Issue 93

Rodney Crowell – Texas

I grew up in the red clay hills of rural North Georgia; country music is in my blood, even though it probably represents a fraction of a percentage point of my music collection. I was raised where the preachers of dirt-poor Baptist churches would damn rock and roll music to Hell every Sunday, then climb behind the wheels of their Ford Fairlanes and crank the Hank Williams and George Jones singing about boozing and womanizing. I never quite understood that dichotomy as a young man. During the early years of my life, when my dad was very ill, we stayed a lot with my Uncle Edwin, who listened to nothing but a steady diet of Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton; the Grand Ole Opry is etched into my brain. And prior to my dad’s illness, my mom actually performed on the local AM radio station playing guitar and singing country and folk songs, and later on, insisted we watch Hee-Haw every week.

I first became aware of Rodney Crowell as a member of Emmylou Harris’ Hot Band back in the seventies; already an established songwriter at that point, he was soon writing songs for Nashville’s royalty. Over his career, he’s had no fewer than five of his songs hit No. 1 on the country charts; I saw him perform twice as a member of Emmylou’s touring band in the late seventies, which was always an incredibly entertaining show. God knows I was in love with Emmylou Harris, and Crowell wrote several of her signature songs that were really brought to life in concert, like “Ain’t Living Long Like This” and “Leaving Louisiana”. He soon stepped out and started performing and recording his own songs, but still collaborated on albums with Emmylou and countless other Nashville performers over the course of his career. His music has strayed frequently from true Country to more of the Americana genre over recent years. I have to admit that I’m much more a fan of Rodney Crowell’s talents as an amazing songwriter and performer than as a singer; his albums are generally well-recorded, and usually with a stellar cast of performers and guest artists. But, for me, his voice is more acclimated for those “pure country harmonies” with amazing singers (like Emmylou Harris) than that of a lead singer. It’s not really a “strong” voice, and it doesn’t have any of the quirky characteristics that make other singers (like Willie Nelson) so interesting.

All that said, his new album, Texas (Crowell hails from Houston) is all of the above, pretty much in a nutshell, and probably the outstanding country music release of 2019 so far. His twenty-first studio album, it features a stellar cast of contributors, ranging from Willie Nelson, Lee Ann Womack, Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top), Lyle Lovett, Vince Gill, Steve Earle, and even Ringo Starr thrown in for good measure! And even though there are some finely crafted tunes within, it pretty much, for me, sums up my assessment of Rodney Crowell’s career: excellent songwriter and performer, but God bless him for having the fortitude to continue to pursue a career as a solo artist. The best songs on this album are where he’s harmonizing with his notable guests, like “Brown and Root, Brown and Root”, where the blending of voices between Crowell and Steve Earle is simply magical, undeniably resulting in the album’s biggest highlight. Most of the songs here seem really promising, but just sort of fall short; an extra verse, or perhaps a more extended instrumental bridge would serve the music well. Still, his shared vocals with Willie Nelson, Ronnie Dunn, and Lee Ann Womack are pretty enjoyable on “Deep in the Heart of Uncertain Texas”, which is a really enjoyable song and ought to get a good bit of airplay on country radio. Another real highlight is “The Border”, a real downer of a song in an album of otherwise upbeat tunes. It’s a minor-key assessment of all the recent craziness focused on the border between the US and Mexico, and Rodney really nails the realities of the poor folk trying to find a better life and the risks they take to try and make it happen.

Despite my personal reservations, Texas is a really good album with some really good work by a boatload of great artists. That could easily have been a great album. And, hey: Rodney Crowell was just inducted into the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame! Recommended.

Rodney Crowell Records, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Tidal, Qobuz, Google Play Music, Spotify)

Sleater-Kinney – The Center Won’t Hold

 All-girl group Sleater-Kinney, consisting of Corin Tucker (vocals, guitar), Carrie Brownstein (vocals, guitar), and longtime drummer Janet Weiss, was one of the indie rock mainstays from the Pacific Northwest during the mid 1990’s to mid 2000’s. Critical darlings, they regularly won indie best-of polls and only increased their legend with each successive studio release. 2005’s The Woods was another critical success, featuring a denser, more heavily distorted sound that reflected changes in the band’s direction during their long stint opening for Pearl Jam’s 2003-2004 tour. Where Sleater-Kinney frequently—on record and in concert—stretched out into more extended set pieces. And suddenly, without explanation, Sleater-Kinney went on a decade-long hiatus. Carrie Brownstein was deeply involved in writing and acting in her collaboration with Fred Armisen in the Portlandia series on IFC. And the various group members remained active in other side projects throughout their absence from the forefront of the music scene.

Sleater-Kinney’s long hiatus ended in 2015, with the release of the album No Cities to Love, their eighth studio album, which was met with much acclaim and very positive critical reception. The New York Times review described it as the “First great album of 2015”, and noted that they’d honed their sound down closer to the three-minute post-punk songs of their beginnings. All working toward making the release of the new album, The Center Won’t Hold, one of the most highly anticipated releases of 2019. The album’s title already seems highly prophetic of their future prospects; drummer Janet Weiss announced her departure a couple of months before the new record’s release. Produced by St. Vincent (rumors abound that her involvement precipitated the departure of Janet Weiss), the album continues with their exploration of a more abbreviated song form, with some of the resulting tunes quite “poppy”, to say the least.

It’s really quite sad for me, the departure of Janet Weiss; her excellent drumming is pretty much the rhythymic core of this album. The title track and opening cut, “The Center Won’t Hold” unleashes a powerful drumbeat intro, soon accompanied by searing guitars. With both Brownstein and Tucker repeating the title line in a slow, rhythymic fashion that’s suddenly interrupted by a single piercing guitar note. This suddenly erupts into a chaotic minute and a half of the two singers screaming the same phrase over surprisingly melodic power chords into an abrupt ending, with Weiss just pounding those skins relentlessly throughout. Which happens with just about every song on the album. That is, ending abruptly. St. Vincent’s slick production is very appropriate with the eclectic song selection, which, while retaining much of their post-punk aesthetic, remains very melodic and “power pop-ish”. Many of their songs are presented as statements of where the band stands in the current political environment in the US; Carrie Brownstein, in a recent NRP interview with the band, basically stated that while none of the songs are specifically anti-Trump, Sleater-Kinney is most definitely an anti-Trump band. In the song “Ruins”, they ask, “Do you feast on nostalgia? Take pleasure from pain? Look out, ‘cause the children will learn your real name”. Doesn’t take much imagination to guess who that’s directed at, huh? At 5:18, it’s the longest song on the album.

The Center Won’t Hold is an outstanding album from Sleater-Kinney; despite the departure of Janet Weiss, Brownstein and Tucker insist they’ll soldier on. Let’s hope so, they’re making some of the most intelligent, tuneful, and listenable post-punk/pop currently out there. Very highly recommended.

Mom + Pop Music, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Google Play Music, Tidal, Qobuz, Spotify)

Kim Wilde – Aliens Live

I won’t apologize here—I freakin’ loved the eighties. Most of the major changes in my life that pretty much helped sculpt who I am happened then; I took my first job in the printing/publishing/advertising industry, I met my wife, moved to Atlanta, and started my family. But mostly, I attended a lot of kick-ass concerts and listened to a lot of really great music. The friendships I forged and the fun that I had during that period are still for me emblematic of what I consider the “Good Old Days”.

Kim Wilde was a mere twenty years old when she hit the big time with 1981’s “Kids In America”, and spent the next year pretty much as MTV’s “It Girl”. You couldn’t turn on the television without seeing one of her videos. I have to admit that I crushed heavily on her; I found her mix of New Wave with Punk and Power-Pop sensibilities pretty irresistible, not to mention her serious cuteness. And so did basically the rest of the world, where she went on to sell 30 million albums over the course of her career. Her only other big splash on this side of the pond was with 1986’s remake of the Supremes’ “You Keep Me Hanging On”, which I also loved. Her star continued to burn brightly in Europe and beyond, even if she remained mostly a footnote here in the US.

So when I saw the first notice of the impending release of this, her first live album, I was mildly intrigued—though I’ve gotten cynical over the years about “period” artists who try and strut it back out thirty years later. Better in my book to remain a cherished “one hit wonder” memory, than to try and cash in one last time; boy, was I wrong. All the hits are here; a lot of the songs from her first few albums that I merely considered very listenable actually charted outside the US. Plus, there are a number of new songs here, including “Kandy Krush” (I know, it sounds ridiculous!) and “Birthday” that amazingly manage to channel a lot of the New Wave hipness that so rocked the eighties for me. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s got a crack group of musicians backing her up, and that the recorded live sound is impressively good. As much as—in concept—I wanted to hate this album, I just couldn’t do it! Her voice still evokes that sexy/kittenish/coquettish vixen I always imagined from the eighties, and her delivery of the songs I know and love is remarkably unchanged from the studio originals, retaining most of its potency and edge. Pretty astonishing for someone who will turn 59 this year. Recommended, especially if you’re an eighties junkie like me.

Ear Music, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Google Play Music, Tidal, Qobuz, Spotify)

Jon Batiste – Anatomy of Angels: Live at the Village Vanguard

Jon Batiste is probably most well known as the music director of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert; aside from that, he actually has a pretty impressive musical pedigree. He was born into a musical family that included New Orleans musicians Lionel Batiste and Harold Batiste, and played drums in the family band, the Batiste Brothers Band. He switched to piano at age eleven, and eventually graduated from the St. Augustine High School in New Orleans, where he steeped himself in the New Orleans musical tradition. He later earned both bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Julliard. Anatomy of Angels: Live at the Village Vanguard is his twelfth studio album, and he is a self-professed disciple of Thelonious Monk. Despite all that, I have a hard time taking him seriously; I just can’t get beyond that stupid-ass keyboard/horn/whistle thing he plays every night on Colbert’s show. I find it…offputting, to say the least.

The tunes here are a mix of self-penned originals and standards; the whole affair clocks in at just over 38 minutes, making this more of an EP than anything. The audience response is very polite throughout the entire performance. Jon Batiste is a very technically proficient pianist, but I compare the experience of listening to his playing as I pretty much heard everyone describe Wynton Marsalis’ first few discs way back when: incredible technician, but very little soul, and very derivative. He had yet to earn it. Very little of what I heard here moved me the way so much of the jazz I love does. And I freaking adore Monk. Jon Batiste still has to earn it. I’d pass if I were you.

Verve Records, CD/LP (download/streaming from Amazon, Google Play Music, Tidal, Qobuz, Spotify)

Tom Waits – Small Change

In recent years, I’ve slowed my tendency to rush out and acquire the latest remastering of any particular artists’ record catalog; that said, if it’s an artist I particularly love—like Tom Waits—I’ll cave in when the right opportunity presents itself. That happened a week ago when I was visiting in Charleston, SC—there’s a favorite record store there, Monster Music—that always has a superior selection of new and used LPs and CDs across a staggering array of genres. A couple of Tom Waits’ discs are definitely on my desert island list, and frankly, the currently available Warner/Asylum CDs are a shade lackluster in terms of sound quality. Monster had the newly remastered Epitaph/ANTI Waits catalog title CDs for $10 and the LPs for $20, so I caved and bought both versions of Small Change, his landmark album from 1976. To see if there’s a significant difference between the CD versions, and mainly just to check out the pressing quality of the LPs. Which at $20 is significantly less than the $30 average for new LPs these days.

There’s not a bad song on Small Change, where Waits wheezes and boozes his way through classics like “Tom Traubert’s Blues”, “The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me)”, “Invitation to the Blues”, “Bad Liver and a Broken Heart”, and “The One That Got Away”. A stellar backup cast that includes the legendary Shelly Manne on drums and Lew Tabackin on sax provides the perfect touch of jazzy authenticity to the proceedings. The great news is that the sound quality is head and shoulders above the Warner version. It’s obvious from the opening notes of “Tom Traubert’s Blues”; there’s much greater clarity in the sound, with the Warner version sounding more congested in comparison. The individual players are more clearly deliniated in the soundstage, and you can virtually reach out and touch Tom Waits; his presence on a CD has never been more visceral and realistic. As the orchestra fades in the close of this song, you get a much greater impression than I’ve ever sensed that you’re actually present in the recording space with the players. It’s eerily good, and almost like listening to this classic disc for the very first time.

Waits and his wife Kathleen Brennan both took part in the remastering process, and my experience with this first disc bodes extremely well for the remaining catalog. And the possibility of my acquiring the remaining discs. The LP also sounds magnificent; I felt it shared the superlative sound exhibited by the CD version, although it’s not abundantly clear whether the LP is mastered from the analog tapes—if they even exist. Not sure if Waits’ catalog was part of the big Universal fire that’s been all over the news of late [including this piece in Copper—Ed.] , but I wouldn’t be too surprised (who knows, maybe Waits’ had safety copies of all of his tapes). It’s pressed on perfectly flat and extremely quiet 180 gram vinyl, and for an extra $15, you can get it pressed in translucent blue wax. Of course, there’s no free lunch here; as great as the sound quality is on both LP and CD, the packaging was…somewhat lackluster. The CD came in a digipak—which is usually fine with me—but the print quality was somewhat washed out and faded looking (it would never have gotten through QC at my plant!) The same is true for the LP’s jacket; a bit more care could have been taken with the finished product, although I’m totally happy with the sound of the LP, and that’s what ultimately matters. Highly recommended—if you’re a fan like me, you’ll love the new remasters.

Epitaph/ANTI Records, CD/LP/Limited edition LP in colored vinyl (download/streaming from Amazon, Google Play Music, Tidal, Qobuz, Spotify)

In 1966 two kids who were not being watched carefully started a garage band in their hometown of Shively, KY. Terry Adams played keys and sang, brother Donn played horns and percussion. The brothers recruited a buddy on drums and recorded some home tapes, on one of which Donn announces “Here they are, the New Rhythm and Blues Quintet!” despite the fact there were only three guys there. Here’s a moment that starts the band name and the sense of humor that would define the band and their stage persona for the next 50 years.

Terry and the band moved to Florida in 1966, and in 1967 some members returned to Kentucky but Terry stayed in Florida joining the band Seven of Us which included Joey Spaminato from the Bronx on bass. Bands crap out. It happens. So by the spring of ’67, kicking off the Summer of Love, the band was Terry Adams on keys and vocals, Joey Spaminato on bass and sweet vocals, Tommy ‘Rock-A-Baby’ Staley on drums, Frank Gadler on vocals, and Steve Ferguson on guitar. It wasn’t the seven of anything. It was the NRBQ.

The band worked with Eddie Kramer (!!!) at the Record Plant near the end of 1968 and was signed to a two record deal with Columbia. Their first album NRBQ was released in 1969 and in 1970 they worked with Carl Perkins on their Boppin the Blues album. These guys were quickly and clearly on their way during one of the most prolific periods in rock history. Right.

By the third album changes were made, one epic and the other typical of the rest of their career. ‘Big Al’ Anderson from The Wildweeds (Featured in Copper #92) replaced Steve Ferguson on guitar to begin a 22-year journey with great music and even greater live performances. The other change was they switched record companies to Kama Sutra and recorded their third LP, Scraps. Please. If you take nothing else away from this article get a copy of Scraps. I believe this was their greatest work, a classic in itself with at least three songs that will thrill your heart/libido/first car memory.

I’ve been listening to a lot of NRBQ music to prepare for this column and there are greats out there, each album with at least one song capable of a national hit. Love the fifth album NRBQ at Yankee Stadium. From the title you’d assume they played Yankee Stadium but instead the title is literal. The boys had gone on a tour of the iconic venue and had their picture taken there. See There they are. Right there. Squint a little. They’re sitting in the dugout…I think.

Just after Scraps Tom Ardolino replaced Staley on drums and the band was set until 1994. In the ’70s my wife and I used to see NRBQ at the Shaboo Inn which raised hell situated between UConn and Eastern Connecticut State in Willimantic. When the Q were there, you went. Period.

Every studio album showcases the humor and out-and-out wackiness of these guys. But live they were just SO much damn fun. Here from the eighth album TiddlyWinks, “It Was An Accident”.

And from the same show “That’s Neat, That’s Nice”.

Man those voices complement each other like cheeseburgers and fries. BTW, those are the Whole Wheat Horns that joined these nuts often.

This version of NRBQ sported three live albums. I don’t know Honest Dollar, but God Bless Us All and Diggin Uncle Q are gems. Here is “Daddy Loves Mommy-O Who Does Daddy-O Love”. Bout a couple that goes out on the town separately and find each other in a club.

As wacky as they were each album had at least one beauty of a love song on it. This is a live version of “You’re So Beautiful”. Sweet arrangement with nice solo work and singing from Al.

The dipshit record companies seriously whiffed on these guys. Thank the Lord they don’t run things anymore. No one seemed to know what to do with this obviously talented group of musicians and songwriters. Audiences adored them and the critics loved them but the record companies could not get a handle on NRBQ. After the first two albums with Columbia came two albums with Kama Sutra. Then one with Red Rooster, one with Mercury and two with Red Rooster/Rounder. Followed by one with Bearsville, three more with Red Rooster Rounder, one with Virgin and one with Rhino. This last Message from the Mess Age in 1994 was Big Al’s last gasp with the band. He moved back to Windsor, CT for a few years where he lived around the corner from my brother Ed. Al Anderson eventually moved to Nashville where his song writing talents were finally appreciated, writing hits for folks like Vince Gill, Alabama, Jimmy Buffett, Carlene Carter, George Strait, and Trisha Yearwood, including a number 1 with Tim McGraw.

This is a vid from the Dennis Miller Show where Miller screws up the intro and the band performs the lead song from their last album together, Message From The Mess Age.

A fitting allegory for how the record companies never knew what they had and despite that the band kills.

In 2014 Vince Gill listed his 14 favorite guitarists for Rolling Stone. He had Big Al on the list with guys like Jimmy Page, Sonny Landreth, Chet Atkins, Joe Walsh, and Derek Trucks. Nuff said.

I left this column a little short because I really wanted to include a lot of music. I hope you are enjoying this dance with me. Had a great time jumpin’ in my seat. From a TV show in 1980 “Rocket in My Pocket”, Al in a tux for some reason. Probably came right from court.

You see an example there of the gas lighting style of Terry Adams on the keys. But what you picked up live and on their albums, Adams was a helluva piano player. On this cut the guys pull out Thelonious Monk and end rocking.

“Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. Sorry Gordon. Hahahaha!

In the late ’80s there was this show called Saturday Night with Connie Chung. I got a call from a CT buddy yelling that NRBQ were on TV. Let’s end with that. Thanks for sticking with me. NRBQ was a GREAT Rock and Roll band, and a great act.

OK, OK I’m getting requests for another tune. This is one of my favorite love songs of all time and a beloved Q tune. From Scraps, “Magnet”. Big Al’s sweet little licks all through the song and Terry on the piano.

Shiver me timbers.

Until the Killers came on the scene, the phrase “Las Vegas music” tended to conjure up images of late-career crooners in casino supper clubs. But in 2001, when singer and keyboardist Brandon Flowers and guitarist David Keuning got together to share their love of New Wave, post-punk, and rock, Vegas got a distinctive new sound.

Something else that sets this band apart is its shunning of certain industry conventions. Output, for example. In 18 years, the Killers have released only five studio albums. All five have sold very well – in fact, every album has hit No. 1 on the UK charts; they’re the only non-British band to accomplish such a feat – proving that their own pace is the right pace.

They’ve also made a very unusual decision with regard to personnel. The original four still write the songs and record the albums, but only two of the originals still go out on tour. On the road, they fill out the ranks with other musicians instead. Not many bands would have the emotional maturity to make that arrangement work.

By 2002, bassist Mark Stoermer, and drummer Ronnie Vannucci, Jr. had joined Keuning and Flowers. They signed with British indie label Lizard King and with Island Records for American distribution. Their debut, Hot Fuss (2004), came out at a healthy No. 7 in the US and even higher in the UK, producing four big singles before being nominated for a Grammy for Best Rock Album. The Killers had arrived.

On “Midnight Show,” Flowers and Keuning collaborate perfectly – the long-noted, melody in a limited range, contrasted against the meandering and frantic guitar. The breathless organ chords at the end put a bow on the emotional display.

One of the bonus tracks on Hot Fuss is proof enough that the band members were hoping to move beyond niche. “Glamorous Indie Rock and Roll” is a sardonic dig at the twee independent rock scene.

One reason Flowers was fired from his previous band, Blush Response, was his impatience with doing synth-pop, to the exclusion of rock and roll. The second Killers album, Sam’s Town (2006), addresses this need, and is often noted for its heavy Springsteen influence.

A more complex production than first album, this time there are many additional musicians, under the eye of British post-punk producer Flood.

“This River Is Wild,” composed by Flowers and Stoermer, has a rich texture, almost like a Phil Spector track. The lyrics, though, deal with life’s nitty gritty, like something by The Boss.

From these same sessions comes “Peace of Mind.” It wasn’t included on the album at first, but showed up on the 10^th Anniversary LP edition. The quietly screaming obbligato of Keuning’s guitar is quite haunting.

For their third album, Day & Age (2008), the band made the somewhat surprising choice of hiring Stuart Price, famed for producing records for Madonna and Take That. Price’s pop sensibilities helped make the single “Humans” into the Killers’ most recognized song.

The session personnel list is greatly scaled back from the Sam’s Town cast of thousands, bringing the focus back to the quartet itself. “It might not be as masculine as Sam’s Town,” Flowers once said about this scaled-down sound. Which is not to say this is a quiet album, just a bit more laid back, as you can hear in the almost Hawaiian sway of “Neon Tiger”:

This may be why “A Crippling Blow” was saved as a bonus track from UK/Ireland release. It’s as rhythmically strident as something from INXS. The lyrics seem to deal with isolation and the constant mild panic of getting through life.

For all the success they’d had up to this point, Battle Born (2012) achieved the strongest US chart position, rising to No. 3. The album had taken its time in coming. After Day & Age, everyone was tired of each other, and three of the four band members were itching to work on other projects. So, they took more than a year apart, returning to the studio in 2011.

A whole host of producers contributed to the recording sessions, among them Stuart Price again, plus another revered veteran of British rock, Steve Lillywhite. Lillywhite produced several of the songs, including the title track. The phrase “Battle Born” appears on the Nevada state flag, and the song is generally interpreted as a lament on the state of America.

Damian Taylor was the producer for the ’80s retro sound of “Deadline and Commitments,” quite a contrast from the violin arrangements on “Battle Born.” This song emphasizes Flowers’ floating upper register against the bare sound of bass guitar and lower-pitched drums. The overdubbed backing vocals of Flowers singing with himself couldn’t be more different from the big sound of the Las Vegas Master Chorale on the Lillywhite track.

The band’s most recent album is Wonderful Wonderful (2017). And it was their first US No. 1 album. Just before recording started, bassist Stoermer decided that, while he was willing to keep recording, he’d had it with touring. Guitarist Keuning made a similar decision the following year. So, if you see The Killers live, you’ll probably see Flowers and Vannucci, plus some special hires. In the past couple of years, those guests have included Jake Blanton on bass and Ted Sabley and Taylor Milne on guitar. An unusual arrangement, but it seems to work.

Speaking of guest guitarists, Mark Knopfler makes a special appearance on Wonderful Wonderful, bringing an earthy motion to the meditative “Have All the Songs Been Written?”

It’s only been two years since Wonderful Wonderful came out, which is a standard breath in Killers time. And there have been other signs of studio life. In January 2019 they released a single called “Land of the Free.” For those who doubt that “Battle Born” bemoans America’s current condition, there’s no mystery here. The official video, directed by Spike Lee and featuring footage of asylum-seekers at the southern border, makes it clear that “Land of the Free” is a darkly ironic title.

It was the jostling that alerted me. I looked down and saw a hand removing money from my pocket.

This was almost identical to an incident that had happened to me years before in New York when I had a loudspeaker factory in Manhattan. I was traveling to work on the E train one morning and I noticed three young black men around 15 or 16 sitting opposite me. What was novel about them was their manner of dress. Each had on the same red sneakers, red jackets, red baseball hats and baggy pants. They were talking quietly among themselves and apart from their uniforms there was nothing remarkable about them.

As the train approached the Houston St. station, I rose and moved over to the exit. Just before it stopped, I felt someone pushing on my back and someone else crowding me on my left side. I looked down and saw a hand pulling money from my right pocket. Instinctively, I splayed both arms sideways. At this time I was building speakers mostly by hand and I had strong muscles in both arms. I made contact with two of the boys with such force that both went flying down the center of the train. Fortunately the one on my right dropped my money and all three of them fled as the doors opened. I retrieved my funds, walked off the train and noticed two policemen standing at the other end of the platform, one was white, the other black. I approached them and told them of the incident. They asked me to describe the boys.

“They were three young black kids and they all looked alike.” I meant of course that their dress was identical, but was too rattled to speak clearly. The black officer looked at me in disgust and walked away.

Barcelona is my favorite city after Paris. The town is dripping with culture (see some of Gaudi’s architecture) and never fails to titillate my artistic and culinary desires. It is a delightful city for walking and a favorite pastime of my wife and I, is to amble randomly around town. On a trip around 2009, we set off to climb Montjuïc, a hill that dominates part of the skyline. We walked at random, using sightings of the hill as a reference. This is a delightfully pleasant way to explore a town. (I’ve done the same in Paris using the Sacre Coeur Basilica as a geographic reference). The walk was somewhat more arduous than expected, and we arrived wearier and hotter than expected.

Montjuïc Hill houses the Miro foundation (well worth the visit) and among other venues, the Museum of Catalan Art and the Ethnological Museum. After an afternoon exploring Spanish culture especially the large exhibit about Barcelona’s “Roma” population, my wife, daughter and myself decided to take the subway back to the center of town where we had rented an apartment.

As I was buying tickets from the machine, I again experienced the jostling I had felt years ago in New York. Once more a hand was extracting bills from my pocket. I belted the kid with my fist and as he fell down, I saw him put my money in his pocket. He scrambled up to flee but I grabbed him, put my hand in his pocket, seized my money and shoved him away. He and his other 2 friends scarpered and disappeared in seconds. My wife was looking on with horror, as she had no idea how violent I could be. On the other hand, my daughter was gazing at me with renewed appreciation of her dad. Back in the apartment, I counted my money and was delighted to find that I had taken a large wad of extra money from the kid’s pocket. In fact, it was around 200 Euros. The irony of this brought a smile to my lips.

It may seem like I seldom devote space here to repertoire favorites, e.g., Top Twenty World’s Greatest Concertos.

Why is that?

Well, some people are heavily invested in the Top Twenty thing, and they make it work. I’m not, and I don’t. Over the years, I’ve tried to emphasize new “serious” music, and whenever possible, I opt to consider new releases independently of back-catalog competition. My guiding principle is, you can’t stick your toe in the same river twice. Artists change, audiences change, cultures change. The notes on the page may stay the same, but we don’t. Bring on the new, whether it’s tunes or those who whistle ‘em.

This week, though, it’s mix-and-match: new releases of familiar music by Tchaikovsky, Strauss, Mendelssohn, and others. Nothing obscure! No “forgotten gems”! Genuine repertoire favorites! I’ll even make a few comparisons.

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 in B Minor (“Pathétique”). [1] Berliner Philharmoniker, Kirill Petrenko. BPHR, 2019; SACD, downloads. [2] MusicAeterna, Teodor Currentzis. Sony, 2017; CD, downloads.

The Berlin Philharmonic is celebrating its appointment of new music director Kirill Petrenko by releasing a live concert recording of the “Pathétique,” which comes in a deluxe 36-page hardbound edition housing a hybrid SACD and passcodes for hi-res audio files, plus notes on the music and on Petrenko’s ascension to the throne. It must be meant as a keepsake, because the book measures 6⅛” x 9⅝”, so you can’t easily shelve it with LPs or CDs.

I didn’t originally intend to review this alongside Teodor Currentzis’s 2017 release for Sony. But having listened to both, I could not resist. Petrenko’s interpretation flies in the face of a decades-long series of “Pathétique” recordings that emphasized heart-wrenching autobiographical drama, often in such stark terms that one could imagine listeners left barely able to form words or choke down a little soup. Each new recording in that mold was hailed with superlatives: it was “breathtaking,” a “Sixth for our time,” and so on.

Now here is a reading that brings out the lyricism and delicacy of Tchaikovsky’s creation in at least equal measure. It remains absolute music at all times, never veering into Hitchcock territory or touching on any of Dante’s circles of hell. As usual, the Berliners bring considerable technical skill and sensitivity to the task. The recorded sound is spacious, detailed, and well-balanced. It’s a virtual MRI of the score, as befits this suave, utterly refined presentation.

The problem? In strictly emotional terms, Tchaikovsky’s Sixth takes no prisoners. Either you bring that sensibility to the task and shape your performance accordingly, or you risk ending up with . . . Mantovani. Or Samuel Beckett, which oddly enough was the taste I found in my mouth: on first hearing, it seemed that Petrenko offered the final movement as a corpse already drained of blood. I kept waiting for the music to begin, whereas existentially it was already over.

That approach can be effective. There’s a case to be made for the fourth movement as exhaustion, as the collapse that follows a burst of false hope. Yet when I listened to what Currentzis and his intrepid band had wrought, I had to reconsider. They give us the finale as a primal cry, despairing but determined to be heard. It’s profoundly human, and the sound of it sears your brain. So let’s talk about that sound for a moment.

Although Sony’s engineering for Currentzis is both impactful and transparent, it’s biased toward impact: this is no MRI. I found myself actually repelled by one passage in the last movement: a low [written] C# in the horns that enters repeatedly toward the end of the work. Marked ff and “gestopft” (“stopped,” a hand position that can produce a nasal, compressed sound), it’s prominent in Currentzis’ recording but can barely be heard in Petrenko’s. This sound, along with some aggressive string entrances, certainly contributes to the pathos in the performance. (I suspect its power also derives from the adroit manipulation of sliders in the control room. Writing for Gramophone, Peter Quantrill detected other studio tricks.)

Did Tchaikovsky want the note to sound that ugly? We can be sure he wanted it heard. The composer introduces it as an accompaniment motive in the woodwinds in m.2, then transfers it to horns 90 measures in, when the principal theme is recapitulated. Returning again, as the coda gets underway, it’s lower, darker, and much more acidic in tone; you could say it carries a depth charge.

My experience with Currentzis’ stopped horns forced me to revisit Petrenko, and that led to greater respect for Petrenko’s achievement. Maybe he’s the revolutionary here, offering a gentler means of understanding the “Pathétique,” minus the now-customary raw histrionics. I could quibble (obviously) with either performance, but both are exceptional and well worth knowing.

Handel: Concerti grossi, op. 6 (1–6). Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin, Bernard Forck. Pentatone, 2019; SACD, downloads.

George Frideric Handel (1685–1759) spent most of his career in London, writing and presenting opera and oratorio. But he was well-versed in all genres, including orchestral concertos. Opus 6 is unusual only in that Handel wrote these 12 concertos all at once and with relatively little borrowing. He performed them in his 1739–40 oratorio season, during intervals and under his own direction. Musically they follow the example of Corelli, utilizing a cosmopolitan blend of styles, something new at every turn.

This album includes only the first six (coming soon: vol. 2). Here are two excerpts from No. 3, the opening Larghetto and a more lively Polonaise:

Top-notch performances from one of the most respected early-music groups in the world, and top-notch sound from Pentatone, of course.

Holst: The Planets. Elgar: Enigma Variations. Bergen PO, Andrew Litton. BIS, 2019; SACD, downloads.

For me the highlight here is the Elgar Variations, a work I confess to knowing only superficially prior to reviewing Litton’s new release. The Elgar was recorded in June 2013, the Holst in February 2017. Meanwhile the conductor had moved on from his 12-year tenure (2003–15) as Bergen’s music director. Litton is now “emeritus” or “laureate” conductor of several orchestras, including those of Bournemouth, Dallas, Bergen, and Colorado. On the evidence of his recordings, he’s an A-list conductor, in spite of his never having helmed an A-list band.

Each variation is dedicated to one of Elgar’s friends; at the heart of the Enigma lies “Nimrod,” offered below in its entirety. Here, let’s sample a bit of Variation 11. It’s a snapshot of Dan, the bulldog that belonged to George Robertson Sinclair, organist at Hereford Cathedral:

And now some of Variation 13: Elgar indicated with asterisks “the name of a lady. . .on a sea voyage,” bound for Australia. Elsewhere he described the dedicatee, Lady Mary Lygon, as “a most angelic person.”

Nicely captured by producer Ingo Petry and his engineers. Useful liner notes by Philip Borg-Wheeler too, although he asserts that “Musical representations of personal friends are uncommon.” They are not, but they seldom turn out as well as Elgar’s did.

Berlioz: Symphonie fantastique; Fantaisie sur la Tempête de Shakespeare. [1] Toronto SO, Toronto Mendelssohn Choir, Sir Andrew Davis. Chandos, 2019; SACD, downloads. [2] Swedish Radio SO, Daniel Harding. Harmonia Mundi, 2016; CD, downloads. [w/ Rameau, Suite de Hippolyte et Aricie]

Tastiest morsel in Davis’s feast is not the Symphonie but the 15-minute Fantaisie, presumably intended as a lively curtain-raiser. It steals the show, given Sir Andrew’s pedestrian traversal of the main course. He seldom finds the pulse of the larger work, which depicts a young man’s feverish, drug-addled fixation on a woman. Here is the moment when music representing that idée fixe first appears:

And here is the same moment from my favorite recent recording—Daniel Harding’s, for Harmonia Mundi:

Harding delivers the twitchy, deeply neurotic goods; Davis comes off as sturdy and dependable.

Strauss: Also sprach Zarathustra; Ein Heldenleben. Oslo PO, Vasily Petrenko. Lawo, 2019; CD, downloads.

As with Berlioz’s Symphonie, of the making of new Strauss albums there is no end. (Anyone interested in a short stack of misguided Alpensinfonien?) Yet, even when I compared these Oslo performances with classic Chicago (Reiner) and Berlin (Karajan) recordings, I still liked them. Vasily Petrenko—late of Liverpool, and no relation to Kirill—has been up to excellent things in Norway. His interpretations are dynamic in the best sense: each phrase, period, and section contributes to interlocking structures that ration out, then ratchet up the intensity. Arrival points register firmly but in a way that heightens the momentum. That’s exciting. Here’s some of Heldenleben:

These are way more fun than what’s currently on offer from Søndergård or Jurowski.

Mendelssohn: Overtures. (“Mendelssohn in Birmingham, vol. 5”) City of Birmingham SO, Edward Gardner. Chandos, 2019; SACD, downloads.

Some of these overtures appeared as filler in vols. 1–4 of Gardner’s “Mendelssohn in Birmingham” series, but it was a neat idea to repackage them this way. Old favorites like The Hebrides and Ein Sommernachtstraum roost comfortably beside relatively rarities like the “Trumpet” Overture and Overture to “Athalie.” Here’s the opening of Die schöne Melusine:

Recognize those lovely rising arpeggio figures? They depict the water sprite Melusine frolicking in her element. Wagner stole that music for the opening of Das Rheingold. (In his tribute to Lady Mary Lygon, Elgar committed more gentlemanly theft by quoting from another Mendelssohn overture, Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt.) We close with a bit of the Overture to “Paulus,” which references an old hymn tune as an indirect homage to Bach:

All of which bring up issue(s) of borrowing, adapting, stealing, and quoting, which we’ll survey next time. Happy listening, folks.

In Part 1, Copper #92, we looked at idler-wheel turntable mechanisms. In this article, we’ll look at belt-drive turntables.

The original Edison phonographs—cylinder players, not disc players—were belt-driven. Oddly, the first belt-drive turntable I’ve found didn’t come out until after WWII. Until that point, tables were either idler-wheel or one form or another of direct drive. Undoubtedly there were obscure, oddball exceptions, but I have yet to discover them.

The Dutch electronics giant Philips started its own record company around 1950, producing LPs. The company’s first turntable that would play LPs was the 2-speed HX301a. Like the Thorens TD-124, the drive combined an idler and belt-drive—but it did it in a completely different fashion from the Thorens. The TD-124 had a belt connecting the motor and a stepped pulley which drove the idler wheel, which then drove the platter.

On the Philips table, 78 rpm was produced by the motor driving one of two rotating drums with fixed anchor points. 33 1/3 rpm was produced by sliding the motor over to contact the idler wheel, effectively reducing the speed. Unlike later belt-drive turntables, the Philips unit only drove a segment of the platter with the belt; every other design I’ve ever seen wraps the belt completely around the platter.

The first US-made belt-drive turntable was made by Components Corporation. Billed as a “professional turntable”, it seemed to live up to its billing. As you can see from the 1954 review from High Fidelity, the Components table had a 25-pound platter, driven by a fabric belt. By the way—the author of the review, “R.A.”, was Roy Allison, who went on to be a designer for AR and later ran his own company, Allison Acoustics.

Within the next few years, a lower-priced Components table appeared, smaller, lighter, and no longer billed as “Professional”. The belt-drive Garrard RC-80 record changer appeared, and was made by the thousands if not hundreds of thousands. High Fidelity reviewer J. Gordon Holt (still a few years away from founding Stereophile) took note of the two brands in 1957:

“Belt- driven turntables are becoming increasingly popular.
By its nature the belt minimizes transmission of motor irregularities,
which can show up as hum, flutter, etc. Good
examples of belt -drive are the Garrard RC -8o changer and
the Components Corporation turntable. As for Garrard, the
secret of good performance is to keep the belts clean, replacing
when worn or frayed, and to keep a minimum of very
light oil in all working bearings (but do keep them clean).
The writer has found that changers properly set up are very easy on belts.
Flutter and rumble can be tremendously
reduced in Garrard changers by periodic lubrication of the
main turntable bearing (the center section in which the
spindle fits). From time to time it should be taken apart,
cleaned, oiled, and adjusted for end -play (just a bit – not
too loose or too tight).

“The Components turntable is inherently a fine unit. The
directions for insuring proper operation are unusually complete.
To which might be added the following: for lowest
rumble, keep the belt tension as light as possible, and
centered on the drive pulley. Make sure that the turntable
is absolutely level. If you must lift the unit, or transport it,
make sure that the table is isolated from the lower bearing –
damage here can show up as flutter.—J.G.H.”

In 1958, Fairchild came out with a playback system specifically designed for stereo. The 45-45 Westrex single-groove standard placed more stringent demands upon the rumble characteristics of turntables, and the Fairchild 412 was offered in single-speed, two-speed (33 1/3/45) and four-speed variants, the last utilizing electronic speed control to change speeds. Otherwise, drive was by two belts: one from the motor to an intermediate pulley, the second connecting the pulley to the platter. We covered the 412 in greater detail in the third part of our series on Fairchild.

Fairchild ad in High Fidelity magazine, June, 1958

1960 saw the launch of the Empire Troubador, mentioned in Part 1 of our series on Empire. A belt-driven 3-speed table with a hefty Pabst hysteresis-synchronous motor and a precision-machined platter and bearing, the Empire table stayed in production with minor tweaks and variations through 1977 or so.

Acoustic Research introduced the AR-XA in 1961, and it is likely the best-known belt-drive turntable of all time, and quite possibly the best-selling, as well. Like the Components Professional, the AR featured a sprung sub-chassis designed to provide a certain level of isolation from acoustic feedback. AR founder Edgar Villchur designed the brutally-simple XA, which led the way to the Thorens TD-125, -150, and -160, as well as the Linn Sondek. Initially priced at $58, the XA was still available in the ‘70s for less than $90, and variants of the table were sold into the ‘90s. Many years, more than 50,000 units of the turntable were sold, and a cottage industry arose for mod kits and ‘tables based upon the XA, the best-known of which were made by George Merrill. George still makes some AR tweak parts today.

The AR XA, featured in a 1960's mail-order catalog.

Into the '60s, the styling and drive mechanism of the venerable Thorens TD-124 seemed old-fashioned. The combination belt/idler drive was both complicated and expensive to build, and so the TD-150 was introduced in 1965 as a less-expensive model. Featuring square-edged styling, a suspended sub-chassis and a simple belt-drive mechanism, the TD-150 was simple to operate, maintain, and repair. Like the AR, the TD-150 and its offspring TD-160 and many variants were and are favorites for tweakers.

As Thorens moved production from Switzerland to Germany in 1968, the elderly TD-124 was discontinued. Its replacement, the TD-125, was essentially an upmarket TD-150, with bigger, beefier everything, and a fancy-schmancy electronic speed control and strobe. When I became aware of quality audio gear in the late '60s, the manual turntables featured in the US press were the AR XA, Thorens TD-125, and Empire Troubador. The AR was popular with the cost-conscious (thousands were sold to college students and professors), the TD-125 was the choice of wealthier enthusiasts, and the Empire was a perennial favorite of features in Playboy and Esquire. In the early '70s, the ultimate set-up was a TD-125 with a Rabco SL-8E linear-tracking arm, often used with a Shure V15 cartridge. Let's just say that over the years since, the TD-125 has held up better than the Rabco.

And then came Linn—eventually. A Scottish company called Ariston produced a belt-drive turntable called the RD11. Design of the RD11 was by Hamish Robertson, along with Jack and Ivor Tiefenbrun (father and son, respectively). The suspended sub-chassis/belt-drive layout was very much in the vein of the TD-150. The RD 11 was built by the Tiefenbruns’ Castle Precision Engineering, which still exists and produces aerospace-grade componentry for military and industrial applications, including the forged aluminum wheels for the Bloodhound land speed record car.

When Robertson left Ariston, Castle set up Linn Products in 1972 as a subsidiary to make turntables. The Linn Sondek—variants of which of course are still made, 47 years later—was essentially the same as the RD11. Ariston produced the RD11s, which featured a main bearing with a captive ball, rather than the single-point bearing at the heart of the RD11—and the Sondek.

Confused? It gets worse. Robertson went on to work with a company called Fergus Fons, which produced a belt-drive turntable called the Fons CQ30. Fergus Fons sued Linn over the design of the single-point main bearing. Even the original distributor of the Sondek, CJ Walker, produced their own turntable for a while.

Long story short: Linn won. All the other brands eventually went away.

Hi-Fi News ad, 1973. Early Sondeks had a rocker switch, grooved base, and prop for the dust-cover. Later--and current---models have a push-switch, plain base, and friction hinges.

After that point, belt-drive and direct-drive tables followed a parallel path, until turntables began to vanish from the Earth. Direct-drives have to have very high quality motors in order to last and perform reasonably well. Belt-drives can range from precision instruments like the Linn and beyond, down to bargain basement tables. Most tables from the '80s and '90s which aspired to audiophile cred were belt-drives, like the Harmon Kardon models from the '80s, shown below.

Following the vinyl revival of the last decade, anything goes. There are far too many belt-drive turntables being made today to even attempt a list of them. Look for yourself, and see.

In our next installment, we’ll look at direct drive tables. —and no, they didn’t start with the Technics SP-10. The story is a lot longer and more involved than that.