Issue 70

When I learned there was a new recording of music from the medieval manuscript called the Codex Las Huelgas, I thought it would be fun to compare it to a few other recent recordings. That gives you a good idea of how my medievalist brain functions: I automatically assumed there would be several others. Once I thought about it reasonably, I was amazed that three recordings have been produced in the last two years.

A codex is always a treasure trove for historians. The term refers to a manuscript made up of various things bound together. Some were designed that way, and some became codices (that’s the plural) as books and papers were handed down, sold, and rebound through the centuries. The Codex Las Huelgas belongs in the first category. It was probably written out by a scribe named Johannes Roderici for a wealthy Cistercian convent in northern Spain around the year 1300.

Roderici composed only a couple of the 186 pieces in this codex; his job was to copy out music and texts from a bunch of different sources into one convenient book for convent use. And it’s a good thing he did, since today Las Huelgas is our only source for many of these sacred works. Even more important, 141 of them are polyphonic, which is a big deal because Cistercian rules forbade singing pieces with more than two parts. Apparently, these sisters went ahead and did it anyway.

It’s appropriate to start with a recording sung only by women. The CD Santa Maria, whose subtitle translates as “Chants for the Virgin from 13^th-century Spain,” was released on the Bayard Musique label in 2016 by the ensemble Discantus, directed by Brigitte Lesne. It includes a few pieces from the Codex Las Huelgas among other chant music about the Virgin Mary. (Discantus also released an album of only Las Huelgas music 25 years ago, but these are different pieces.)

“Recordare, virgo mater” is an offertory, a type of chant sung during Mass while bread and wine are placed on the altar. The version in Las Huelgas is for two vocal lines in counterpoint. The women of Discantus sing with such precise intonation that their voices disappear into each other when they come to unison pitches.

 

Although the use of instruments in medieval church services is a topic of much speculation and disagreement, “Salve regina glorie” is a sequence, a type of popular religious song that was often performed beyond the church. So it’s not crazy that Discantus decided to record this as a pleasingly meditative instrumental, with rebec (early violin), guitar, and bells.

 

It doesn’t take a musicologist to spot the most obvious difference between the Discantus recording and that of Ars Combinatoria (Musaris, 2017) as led by Canco López: There are men in the mix, at least on some tracks. Anónimo: Mulier Misterio is not available on YouTube, but you can stream it on Spotify here:

 

The music in the Codex Las Huelgas is written out in Franconian notation, the first type of musical notation that could show rhythm in an effective way. One of the striking things about this recording is how strictly Ars Combinatoria cleaves to the declared rhythmic values. Put simply, Franconian notation – a fascinating subject that I can’t get into thoroughly here — defaults to triple time. But not every modern group believes the notated pieces should all sound like waltzes.

“Agmina milicie” is good example of how the Combinatoria singers take the rhythmic divisions into strict sets of three. It’s also a nice demonstration of the word “tenor” in its original musical meaning. Before “tenor” came to designate a high male voice, it grew out of the Latin verb “tenere,” meaning “to hold.” So, the tenor was the voice (in any pitch range) that held long notes. In medieval sacred music, those long notes would always have been a Gregorian chant. Here the men sing the chant slowly while the women sing a swinging, triple-time ornamentation against it in polyphony.

Besides rhythmic interpretation, another major decision faced by groups trying to sing medieval sacred music is vocal timbre. In “De castitatis thalamum,” the women’s voices especially are intensely nasal, almost like a Bulgarian Orthodox choir. It’s a marked contrast to the more ethereal sound of the women in Discantus.

How fortunate we are that three such skillful ensembles have set their sights on the Las Huelgas repertoire. The most recent effort is Fons luminis (Evidence, 2018) by the venerable Ensemble Gilles Binchois, under the direction of Dominique Vellard.

Here we have yet another approach to the distribution of genders in performing this music. For this recording, the Kyrie trope “Fons bonitatis” is performed only by men. A normal Kyrie chant has only two words (Kyrie eleison), so the singers stretch out each syllable of text over many notes. In a Kyrie trope, the same Gregorian chant melody is used, but new extra text has been added in to take advantage of all those notes.

 

Another definition of “trope” in medieval music is the addition of polyphonic lines to a Gregorian chant. That’s what you have in “Agnus dei, o Jhesu salvator,” which takes a Gregorian chant melody for the Agnus Dei text from the Mass and adds two extra vocal lines against it. The women of Ensemble Gilles Binchois give a stunning performance. And notice how free their rhythmic interpretation is compared to Ars Combinatoria.

 

When I was deciding the topic of this review, I hoped to include some recent recordings of another hugely important Spanish manuscript of chant with and without tropes, the Codex Calixtinus, which dates almost 200 years earlier than Las Huelgas. Sadly I couldn’t find any recordings of that repertoire more recent than 2014. But as soon as a new one comes out, you can be sure I’ll write about it here.

Okay…so, in this edition’s piece, I am going to go out on a bit of a limb. I am fairly confident that most of you will have, at best, a derisory opinion of The Beastie Boys and their music. You’d be wrong. You can certainly NOT be particularly fond of the three chaps from New York, and their output, but you should DEFINITELY respect what they did. It’s as ground-breaking as anything else that has, well, broken new ground.

The Beasties (as they are known to fans), started in Brooklyn, NYC as The Young Aborigines, changing their name to The Beastie Boys in 1979. The original line-up was as follows:

Drums – Kate Schellenbach (Went on to play in Luscious Jackson, and win Emmys as a Segment Producer for Ellen)

Bass – MCA (Adam Yauch)

Guitar – John Barry

Vocals – Mike D. (Mike Diamond)

This line-up was a respected, hardcore, punk-band that opened up for many of the biggest names in the scene, including Bad Brains and The Dead Kennedys. By the middle of the ‘80s, both Schellenbach and Barry had moved on, and close friend Adam Horovitz (Ad-Rock), whose father is the playwright Israel Horovitz, joined the band. They were still a predominately punk-group, but had begun to experiment with rap on the song “Cookie Puss” that featured a prank phone call to a local Baskin Robbins ice-cream parlor. Snotty-nosed, they were. At one gig, they decided to hire a DJ to provide the backing-tracks, and found a kid by the name of Rick Rubin who was willing to take on the job. He then went on to produce a number of singles for them that culminated in the ground-breaking SMASH that was License To Ill. This record was released on Def-Jam Records, the label run by Rick’s roommate, Russel Simmons (brother to label mate Joseph Simmons, a.k.a. RUN of RUN/DMC), out of their NYU dorm room. That’s what I LOVE about their story. They had cred from Day One. License To Ill sold NINE MILLION COPIES! The Beastie Boys had arrived. Rolling Stone magazine said of License To Ill, “Three idiots record a masterpiece.” They weren’t wrong.

Paul’s Boutique, their sophomore outing, is now considered a Classic Album. Almost the entire record is constructed from samples, including material from The Beatles, that they never paid for due to the archaic nature of the way that Copyright Law pertained to the new art of “sampling” records. The list of source material is SO ridiculous that sites like THIS exist to catalog it all. I urge you to click on the second song listed, just to get the briefest of ideas on how dense this album is. It is certainly no understatement to call it a legitimate “Masterpiece.” Its sales, however, did NOT represent its importance. It sold a mere two million copies, and was considered a bit of a “dud.” Miles Davis once said that once he started to listen to it, he found it almost impossible to stop. High praise, indeed, for “Three Idiots.” If you have never listened to it…do. Seriously.

At this point, the lads had escaped New York and were now living in self-imposed exile in Los Angeles. Paul’s Boutique had been produced by The Dust Brothers, who went on to do MORE ground-breaking work with a bloke by the name of Beck. Good grief. 1990 saw the Beasties team up with Mario Caldato Junior on their third record, Check Your Head. It was a culturally unavoidable batch of songs. Hit single “So What’Cha Want” was EVERYWHERE. Radio loved it, and MTV banged the award-winning video CONSTANTLY. This record saw them all playing instruments, instead of sampling, and added the textures of Money Mark on keyboards. His riff on “So What’Cha Want” is one of the most recognizable in ‘90s music. Playing and recording live instruments would continue to serve them well as they moved onto the writing stage of their third album.

1994 saw the release of album four, Ill Communication. The same team assembled in New York for a month, but eventually found themselves back in their Atwater studios to complete the tracking. It was, once again, going to lean heavily on live instruments that would be manipulated and bent to their will using their trusted compatriot, the sampler. One of the songs that they had started in New York went by the title “Chris Rock.” It started with a simple bass-line that MCA had been jamming on while f’ing around with a cranked fuzz pedal. Ad-Rock added a guitar line, and then Money Mark entered the frame with some organ and synth “vibe-age.” Upon listening back, however, the band decided that it was “Too rock,” and that they weren’t really interested in going down that path after having exhausted the tropes with License To Ill. Enter: Chris, the studio owner, who lost his shit over the sounds coming out of the speakers. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! This is rockin’ right here! This is it!” was his refrain. He was convinced that it was a smash. Hence, the working title, “Chris Rock.” Don’t forget, he was only listening to the INSTRUMENTAL! It must’ve sounded incredible being in the room and hearing it for the first time. What I wouldn’t give.

Upon returning to Los Angeles, the band, for that is what they really were, went back to their own studio, G-Son, to complete the album. “Chris Rock” still wasn’t finished, though. Finally, Ad-Rock dropped by Mario’s apartment to wrap-up the vocals on the song they just weren’t that in to. They had been listening to the instrumental version off-and-on for the five months that they had been sequestered at G-Son, and Adam had even tried some ideas, but nothing worked. With the lyrics written, and not many expectations, Ad-Rock stepped to the Sennheiser 421, and in two takes…it was done. Epic. They both knew that they had it. Whatever “it” was. Upon hearing the track back at their own studio, the rest of the band were upside down about “Sabotage”, as it was now known. Within hours, the group yells on the chorus, bridges were added, MCA and Mike D. provided the scratches, and a MASSIVE smash was completed. Radio would proceed to play it over and over again. The crazy part? You never got tired of hearing it. Every time it tore out of the speakers, one had no choice but to just crank it and yell along!

MTV also got in on the action, and the Spike Jonze directed video was ALSO on high rotation. Watch it, and then marvel at the fact that they shot it all without one single permit. The Beastie Boys maintained their cred, punk-rock attitude, and roots throughout their careers. This song is a 90’s Classic, of that there is no doubt.

 

The line-up on “Sabotage” is as follows:

Drums – Mike D.

Bass/Scratches – MCA

Keys – Money Mark

Vocals/Scratches – Ad Rock

Anyone who doubts that this is a REAL band should just listen to the attached audio of the radio breakdown. It’s shocking how brilliant this song is. Just listen. Period. It’s fantastic. It’s perfect. It’s a band at the peak of their powers.

A Power Trio in the truest sense; Respect is due. Any doubts about that should be SILENCED by their live performance on The David Letterman Show:

 

I had the pleasure of seeing them live a few times myself…gobsmacking. They were unlike anything that I’ve ever seen. Legitimate musicians who invented something. Three Idiots Who Created A Masterpiece.

Mike D’s groove on the kit is soooo deep. Ghost-notes, the heaviness of that kick, Bonham calls out from the abyss. And, as with any drummer who is also a vocalist, he is “pushing” the lyrics through the mix with the back beat. So graceful and bombastic. Precise but sloppy. All of the contradictions. Sickness.

MCA’s bass riff IS the song. He’s doing on the bass, what Morello does on the guitar. He is melody, bottom end, string bends, fuzz, and all equally as bombastic as Mike D. is on the kit. the two of them together is pure magic. What is this SONG?!? And then the clean arps at the 2:30 minute mark. I CAN’T EVEN!! Man, nobody should talk sh*t about these dudes. Ever.

The guitars?! Punk-rock. Blown out distortion whose job is to buzz-saw the bass riff, give it the top end snarl required to fill out the mix, and cause the speakers to want to admit defeat. And then the SQUEALS!! Sonic Youth for days. It’s an entirely different way of placing the guitar in the context of the song. It’s the “Morello turntable bit” if executed by Thurston Moore.

MCA and Ad-Rock provide some of the most sublimely performed record-scratches committed to tape. This IS hip-hop. The Technics 1200 is the Fender Telecaster of the genre. Joe Strummer would’ve used one if he was in the Rap Game. Their ability to use the record as an instrument is a marvel. Shades of Hank Shocklee and the Bomb Squad. This is one of the many reasons that the Hip-Hop community respects the Beasties, they ain’t frontin’.

The subtle texture work of Money Mark on the keys is the “Secret Sauce” on “Sabotage.” From the “Cripple Creek” sounding bits, to the low analogue moan of the synth, all of it provides texture that eludes the ear until revealed. You feel it all more than you hear it. That is artistry. What would the drop-out be without the simple drone that precludes the crashing re-entry of the fuzzed-up bass-line? Empty and ineffective, I’ll bet you. Someone once said something about music being all about the “notes that you don’t play.” MM’s choices, and self-control, add an additional layer to this song that raise the stakes, and bring it to another level of sophistication. Without these parts, “Sabotage” would still be AWESOME, but it wouldn’t have the depth that it has with them included.

And then…Adam. Holy smokes. Imagine being in Mario’s apartment, or worse still, being his NEIGHBOR, as Ad-Rock yelled his way through this thing. Top of his range. Full voice. Put the song on and try to “sing” along. Your voice will be fried by the first chorus, I assure you. And he did it, start-to-finish, in two takes. So dope. “I’m-a set it straight, this Watergate” and “I’m Buddy Rich when I fly off the handle” are two of my favorite lines in the whole thing. I love that music can ALSO be this. What a gift. And all of the work, over all of time, every piece EVER, is based on the foundation of 12 notes. Amazing.

Listen to the attached audio. It’s one of the best segments that I have done. I can’t wait to do this one live.

MCA’s passing was one of the hardest musician deaths that I have experienced. If you came up in the ‘80s, then you know that they were “OUR band.” If you had a posse of friends, each of you fit the vibe of one member. You WERE a Beastie Boy, and everybody wanted to be MCA. I think I was the Mike D. of my peer-group. The band was such a group of cartoon characters, that it is hard to see them as real people, especially as they have grown into Beastie Men. I have also shared my favorite photo of MCA and his daughter, Losel. It is so beautifully human and hard to imagine that that is the bloke from the “Fight For Your Right To Party” video who smashes the beer can into his head. As they aged, they became ambassadors for the Free Tibet Movement, and came to be indelibly linked with their home town of New York City. Quite an accomplishment for a band whose career really got going from a prank phone call about an ice-cream cake.

If you haven’t recently, or ever, gone back and listened to Ill Communication in its entirety, do yourself a favor. Put it on in the car, and go for a drive around your nearest city. It is SO bloody good. A perfect soundtrack for the Urban Decay. Just make sure that you TURN IT UP!

If you want to experience the fellas in a way that you would NEVER expect, and you’re a fan of funked-up, blues, trippy, experimental, instrumental, weed-soaked, groove-jams, then I highly recommend their instrumental opus The In Sound From Way Out! It’ll give your sound-system a workout…trust me. And, you’ll definitely find yourself, eyes-closed, bouncing your head, deep into it.

The Beastie Boys ain’t no joke.

RIP MCA.

Thanks for reading and listening.

See you at the next one,

cjh

Some pop stars wear the glamour of fame and fortune, like a suit they’ve longed to try on since they first picked up a guitar or a mic. Keeping the garb of stardom on their backs becomes their primary musical goal. And then there’s Tracy Chapman. She hit the big time on a fluke, and doesn’t seem to care that the industry tired of her when she wouldn’t be exactly what they wanted.

When executives at Elektra heard a demo of her acoustic song “Talkin’ ʼbout a Revolution” in 1987 – the demo had been sent around by an enthusiastic friend, since Chapman was too busy writing and singing to think about promoting a career – they smelled a sweet revolution latent in a market oversaturated with synthesizers and hair metal. Chapman’s first album, the simply produced Tracy Chapman, came out in 1988; it was a massive critical and popular success, raking in three Grammys.

Besides several hit singles, that record also includes the exquisite “If Not Now,” which provides a fine introduction to the fatalism and longing in Chapman’s poetry, as well as her plaintive vocal writing. The short lines with breaths between them, and ornaments decorating them, make the powerful lyrics clearer.

 

Chapman had been reluctant to sign with a major company because she feared losing her original voice. The 1989 album Crossroads shows that she wasn’t kidding. She stuck to her guns and co-produced the album (with David Kershenbaum, who also produced the first album). It didn’t sell nearly as well as the debut. But Chapman stayed true to herself.

“Subcity” demonstrates her abilities as both storyteller and social commentator. Her use of language is so efficient that in only a few of her signature short phrases she’s built a three-dimensional world for her disenfranchised characters: “People live every day / On the waste and decay / Of the discards of their fellow man.”

It’s worth noting, that by this second album there’s more of a rock feel – in this case, a country rock swing – with drum kit and electric bass, although the acoustic guitar is kept to the forefront in the mix.

 

For her third album, Matters of the Heart (1992), Chapman collaborated with a new producer, Jimmy Iovine, who had already worked with Lennon, Springsteen, and Meat Loaf, and would go on to found Interscope Records and co-found Beats Electronics. So, this was never going to be a simple folk record.

The moving “I Used to Be a Sailor” swells with strings and a soft-rock drum beat. I can imagine Chapman singing this in a coffee shop with just her acoustic six-string, but that folk kernel has been swathed in thick layers of musical fabric. The more I listen, the more I doubt the fancy arrangement adds anything important.

 

Although Elektra kept Chapman on its roster until 2008, she only produced one more hit single, “Give Me One Reason,” from the 1995 record New Beginning. That very successful album, produced by Chapman and John Mellencamp collaborator Don Gehman, The production values are more subtle here than on Matters of the Heart, although there are dozens of musicians involved.

The easy-going arrangement of “I’m Ready” is a good example of this light hand in the production booth. Even the team of violins, backing vocals, steel guitar, and bongos doesn’t overwhelm the song.

 

If you search out the original recording, keep listening after “I’m Ready” ends for a hidden track called “Save a Place for Me.”

It would be five years before Chapman released another album. When she did return to CD racks, the public wasn’t buying. Telling Stories (2000) sold only one tenth the volume of New Beginning in the U.S.

As a whole, the album does not have a lot new to say musically. An exception is “Paper and Ink,” which is distinguished by its use of mandolin and dulcimer, adding an earthy Appalachian touch to Chapman’s warning about the destructive forces of greed.

 

Although Let It Rain (2002) was the first Tracy Chapman album not to reach the American charts at all, there’s a calm confidence in her singing that seems to demonstrate an artistic self-awareness and maturity. This is a songwriter who doesn’t give a fig how many records she sells.

The arrangements (co-produced by Chapman and John Parish) contribute to the atmosphere of inner peace, opening with a pedal steel so creamy it could pass for a synth on the title track:

 

A highlight of 2005’s Where You Live is “3,000 Miles.” There’s a painful irony in the contrast between the lyrics – recounting the shaming and abuse of girls, perhaps autobiographical – and the lacy, percussive music, as delicate as raindrops on a spider’s web.

 

The 2008 album Our Bright Future was the last project for Elektra, who (Chapman claims) got tired of her not making money for them. Although she toured in support of Our Bright Future in Europe, her U.S. tour was canceled. She hasn’t toured since.

“The First Person on Earth” shows her exploring instrumental sound effects – after all, what did she have to lose? Maybe the distorted wailing harmonics represent a primordial backdrop for this strange but touching love song. It’s a bizarre contrast against the strident rhythm of the melody, which is followed tightly by a snare drum all the way through.

 

In the slew of interviews Chapman did to promote her Greatest Hits album in 2015, she gives the impression that she would be perfectly contented to be out of the spotlight for the rest of her life. She has described the split with Elektra as setting her on the path to artistic freedom. In fact, she has not created another studio album since parting ways with Elektra – not even a self-produced effort in this era when every kid with an iPhone tries that.

But I doubt her public silence means she’s not writing songs. More likely, she’s once again the young college student who only wanted to stand up for social justice and explore her poetic musical voice back in 1987. We’re just not invited into the garden where she plays her guitar.

As I age, I become aware of my mortality. My wife and I have talked about what to do if one of us becomes brain dead. I want her to pull the plug; she wants to keep on living just in case there is a cure. Most people avoid talk of end of life arrangements, but I think we need to accept it as a fact of life. Two people I’ve known have felt the same way.

One.

After a walking trip in Burgundy, I decided to visit the factory that makes my turntables in the Czech Republic.

My route took me through Switzerland then Austria where I planned to visit my friend Heinz and his wife Jozefina.

As I was passing near Zurich, I stopped off the meet some good friends whom I hadn’t seen in a few years. We had a great time reminiscing, eating (I’ll never forget the barbequed duck breast), and, of course, drinking. I had brought some spectacular bottles of Burgundy from a great store in Dijon. As the evening progressed, it took on a somber note as one of my friends told me that her father had recently died.

Her mother had died a year and a half ago and her father, in his mid-eighties, had been diagnosed with cancer. He felt that with his wife gone and the recent diagnosis, his life wasn’t worth living. He wanted to end it. Assisted suicide is legal in Switzerland, but there is a procedure to do so. He applied to an organization that deals with this matter and after a period of evaluation he was deemed a suitable candidate. His daughters agreed that it was his right to choose and gave their approval. On the night he died, his daughters were with him. He said his goodbyes and swallowed a small vial of liquid. His last words were, “I feel burning in my throat.” And then he was gone.

“Although I agreed with his decision, he was still my father and I miss him,” my friend told me, with tears in her eyes.

Two.

I was once very friendly with a neighbor of mine called Ernst Pawel. Ernst was a writer and a curmudgeon. He only liked his wife, his children and for some strange reason, me. He had little time for other people. An avowed atheist, he answered, ‘Against!’ when asked his religion in an official form. As a young man his family had fled Germany for Yugoslavia. They settled in Belgrade and there he learnt to speak Serbian and understand Yugoslavian politics.

After the war, his family immigrated to the U.S. and he eventually ended up living in Great Neck. Years later I moved there and serendipity found me living two doors away. On the day the E.U. and U.S. recognized Bosnia and Herzegovina in the early 90s, he came to me and told me that war would break out any moment. The Bosnian Muslims, Serbs, and Croats hated each other. He was, of course, correct, and a terrible war ensued.

He was an avid cycler and I would often see him cycling up the hill that leads to my house. Sometimes, while having breakfast outdoors in summer, he would stop for a coffee and a chat. An extremely well-educated man, he told me he was doing research on Franz Kafka and writing a book about his life. It was called “The Nightmare of Reason” and was well-received in the press. This gave him some notoriety and he was often asked to lecture on Kafka by educational establishments around the world.

At one point I started to notice that his ascent of the hill was becoming slower and slower. I mentioned this to him and he told me that his breathing was labored and that he was soon going for tests. The results came back positive for lung cancer. This was ironic, as he hadn’t smoked a cigarette in over 35 years.

I asked him what he was going to do. Always frank, he answered,

“Lung cancer is a terrible disease. When the time comes, I am going to kill myself.”

At one point he had a lobectomy, which put him in remission but a year or so, but later on he started coughing and I knew that the cancer had returned. I never again discussed his plans for suicide, as it was such a personal subject. His condition worsened and before going on a business trip, I visited him to say goodbye. He was sitting in a chair and his son-in-law was tending to him as he constantly coughed up sputum. Oxygen was fed to him via a tube. He looked really miserable. I told him that I was flying that night to London. He looked up with his rheumy eyes and said, “Lucky you.”

He died the next day.

A few months later his memoir was published and he mentioned his desire to kill himself.

“I really wanted to and planned to do it, but life wouldn’t let me,” he wrote.

Aretha Franklin (and all recording artists) get no “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” in regards to being paid to have their songs played on the radio.

Aretha Franklin has never been paid for the 7.4 million times the song “Respect” has been played on commercial radio.

Here’s the surprising reason why:

The history of recording artists being ripped off by crooked managers, agents, and record labels are legendary.

It seems that every VH1 Behind the Music is the same story.

Artists starve in the early stages of their career, suddenly have a hit record, become rich and famous, and then, through a combination of ignorance (as well as drug and alcohol abuse) gets ripped off. They wind up broke, and in many cases, die an early and tragic death.

Sometimes, the artist is able to “come back,” wiser (and sober) to make a lot of money and write a book about the nightmare of the road to stardom.

Then, there are the kind of artists, like Aretha Franklin, who have an amazing and lifelong career. She has multiple Grammys, multiple hit singles, has sold millions of records, received the Congressional Medal of Freedom from the White House, and left an estate estimated at $80,000,000!

Except….

She has never received royalties for her most famous song “Respect” (let alone all her other hits) being aired on the radio.

Why?

This is the part of the music business that the public doesn’t understand.

Artists do not get paid for commercial radio play.

Not the Beatles, not Michael Jackson, or Led Zeppelin, or Madonna, or Stevie Wonder, or Frank Sinatra, or even Twisted Sister!

No matter how big (or small) you are, the fact that commercial radio stations (not including satellite and internet) do not have to pay the performing artist to air their music, was “baked into the system” years ago.

Does anyone get paid?

Yes. The writer(s) of the song gets a royalty for every play.

In the case of “Respect”, that writer is Otis Redding.

For example: Of The Beatles, only Lennon and McCartney (and occasionally George Harrison) receive royalties from commercial radio stations. But, only as the writers.

How and why was this decided?

Commercial radio play is considered public broadcasting. Therefore, by law, the only royalty that has to be paid is to the writer/publisher. This also applies to all music being played in public places, such as stadiums, arenas, and concert halls. Ironically, this also covers the use of any song registered to ASCAP, BMI, or SESAC that is being used at rallies, such as political ones. Any one of 80 million songs can be used without the artist’s permission, and without paying the artist any royalties.

Read about President Trump’s use of “Were Not Gonna Take It” here.

This law was established by Congress, and only an act of Congress can change it. Commercial radio, having very powerful lobbyists, has kept Congress from changing these laws. In contrast, satellite and internet stations do pay royalties to the performer, as they are much more recent configurations.

Commercial radio does not pay royalties to the performer, rationalizing that the performer benefits from the airplay and profits from live performances and record sales.

Ask any artist, and they will tell you that a radio station charges for commercials based on the popularity of the station (the more popular the station, the more they charge). However, the success of the radio station comes from playing the very songs that people want to hear.

 It took me years to learn about what rules were “baked into the system”. Some of the rules that may seem unfair, are still the rules that your peers in the music industry are living with. If you have the energy to fight government regulations that seem grossly unfair, just know that it’s a big fight, and in most cases, the changes are incremental. The good news is that the playing field is equal, and the smartest survive because they learned how to maneuver around such regulations.

The recent headlines about a new music bill, just signed by President Trump, still does not address this issue of play on terrestrial radio, and it is still weighted heavily toward the writer/publisher.

In this regard, “Respect” has not yet come to Aretha, or any of the thousands of other artists who have made commercial radio stations hundreds of millions of dollars, but we will keep fighting for that R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Among the most-played and -recorded of J. S. Bach’s instrumental works are his six Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin and six Suites for solo cello. They have acquired a reputation for being quite difficult to perform and “hear,” i.e., listen to with intent. That sounds like something illegal in four or five states, but it isn’t.

Right now, we have a special chance to discover—or rediscover!—the joy of listening with intent. Three recent recordings of the Cello Suites offer distinctly different roads to hearing-and-understanding. (All are available as high-res downloads, incidentally.) Only one comes from a cellist—but it’s Yo-Yo Ma. This is his third go-round, good enough to stop most folks from looking further. Another complete set comes, via ECM, from violist Kim Kashkashian, renowned interpreter of contemporary music. Turns out she’s exceptionally good at pre-1750 repertoire too. Finally, let’s welcome Bolette Roed, a recorder master whose newest collection includes transcriptions of selected Bach solo violin and cello works. (For the cello suites she uses a tenor recorder.)

Time to wade right in. Here is an excerpt from the Prelude to Suite No. 2 in D Minor. You can follow along if you want, because I’ve patched in part of an authentic 18th-century manuscript score. It’s in the hand of Anna Magdalena Bach, Johann’s wife, and dates from c.1727–30. Look, listen:

Visually, this music presents as one long, nearly unbroken phrase. That half-page of manuscript alone features more than 160 16th-notes (the itty-bitty, quick kind), seldom interrupted by 8ths, quarters, or rests. They just keep coming and coming.

But the music doesn’t quite sound that way, does it? Ma knows how to shape the flow, using gentle tenutos (slightly held notes), occasional forward motion (mere hints of speed), microdynamic growth-and-decay, and once in a while a whiff of vibrato. Thanks to him, we can hear the structure: repeated motives, slight variations on those repeats, extensions of previously sounded variations. As a result, motives seem, well, motivated. We’re getting somewhere.

I’ve always been especially fond of melodic extensions, for which the Germans have a word: Fortspinnung, “spinning forth.” The performer must take care: too much unbroken Fortspinnung and we get lost—confused, then bored. On the other hand, too many punctuations or emphases or “shaping” and we lose momentum, then coherence. We need the forest and the trees. The music must move forward, but within a framework created by careful attention to Bach’s structure. (Note to beginners: don’t try to create your own damn structure. Discover Bach’s.) It must go somewhere—regardless of disruptions or side glances—and it must eventually arrive.

Here’s Kashkashian playing the same passage:

Different, no? And not just because her instrument is pitched an octave higher and she holds it under her chin. She also shapes the phrases differently, resulting in expression that may seem less dreamy here, more intense there, in turns contemplative and passionate, but always worked up within boundaries established by the composer three hundred years ago.

Each suite is made up of a Prelude followed by four “old” dances—Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, Gigue—plus pairs of one “modern” dance—Minuet, Bourrée, Gavotte—inserted between Sarabande and Gigue. The six Preludes are the longest and most diverse movements in the collection. They range from sunny moto perpetuo exercises like the well-known Prelude to Suite No. 1:

all the way over to the French-overture-influenced Prelude of Suite No. 5:

Those are the stately statements and “dotted” rhythms, flash and filigree of a French overture, treated here at a slower tempo, and with more freedom, than you might expect. (Click here to hear a more straightforward French overture as a comparison; its fugue begins at 2:46.) I chose Kashkashian for the clip above because she does the opening marginally faster, and with more rhythmic snap, than does Ma. But Ma works wonders with the fugal passages that follow (in a French overture, they nearly always follow). He introduces a furtive, ghostly feeling that complements the opening material really well:

Bear in mind that the composer sets himself a difficult task here: he’s got to suggest a three- or four-voice fugue—a fairly strict contrapuntal exercise in which several voices go at the same subject simultaneously, their sounds overlapping and competing with one another (click here for a comparative example). How in the world do you do that with a single instrument that customarily plays one, count ‘em, one melodic line plus an occasional chord-like flourish? Well, Kashkashian’s your friend. Listen to how she “voices” the fugue:

Remember, those are the same notes Bach wrote for Ma. I like both interpretations, and there’s no need to declare a winner; this isn’t the 440-yard dash.

Let’s get back to Bolette Roed, the recorder player, for a moment. You heard her essay the G-major Prelude above, and you probably already have an opinion about her performance. But let’s hear something else:

That’s the Courante from the G-major suite, and that’s more like it, right? The music seems well-suited to the instrument, the phrasing is crisp, consistent, and appropriate, and the player’s need to breathe doesn’t get in the way so much. Maybe that’s a lesson for steel-drum bands, accordionists, and ocarina players who persist in playing Bach even though he never heard a steel drum in his life. You can certainly do it—but choose carefully, and get a genius arranger.

We have just enough space for one more sample. Let’s do the Sarabande from Suite No. 5. Why? For one thing, it probably contains fewer notes than any other piece in the collection. So in this case, the simplicity of the music is itself the jaw-dropper, especially when you consider that Bach has to pull bass and accompaniment from the melody itself. First Kashkashian:

Then Ma:

And finally Roed, although her new album doesn’t include Suite No. 5. Here’s a fine substitute from Suite No. 1 in G major. Might as well leave you with one of the most upbeat Sarabandes in the collection!

Next time: lutes, lutes, and more lutes.

If you don’t know the meaning of the babbling brook of a word above, don’t feel bad. I deliberately chose an obscure word in order to make a point—here’s the definition:

ɡläsəˈlālēə (noun):
the phenomenon of (apparently) speaking in an unknown language, especially in religious worship.

When you hear words or other sounds that you can’t understand, you focus upon what? The sound, of course. You try to interpret the sounds based upon your lifetime of experience, searching for familiar patterns, roots, or—sounds. You try to make sense out of nonsense.

Take our title: if the word was unfamiliar to you, you probably tried to find similarities to words you do know—gloss, for instance, as in, to gloss over meaning. Better yet: glossary, which of course is—-

Damn it.

Aretha Franklin (and all recording artists) get no “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” in regards to being paid to have their songs played on the radio. Aretha Franklin has never been paid for the 7.4 million times the song “Respect” has been played on commercial radio. Here’s the surprising reason why: The history of recording artists being ripped off by crooked managers, agents, and record labels are legendary. It seems that every VH1 Behind the Music is the same story. Artists starve in the early stages of their career, suddenly have a hit record, become rich and famous, and then, through a combination of ignorance (as well as drug and alcohol abuse) gets ripped off. They wind up broke, and in many cases, die an early and tragic death. Sometimes, the artist is able to “come back,” wiser (and sober) to make a lot of money and write a book about the nightmare of the road to stardom. Then, there are the kind of artists, like Aretha Franklin, who have an amazing and lifelong career. She has multiple Grammys, multiple hit singles, has sold millions of records, received the Congressional Medal of Freedom from the White House, and left an estate estimated at $80,000,000! Except…. She has never received royalties for her most famous song “Respect” (let alone all her other hits) being aired on the radio. Why? This is the part of the music business that the public doesn’t understand. Artists do not get paid for commercial radio play. Not the Beatles, not Michael Jackson, or Led Zeppelin, or Madonna, or Stevie Wonder, or Frank Sinatra, or even Twisted Sister! No matter how big (or small) you are, the fact that commercial radio stations (not including satellite and internet) do not have to pay the performing artist to air their music, was “baked into the system” years ago. Does anyone get paid? Yes. The writer(s) of the song gets a royalty for every play. In the case of “Respect”, that writer is Otis Redding. For example: Of The Beatles, only Lennon and McCartney (and occasionally George Harrison) receive royalties from commercial radio stations. But, only as the writers. How and why was this decided? Commercial radio play is considered public broadcasting. Therefore, by law, the only royalty that has to be paid is to the writer/publisher. This also applies to all music being played in public places, such as stadiums, arenas, and concert halls. Ironically, this also covers the use of any song registered to ASCAP, BMI, or SESAC that is being used at rallies, such as political ones. Any one of 80 million songs can be used without the artist’s permission, and without paying the artist any royalties. Read about President Trump’s use of “Were Not Gonna Take It” here. This law was established by Congress, and only an act of Congress can change it. Commercial radio, having very powerful lobbyists, has kept Congress from changing these laws. In contrast, satellite and internet stations do pay royalties to the performer, as they are much more recent configurations. Commercial radio does not pay royalties to the performer, rationalizing that the performer benefits from the airplay and profits from live performances and record sales. Ask any artist, and they will tell you that a radio station charges for commercials based on the popularity of the station (the more popular the station, the more they charge). However, the success of the radio station comes from playing the very songs that people want to hear. It took me years to learn about what rules were “baked into the system”. Some of the rules that may seem unfair, are still the rules that your peers in the music industry are living with. If you have the energy to fight government regulations that seem grossly unfair, just know that it’s a big fight, and in most cases, the changes are incremental. The good news is that the playing field is equal, and the smartest survive because they learned how to maneuver around such regulations. The recent headlines about a new music bill, just signed by President Trump, still does not address this issue of play on terrestrial radio, and it is still weighted heavily toward the writer/publisher. In this regard, “Respect” has not yet come to Aretha, or any of the thousands of other artists who have made commercial radio stations hundreds of millions of dollars, but we will keep fighting for that R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Actually, it was in 2002, but that’s okay. I was in LA on business for a week, and found myself in Beverly Hills one evening, strolling along Rodeo Drive (as one does…). It was a beautiful, warm and sunny, early spring evening, and I was just taking in the sights, hoping to work up a pre-supper appetite. At one point on the sidewalk I came upon a large knot of glamorous-looking types, apparently waiting idly to get into a night club. I didn’t want to be pushing my way through, so I aimed myself at the edge of the crowd by the curbside, and figured I’d just skirt my way past.

But as I turned to check that the road was clear, a large black SUV came barreling along right next to the curb, and pulled up with a screech alongside the crowd. The door to the SUV opened, and somebody flew out, straight into me. I turned to murmur an apology (hey, I’m British), but the person bounced off me, and – quite literally – ran straight into the now-open doors of the establishment. It was Elton John. I later learned that this was his birthday party, and was considered to be the hot ticket in LA that week.

I was motivated to write this because this very week Elton John’s farewell tour makes its stop in Montreal. Last time he came here, my wife and I scored tickets and it was an amazing concert. He played a solid two hours of nothing but Elton John’s Greatest Hits. Still: at the end of it, everyone in the audience had favorites that hadn’t made the set list. Really, who else can you say that of?  But now the guy’s hanging up his piano stool for good.

I’ve never been what you’d call a huge Elton John fan, but I have to say that he does manage to pull an exceptional song or two out of his hat on a fairly regular basis. And if you do that for nearly 50 years what you end up with is a lengthy set list of exceptional songs.

Like a lot of people of my generation, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road was the album that turned serious music fans on to a performer who up until then had been known as a purveyor of lightweight girly pop tunes aimed at the singles charts (yes, “Your Song”, I’m looking at you!). But you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by “Funeral For A Friend” and its segue into “Love Lies Bleeding”, by which time you were hooked. That was Elton John??? For me, Yellow Brick Road is one of three EJ albums which I count as masterpieces, the other two being Captain Fantastic And The Brown Dirt Cowboy and its career bookend partner The Captain And The Kid. It is the last of those that I want to talk about today, because my guess is that most of you who know the first two well, will be completely unfamiliar with it. I actually think it’s the best of the lot.

But first, some musings on rock music in general, and the career arcs of its earliest practitioners who (assuming they made it this far) are now drawing their pensions. Because here’s the thing: it’s a young person’s game. The vast majority of the great rock classics were written by kids; there were no geezer bands during the birth of rock. Really, you don’t have to wonder why that was. In the sphere of classical music, we usually find that composers tend to write better and more profound music the older they get – even well into their eighties. And in jazz circles, we find little diminution in the creativity of its greatest exponents over decades-long performing careers. But on rock’s geezer-band circuit, we find very few performers who are playing anything other than their old ’70s and ’80s repertoire, and certainly very few audiences who want to hear anything else.

Actually, there is a pretty good reason for that. Popular music is music for young people, by young people. By its very nature it is new, and of the moment. It is edgy and unsophisticated. There is a wonderful quote from Roger Waters of Pink Floyd, when he was asked to look back on Dark Side Of The Moon and give his perspective on it with 40 years of hindsight. His comment was “Well … it’s a bit sixth form, isn’t it”. If you’re British, you’ll get that: “Sixth Form” equates more or less to a high school senior, in a class being prepped for university.

So, as a writer of intelligent music (or intelligent lyrics for intelligent music), it stands to reason that as you mature, your output will also mature. It will become more thoughtful, more trenchant, better structured, more sophisticated. This is the challenge facing popular music genres. Does sophistication inevitably bring about the loss of that raw, youthful edge? Can a sophisticated musician ‘dumb down’ his output and create unsophisticated music? And even if he could, would he want to? Sadly, many would appear to be on a creative down-spiral, suggesting that they may have missed the turn on the road to sophistication.

But surely, you say, there is no such thing as sophisticated rock music (or sophisticated hip-hop, or sophisticated thrash metal, …)! Well, I don’t know about that … after all, Quadrophenia was pretty damn sophisticated. But certainly the late output of rock’s aging superstars tends to garner far, far less in the way of popular attention than their less mature, but famous, early work. Certainly, the interests of the audiences who spend generously to pay homage at their sold-out tours lie firmly in the old, old classics. And in case you think I’m delivering a side-swipe of an insult, I should point out I have been to many such concerts myself.

One of the difficulties faced by a sophisticated aging rocker is that while their audiences might be expecting them to remain true to their roots, perhaps their process of maturation has taken them in other musical directions. What are we to make of the aforementioned Roger Waters and his opera Ça Ira? If I’m an old Pink Floyd fan who’s never much liked opera, do I go out of my way to seek it out because – hey – it’s Roger Waters, man! These are tough challenges, on both sides of the stage lights.

However, Elton John and Bernie Taupin have met that challenge head on, and overcome it. For well over 40 years, they have been churning out quality pop-rock to a very consistent standard, and even some of their late-era work has been outstanding.

Which brings me back to The Captain And The Kid which was, incredibly, Elton John’s 30^th studio album.

It was way back in 1975 that Elton John released Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, an overtly autobiographical account of John and Taupin’s early years leading up to their eventual commercial success, beginning in 1970. Elton John himself always considered it his finest album, and I personally agreed with that sentiment. Maybe its quality arose from the fact that he spent far more time and effort on it than any other, due, presumably, to the depth and honesty of its autobiographical content.

Much to my surprise, in 2006 Elton John released The Captain And The Kid, which carried on where the previous album left off. Acting as a bookend to his career, it examined the new-found highs – and lows – of their superstardom. And much to my surprise and joy, I found I liked it even better than the earlier magnum opus. It just has that extra edge of sophistication, without losing the soul of what it takes to be an Elton John album.

A brief outline of the tracks follows:

 

Postcards From Richard Nixon

This first-rate opener is about John and Taupin’s move to the USA, and the major culture shock that it represented. Their stay outlasted Nixon’s presidency:

“We heard Richard Nixon say

I gotta go, but you can stay”

 

Just Like Noah’s Ark

This is Bernie Taupin’s version of Pink Floyd’s “Welcome To The Machine”. The music business just wants to eat you up and spit you out.

“We’re not as dumb as we might look

You can’t keep us in the dark”

 

Wouldn’t Have You Any Other Way (NYC)

Anything goes in New York City.

“Long black cars standing side-by-side

Loading up the boys at night”

 

Tinderbox

Success and fame can be fleeting, even if you’re a rock star.

“We were coasting on a winning streak

We were kings until the power failed”

 

And The House Fell Down

This song describes Elton John’s cocaine and alcohol addiction, and the problems that follow in its wake, like paranoia.

“Cause when you’re high as this

You think you know it all”

 

Blues Never Fade Away

One of Elton John’s greatest songs ever. Death comes in many guises – misfortune, self-inflicted, inflicted by others. While others get to live on …

“Who makes the call and who gets to choose

Who gets to win and who gets to lose?”

 

The Bridge

Just EJ and his piano. A truly awesome song. A metaphor for the pursuit of success, regardless of the field of endeavor. Success doesn’t just come to you – you have to make the effort to cross the bridge.

“Every one of us has to face that day.

Do you cross the bridge or do you fade away?”

 

I Must Have Lost it On The Wind

A meditation on the lovers and partners who come into and out of a long life, and the impact they have upon you.

“From one you learn something, and another you learn nothing,

And there’s one who might teach you everything”

 

Old ‘67

Oh my, we have come a long way since 1967 …

“Nearly froze to death on Oxford Street

Now we’re sitting in the South of France”

 

The Captain And The Kid

The album closes with a wistful but satisfied look in the mirror, and draws musically on its earlier counterpart, “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy”.

“The devil got to come to the party sometimes,

But he never got to wear our shoes”

 

Sadly, this devil never got to come to the party. He got barged out of the way at the door of the SUV!