Issue 46

We often feel that we haven’t fully grasped a musician’s artistic statement unless we’ve listened to a full album by them, thinking that singles are just a vehicle to sell said albums. But what if the reverse is true?

What if singles are a truer artistic statement than the whole album? There are of course exceptions:  concept albums like Sgt. Pepper and the self-titled Deltron 3030  come immediately to mind, as do barn-burner gems like Neil Young’s Harvest and Radiohead’s Kid A. All the same, when we discuss “appreciation of a statement”, aren’t we really talking about active listening? And isn’t active listening more potent in small doses?

For example: Archy Marshall, who these days releases records under the name King Krule, first came to my attention when he was using the moniker Zoo Kid. I was transfixed by his baritone voice and emotive, shape-shifting ballads. Here’s the early single, “Out Getting Ribs”:

Marshall recently released his second album, The Ooz, and although some of it is intriguing, I find it lacking in emotional impact. It’s full of interesting references to soul, ska, and the blues, but it doesn’t compare to the raw power of “Out Getting Ribs”. Why is this the case? Perhaps, early in their career, an artist pours everything they’ve got into that one opening salvo of a single, but hasn’t learned to channel the same energy over the course of a whole album—even during a second go-around. In such a case, to me, it is better to dive deep into that one single, than to survey a half-baked album. We, as listeners, get more out of it, and the artist’s integrity shines brighter.

Or take The Clash and the song, “London Calling” off the album of the same name. This single gives the listener everything The Clash stands for, in one manic go.

Then compare that to the very next track on the album, “Brand New Cadillac” which barely even sounds like The Clash.

To become a DJ at a college radio station you usually have to do a few internship sessions. You visit DJs during their shows and become familiar with the equipment and the various ways one might appropriately host a show. DJs usually ask you to prepare a track you’d like to play on air, to get your feet wet.

I remember one of these visits from a late night in 2011. I sat in the booth with a disagreeable insomniac in his 40’s who worked IT at the university and served as the program director at the station. I brought an 18-minute track from Richard Youngs, a droning wash of vocals and atmosphere that I thought (and probably still think) was an otherworldly piece of art for the ears. I played it, and about halfway through he asked me to step away from the board, and cut the track off. He said something to the effect of, ‘we don’t want to put the listeners to sleep’. Over time, I’ve realized that he was absolutely right. For the purposes of radio, broad statements of artistic integrity are not ideal. They become unnecessarily formalist and dry, hitting the listener in the mind before the body.

New York-based band Sunflower Bean have released a couple of albums and are now starting to sound more and more cookie-cutter in their sound:

But I’ll always remember the freewheeling, ecstatic energy of their single, “2013”:

I am a big fan of rocker/critic Ian Svenonius. Some of his writings are extremely left-field, and I find they tickle the place inside me that embraces the hidden absurdity inherent of some musical forms. In 2006, he published a volume of essays entitled The Psychic Soviet that blends farce with seriousness in short pieces that range from discussions of Beatles vs. Stones, to the origins of the Cold War. Included in this collection is “Time as Money”, which establishes music as the primary art form,with film coming in as a close second. His premise is that if we equate time and money, as the aphorism goes, then music tops the podium because it forces us to engage with it over a period of time. Visual art can be absorbed in a minute or an hour, but music’s demands on our time budget are finite, and in the case of an album, longer.

I call for an inversion of Svenonius’ premise (and given that he releases more singles than LPs and constantly changes projects, I believe Svenonius truly feels this way as well). Living in an atmosphere inundated with noise pollution and supposed extra time rendered by technological advances, we might actually want to use less time—on singles rather than albums—when we listen to our music. Its value may increase as time decreases, rather than the other way around.

We get caught up in purchasing more and more deluxe double-LP remasters, no doubt in an attempt to get closer to the music. But we must not forget that in the Pantheon of musical purpose, feeling reigns—and feeling often doesn’t sustain itself over the course of an entire album. When it does, we often fall in love with that album, as well we should.

To my mind,  we are better served when we embrace actively listening to singles, when we embrace the raw feeling that stems from an artist cramming all they’ve got into a timeframe less than 5 minutes long. Sometimes, less truly is more.

I was talking to Paul McGowan a week or so ago, and he asked again about how the song’s lyrics came about. This is as I remember it:

Originally, on Election night 1992 [November 3rd, Clinton was elected—for obsessives like me—Ed.], there was the usual Tuesday night gathering. By the time I got there, a song was well under way. David Baerwald, like an excited kid, yelled out “Dan! Country disco!”

Sure enough, everybody, the four guys with Sheryl, was engaged in playing some sort of country-ish riff with a disco kind of beat to it. Sheryl was singing something about an ex-boyfriend, which gave rise to the working title, “I’ll Still Love You”.

I grabbed a bass – my memory is that it was a ’70 Guild M-85 II – but waited until they were done before overdubbing the first bass line that popped into my head. In fact I think the only ones present when I did the bass line were Baerwald, sitting with me, and the engineer; everyone else was continuing in “party” mode upstairs in the lounge. And that was it: one night’s work.

On March 26, 1517, Heinrich Isaac died. Although the Netherlander was one of the most important composers of his day, he’s hardly a household word half a millennium later. Nevertheless, a few stalwart ensembles have released albums to remind us that Isaac’s music is well worth remembering.

And it’s not just unknown academic groups marking the occasion. No less than Grammy-winning conductor Jordi Savall has put out a new Isaac CD, with the voices of La Capella Reial de Catalunya and his instrumental ensemble Hespèrion XXI. Henricus Isaac nell tempo de Lorenzo de’ Medici e Maximillian I (1450-1519) was released in early 2017 on Alia Vox.

The CD’s track listing is presented as a timeline of major events (primarily coronations and deaths) in the late 15^th and early 16^th centuries, with Isaac, powerful Florentine statesman Lorenzo de Medici, and Holy Roman Emperor Maximillian I, all lived. The idea seems to be not that these pieces were actually played at certain events, but rather that they might have been.

The chanson “Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen” (Innsbruck, I must leave you) is Isaac’s only famous work today, and that only because it is so often included in music history textbooks as an ideal example of the pre-baroque German song tradition. “Innsbruck” has the folk-like, strophic melody of a Lutheran chorale, but remember, there was not yet such a thing as a Lutheran: Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral in 1517, the same year that Isaac died.

Lorenzo’s death is marked on the CD with a Lamentation by Isaac. It opens with several instrumental phrases that show why Hespèrion XXI is a great early music ensemble. There’s a depth and richness to their sound that sets them apart from others. Capella Reial uses only the choir’s men on this track. The wide distance from highest to lowest vocal range, a fairly new concept in composition when Isaac wrote this music, is perfectly balanced, and the lines handled with delicate clarity.

Isaac’s motet Circumdederunt me shows up on the CD’s timeline at the point of the composer’s own passing in 1517. “The sorrows of death surrounded me,” the text begins, “the sorrow of hell encompassed me.” The women join in this mournful polyphony. Any composer should hope to be eulogized with such ringing voices.

As was true for most composers of the time, much of Isaac’s output was music to be sung at Mass. Heinrich Isaac: La Spagna (on the Bon Giovanni label) is a new release by the vocal group Odhecaton, directed by Paolo da Col. The album also features Paolo Pandolfo on viola da gamba and Liuve Tamminga on organ.

The CD is primarily movements from Isaacs Missa La Spagna, a four-voice Mass using the anonymous tune “La Spagna” as musical material. The album opens with a haunting rendition of the basic “La Spagna” melody played on unaccompanied viola da gamba:

Here is the Kyrie, the first section of the Mass. The melody of the song “La Spagna” is hidden as a “cantus firmus” (fixed melody) in an inner voice, moving more slowly than the decorative upper voices.

Odhecaton’s singing has a pleasant smoothness to it, with a flowing sense of rhythm that makes historical sense. In the Renaissance, vocal polyphony was notated without bar lines, so it’s appropriate to perform it in a way that avoids a strong repeating downbeat every three or four beats.

Interspersed between the Mass movements on this recording are motets and instrumental works. Tota pulchra es (You are utterly beautiful) is Isaac’s motet setting of a popular liturgical prayer to the Virgin Mary:

Da Col and Pandolfi are well matched in the instrumental duos on this CD, all of which are tied to the “La Spagna” theme. A ricercar was a popular form of instrumental piece in the Renaissance and Baroque that allowed a musical idea to be explored. Of course, the ricercare on this album are explorations of our now-favorite tune, “La Spagna”:

While it was very common for Renaissance composers to use secular pop tunes to connect the movements of their Masses, sometimes they chose holier material. Isaac’s Missa Virgo prudentissima is an example. “Virgo prudentissima” (most prudent virgin) was originally a Gregorian chant. Isaac then used that chant melody as compositional material in a 6-voice Mass.

The veteran Ensemble Gilles Binchois, directed by Dominique Vellard, has released a new recording of the Missa Virgo prudentissima. To answer the obvious question: No, a chant-based Mass doesn’t automatically sound more devout than one using a profane song. Here’s the Agnus Dei movement from this Isaac Mass:

Ensemble Gilles Binchois, being sticklers for authenticity, present the Isaac Mass in an authentic context. The polyphonic movements Isaac composed are the Ordinary of the Mass, so called because the texts the use are ordinary (sung at every Mass). Those Isaac movements are interspersed with monophonic Gregorian chants (Propers of the Mass, text that change each day), as they would have been in the actual worship service at the time.

The Binchois singing is not as smooth as in the Hespèrion and Odhecaton recordings; it’s a bit strained and oversung. Although the Agnus Dei discussed above is the only track on YouTube, you can hear the entire recording on Spotify here:

Isaac also wrote a motet based on the same chant, “Virgo prudentissima.” That motets has been used as a promotional piece lately by the Tallis Scholars, one of the most revered early-music choruses. They’re promoting Isaac himself: the video is captioned with a lengthy, heartfelt essay about the composer’s importance through history. (They were hoping for 100,000 views, “more than would have heard Isaac’s music in his lifetime,” but are currently under 2,000.)

This recording of the motet illustrates why the Tallis Scholars are top drawer. Under director Peter Phillips, they manage to make this unaccompanied, rarified music sound as compelling as a dramatic scene in an opera. The expressiveness of their singing somehow does not seem anachronistic or interfere with the sense of authenticity.

That video is also meant to promote a program they’ve toured in 2017, Heinrich Isaac at 500. For some reason (maybe because Isaac really does remain unknown, despite their efforts), Tallis Scholars did not record a new album to support on the tour, which includes other non-Isaac programs as well. Instead, they are trying to revive interest in a 1991 CD on the Gimell label that was remastered in 2002. It features Isaac’s Missa de Apostolis. Here’s the Gloria movement from that recording:

OK, so maybe Heinrich Isaac isn’t destined to be the new Renaissance bestseller. But he was a master of his craft, and that makes his music worth preserving for another 500 years.

Back in Copper #3, I asked the question, “When is Stealing Music Not Stealing?” To make a long story short, my conclusion was that stealing is always stealing, whether it’s a thinly-veiled cover version  or a systemic and systematic hijacking of royalties or rights. As I commented in that article, mega-artists seem to do okay when it comes to actually making money from selling records or downloads, or being played on streaming services—whereas indie artists and little guys are often left out in the cold.

The music business has a long history of  dishonest promoters and producers getting rich by taking advantage of naive artists, as well as simple theft of melodies or even complete songs. Nearly all Boomers are familiar with the whole “Sweet Little Sixteen”/”Surfin’ USA” fiasco, in which the Beach Boys’ 1963 song copped the melody and riffs of Chuck Berry’s 1958 hit. Remember?

A decade after that was the whole “He’s So Fine”/”My Sweet Lord” business, which was so obvious that you wonder how no one took George Harrison aside and said, “Umm, George? Doesn’t that REMIND you of anything??”

You’d think that the notoriety of that case would’ve made artists wary of, shall we say, reworking familiar songs. At this point we enter some very murky waters indeed. Given that there are only so many notes, and so many ways one can arrange them—when do two sound-alike songs go beyond coincidence and into plagiarism? And what do we make of the whole practice of sampling, which is not just borrowing a melody, but actual reproduction of a piece of a recording?

In the digital era, the whole business of IP—Intellectual Property—has become hugely important because it’s easier than ever to copy the work of others and present it as one’s own. Even with the acknowledgment that generally ( but not always!) accompanies sampling, who owns what and who did what become difficult to pin down.

Going back to the early days of rap and hip-hop, DJs mixing in performances of others was at the heart of the experience, often by spinning a record on the spot. Think back to the silly hit, “Ice, Ice, Baby”: if the extensive sampling of the Queen/David Bowie song “Under Pressure” is removed, what’s left? A sophomoric and rather embarrassing rip-off of the macho adolescent posturing of the Beastie Boys?

As the possibility of getting rich from selling records diminishes, the desire to make megahits  has become ever more desperate and frantic. Sampling has become not just common but standard practice, and the wealthiest and most successful producers and record moguls are those who have mastered the arcane art of the beat and the sample. Think of Dr. Dre, Karl Martin Sandberg (better known as Max Martin), and Pharrell Williams, to name just a few of the most-successful.

Pharrell was at the center of a controversy a few years back, when the family of the late Marvin Gaye claimed that Gaye’s 1977 hit, “Gotta Give It Up” was disturbingly similar to Robin Thicke’s 2014 record, “Blurred Lines”, cowritten and produced by Williams. While not the note-by-note theft of “Surfin’ USA”, “Blurred Lines” was said to ape the arrangement and “vibe” of  Gaye’s record. Ultimately, a jury agreed, and Gaye’s family was awarded  $5.3 million and half the future royalties from “Blurred Lines”.

Williams said, “”The verdict handicaps any creator out there who is making something that might be inspired by something else.” And really, if emulating the feel or “vibe” of a song—as was the basic contention of the “Blurred Lines” suit— is enough to result in litigation, that is a considerable constraint upon creativity.

Other examples of similar songs that resulted in legal action are detailed in an interesting Rolling Stone piece.

I stumbled upon a website the other day, the existence of which surprised me. Why, exactly, I’m not sure; after all, the interwebs have all the answers, no? The site is Whosampled.com,   and it’s interesting reading, even if you don’t recognize many of the current artists. The site’s equivalent of the Billboard Hot 100 comes in the form of three lists: Most Sampled, Most Covered, and Most Remixed.

Would it surprise you to know that the artist sampled the most was James Brown, with nearly 7,000 samples? Likely not, but would you recognize #2 on that list, The Winstons?  I’d never heard of that group, and yet their records have been sampled nearly 2,800 times. A six-second (SIX SECONDS!!!) drum break on their record, “Amen, Brother” has been sampled so many times that it’s become known as the “Amen Break“. Most Covered is—surprise!—The Beatles, with over 4,000 covers of their songs. Most Remixed? Madonna and Moby aren’t surprising, but who is #3 on the list, Dutch DJ Armin Van Buuren?? A number of other DJs fill out the Most Remixed list, perhaps indicating that he who lives by the remix, dies by it, as well.|

It seems ironic that most recent fuss about musical plagiarism was created by a song called “Blurred Lines”, as the definition of musical creation becomes increasingly difficult to pin down, and rights of musical creators become…blurred. Given recent judicial decisions, things are not going to improve for artists.

Courts in New York and Florida ruled that recordings made before 1972 are not by protected by copyright. The judgments came down in suits filed by former Turtles Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman (also known as Flo and Eddie from their stint with the Mothers of Invention), who sought to protect the rights to Turtles songs.

I don’t pretend to understand the decisions, which are apparently based upon the landmark Sound Recordings Amendment of 1971, which first extended copyright protection to sound recordings…but only those produced after the adoption of the Amendment.

As is often the case in the world of music, it appears the only real winners in this battle will be the attorneys.

We previously wrote about the financial problems of Gibson Brands in Copper #s 45  and 40. Last issue, we reported that Gibson had announced that it was selling its factory near historic Beale Street in Memphis; now  Gibson has sold a warehouse property in Nashville for $6.38 million, and is planning on selling additional “non-core” properties in Nashville.

The company carries well over $600M in debt against annual revenues of $1.2B, and has been downgraded twice in the past year by credit rating bureau, Moody’s.    We wish them well, but have a hard time imagining a happy ending to this saga.

America’s fascination with zombies doesn’t seem to extend to zombie companies—companies that keep going, unaware they’re dead— and yet Radio Shack periodically makes attempts at revival, Sears just won’t go away, and now, after it was reported in April that the chain’s assets would all be liquidated—hhgregg, the electronics/appliance store that annoyingly presents its name ee cummings-style, is back. Sorta.

Trade journal This Week In Consumer Electronics (TWICE) reported that gregg will be revived with a purely online presence, and bidders for IP including the brand name included fellow zombie Sears.

That’s all we have to report, at this point. We must admit to a certain bewilderment as to how anyone  would think gregg is worth reviving. Oh, well.

Last time out

Part 1 launched our safari through the hinterlands of Southern Italy, specifically through the mostly unfamiliar region of Basilicata — mountainous, poor, almost unapproachably landlocked — and took us into the very popular, and by comparison, almost universally-known and much-beloved region of Campania.  What these two regions, in common, offer to the savvy consumer is a bounty of world-class red wine, made with the ancient and unknown Aglianico grape.  It is no understatement when I state that the Aglianico is perhaps the greatest “unknown” red wine grape in the wine world.

Singularly from the fertile slopes of Campania’s Mount Vesuvius, a bevy of ancient, racy, exotic and mineral-tinged white wines emerge. These are vivid, colorfully-named wines such as Coda di Volpe (“Fox-tail”) and Lacryma Christi (“Tears of Christ”) and simultaneously, somewhat musical, as well: Fiano di Avellino, Falanghina, Greco di Tufo, wine names that roll off the tongue almost as easily as they go down with a plate of the regional cuisine.

For our next foray into Southern Italy, we will make a  stop in Calabria, the toe of the Italian boot, then continue onward to Apulia, the heel of the Italian boot.  For the concluding part of our romp through Southern Italy, we will head to Sicily, where a new star is rising on the slopes of an old and very active volcano.

Calabria

I first visited Calabria in 1996, was immediately depressed by the poverty of the region. Everywhere I went seemed like a ghost town. Houses, envisioned, dreamed of and started, during happier times by happier and more optimistic people, existed now as still-borne mockeries of these dreams, empty frames, collapsing shells, twisted and misshapen metal, abandoned and forgotten to the unrelenting, march of time.  It was all very disturbing to me, a cold slap of reality across my face, a reminder of just how privileged an existence I led in my own life. Whereas I expected to see this misery and hopelessness reflected in the culture of Calabria, instead I saw hope and vibrancy, awareness and passion.  I saw the very best side of the human spirit.

Defiantly Spicy

First and fore-most of the things I had heard about Calabrese culture was their passionate, almost maniacal love affair with the pepper.  Whispers had circulated among our small group that the wine-making brother duo, Antonio and Nicodemo Librandi, could, and would eat the hottest peppers imaginable, smile at you and politely ask for more. Our group had even assembled a small assortment of peppers to test this out, culminating in an especially fiery pair of habaneros that burned my tongue just to think about. Well, if we had intended to see a man (or two men) die gruesomely — a death by pepper — we were sorely disappointed.  Our hot peppers did not even elicit so much as a flash, a surreptitious wince of discomfort, let alone pain of any kind.

Gaglioppo

Heck, If the Calabrese people can eat peppers like so, then it stands to reason that their cuisine is spicy and its wines somewhat tannic and alcoholic to match them.  True and true.  Indeed, the Calabrese are renowned for a cuisine that embraces garlic — a whole lots of it! — sun-dried peppers and tomatoes, red-hot chili peppers, and eggplant in everything.  As the climate is so hot and humid, the Calabrians have specialized and mastered the art of smoking of meats and sausages — all of which is to say that the cuisine of Calabria is a perfect for its one red wine grape of note: Gaglioppo (Gall-yo’po).

Gaglioppo is a hearty, large-boned wine with a characteristic roasted, spicy, berry, cherry and chocolate character, high alcohol and typically, a medium-tannic structure.  Grown in several parts of Calabria, the most interesting examples derive from the Ciro Marino, an area of low-lying hills along the region’s coast, framed by the Ionian Sea.  Producers of note include Librandi (the region’s most-famous winery), Statti, Odoardi and Tenuta Iuzzolini.

Apulia (Puglia)

The bleak poverty of Calabria stands in stark contrast to much of Apulia, or Puglia, as it is known in Italy. A beautiful region of rolling green forests, gorgeous hill-top towns capping glorious panoramic Mediterranean beaches and perfect, miles upon miles of picturesque coastlines, centuries-old charming farmhouses, wonderful old Baroque villages (Lecce), and a thriving and vital port city in Bari.  It is a visitors’ delight, a bicycler’s paradise and to many, just a paradise in general, a place where well-heeled northern Italians come to roost for the duration of their difficult winters, and to indulge their culinary tastes within a thriving food culture.  Even the wine business has prospered and matured. Once the last bastion of mediocrity, with oceans of inexpensive, barely passable plonk emerging from within its borders, Apulia is now home to some of Italy’s best wine values, with very fine, deliciously affordable reds made from such high-quality varietals as Primitivo and Negroamaro.  For the well-known wines of Salice Salentino in the southern part of Apulia, the Negroamaro is blended with another high-quality varietal called Malvasia Nera. To the north, the production zone known as Castel del Monte has long enjoyed a reputation for high-quality reds, utilizing such grapes as Bombino Nero, Aglianico (Sound familiar?), and Nero di Troia, with some producers using Cabernet (Franc and/or Sauvignon) and/or a bit of Montepulciano.  A small amount of rather interesting white wine, Chardonnay-based is made here too by Tormaresca, but is difficult to find. It may be the finest white wine in all of Apulia!

The taste of Apulian red wine from the south might best be described as a taste of light and sun.  Three grapes dominate the Apulian landscape here:  Primitivo, Negroamaro and to a lesser extent, Malvasia Nera. The grape we know of as Primitivo is genetically the same grape as that of the grape known in California as Zinfandel.  For a long time, in fact, the Italian version was thought to be the “Mother Grape” of Zinfandel. Further research by ampelographers (grape detectives) uncovered the real “Mother” finally.  It is now official: Crljenak Kastelanski.  Being genetically the same does not mean that the wines from one area are going to taste exactly like the ones from another area however. There are winemaking styles to consider, soil variations, climate conditions — endless variables exist. Still, the family resemblances are striking. The Apulian Primitivo, like its American counterpart, offers up signature flower, cherry, berry and spice aromas, and is very sensitive to high temperatures.  Furthermore, as with most of the”New World” interpretations of “Old World” wines, the warmer California climate, coupled with the prevailing “bigger, riper, better” mantra, means that the “New World” renditions will typically be a degree or more — sometimes two — in alcohol.   Sometimes, bigger is better.  Right off the tip of my head, I can list half a dozen producers in California consistently producing profound examples of Zinfandel, in a style not even challenged by their Italian brethren.  At the same time however, it must be said that the California “interpretations” that I alluded to are, on average twice to three times the price of the average Italian Primitivo, most of which can be had for about $15.  Unless you are going to pay my tab for me, I will opt for the Italian everytime!

Negroamaro, “black bitter” is another important grape of the Apulian south.  Some argue that the name was coined to describe the wine’s deep colors and the corresponding bitter or savory characteristic.  That’s one interpretation. I prefer “dark black.” For that is exactly what this grape is about: dark color, medium-to-full tannins and luscious dark-berry fruit accented by allspice and cinnamon.

The last of the triumvirate that covers the grapes of the Apulian south is Malvasia Nera. A black-skinned relative in the Malvasia family, it is seldom bottled solo, though it was even part of Chianti’s “recipe” once upon a time. Now it is utilized mainly to add perfume to the Salice Salentino blend.

The first established area of Apulia, the production zone known as Castel del Monte, is, after 46 years of regulation, still the best.  There are three different “DOCG” zones (“Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita” — the top-quality designation a particular area or zone can be awarded).  Of the three DOCG zones, one is awarded to the Castel del Monte Bombino Nero zone which produces Rose or Rosato wines, one to the Castel del Monte Nero di Troia production zone, which specifically produces Riserva level wines, and another, simply called Castel del Monte Riserva, which allows Riserva level wines made only with Cabernet Sauvignon or Aglianico (ding!).  The area is famous for the well-preserved Castel del Monte, from which the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederic II held sway in the late 13^th Century.  Notable producers of this region include Taurino (Mimmo Taurino championed the south when it was uncool to do so.), Cantine Due Palme, Chiaromonte, Leone di Castris, and Accademmia Racemi in the south.  Producers to seek out in the northern part of Apulia include Rivera, Tenute Rubino, Tormaresca, and Tenuta Viglione.

Stay tuned in two more weeks for the last part of our sojourn into the unknown hinterlands of Southern Italy.  Next up is Sicily, and that means gods and monsters and rumbling volcanoes!  See you soon!

As he lay down in bed, my father noticed a window set high up on the wall. This was odd as the window to the outside was on the opposing wall. Wondering why it was there, he found a ladder and climbed up.

My father escaped the Berlin of his youth in 1939. As a student he studied art but the Nazis cut his education short. After some failed attempts, he managed to leave Germany, legally, on an agricultural permit. Some German Jews had started a kibbutz in of all places Scotland and he joined them with the notion of emigrating to Palestine after the war. The farm was ten miles outside Glasgow and at weekends he would walk into town to the Jewish community center. There he met and subsequently married my mother. He had no money so he courted her with gifts from the farm, usually turnips.

In 1940 he joined the British Army and eventually, being a fluent German speaker, made his way into military intelligence. Before he left for Germany he was ordered to change his name from Szydlow (a Polish/Jewish name) to a British one, the theory being that, if captured, a British name would mean a POW camp, a Jewish name would mean a concentration camp. He would often listen to and admire a bandleader called Henry Hall who had a radio show that was popular during wartime. As he only had 24 hours to change his name and Hall was as good as any, he made that the family name. I found out later that Henry Hall and his band played in Berlin in 1938 and generated controversy by not playing songs by Jewish composers.

In 1945 my father was assigned to General Montgomery’s forces in northern Germany. He was near the town of Osnabruck and was given the task of finding headquarters for Montgomery and his commanders. He came across a stately home called Kreis Melle and gave the owner 30 minutes to pack her bags and leave. He told me that was 29 minutes more than the Nazis gave his parents when they were arrested.

The woman was Prince Phillip’s aunt.

Ironically, my Jewish refugee father was given the task of making a Christmas card for the regiment. He made a woodcut of the house and printed up hundreds of cards. They were sent home to loved ones in the UK.

Once the army moved in to Kreis Melle my father was assigned a small room high up in the building, the one with the oddly situated window. After he climbed the ladder leading up to it he opened it and found that inside was a small room containing many paintings. Obviously the owners had stashed the paintings away hoping they would survive the war. He found a Raphael, a Tintoretto and a small Madonna and Child by Botticelli. It was approximately two foot square. Although he was an honest man he couldn’t resist the Botticelli. He carefully removed the canvas from its frame, rolled it up. Put it into a cylinder and mailed it to my mother who was staying with her parents in Glasgow. Some months later he was demobilized from the army and returned to Glasgow to the apartment they shared with his in-laws. He asked my mother if she had received the painting. She said yes and pointed to a drawer in the dresser. My father searched inside but couldn’t find it. He asked his mother-in-law if she had seen it but she said she hadn’t and he should ask his father-in-law when he returned from synagogue.

“Did you see a painting that was in the dresser?” my father asked.

My grandfather, glowering, said, “yes”.

“Where is it?”

“What do you mean, where is it? How could you do this?” he said.

“Do what?” asked my father.

“Bring a Christian painting into a religious Jewish household?”

My father paused. “I’m sorry but give it to me and I’ll remove it.”

“I don’t have it.” My grandfather said.

“Where is it”?

“It’s gone!”

“It’s gone?”

“I burnt it.”

When my son Ilan was seventeen, in his final semester of high school, he went to Florence, Italy to study cooking. We visited him there and being tourists we hit the museums. We toured the Uffizi gallery that is famous for its Botticelli collection. They are amazing and well worth seeing. In one room they had a very large painting of Madonna and Child. Built into the frame and surrounding the painting was a series of roughly two-foot square studies of the larger finished artwork. Two of the squares were missing. One had a sign on it, “Missing since World War Two”.

Let it not be said that journalists don’t pay attention to their readers.

The responses to my contenders to the Psychedelic Shootout of 1967 has persuaded me to add 4 additional artists.

1.The Move:   I am a huge fan and ironically I was supposed to see them live at the Fillmore East in November 1967 with Pink Floyd headlining (this was the the US Floyd tour cut short due to Syd’s deteriorating mental condition).

The Move did not release an album in 1967 but their first single, “Flowers in the Rain”  was a shot fired across the bow!

2.The Yardbirds:  First though, a small bend in the rules:

The word from the UK in 1966, following the US hit “For Your Love”, had us all buzzing because of the addition of Jeff Beck replacing Eric Clapton. The album, Having A Rave Up (US  release: Over Under Sideways Down) was startling in its departure from straight Clapton era blues. However, by the time the 1967 Yardbirds contribution came around, Beck had departed and studio wizard Jimmy Page, moved over from bass to lead and the 1967 release, Little Games.

Little Games came out in April of “67 BUT….for the purposes of this shoot out I am actually going to focus on the 1966 release Over Under Sideways Down for reasons that will become obvious.

3.Love:  They were omitted because I forgot to drink my coffee that day. I mean, really, how could I have missed this one. I only have 4 different pressings beginning with the original 1967 Elektra release.

4.Procol Harum:  debut album.

“Whiter Shade of Pale” ‘nuff said

Let us begin!

In general, and now with 50 years of hindsight, musical history as well as my own experiences of spending lots of time in the UK and having been signed to my record deal in the UK by Phil Carson, Sr. VP of Atlantic Records, UK in the 80’s, it has become apparent that  the great distinction between the British and US Psych scenes was that the British artists were still forced by the “British Hit Record System” that made the artists conform to certain rules of the game.

Remember, the whole of Great Britain is smaller than the size of Texas. In those days if you didn’t get on the BBC radio pop charts,  then no one heard you. If you didn’t get on the Top Of The Pops TV show then no one really saw you.

The “hit factor pressure” was huge.  Even if you were trying to bend the rules, the Hit Men of the industry put enormous pressure on you to have a hit. The US, on the other hand, especially in the 60’s, had always had the enviable position of creating local or regional artists. What went on in the midwest or the south was not always known to NYers ,for example.

FM Freeform radio hit the US at just the right time as rules were about to be not just  broken but demolished! The population and diversity of the US greatly factored into the unique differences between the two countries even though the same mind altering drug was careening through our collective craniums. What make this even more interesting is that the British groups who are part of this shootout started out mostly as American Blues cover bands  (Pink Floyd, Yardbirds, Rolling Stones, Cream)  or, in the case of the Beatles, an American Rock ‘n’ Roll cover band.

The Move were really post-invasion. Kind of like 1st generation .2 in that their influences were strained through the prism of the pop music of their peers plus west coast rock and Motown.

The American bands were segregated by regional influences.

The Dead, the Airplane, and Moby Grape were heavily folk influenced. The Doors and Hendrix, by heavy blues;  and Love, the archetype LA proto-garage band, greatly influenced by all of the above with a large dose of Dylan and classical music.

At the end of each review I will render it’s Psychedelic value from 1 (meaning just a slight hallucination tremor-the equivalent to the kind of halos of an ocular migraine all the way to a 10 (full blown “get out the net and send the band to Bellevue”)

With all of that said, these 5 are the first group of contenders:

The Doors, The Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead,  Moby Grape & Love

Although released in January of ‘67,  it took months for the debut single “Light My Fire” to take off. When it did, the power of the imagery compounded with the eastern sounding raga guitar lead and the incredible vocals of Jim Morrison shattered the newly minted freeform FM stations and then crossed over, however lamely edited, to American Top 40 dominance.

The  haunting, dark and sexually perverse insinuation of the lyrics for the closing song “The End” brought to me at the time, an American version of the Stones. Dark, heavy and sexually charged. Finally though, we had our own Mick Jagger.

Strong, jazzed tinged playing throughout with just enough reverb to sound menacing. Jim Morrison’s poetry brought super literary analysis- he was the thinking man’s sex symbol. He seemed like a cross between Elvis and Henry Miller.

I had not yet smoked weed so my mental wandering went only as far the the actual time I spent listening to the album. I have a feeling that the Doors were looking at their stable mate Love and feeling that the pressure was on as to who got Elektra Records’ president Jac Holzman’s “love” more…

One thing for sure, This wasn’t the LA folk rock of Ronstadt, Eagles, Jackson Browne, Neil Young or the Mamas & Papas. This was a whole ‘nother thing. The Doors’ debut was really commercial danger on vinyl.

Verdict:   Stellar hard rock debut,  Psychedelic Factor (scale 1-10): 4.

The Jefferson Airplane, Surrealistic Pillow 

 

Well now, the memories of listening to this album at a junior high dance/make-out party brings back the greatest of memories. I had read about this band and wasn’t sure what to expect but what I got was a beautifully recorded and sung example of how commercial the San Francisco sound could get. 2 monster singles, “White Rabbit” & “Somebody to Love” reached out and coalesced around acoustic gems like The Spoonful/Mamas & Papas-sounding “My Best Friend” and the real make out ballad “Today”.

“White Rabbit” was also all about the imagery of Alice through the looking glass and all the seeming drug references. So cool, and yet quite scary to parents and to me and my friends. We felt we were listening to something forbidden.

Having Jerry Garcia listed on the the back of the album jacket as a “Spiritual Advisor” in the studio sounded just oh so damn cool.

What did that actually mean? Their guru?, their drug dealer? I hadn’t heard the Dead yet but this just made me crazy to want to know what he (Jerry)  knew.

As it turned out there is very little consensus as to what, if anything Jerry did have to do with the final product, some say he advised on arrangements, some say he did some production but recently that was debunked. In any case, to me, at the time it was a very impressive credit…

This band could really sing and write. The combined vocals of Grace Slick & Marty Balin remain as fresh and distinctive as any music being made at that time. I noticed that the stereo version (which I owned) is dripping with reverb. The mono version, not so much. Lots of reverb was the sauce that flavored a lot of Psychedelic music, apparently.

Verdict: on this album The Airplane reached heights never again attained with a focus and sure footedness that was unaffected by the political sturm und drang that was coming. Psychedelic Factor: 5.

 

Truth be told, I couldn’t wait. I read about the Dead in Ramparts magazine and man, was I ready for it. Still not getting high but everything about the cover of the album alone screamed Dr. Timothy Leary!!

As I start to relisten for the purpose of this contest, I’m stunned at the total lack of focus that this album suffers from. I’m sure that the band had no real idea going into the studio as to who and what they were. Part R&B band, part jam band. One thing for sure, their singing was nowhere close to the Doors, The Airplane, Love, Moby Grape, or just about any band on this list.

This, simply put,  is an example of West Coast garage rock, without the musical hooks or sexual tension. Garcia’s guitar playing was sloppy, and his tone was mealy-mouthed and reed thin. Sonically, the entire album sounds like a demo tape.

At the time, I guess it didn’t really matter much to me based on how much I played it but because the stylings were so diffuse and the lack of reverb hadn’t held much together, the entire project wasn’t very good and from a Psychedelic Factor, Viola Lee Blues was the only single psychedelic moment.

Mostly because of the cover,  I give it a Psychedelic Factor: 4.

 

OMG. I saw them once at the Fillmore, and they may have been one of the greatest live bands of all. In fact,  I’ll put money on the fact the Moby Grape was what the Grateful Dead wished they could play like at the time.

4 great singers, 3 great guitarists, and Bob Mosley, maybe the finest bass player at the time in San Francisco.

The only problem is that this ain’t much of a psychedelic musical experience. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a solid record. It’s almost as if The Buffalo Springfield were more aggressive.

Great songs (“8:05” is a classic), well played (with the controversial cover photo of the middle finger of Don Stevenson airbrushed out – a real vinyl collectors gem!) and one excellent rock band with a very trippy name but sadly, a Psychedelic Factor: 1.