholy moments, perfectly setting the mood and making the moment all the more explosive. Well, I like to look at my life that way. My entire memory is wired by music, and if the moment is important, I'll remember just the song I was listening to. With the music and the memory eternally in sync, its safe to say the moment will never be forgotten. Here's to hoping this will become a routine column on the blog, I hope you enjoy it... x

I was certainly running late after a quick trip into Kingston to pick up a tape recorder (for the interview that never happened that night) and crazy glue for my beloved faux-turquoise flower ring that had decided to break. We called a cab as soon as we arrived back at my friend's ridiculously small dorm room at Kingston University, where myself, my sister, and said friend roomed for the week+ I spent in London. I anxiously prepared myself for the evening, scrambling to fix my hair as I contemplated changing purses and what color stockings I should wear. Ordinarily, these would be only minor thoughts, but everything seemed of mass importance as I geared up to hit the Classic Rock Awards. Still, the cab seemed to arrive quicker than I knew possible, and suddenly, the purse and the stockings didn't seem so important. (I never did get to change purse, though Iggy Pop sat on the one I did bring, and my stockings were gray - to contrast the black dress and black heeled ankle boots, of course!) I rushed to the door as my friend called out well wishes.

The black cab had comfortable leather seats, and my cab driver spoke loudly, with a thick Middle Eastern accent, into his cell phone. I cued up London Calling and as far as he and I knew, he was simply going to drop me at the Surbiton train station. The butterflies in my stomach quickly became acrobatic, as I checked the time on my iPod. I was to be outside the Park Lane Hotel at 6 o'clock. It read something like 5:40, and I knew "fucked" was an apt word to describe my current dilemma. I turned down my music, and spoke over his Eastern radio station. I inquired, "How long would it take you to get to central London? To Park Lane?" He said thirty to forty minutes, and it seemed a safer bet than taking a train to Waterloo, and the tube to Green Park. I counted my pounds, and any frugality was out the window. I had to be on time, and saving money to spend at TopShop was no longer a priority. We drove through the outskirts of London, as the names on each road sign seemed familiar from books I'd read. I looked out the window was London's nightlife unfolded before me, and the sight of Royal Albert Hall awed me. I immediately thought of Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day in The Man Who Knew Too Much. And again, those butterflies fluttered around excitedly.

I hadn't had time to apply my make-up back in Surbiton, so I set about doing so. It was dreadfully dim-lit in the back of that cab and my compact mirror was simply not cutting it. I rummaged through my purse and eyed the layout of the cab. The opening hums of "Spanish Bombs" played, and I knew exactly what my solution was. I quickly asked, "Is there a mirror on the passenger seat visor?" No sooner had he said yes was I flinging myself into the seat. He was taken back by my swift actions and quickly remove a book from the seat before my petite frame landed there. With my Holly Golightly moment over, I suddenly felt very comfortable and very assertive. I gleefully stroked red lipstick onto my lips and applied my mascara with ease. With my only responsibility fulfilled, I took a moment to soak up all that was happening. Scurrying through London, on my way to the Classic Rock Awards. Up until that moment, I felt the opportunity would be snatched from me, but right then, I knew it was mine to savor. My cab driver, too, felt comfortable, as he asked, "Big party?" I smiled and said, "Yeah, sort of." He could feel the excitement stirring up inside of me. I saw an expansive park to my right, and felt we were getting near.

Well... I felt wrong. My cab driver tilted his head to the left, and said, "Which Park Lane Hotel are you trying to go to? There are two." I hadn't any idea what he was talking about, and quickly said, "The Park Lane Hotel... Between Green Park and Hyde Park Corner." That was all I knew, and I simply recited what I had been told. We stopped in front of the other Park Lane Hotel, a branch of the Hilton. Certainly if it was the Hilton, I would have been told the Hilton. I didn't know, and any time I thought I had saved was dispersing before my eyes. I asked my cab driver for his cell phone and welcomed myself to its services, as the driver scurried inside the hotel to inquire if it was indeed the Park Lane Hotel. I scrambled to call my friend back at her flat, and asked her to retrieve Ross Halfin's phone number from the pocket of my coat. I called the number Ross had given me, and heard a voice unlike the one I had spoken to earlier that day. I said I was looking for Ross Halfin, and I had indeed reached the correct number. "Can I speak with him, please?", I said - only to be told that he was already on his way. I filled in the anonymous voice on the other line with my dilemma. "My name is Michelle, I'm supposed to meet him outside the Park Lane Hotel, but my cab driver says there are two." I was mildly flustered and hoped this man could be of some help. "Well, do you have his mobile number?" I thought I had called that number, but alas, I was wrong. My aid on the other end provided me with the number, which I hurried to dial, only to receive no answer. Fuck. I dialed once more, once again receiving no answer, and surveyed the Hilton. There certainly didn't appear to be anything rock and roll about the place, so I made up my mind. My cab driver had returned and I promptly told him to take me to the other hotel.

We arrived outside the other Park Lane Hotel - while owned by the Sheraton, clearly stated Park Lane Hotel on its exterior. I was right where I belonged. Any residing doubt was squashed when I saw a bevy of residing hair lines and sports coats. A red carpet was assembled and paparazzi cameras flashed. Oh yes, I was certainly in the right place. I thanked my cab driver profusely, tipped him generously, and positioned myself on the steps leading up to the hotel, not the ballroom. The red carpet was spilling out of the ballroom and looked like a madhouse. I would stay away from that, thank you. I watched as decadently dressed event-goers arrived in limos and black cabs. A leggy blonde emerged from a limo, stopping to make sure everyone got a grand look at her. By the way she carried herself, she certainly fancied herself a big somebody. She was Chrissie Hynde's daughter, I would later learn. A paparazzo sat near me and he would quickly scramble to stand up each time a vehicle arrived. The only face that was recognizable to me wasn't really a face. It was a beard, in fact. It belonged to the always recognizable Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top, who arrived with his immaculately dressed partner. They walked past me, straight into the hotel. London Calling was long over after all of my ordeals, and I was listening to Jeff Beck's "Going Down" when Ross approached me. "There you are! You've been waiting over here, you're supposed to be over there." He pointed out the entrance near the red carpet. Mmm, I was quite happy where I was, and I had been found. I had been waiting about fifteen minutes, and he finally retrieved me at 6:20, twenty minutes after we were due to meet. Luckily, he had been late as well, and my worries were wiped clean. We rushed passed the red carpet, into a quiet room, where he sternly told a woman, "She's with me."

I was there. Finally. Every minor hurdle was obsolete, I was in a dream situation.

Alas, every time I hear "Spanish Bombs", I recall my Mr. Toad's Wild Ride-like adventure through London, that dark November evening. It seems the entire ordeal was destined to be memorable, not simply the names I encountered. London Calling in its entirety serves as the biggest form of inspiration, prompting lofty schemes as to how I'll next land myself in that mystical city. Spring '11, its all coming together!

While on the topic of the Clash, check out my review of their fantasic live album From Here to Eternity on Altsounds.com

What goes on:

2010-09-19T01:51:00.000-07:00

Listening: I'm going through a monstrous Ronnie Wood phase, spurred by my simultaneous Faces obsession. I've been listening to I've Got My Own Album to Do constantly. Its a rock and roll fantasy realized. More on that later. Now Look is also working itself into heavy rotation. Aerosmith, sweet and beloved. "Three Mile Smile" (standout track off Night in the Ruts), "S.O.S. (Too Bad)", "Woman of the World" (can this be my new unofficial theme song? Sooo sultry), and "Seasons of Wither". Get Your Wings, what a bad motherfucker. And the Clash, I still like you. Its safe to say I've sort of gone everywhere there is go within their catalog. Right now, I'm listening to songs like "Atom Tan" and "Inoculated City", AKA songs only Clash lovers will enjoy. Even so, I do enjoy them! "Take It So Hard" by Keith Richards, not too shabby for a solo Stone. I have a magnificent vest with a tattoo-esque X-Pensive Winos logo on the back. I haven't seen it since my visit to San Francisco last year. Its hiding somewhere. I miss it, come back! Harvest, Neil Young, which is frightfully inspiring. It truly withdraws such remarkable emotions from me. It reminds me of a life I can't have anymore, and rattles me deeply. It reminds me, "The past is the past. Make something new for yourself." It doesn't allow me to be crippled by memories. I'm really digging the Pixies these days too. "Sing a Simple Song" by Sly and the Family Stone, as well as "Hong Kong Garden" by Siouxsie and the Banshees are my current go-to happy jams.

What a fantastic collection of guitar-slinging males!

Watching: The Sundance channel aired Julien Temple's Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten, which is so marvelous and poignant. The Mick Jones footage is so good, as he drunkenly reminisces about his old pal. Certainly a documentary to be seen. (Coupled with Westway to the World!) I also caught Rock City, an amazing documentary on London in 1964 through 1975. Its not so much a documentary, but rather a collection of footage, featuring the Stones, Cream, Blind Faith, Faces, Otis Redding, Cat Stevens, and more I can't remember. Look out for it, its rare and absolutely worthy of viewing. Also, I finally saw Anvil! The Story of Anvil. Seriously, I could have cried. It was so riveting and utterly emotional. I loved it so much. I briefly met Lips and Robb Reiner when in London, and I wish I had seen the film then. I totally would have exclaimed, "I loved your movie!!!" Because they obviously would have been really gracious and kindhearted. I watched The Edge of Love, which was really appealing visually. I don't know too much about Dylan Thomas, so I can't say whether or not it was accurate, but it certainly looked gorgeous. The clothes, the sets, the cinematography.

Reading: My grandparents have a signed copy of the late Jim Marshall's book of rock and roll photography Not Fade Away. It was his first book, and my grandparents happened to be in Sun Valley, Idaho when Jim Marshall did an exhibit. Its a wonderful book, and I've palmed through it numerous times. I call dibs on inheriting it! Also, the September issue of Classic Rock, which features an incredible piece on Physical Graffiti by Barney Hoskyns. I'm rather fond of that magazine entirely. Also, during a library stroll, I came across Nick Mason's Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd. Its one of my favorite rock and roll books, because it has so many rare photos in a grand size.

One of my all time favorite Jim Marshall photos. Keith appears so lost in his music, and the shot is so simple and intimate. Unabashed skill.

Oh, also! I'm now contributing to Altsounds.com; I've only done one piece thus far, but that will quickly change! Read my thoughts on the Stones' Exile on Main St re-release here. School has started back up, so my current obstacle is juggling homework, keeping up this blog (because I love it, and its my child - no matter where else my writing goes, I fully intend on maintaining this blog), and contributing steadily to Altsounds. I also have an interview in the works for you here, and another completed interview, which is on a computer currently cooped up in storage. So far, so good! I cannot even articulate what a madhouse my life is right now - but you know, I'm just trying to keep my head on straight, steer myself through positively, and remain productive, starting... now! I love you all. Thank you for being continuously sweet and supportive. Even in my too-long hiatus, I received kind emails. I appreciate it more than you know. Welcome back aboard the train of my wild life! x

one nation under a groove.

2010-09-13T23:16:00.000-07:00

I never realized what a great bubble of inspiration my former room was. Filled more by windows than by walls, it was always beautiful - though occasionally I took it for granted and found it rather monotonous. I miss it more than I first realized. It wasn't just a room, it feels. It was this delightful little sanctuary I had masterfully crafted for myself. My personality adorned every inch of that room and never had such a liberating space ever existed for me. I could do as I pleased and it inspired me to do things I never knew could be pleasing. I once deemed it "a magical place where magical things happen" and it seems more true with each passing moment that I no longer spend within it. It seemed cosmically aligned to reap my most fruitful inspirations. For a while, dating between the last post and this one, I hardly listened to music. Or at least I didn't listen to it enough. Not until I recently, when I've purposely eliminated myself from all bullshit and just LISTENED, did I realize how grounding music's constant therapeutic abilities were to me. Its utterly vital. Now I find myself bursting with seemingly endless bouts of inspiration, sentences flowing about my head in a way stronger than I've felt in a while. I'm experiencing so much change. I'm not depressed or upset - I won't allow myself to be. But when this inspiration strikes, so completely and wondrously, I find its overwhelming. It brings to the forefront every monumental emotion I've experienced lately. I realize I've tried to null out such emotions, in case one gets too powerful. I can't let it overtake me. I won't let it. For right now, there is no solution - to a problem I can't be bothered to disclose. (Though I assure you its nothing like heartache, which I find is too much of the same wah-wah.) Its a waiting game. I realize in the process of nulling out potentially beastly emotions, I've closed up my creative outlet. Its difficult for me to find the time and place to write, yet simultaneously, I've never felt so much like a writer. I've never, ever felt the writing process was so essential to my being. So despite my vague, fleeting crisis, I MUST prevail creatively, for its what truly keeps me afloat. More coming, I promise you that!

'... That's what I was gonna do, and I wasn't going to hurt. And if you shut yourself off and say, "This isn't going to hurt me," you can't shut it down without shutting it down totally. I closed myself down so much that I was making it, doing great with surviving - but my soul was completely encased. I didn't even consider that I would need a soul to play my music, that when I shut the door on pain, I shut the door on my music. That's what I did. And that's how people get old.'
- I'm reading Nick Kent's The Dark Stuff currently, and you can't imagine my surprise when reading his piece on Neil Young and stumbling upon this quote, just the day after writing the above. I suppose I'm on a similar wavelength as late seventies Neil - but, like Neil, I excel at naturally getting myself out of funks.

The most tremendous, nearly unfathomable strength stems from the most horrendous situations. If you can play it the right way, new lows can result in new strength. What seemed scary or dramatic no longer seems to matter when you've seen what does. You view things with a new, fortified appreciation because you now know what you don't have. All I know is my boldest moments (or 'brave and strong', as Sly would say) seem to come in the midst of awful situations. The courageousness I feel building inside of me is something I purely cannot articulate in words. I've come out of this summer extremely changed, and I didn't even notice. Normalcy is settling in under the most unusual circumstances, and I'm allowing things to lighten up. And it can only get better... xx

Changes.

2010-07-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

Its been over a month since I last posted a single thing. Wow. To begin with, sorry? School ended, and the weeks leading up to its end left me manic and frenzied. I figured once that was through, I would have a serene summer, working and making dreams happen. Life had other plans. Every sector of my life is dancing into unknown realms, taking on new guises, and surprising me in every possible way. Social circles have collapsed, new bonds have been born, and stability is obsolete. I'm moving. The home I have known and loved for nearly the past four years is no longer mine. Throughout those four years, I learned a tremendous amount about myself, my life, and those in it. They were defining years, and it all occurred between those mystical stone walls. Nearly everything that could change within those four years did, but what always remained was my sanctuary. No matter what happened, I could always nestle in my satin sheets, gaze up at the colorful faces I had artfully pasted upon my walls, open my vast windows wide, and have an endless stream of characters bubbling in and out. It was the only thing that never changed, yet now it has. Sometimes I thought I wanted nothing more than to leave that place, other times I deemed it magical - but to be completely uprooted, even with bouts of fair warning, left me shocked and aimless. I wanted changes this summer, but these were changes I felt were perhaps too strong for me to bare. This was not what I had in mind. I'm fine, I personally am alright - but life apparently didn't get the memo that I like to keep things relatively peaceful. I had one great, beauteous cry. I took in everything that I loved about the last four years, mourned it, appreciated it, accepted it, and from there, realized I had to keep moving. So the last few weeks have been spent embracing the chaos, finding fun and excitement in new places, and generally ignoring my stability void, for it will eventually be filled. I just have to make it through this transition period. My summer hasn't been too shabby. Spending hours at the pool with people I love, having wild nights that last until sunrise, conversations that last from sunrise until noon, blowing bubbles, opening up, leaving my shell because I have to. All of this was just completely unforeseen, it wasn't according to plan. That's what rattled me most. All of this crept up on me. I wish I had just chosen all of this, and been able to twirl into my comfort zone after all that divine madness, by choice. But I enjoyed it all, and I know that all of this change happened for a reason. What follows will be nothing but positivity. Things can only grow more stable. Good things will fall into place. This is only reaffirmed by the strength to carry on, make it through rough patches, and come out smiling. This is what I have to do it and it will all work out. I just have to hold on through the madness, as if I planned it that way, and know that all that I wish for awaits me. So, uh, yeah... That's why I haven't been a frequent blogger, that's why I haven't checked my email, that's why I haven't even being on Facebook. And yet, its good to act like Facebook doesn't exist, its exhilarating to say "Fuck you, Gmail!", even when its not planned. This is all teaching me to roll with the punches, something that I don't always necessarily excel at. Anyway, what the hell have I been listening to?!

Listening: The laptop that my iPod is synced to is packed away, so new music is non-existent. I've been rocking Pandora occasionally, but mostly, I've been rediscovering gems in my iPod and rummaging through my record collection. Beggars Banquet by the Stones, Carney by Leon Russell (a wild and captivating record - listen to it!), Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel, and The Cars are all fun summer records. Neil Young's Harvest changed the way I look at summer, and made for some magical mornings. The last days that I spent in my lair were spent listening to Harvest, that I will never forget. Making memories until the last moment. The Greatest Hits version of "Homeward Bound" and "Feelin' Groovy" leave me endlessly elated, and "Old Friends/Bookends" (on 45! b/w "Mrs. Robinson") is magical and inspiring. In short, Simon and Garfunkel is fantastic summer listening. I listened to "Old Friends" as I removed photographs from my wall, and it was all so poignant, and nearly left me in tears. It wasn't sappy or upsetting, it was beautifully melancholy, and it was the perfect way to conclude it all. I also thoroughly enjoy my Zombies' "Tell Her No" single (b/w "She's Not There") , which is pretty splendid and makes each moment experienced to it rather radiant. The best of all is definitely "Poision Ivy" by the Coasters, I like to sing the chorus and swivel my hips. I also bought London Calling on vinyl, FINALLY! It only garnered a spin or two, before it had to be packed, but I am over the moon that it is now in my possession. I'm a little shocked that its not a gatefold; aren't double albums always gatefolds? I also bought Poco's Pickin' Up the Pieces, George Harrison's Concert for Bangladesh, and The Band's Rock of Ages on vinyl this weekend. They won't receive any turntable love until my boxes are unpacked, but I'm pretty gratified that they were no more than $2 each.

This week:

2010-06-06T18:03:00.000-07:00

You could maybe say some of these photos are irrelevant, but a) Sometimes youth just wins. b) The ELO/Avedon belly button portraits is one of my favorites! c) Faces are on Every Picture Tells a Story. I digress!

Listening: I've been listening to lots of full albums, which makes me happy. Sometimes you don't crave a whole album, but its such a treat when an entire album makes it for you.

- Exile on Main St, the Rolling Stones; I can only listen to this album during the day. It reaps the full effect.
- Cut, the Slits; Similarly, I can only listen to Cut when its dark. Its really jovial and fun, so perhaps it would make an awesome daytime album, but its equally quick and sleek vibes make it an ideal nighttime record.
- All Things Must Pass, George Harrison; First, who else is beyond excited for the Martin Scorsese-helmed doc on this wizard? I'm so ready! All Things Must Pass is, alas, another album I associate with hot fun in the summertime. I open my windows and play the whole damn thing. This is not something I do often, as its such a hefty album, but in the summer, I crave it. The first disc remains my favorite, but you've got to go for the goal! Play the whole damn thing! Open your windows, and mmm, lap up this scrumptious weather. (Unless, of course, you leave in a location not quite as illustrious as southern California. In that case, come visit!)
- Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan; So in my mystical near-slumber daze, when I think of the most illustrious ideas and have the best thoughts, I started thinking about the way Bob Dylan says "honey baby" in "Buckets of Rain". The next morning, I woke up, rolled over, queued up Blood on the Tracks, and of course, opened the windows! A most desirable morning, I promise you. His well-versed emotions, ranging from those delicate coos matched with his scathing fury on songs like "Idiot Wind", make this album so wondrous and captivating. Honesty, its so refreshing. I don't think I'll ever tire of his stark and defenseless tone on this album.
- A New World Record, Electric Light Orchestra; Okay! I will never deny my passion for ELO. In fact, I will go so far to say that this album is one of my favorites! "Tightrope" is so exciting, followed by the brilliant "Telephone Line"... You've got "Livin' Thing", "Do Ya", my favorites (after "Tightrope", "Telephone Line", and "Livin' Thing") "Mission (A World Record)" and "Above the Clouds". Pure ELO-embroidered perfection. Its whimsical and fun!
- Every Picture Tells a Story, Rod Stewart; This is essentially a "stray cat blues. Guide to Summer Listening"! More will perhaps unfold as the summer progresses. Goodness, I love this weather! Its not yet blisteringly hot, and its just perfect. I sat outside without a sweater this evening, and it makes me so joyous! Anyway, this record is made for summer. The mood, rollicking and serene, mmm. I read an interview where Izzy Stradlin described it as "that Maggie May feel", and I know just what he means! The title track, "Tomorrow is a Long Time", and "Mandolin Wind" really capture that mood for me. Its irresistible; how can anyone be unhappy to this record?
- My obsession with How the West Was Won continues. This week I'm really into the magical, lilting take on "That's the Way". Its something about the live acoustics, leaving the song so wonderfully spacious and atmospheric. Its so expansive, and just open, welcoming. I've worn the studio version to bits, and this allows a reawakening of sorts with one of my all time Led Zeppelin favorites.
- So uh, you know how I said I wasn't gonna listen to The Joshua Tree again? I lied. I've grown to really like this record. Granted, I skip the first three tracks (FM radio plays them enough), but the rest has become an outstanding work to me. Instead of feeling lame because U2 is such a fun band to dislike, I'm glad I broke that barrier for myself. Lesson: don't judge! Listen! Oh and, its a GREAT record to clean to. I slaved over my entire space this weekend and The Joshua Tree kept me going.
- I also said I didn't like Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake too much, another lie! I've grown to like this one a lot too. "Afterglow" is my very favorite, and I've been playing it heavily. Listen and enjoy. Its magnificent. I'm certainly hopping on the "Small Faces don't get nearly enough credit" train.

As for singular tracks...

- "Straight to Hell", the Clash; Its lauded as one of their best, and while I don't really agree, I think its an interesting tune. Its the Clash doing something they've never done before, and I always respect that.
- "I'm Not Down", the Clash; A true anthem of perseverance. Mick's vocal performance is utterly convincing, with the Strummer-penned lyrics proving to be limitlessly inspiring. I was in a nasty mood the other day, this came on, and I decided, "Fuck that! I'm not down!" Alas, these are the types of things that motivate me.
- "Charlie Don't Surf", the Clash; One of my all time Clash favorites. Its just mesmerizing. Heavy rotation, once more. I love.
- "Try a Little Tenderness", Otis Redding; One of my favorite songs ever. Difficult but true, the words that Otis rhapsodizes remain the truth. Just think about it, you're much more likely to get your way if you come at it gently and kindly. But isn't this often the biggest challenge?! Sometimes I just want to yell, and demand, because I feel like I'm obligated to get some things. But alas, we find no one truly owes us a damn thing. Try a little tenderness.... His fiery performance makes me think I can.
- "Johnny the Fox Meets Jimmy the Weed", Thin Lizzy; I really don't think I need to say much more. I've been listening to the Live and Dangerous version, mostly - even though it is in fact dangerous, its only partially live. Still love it, and particularly Phil Lynott. An icon.

Reading and watching STILL don't apply - but I've got a hefty summer reading/watching list. Oh, June 17th, you can't come soon enough! (But, actually, stay away for now. I've got waaaay too much to do.)

This week (and quite a few others!)

2010-05-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

Listening: I haven't downloaded music in so long, it seems. But I've still been getting my kicks musically. Last.fm tells me I've been jonesin' on:

- Exile on Main Street, the Rolling Stones; I don't think its because of the Exile! re-release! hoopla! Its just sunny days, open windows, and wind sweeping through my room feels even better with songs like "Rocks Off", "Torn and Frayed", "Sweet Virginia", and "Loving Cup".
- Lola versus Powerman and the Moneygoround Part One, the Kinks; I know I've said enough about this album, but its so great. In between the jovial energy of songs like "The Contenders", "Lola", "Rats", "Apeman", and "Powerman", your heart falls to your ankles with numbers like "Strangers", "Get Back in Line", and "A Long Way from Home". Nothing works better with a windy sun-kissed day like "This Time Tomorrow". Stop reading, just go listen!
- Cut, the Slits; I've talked about this album plenty as well, but when albums are great, you listen to them for longer than a week! First, the Slits are waaay more than half naked (if loincloths count), rabid punk girls who hung with the Clash and the Pistols. As the Slits were a notoriously spastic live act, I expected Cut to be a mess... But coattail riders, they were not. They held their own and possessed an eccentric breed of talent. Ari Up's manic vocals dip and soar, teasing and playful. The rhythm section (Budgie and Tessa Pollitt) is so interesting! Spacious and liberating, the Slits excel at the concepts of "spaces in music". The silence, what isn't being played. They fully understand this and brilliantly dish it out as an integral part of their sound. Throughout this album, Viv Albertine experiments with interesting sounds and rhythms. Her firm grip on the pulse and genuine feel for the music makes you forget that the Slits lacked such tech savvy that Mick Jones had to tune their guitars on early tours. This is a weird album, but I dig it immensely. Everyone who has visited my lair as I played this stopped to inquire about what madness I was listening to. Its a difficult album to sum up, just listen for yourself. You'll be surprised. "Shoplifting", "Ping Pong Affair", "Typical Girls"... Go!
- I've also been loving How the West Was Won, Led Zeppelin. Its perhaps my favorite live depiction of the band. Its just absolutely thrilling. The featured take on "Dazed and Confused" is my new favorite rendition. When they throw "The Crunge" over, I always stop to bask in the brilliance. Ugggh, its utterly contagious - and the album holds many moments like it. I think Led Zeppelin certainly grew extensively as songwriters and composers, but as a live unit, this defines their peak. How the West Was Won tromps The Song Remains the Same for me. Three discs may seem lofty, with various tracks exceeding twenty minutes, but you don't even notice. You crave more, and thus is the magic of Led Zeppelin. I urge you to listen to this as well, as its a total mystery as to why its just hitting heavy rotation over here.

I've also had a few choice numbers thrown in the mix:

- "Midnight Rider", the Allman Brothers Band; I've already explained myself...
- "Wasn't Born to Follow", the Byrds; Perfection. The Byrds improved with time, I think. Open the windows, put this on, and I'm elated.
- "Lost in the Supermarket", "The Guns of Brixton", "Death or Glory", "The Card Cheat"; The Clash tunes that are making it this week.
- "NSU" and "I Feel Free", Cream; I've reached the point where I can say Cream isn't worth the hype, Disraeli Gears is boring, and Eric Clapton is a big phony. (I even get into long-winded conversations at parties about the lacklustre skills of EC.) But these dazzlers off Fresh Cream make me temporarily forgiving. (Also, Ginger Baker has the most menacing glare of anyone I've ever seen in my life and Jack Bruce hates Led Zeppelin. What else ya got?)
- "The Message", Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five; If you want to get me real excited, just throw on some Grandmaster Flash or Sugarhill Gang, for that's where I've been getting my kicks lately. Also, try to avoid my bedroom late at night, because I might have all the words to this memorized, and may just rhapsodize in the wee hours. MAYBE.
- "Cause We've Ended As Lovers", Jeff Beck; Blow by Blow is limitlessly flawless and moving. "Cause We've Ended As Lovers" is the first song that penetrated through my can't-handle-jazz-fusion haze and it remains ever poignant. Its so perfect, and so beautiful. Bask in its splendor.
- "People Get Ready", Jeff Beck; How many times is it appropriate to say "perfect" in a single post? Rod Stewart is great and all that (I've also defended Rod Stewart at parties, because seriously, put on Every Picture Tells a Story before you say anything), but Jeff! Jeff!!! His guitar is so mesmerizing here, with just as much melody as Rod's vocals.
- "Young Lust", Pink Floyd; Ladies, when getting ready for the evening, put on "Young Lust". Put on some red lipstick, crank it up, and slink out the door. You'll obviously be ready to tackle any obstacles that night.
- "32-20 Blues", Robert Johnson; Maybe its just me, but I find Robert Johnson's music to be really danceable. He was a jiving kind of guy! So I wiggle a little to "32-20 Blues" and its rather fun.
- "Connection", "Sweet Virginia", "Dead Flowers", the Rolling Stones; Random and spellbinding Stones selection. This showcases my strange taste in Stones, but also the brilliant eclecticism of the Stones.
- "I Second That Emotion", Smokey Robinson and the Miracles; I could totally "Song-a-Day" this, but consider that project abandoned! Anyway, this song is a little perfect. I like to sing to it and be gleeful. Did you know the Grateful Dead covered it? Yeah. Look at them.
- "Funky Kingston", Toots and the Maytals; Not only is reggae (especially Toots!) my go-to happy music, its delightful summer music. Not sure why I chose "Funky Kingston", but why not? Its sublime. The sax, the breakdown, everything...

Watching: This is an unfair question. Ask me when school is over... I've been watching the stars. I've been on many a hike during the wee hours. Everything is still, as the world passes by like a silent film. Everything glows a radiant blue as its delicately lit by the moonlight. The wind blows through and walking comes as simply as breathing.

Reading: Again, not cool... The last book I finished was Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion. I think when she doesn't have an emotional connection to her subject (a la The Year of Magical Thinking), her writing is too dry.

Don't worry, if there's hell below, we're all gonna go!

2010-05-21T16:32:00.000-07:00

Oh, apologies apologies! The school year is wrapping up over here, and I'm attempting to be productive and maintain my sanity. So the blog has taken a minor battering, and for this, I apologize. This may be slightly different if I was overflowing with fascinating ideas, but alas, I am not. I must admit I'm not really digging my "Song-a-Day" segment as I thought I would - TOO broad, perhaps? I want something fun and consistent (i.e. the RS500 project, "This week", and my bubbling stream of photos). When summer commences, I'll continue with sprawling and passionate spiels of great records, great bands - things that have truly warped my world, as I used to do so frequently. Interviews will be coming in the summer too. But I want something... else! Give me ideas! I mean, people are still viewing this blog everyday and I am just not delivering. So, daily characters of my live feed, what do you suggest? If you were to open this blog and just go, "Oh my goodness, I love that! Its by far my new favorite part of the blog"... What would you be looking at? Email me! xx

And look at this rather cool photo of me in my bedroom!

If Adolf Hitler flew in today, they'd send a limousine anyway.

2010-04-30T01:10:00.000-07:00

"Clash City Rockers" by the Clash

2010-04-30T00:46:00.000-07:00

"Clash City Rockers", The Clash, The Clash
When I listen to "Clash City Rockers" words like brilliant, mystical, and dynamic do not come to mind, as they did with nearly every Led Zeppelin song I reviewed. But it brings something different to the table - this relentless fury and power, which nobody articulates like the Clash did. Though I use words like fury and power, I resist using the word anger. Sure, the Clash got angry... Just listen to the way Joe Strummer nearly spits the lyrics at you, with a bit of disgust and bouts of angst. But they were also the guys who said, "Let fury have the hour. Anger can be power. You know that you can use it?" "Clash City Rockers" encourages one to get up! Move forward! Move the town to the Clash City Rockers! Don't accept defeat, keep going!

For the most part, the dominating in-your-face riffs of the Clash's first album aren't my favorite sounds from the band. They are riffs that have been done a hundred times over, but the Clash do put their spin on it. Mick Jones is already on it with his punctuating backing vocals, which were continuous perks to Clash records until Jones was sacked. Everything is already being churned out with intensity, as the notes from each instrument resonate with the sheer impact of a punch in the face. Nothing magnificent is going on technically (Jones' solo is very early George Harrison - a fledgling), but its exciting! You don't need endless skill to produce something thrilling. My favorite part comes as the guitar slithers towards the end. The sound is rude and scathing - as they declare, "Rock! Rock! Clash city rockers!" That's always been the savior of "Clash City Rockers" for me. That's what made it stand out and enjoy heavy rotation in my realm.

a thirteen year old's take on rock history.

2010-04-26T22:28:00.000-07:00

"this was so damn interesting!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock_music

look at the bands they list through all the little fazes and subgenres.
pay attention to how they just, for the most part, increasingly get worse. its absolutely fucking terrible.

when people tell me the music I listen to is bad, and I tell them the music I listen to created the (terrible) music they listen to.. they don't believe me. is this not proof?

it is pretty bad when people believe rock music has gotten better, but its even worse when they actually think rap is better.
to quote wikipedia- "Nearly all of the best selling albums of all time are still rock." need i say more?

I'm going to anyway, on the Billboard 200..
Elvis Presley has the most charted albums with 114 albums that made the charts.
the Rolling Stones have the most top ten albums with 36 albums making the top ten.
the Beatles have the most number one albums with 20 number one albums. Elvis Presley only had half that. the Beatles have the most cumulative weeks at number one with 132 weeks. is that not beyond fucking amazing? 132 weeks. that truly blows my mind.
the next up is Elvis with 67. that seems like nothing (but don't get me wrong it is) next to that 132.
what really amazes me though, is that the album that was number one the longest was the West Side Story soundtrack. it was number one for 54 weeks.
the album that has spent the most time on the charts was Pink Floyd- Dark Side of the Moon. it has spent 741 weeks on the Billboard 200 charts. 1500 if you count the time it has spent on the Top Pop Album Catalog charts. my jaw dropppped. that is incredible!

(note that totals are for the main albums chart only, catalog chart totals are not factored in)

the album with the highest RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) certification is the Eagles- Their Greatest Hits (1971-1975). it has gone 29 times platinum. Thriller is behind that having gone 27 times platinum, and third being Led Zeppelin IV going 23 times platinum. Pink Floyd- the Wall also went 23 times platinum, but it looks to me like Led Zeppelin IV sold more.

the Beatles album with the highest RIAA certification is the White Album, having gone 19 times platinum.

the first album to debut at number one was Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy by Elton John. he repeated this again with the album Rock of the Westies, the second album to debut at number one.. making him the first person to have two consecutive studio albums debut at number one.

Bob Newhart was the first to have the number one album and number two album at the same time, with The Button-Down Mind and The Button-Down Mind Strikes Back! this was equaled in 1991, with Guns N' Roses- Use Your Illusion I and Use Your Illusion II.

at one point in 1980, all nine albums released to that date by Led Zeppelin were on the charts. that is the most albums by a single artist to chart at the same time. that is fucking amazing.

the Beatles are one of the the three only people to have two different albums hit number one in one year. out of curiousity I wanted to see what albums were number one in 1964 and Meet the Beatles, the Beatles' Second Album, and A Hard Day's Night all went number one that year. I'm sure that applies to other years, but I just want to show that they have gone beyond two, to at least three.

the US sucks. we are a dumb, hip hop oriented, ignorant country. most good music comes from the UK anyways. so whats the ego for, US?

not only does the US suck, this generation sucks.

I'm pretty sure I've made a point. if you are still dumb and ignorant, then well. you are just that and I clearly can't change that. this went from being pro- rock n' roll to an overall lesson in musical history :)

I believe I have rambled enough, but it was all completely true.
to quote the Rolling Stones- "its only rock n roll, but I like it"
and to quote Chuck Berry- "its gotta be rock roll music, if you wanna dance with me""

That thirteen year old was me. I think I cursed then more than now!

Led Zeppelin-a-Day: "Royal Orleans" + FIN

2010-04-26T19:02:00.000-07:00

"Royal Orleans", Presence
As the story goes, John Paul Jones picked up a lady friend - or so he thought! Lady friend was actually a dude lady, and shazam, tranny in JPJ's hotel room! JPJ and Dude Lady smoke a doobie, fall asleep with said doobie still lit, and the room goes up in flames. Don't say JPJ didn't know how to party. John Paul Jones claims he knew Lady was a Dude and they were hangin' like friends. And that the whole misinterpretation of sexes happened to someone else, elsewhere in the world. Well, okay. Whether or not John Paul Jones thought he was getting lucky, but then, you know, didn't, is of no importance. He still set a hotel room alight in the Royal Orleans hotel in New Orleans, hence the title. The song itself is fun and funky, with Page providing those riffs worthy of a James Brown record, and Bonham providing a light swing with bongos. Page's solo is fleeting but exciting. I don't rank this as one of my all time favorites, but its good enough.

And what? We're done? Well yeah, basically. I technically didn't review "The Ocean", "Ten Years Gone", "In the Light", and "Tangerine" with this project, but I did review them here. This was fun, wasn't it? Thank you to everyone who emailed saying they liked it throughout xx

Review: Jeff Beck at the Nokia Theatre, 4/17

2010-04-25T23:13:00.000-07:00

Ah, Jeff Beck. To begin with, I adore you. In an era where nostalgia runs wild, most acts deliver lacklustre performances of their greatest hits. But not Jeff Beck. Beck has always been a musician who seems to be doing all that he can to avoid being pigeonholed into any genre, and in truth, I feel few have succeeded as he has. Random street walkers wouldn't know his name if you asked, but I genuinely don't believe I've ever heard or read a single negative thing about him, particularly from music lovers. While the way he approaches his career may seem haphazard to some, it seems he has managed to do whatever the fuck he wants - without worrying about selling records, or keeping in the same vein as his previous recordings. In fact, you can nearly count on Beck to bring some new to the table every single time.

Watching Jeff Beck at the Nokia Theatre, I felt that illustrious feeling, that concert feeling. An intense wave of emotions washed over me, and I felt utterly sublime and overwhelmed. Watching Jeff Beck is one of those moments where things are so brilliantly emotional that you're overwhelmed to the point of near fatigue. Following the great momentum of dimming lights and excitable gasps (as well as a few men shouting "Beck-Ola!" and "FREEWAY JAM!"), Beck emerged looking like an absolute star. At sixty-five, not an inch of flash has left him, musically or aesthetically. Granted, it seems his style is a bit more erratic than it was, say six months ago, and it seems he takes his stage clothes a step further with every tour. So hey, Beck! Quit while you're ahead. What also differs from Beck's last jaunt around the States is his band. Twenty-odd year old Tal Wilkenfeld, a jarring talent, has been replaced by Rhonda Smith on bass. Vinnie Colaiuta has been replaced by Michael Narada Walden (who appeared on Beck's Wired), while keyboardist Jason Rebello acts as a mainstay. Though both Smith and Walden are highly acclaimed musicians, I certainly found myself wishing I had seen the previous incarnation of Beck's band. Beck's Platinum-selling DVD Performing This Week...Live At Ronnie Scott's provided a fleeting showcase of the band, and they blow his current cast straight out of the water. No contest.

Through the first few numbers, I thought, "Brilliant. A great mix of slow and moving numbers with raucous scorchers." But as it wore on, I thought, "Wait... Its getting a bit repetitive." He simply hopped back and forth, with numbers that nearly sounded alike. With such a deliciously expansive catalog to chose from, I felt Beck didn't provide as much diversity as he could have. Though the oldies cheering for his seventies classics were appeased by a steaming performance of "Led Boots". Beck was also occasionally backed by an orchestra. Let me say that I found this absolutely haunting and enchanting, but I also felt the orchestra wasn't quite necessary. Few guitarists are so skilled at conveying emotion and provoking them so thoroughly within the listener, while Beck excels at this. I felt the orchestra, more than enhancing the experience, diluted it. With that said, I do feel Beck's new material is absolutely shattering, and stands up well when tossed together with his untouchable classics.

Returning to the topic of his band, bass player Rhonda Smith was far too heavily doted upon. To be frank, she wasn't very good. Why Beck got rid of the illuminating Tal Wilkenfeld is beyond me. Smith also provides vocals, which are - dare I say, irritating. Thankfully, between Smith's first solo and her vocal take on "Rollin' and Tumblin", Beck treated us to "People Get Ready". Rod Stewart, I can't say you're missed! Beck held it gloriously. His skill on the guitar is utterly transcendent, one instantly forgets vocals are standard practice in rock and roll. An especially out-there moment came in Beck's take on "Over the Rainbow". The track is included on his new album Emotion and Commotion, but actually seeing Jeff Beck perform a song so out of his realm is bizarre and incredible. Particularly notable is his utterly magnificent song "Angels (Footsteps)". Featured in the Ronnie Scott's DVD, I was left speechless when hearing the song on television! In person, it was nothing less than awe-inspiring. A genuinely beautiful and moving song, played with perfect precision by Beck. Though he totally dropped his slide piece, which provided a laugh for the very attentive audience. He plays with such grace, and those near-shrieking notes sounded wondrously delectable.

As the show's end drew near, the band busted into "I Want to Take You Higher", leading me to whisper to my dad, "Oh shit." Explosive and such fun! I nearly wished his band would stop providing vocals - but the entire number was so exciting, and I was having such a great time, I stopped caring. He followed this with "A Day in the Life", and I was over the moon. His interpretation of the Beatles classic was rattling and powerful. Thus, I was mildly disturbed when my father said, "Let's get out of here and beat the traffic?" "But dad, what if he encores?" "We already saw the whole show." I should mention my father also squeezed in a nap during Beck's set. Don't get me wrong, I'm nearly positive my adoring opinion of Jeff Beck is genetic, but um, old dudes can't hang, apparently. My father was certainly not the only 45+ sleeping in his seat. This portion of the audience was greatly contrasted by the total guitar geeks, whom ferociously air guitared to every lick. It was certainly a crowd who took music very seriously. Behind me, I heard a conversation, which discussed the merits of Jimmy Page. "He's sloppy. Compare him to Jeff Beck, Clapton, or even Zappa - he lacks that precision. Its just sloppy!" I didn't jump over my seat, I swear...

Alas, I happily skipped through the halls of the Nokia Theatre, humming along animatedly as Beck encored with "How High the Moon". I saw Paul McCartney's guitar player, and just kept on vocalizing Beck's licks, while perhaps dancing? What? I was jazzed.

P.S. Dweezil Zappa, you're the man! I was seriously pleased with Zappa Plays Zappa, the opening act. Never fancied myself a Zappa girl, but I may have to indulge! Dweezil is skilled.

Led Zeppelin-a-Day: "Boogie with Stu"

2010-04-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

"Boogie with Stu", Physical Graffiti
Eh, "Boogie with Stu"... I'm hearing it differently right now. Its a cute little number, perfectly channeling those heroes of the 1950's. It isn't explosive, just fun and rollicking. Ian Stewart is an absolute luminary, and he more than anyone else carries this track. Toss in some mandolin, that slapping guitar, and things are pretty good. It isn't the most exciting thing Led Zeppelin ever did, no way! But it certainly isn't trying to be. Its a comfortable and content number. Smooth and spontaneous, I feel myself opening up to it.

This week?

2010-04-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

My free time is rather nonexistent, so this bit is mildly haphazard!

Listening: The Sugarhill Gang! Genuinely, that's my current phase. Oh, the expansive choices that music holds. Eclecticism! Also, "Then He Kissed Me" by the Crystals. A lot funk too, and soul... My friends attempted to sum up what I listen to most these days and came up with, "The Clash, Led Zeppelin, and black music." Yes. So basically, Sly Stone, P-Funk, Curtis Mayfield, and a bit o' Smokey Robinson! I need to download new music, I just haven't had the time to sit down and do it...

Reading: Working my way through Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, the infamous collection of some of Lester Bangs' work. I've only read his Clash piece for NME (dating from '77, I do believe), but it was fucking fantastic. I think Lester Bangs is kind of over-excitedly labeled, but I may have to revoke that thought. This piece is marvelous. It genuinely made me laugh. Its funny, but not condescending. His compassion for others surprised me. His gradual discovery of each musician's character is striking, and each individual depiction is warm and delightfully told. You feel as if you're getting a genuine feel for this band, that this is who they truly are. That authentic quality has really filtered out of music journalism. And how genuine the band seem to be! This is really in the early stages of the band's career, so if any of them went on to be moody bitches, then they have yet to take that turn. I mean, Lester Bangs says that he is in love with them, and this piece - more than anything else, excluding the music - does such a mesmerizing job of making the reader love them too. I'm just skimming it now, to just pull out the funny bits. I feel like I can't grab them all! He says of Simonon, "It is undoubtedly this combination of mischievous boychild and Paleolithic primate which has sent swoonblips quavering through feminine hearts as disparate as Patti Smith and Caroline Coon - no doubt about it, Paul is the ladies' man of the group without half trying, and I doubt if there are very many gigs where he doesn't end up pogoing (earlier Bangs talked of the punks' obsession with pogoing) his pronger in some sweet honey's hive. Watch out, though, Paul - remember, clap doth not a Muppet befit." Oh wow, I concur. Bangs deems Strummer the band's soul, while Jones possesses "voluble wit and twinkle of eye", and Simonon has that "loony toon playfulness", earlier comparing him to that of a Muppet. Glen Matlock makes a cameo in the piece, when Bangs raves about Matlock's skill for grinding out Monkees tunes. The band interact with Bangs on a refreshingly peer-to-peer basis, though at this time Bangs was probably the more notorious. They come off as such a down-to-earth bunch, with Bangs noting how smoothly their no-frills, egoless camp runs - compared to the brutal, egotistical operations of the Stones and Zeppelin, deeming his jaunt with the Clash a "pilgrimage to the Promised Land". He notes the drugless environment and the absence of groupies, with Jones confessing, "We don't get into all of that much. You saw those girls out there - most of 'em are too young. But groupies... I dunno, I just never see that many I guess. I've got a girlfriend I get to see about once a month, but other than that... When you're playing this much, you don't need it so much. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing interest in sex entirely. Don't get me wrong, we're a band of regular blokes. Its just a lot of that stuff you're talking about doesn't seem to... apply." By most accounts, as the Clash's popularity grew, their ability to be faithful to girlfriends dwindled. But Jones' statement led Bangs into another raving tangent about the Clash's unsexist attitude, and its all quite endearing. Bangs frequently talks of the "new wave", with the title not yet equated with synth-pop of the eighties, but a new wave of music led by punk. He notes that mission of the new wave is to, "REINVENT YOURSELF AND EVERYTHING AROUND YOU CONSTANTLY." And how fucking marvelous were the Clash at that? I can't find a particularly poignant passage, but in it Bangs basically compares punks to hippies, and sides with punks. He says hippies were unrealistic, but the punks realized all of the "No Future" bullshit with open eyes, and took it on headstrong, realizing if they wanted change, they had to do themselves - which is the best goddamn way to go about life. This piece is a perfect crystallization of this time in the band's career, go read it! Even if you don't particularly favor Bangs or the Clash. Its just damn good writing.

Led Zeppelin-a-Day: "Custard Pie"

2010-04-22T16:05:00.000-07:00

"Custard Pie", Physical Graffiti
Weeoo, so even though "Custard Pie" is off Physical Graffiti, I'm not a massive fan of it. Like most Led Zeppelin songs, I went through a phase with it, but its reign as a favorite didn't last long. It relies too heavily on standard bluesy goodness, even if they're pulling from such luminaries as Bukka White. Of course its just lovely to hear Robert Plant howling about "chewin' a piece of your custard pie", but overall the tune doesn't hit the spot. It does boast a few mesmerizing features, which never fail to enthrall me - such as JP's wah-wah solo, JPJ throwing down a bit of clavinet, and the harmonica solo that fades until the end of the track. In my mind, "Custard Pie" is eternally buddies with "The Rover". But I rarely ever play either one voluntarily.

Gear up dudes, its the final stretch!