Furthur-March 5th and 6th 2010 Broomfield, Colorado

Was I crazy, or were these shows as good as I thought they were? Well, we have the CDs for sale in the store now, and I can safely say that I was not crazy. This iteration of the post-Jerry Dead has finally achieved the thing that has been missing for so long; confidence. That’s the difference between Furthur and The Other Ones and the three different versions of the Dead we have seen over the last 15 years. With new guitarist John Kadlecik (from Dark Star Orchestra) the band has what it has needed; a guitar player who knows how it is supposed to be played and plays it the way it is supposed to be played. I think the world of Jimmy Herring and Warren Haynes, but they did not play The Grateful Dead’s music with the confidence needed to free the other players up to do what they are supposed to do - which is play freely. With all the other variations the guitar players were hesitant, forcing Bob and Phil to compensate, thus making them drop the beat and the whole thing goes to hell. One of the things about the Grateful Dead that is not properly understood, is that their ability to improvise was based on a 100% stone-cold mastery of the material. Musicians cannot go out and blow freely and stay in the right key and hit the changes unless they have the music DOWN. Now with John Kadlecik nailing the Jerry parts, the music flows freely like it used to. During the first night, while the band was chugging through the rare “Mason’s Children” I remember thinking, wow, Phil is playing free-I haven’t heard him play this free way in years. He wasn’t having to lead the band, and so he was free to play like Phil Lesh. Without fail, every single person I spoke to after these shows was thrilled with the band, the venue and the overall experience. The song selection at the Broomfield shows was totally memorable, and it is worth reliving the moment when they shifted from “Dark Star” to Pink Floyd’s “Time” over and over. Get em while they’re hot.
Paul Epstein

The T.A.M.I. Show

I first saw this film on TV, late night, sometime in the early 70’s. I remember thinking, "wow that was really a fun concert." I couldn’t believe the number of young musicians appearing (in 1964) who by decades end would be the biggest names in popular music. And here they were, playing in what looked like a small auditorium in front of a crowd of screaming teens. There was something uncharacteristically relaxed about the whole affair. The artists played and then announced each other, and there seemed to be a very comfortable vibe onstage. Sometime in the late 70’s or early 80’s I got my first bootleg VHS tape of the show. It was horrible quality, with un-synched sound, and it seemed to be missing stuff I remembered - most notably the Beach Boys segment. Over the next 30 or so years I got many different copies of T.A.M.I. and became more and more obsessed with this wonderful film. My interest in it shifted throughout the years. Initially I was most excited by the set by a young Rolling Stones - full of piss and vinegar. Keith was such a complete bad ass playing stinging guitar parts while Mick and Brian Jones flirted with the crowd. Mick is clearly already a performing genius. Somewhere in there I became aware of James Brown’s incendiary performance. It is arguably the greatest 10 minutes of popular music ever recorded. It has everything - or I should say James has everything. His vocal power is unmatched, and he is singing in his own language, replete with screams, cries, unidentifiable words and, when he wants, sweet soul crooning. But the real revelation is his physical presence. After watching this video of James Brown at his peak, you can only marvel at how Michael Jackson learned EVERYTHING from James Brown. He is the most physical, powerful, energetic and magnetic performer ever. You can’t even take in all his movements, he is so blinding. And confidence - there has never been a performer who looked more like he belonged on stage than James Brown. Throughout the years, I would bring music fans to my house, and when I had discerned that they might appreciate it, I would put on James from T.A.M.I. and watch as their jaw hit the floor. Now, it is finally out legitimately, in way better quality than ever before, and, once again, it is a complete revelation.

The Stones and James Brown remain as incredible as ever, but now my focus has shifted to some of the other performers. Chuck Berry opens the show and is magic to watch at this young age. His moves are classic and he is absolutely the textbook of rock and roll riffs. This is obvious as throughout the show we see other groups like The Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys and Jan and Dean completely rip him off. The Motown contingent is also in full effect with an incredibly handsome Marvin Gaye knocking it out of the park and the Supremes showing off why Diana Ross would become one of the biggest stars in the world during the next decade. Surprisingly, Leslie Gore is something of an eye-opener too. She looks fab with her flip haircut but really knocked me out with her strong, confident vocals. It made me reevaluate my appreciation of her. The other huge revelation of this set is the previously missing set by The Beach Boys. It is very fun and enjoyable until Brian Wilson steps to the mike to deliver an absolutely devastating version of “Surfer Girl.” His falsetto is heartbreaking, and the knowledge of what would happen to the poor guy later in life makes this an extremely poignant performance.

The final revelation of this wonderful movie is the audience. I sat there and literally teared up as I watched all those teenage girls screaming at the top of their lungs. SHIT, this used to be really fun and life affirming. It is a million miles away from what music has become. If you are a baby boomer watching this audience, you will remember the thrill of what drew you to rock music in the first place. If you are younger, it will show you why baby boomers mistakenly thought they created the universe. There is such excitement and vitality in the performances and the audience’s reaction it seems like it had to be made up. It couldn’t be real. It is - it really is.
Paul Epstein

The White Stripes - Under Great White Northern Lights

A Twist employee and I were talking about The White Stripes as we were listening to the CD version of this chronicle of the band’s tour of Canada to promote the Icky Thump album. The employee (who doesn’t like most new music) was asking “what is it about The White Stripes? They aren’t doing anything that hasn’t been done before, yet…” My response was simply “sincerity.” There is something entirely real about Jack White. Even the affectations of dress and style do nothing to detract from the feeling that there is something so true to the heart of music in what he does. If you have doubted this up until now, I suggest you get Under Great White Northern Lights and see exactly what you have been missing. Directed by Emmett Malloy who has previously worked with Jack Johnson, Under Great White Northern Lights stands on its own as a fascinating and beautiful film, but it completely blows your mind as a rock documentary. There are several subtexts running through the film, all of which work together seamlessly to create a completely satisfying musical experience. The tour itself was unique in that it covered every province and territory in the Canada. This finds them playing in tiny towns and backwaters in remote areas. In addition they tried to perform impromptu gigs in the afternoons at weird locations. These scenes which show them in bowling alleys, lodges, bars, Indian community centers and town squares is some of the most compelling footage in the movie, and it gives the viewer a clue as to how fearless and talented Jack White really is. The scene of him playing a Blind Willie McTell song to a group of Inuit tribal elders sends chills down your spine. Jack’s partner in music, Meg White and her relationship to Jack are also delved into in a quiet and emotional way. It is now common knowledge that they are former husband and wife and it is very clear that lots of real heavy emotional baggage exists between the two. In fact the closing scene of Jack and Meg seated on a piano bench together - Jack crooning “White Moon” while Meg silently weeps by his side provides both insight and additional mystery to their relationship. Meg for her part is possibly the most alluring woman in music. Miniscule, sexy and pathologically quiet, she is the solid rhythmic rock to Jack’s frenetic aural quicksilver. She plays the absolute most basic meat and potatoes thud style of drumming, but it absolutely perfect behind Jack’s bluesy, hard rock guitar bravado. The fact that these two people create such a mightier roar than bands with 5 times as many members remains one of the secrets to The White Stripes’ appeal.
Ultimately the film turns on the riveting footage of the band onstage. There is no question in my mind that, as my friend Lu said “Jack White - he is the anointed one of this generation isn’t he?” Yes Lu, he sure is.
Paul Epstein

John Grant - Queen of Denmark

Queen of Denmark is the album John Grant was meant to create, after over a decade in local Denver band the Czars, John had toured the Western world with high acclaim. But like so many Rock ‘n’ Roll stories the band's story was riddled with conflict and pain. The band notoriously went down in flames and for a few years he continued to perform under the Czars moniker with a rotating cast, until a little lucky star shone in his direction through the Austin band Midlake. This amazing and talented band befriended him in his time of need, and with all the pain and wisdom he had garnered over the years John recorded this truly autobiographical musical journey.

John's voice is one of those deep beautiful timbres that reminds me of a Nick Cave, but his writing style has always reminded me of Joni Mitchell, and he has an appreciation for vivid imagery. He gives a nod to the great seventies band ABBA in the odyssey "Barbarella", and there is also a tinge of influence from Bread, but regardless of whom he is channeling, it brings you to a sunny time where music was a sweetness that could carry you away, as those amber retro organ sounds melt the years of cynicism away. This is one of the most impressive debut albums I have heard in a long time. This is such a well-crafted pop devotional that each song is strong and takes you somewhere deep, and at no point does it become laborious.
The album was produced and co-written with Midlake bassist Paul Alexander, for their shared label Bella Union, which has always had an ear for bands with rich textures and a bit of transcendent pop feel. The elaborate textures of Grant's melodies are given the love and care they deserve, and all his heartbreak is here on the album for you to share, as is the hauntingly beautiful world he has seen through his own eyes.

The album starts off wonderfully, with the intense song "TC and the Honeybear". It is so epic I always find myself singing along with his rich sultry voice and I feel my heart drop a little at the end of the song. That is the kind of emotive power that makes me want to listen to it over and over. "Marz" might actually be my favorite song, filled with innocence hope and delight, because as you close your eyes you will be transported to an old fashion soda shop heaven filled with ice-cream sodas and goodies galore.

Like so many Twist and Shout customers I love film and pop culture references, and for those of you who share my love the track "Sigourney Weaver" is right up your alley, some of the lines were so great it made me laugh out loud. It shows all of John’s insecurities as well as his strengths, plus it has some rocking distorted electric guitar. This whole album ranges across a spectrum of genres, from a rag time roll to some ELP-like synth, it absorbs you. There are some strong lyrics that just make me grin because clearly he doesn’t give a “fuck” about being censored. At times the album is like Scissor Sisters without all the glam and a really pissed off Elton John that would make Stevie Wonder proud. As a bit of a gay pop icon in the late 90's Grant dealt with his own struggles going against the mainstream tide. As I was listening to the track "Jesus Hates Faggots", I couldn't help but think of the intolerance Mississippi teen Constance faced while trying to attend prom with her girlfriend. John wrote "Jesus Hates Faggots" in a direct rebuttal to the absurdity of using religion to justify bigotry. Thank you John for being so brave with your words, I hope it gives us a little something to think about.

The Czars were so original and diverse, and one of my all time favorite Denver bands, and all the former members of the Czars continue to enrich our local music scene. But it was time for John to move on and make an album that was really all him. At no point during Queen of Denmark does the band take away from Grant's style, this is like a diamond that has been polished: it was beautiful before, but now it is stunning. We will have this album at Twist on Tuesday April 6th, so please come down and hear this little Colorado Music gem.

-Natasha

I'd Love to Turn You On #5: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Kicking Against the Pricks

We spend so much of our time buying, selling and listening to the latest releases that we sometimes forget to plumb the depths. Every one of us here got in to record store thing, at some level, because we have a deep interest and curiosity about all kinds of music. Most of us are collectors to some degree or another, and one of the abiding joys of collecting is to pull out the rare, beautiful, little known or downright obscure album and turn on a friend. Sometimes it's a classic that needs to be shined up and put back on the top shelf. With that in mind we are going to revive a column we used to include in our newsletters called, appropriately enough, I'd Love To Turn You On. This will give our super collectors and musical academicians to wax poetic about their favorite albums (or movie or book for that matter).

Nick Cave is a great songwriter.  Actually, Nick Cave is an amazing songwriter, one of the best in all of rock.  But as many great songs as Cave has written, I think he's an even better interpreter.  His cover versions always manage to shed new light on and bring new life to classic songs from a wide variety of genres and sources that also illuminate Cave's deep musical knowledge and appreciation.  That's why I consider Kicking Against the Pricks his greatest album.  Considering how many dubious all-covers albums have cluttered our shelves over the years, Cave and the Seeds' achievement here is all the more remarkable.

Kicking Against the Pricks was originally a 12-track album released in 1986.  The version I own and became obsessed with is a mid-90s CD reissue that adds two bonus tracks, "Black Betty" and "Running Scared," dropped right in the middle.  The version you're going to buy was remastered last year and released as a two disc set.  Disc 1 restores the original running order, Disc 2 is a DVD that includes a 5.1 mix, the bonus tracks, and some videos.

The first thing that must be discussed is the fantastic performance by the Bad Seeds.  Always more than a mere backing band, the Seeds are true collaborators and here they are in stellar form.  Barry Adamson and Thomas Wylder provide a solid rhythm section, Blixa Bargeld (from industrial pioneers Einstürzende Neubauten) throws in some stinging guitar licks and Bad Seeds MVP Mick Harvey is all over the place.

Of course, it's the songs themselves that make the album.  Opener "Muddy Water" may just be the best and it's mysterious in more ways than one.  The title, lyrics and mood suggest the brooding of deep southern blues.  But it was actually written and originally recorded by pioneering 70s bluegrass group The Seldom Scene.  Harvey's organ solo is breathtaking, eclipsed only by Cave's haunting vocal.  When he croons "Hard to say just what I'm losin/Ain't never felt so all alone" it’s like a punch to the gut.

Several of the selections are songs with numerous cover versions throughout the years, as if Cave were assembling an alternate universe songbook of rock/folk/blues standards.  "Long Black Veil" is no less effective for its fairly traditional reading, but "Hey Joe" is something else entirely.  It starts off tight and keeps wrenching up the tension level like a tightening noose.  Their take on master songsmith Jimmy Webb's "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" is more Glen Campbell than Isaac Hayes yet still manages to convey the heartbreak beneath the song's pop surface.  The most radical reinvention just might be the Velvet Underground's "All Tomorrow's Parties" which comes across like a demented sea shanty.

Kicking Against the Pricks made Cave's fascination with all forms of song, particularly American folk and blues, clear for all to see.  It would serve as a map for his future musical directions but on its own stands as an amazing performance by an amazing performer.

Dr. Dog – Shame Shame (available Tuesday, April 6th!)

When I think of Dr. Dog I always think back to 2006, when they put out the first 1000 copies of Takers and Leavers. The covers of the CD were custom made; each one was unique, with found images and chaotic random art (some were even by the band members themselves). Since then I have been a big fan of this psychedelic indie rock band from Philly. Known for their wacky, creative style, with their early tracks made in the basement with an eight-track player, these guys built quite a following. Over the past decade they have managed to retain that spark for individuality and the closeness of a barn jam filled with acidheads. Shame Shame is the sixth album by these DYI artists and the first to be on the Anti- Label. Though it gets more polish from savvy producers and a bit more shine, it still has this close intimate feel of an album that has pure artistic control. Dr. Dog was discovered by Jim James of My Morning Jacket, so it is no surprise to find him as a guest vocalist. They spent time touring with Wilco, and you can hear the influence that must have rubbed off along the road. Slide guitar meets crashing piano combined with knob-tweaking brilliance, it is as if they have found a way to merge the sound of 90’ British indie with something very modern and brand new. This feels like a very personal album influenced by their friends, family and neighborhood. If you are a fan of that Americana-meets-psychedelic sound then I think you will like this album as much as I did. - Natasha

The Knife - Tomorrow, In a Year

The latest release from the Swedish sibling electropop duo The Knife is a commissioned opera about the life and work of Charles Darwin and sees the artists teaming up with Mt. Sims and Planningtorock for an emotional, yet mostly quiet experimentation into the sound of evolution and variation. It has to be said that this album is not what a usual fan of The Knife might come to expect for their next release. This opera is more akin to the lo-fi, quiet sounds of Fever Ray, but much more subdued - it takes longer to interpret all of the sounds and get started. In fact, it takes over 4 minutes of static nature based sounds like leaves rustling for the actual vocals to begin. Since the newest release is an opera, it will take reading the libretto and a couple of times listening all the way through for the true quality of the album to sink in. Tomorrow, In a Year grows in sound layers, track by track, and by the end becomes something so much more complicated and meaningful than its natural beginnings. To further communicate Darwin's life the lyrics jump from technical observations in his work to his personal journals and other works. Most of the vocals are provided by Kristina Wahlin, and Karin Andersson of the Knife and Fever Ray doesn't make an appearance until track 8. The bonus CD will be more rewarding for fans of their past work. However it is also in a slower, quieter style. The last track on the bonus CD offers an alternative vocal version of "Annie's Box" sung by Karin. This song adds a beautiful cello piece that helps relate Darwin's pain at losing his 10 year-daughter, Annie, and Karin's vocal draws out some extra emotions as well. Altogether, this is a tough album to digest for any fan, but very rewarding for anyone willing to take the time and consider the immense ambition, style and amazing artistry put into it. -Chris B

I'd Love to Turn You On #4: Laura Nyro – Eli & The 13th Confession

We spend so much of our time buying, selling and listening to the latest releases that we sometimes forget to plumb the depths. Every one of us here got in to record store thing, at some level, because we have a deep interest and curiosity about all kinds of music. Most of us are collectors to some degree or another, and one of the abiding joys of collecting is to pull out the rare, beautiful, little known or downright obscure album and turn on a friend. Sometimes it's a classic that needs to be shined up and put back on the top shelf. With that in mind we are going to revive a column we used to include in our newsletters called, appropriately enough, I'd Love To Turn You On. This will give our super collectors and musical academicians to wax poetic about their favorite albums (or movie or book for that matter).

Laura Nyro was the New York high priestess of song for a few precious years in the late '60s and early '70s. Before Carole King ventured out solo and when Joni Mitchell was still a folk singer, Laura was blazing a trail, writing wild, original songs and performing with an energetic passion rarely seen in the pop world. She was a riveting performer, a fearless singer and a songwriter of genius. But, as is the case with many cult artists, the diamonds that Laura made are known to only a few die-hards. So go on and give this disc a spin – it’s one of the great albums of the 60s, by a singular talent. 


On Eli we hear a young woman singing her own songs. But that is where any familiarity ends. Laura's songs are strange. She has a blatant disregard for tempo and conventional structure, and loves tripping us up with frequent key and time changes. The band that accompanies her on this disc is obviously full of seasoned session guys, because they follow her brilliantly through the labyrinthine compositions. Laura likes to challenge and never holds back; the words are sung with a religious abandon that I've only ever heard in Van Morrison or Nina Simone. 



However it's not all crazy, and there is much here to enjoy on a casual level. If you've ever turned on a radio in the past 25 years, you'll recognize Laura's original versions of the classics “Stone Soul Picnic,” “Sweet Blindness,” and “Eli's Coming,” which were copied almost note for note (with the edges rounded off) by The 5th Dimension and Three Dog Night. There are pop songs and heartbreaking ballads, too: “Emmie” in particular is one of Laura's most gorgeous pieces, and the influence on Todd Rundgren and Rickie Lee Jones is palpable.

Although Laura had contemporaries like Janis Ian and Dory Previn, she was essentially out there on her own, doing her thing unlike anyone before or since. Laura fused Brill Building pop, show tunes, and gospel with her own raw soul - all combined for something truly unique. She's weird, geeky, awkward, deep and maybe a little damaged. Way ahead of the curve in 1968, Laura was touching on dark, poetic themes that conjured ghosts like an ancient blues record. Laura is not one of those boring, wet confessional songwriters, so don't be afraid.



Of course, Laura isn't for everyone. Not everyone is going to feel the way I do about Laura. Some will find her shrill, others might find her difficult, annoying. But, if you are one of the lucky ones you'll fall for her, and nothing else musically will quite matter the way she does.

Elvis Costello, Elton John, Bob Dylan and Alice Cooper are all fans. Now it's your turn.

--Ben Sumner

Check this picture out.

Dave Alvin, formerly of the Blasters posted this on his facebook page. It just kills me. Here you have one of the great American roots bands, The Blasters, as young men, running in to one of the great eccentric legends of modern music on the streets of Southern California. I love that Zappa is carrying some high-end shopping bags and looks every bit the sophisticated Cary Grant to The Blasters dead-end kids. I love both these artists, but with completely different sides of my brain. The Blasters represent the last gasp of American Rock and Roll that had some genuine connection to the grimy black and white streets of the mid-20th century. They were kids out of Downey, California who idolized the past generations of blues, country and r&b singers and forged their own version of real Americana. The band’s authentic arrangements were bookended by brothers Phil and Dave Alvin, who like all great brother acts could barely stand the sight of each other. Older brother Phil was a charismatic frontman gifted with one of the great rock voices. Dave is a lightning guitar ace who is capable of writing the great American short-story in 2 minutes 30. His songs like “American Music,” “One Red Rose,” “Fools Paradise” or “Just Another Sunday” are just perfect little rock gems - as good as anything that came out in the 70’s or 80’s. 
Zappa on the other hand, is a figure of such towering achievement, and so unlike any other popular artist that it is hard to talk about him in the context of rock and roll. He is an artist completely of his time, but detached from the constraints of popular fashion to such a degree that he was always leading his own parade. He was fearless in the face of style, political correctness and his fans expectations. This would lead one to believe that he was a real condescending jerk. Interestingly, almost every musician who dealt with him, on album or socially, has said quite the opposite. He had the reputation of being a generous and friendly person who did not feel he was above his peers in any way. He was friendly with many bands, and showed a keen understanding of all types of music. Dave Alvin remembers him as being friendly, and the picture shows him as a sweet, middle-aged eccentric - just the way you’d hope to remember him. I have nothing remarkable to say about this picture - just that it is two of my favorite musicians that have nothing to do with each other, together and looking, well - like humans.

Wanna check em out? Unfortunately some of the Blasters best stuff is out of print - but their first, primal recordings (American Music) are still available and very worth getting. Zappa is like exploring the universe. Where to start? How about a very obvious and a very un-obvious place? His early album Hot Rats remains one of the most musically satisfying rock albums ever. The fact that it was made in 1969 and still sounds futuristic still speaks volumes. Speaking of volumes of futuristic music, give Boulez Conducts Zappa a try if you want to hear Zappa’s music in a completely different context (classical), but still hear all the trademark wit and compositional abilities. No matter what he tackled, Frank Zappa accomplished it with a completely original, musical take that was uniquely his own.
Paul Epstein

Grateful Dead - Road Trips Vol. 3 No. 2 Austin 11/15/71

I’ve often considered 1971 to be one of the real transition years of the Grateful Dead. They were leaving the frenetic psychedelic explorations of the late 60’s behind, embracing a more song-based approach to their music with the albums American Beauty and Workingman’s Dead and making their in-concert performances more about crisp run-throughs of newer songs and less about long improvisations. Also, the recent loss of 2nd drummer Micky Hart and the addition of technically superior piano player Keith Godchaux made the band as tight as they had ever been, if not as spacey or experimental. Thus this concert from the end of 1971 is something of an anomaly as it incorporates lots of tightly played new songs and some longer improv barn-burners as well. Songs like show opener “Truckin,” a lean “Playin’ In The Band,” a beautifully sung “Brokedown Palace” and a hot-shit “Cumberland Blues” show the band smartly running through their paces and putting extra effort on the vocal front. The real highlights come at the ends of both sets when they break out unexpected longer jams. The first set reaches it’s climax with a “Dark Star” that goes into deep space, comes out improbably into “El Paso” and then descends back into the maelstrom before exploding into “Casey Jones.” The second set seems to be ending in a pretty standard fashion with the crowd pleasing “Not Fadeaway” when the band slips into about 7 minutes of extreme high-energy imrov touching on lots of familiar themes in an exhilarating fashion. They then go into one of the great versions of “Goin’ Down The Road Felling Bad” before finishing up with a reprise of “Not Fadeaway” and “Johnny B. Goode.” That sequence is played with such vim and vigor it will leave you breathless.

We currently have the version of this release that comes with an extra bonus disc from the night before when they played in Fort Worth, Texas and it contains some great playing, in particular a long and exploratory “Other One” with “Me and My Uncle” galloping out of the middle of the jam.
Paul Epstein

Why Record Stores Matter

The other day a friendly gentleman approached the counter holding a record and wearing a smile. He held up a Charlie Parker 10” record on the Savoy label and said something to the effect of “this is my record.” According to the gentleman this record, this VERY record was purchased by him when it came out in 1948. Sometime in the ensuing 60 years he sold the record (he thought in California in the 70’s). Now, here in 2010 he is poking around one of the few places in the country it could possibly be, and lo and behold there it is. He points to his name written on the jacket, and a bunch of doodles on the back that he drew. “Yep it’s mine.” He purchased the record and left happily.

Now when this story came to me through an employee and I just about flipped out. This is exactly what I’ve been saying for years. The great tradition of second hand stores in this country act as more than just retail outlets - they are estuaries that collect the cultural castoffs, the flotsam and jetsam of our society, and then like putting a plain rock in a tumbler and having it come out a jewel, these items resurface later as little time capsules that not only still perform their original duties (in this case giving us the genius of Charlie Parker) but they also carry with them the smells, the feel, the secret messages of the life, or lives of those whose hands they passed through. In this case, the record was purchased 62 years ago - think of the worlds the original purchaser has come through since originally plopping down a buck or two for the record. Think of the all the lives that might have touched it since he sold it, and the journey the record itself took to find itself at Twist and Shout in 2010, and then back in its original owners’ hands. Think of all the life that the record was close to. It sat in living rooms while the world changed - it sat there during the Korean War, Vietnam, Woodstock, Watergate, Disco, 9/11, countless financial ups and downs. Not to mention the individual lives of the people who owned and loved it - Marriage? Divorce? Kids? Maybe a kid sold it to us after his father died. Maybe someone learned to play sax by listening to that record over and over. Maybe it was the last record someone listened to before leaving home. 

The image that keeps coming back to me is that of a message in a bottle. Someone throws it into the ocean in hopes that it will travel miles and come ashore to someone’s hands. It might contain a mystery, or a great love affair, or a buried treasure, but it is a romantic notion. That the bottle you throw in the ocean could wash up on shore next to YOU, years later, is almost too much to believe. But there it was, in the hands of the guy who originally bought it, with his original doodles on the back - just amazing. This is why we have and continue to need record stores. Where else could this happen?

--Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On #3: Screaming Blue Messiahs - Gun-Shy

We spend so much of our time buying, selling and listening to the latest releases that we sometimes forget to plumb the depths. Every one of us here got in to record store thing, at some level, because we have a deep interest and curiosity about all kinds of music. Most of us are collectors to some degree or another, and one of the abiding joys of collecting is to pull out the rare, beautiful, little known or downright obscure album and turn on a friend. Sometimes it's a classic that needs to be shined up and put back on the top shelf. With that in mind we are going to revive a column we used to include in our newsletters called, appropriately enough, I'd Love To Turn You On. This will give our super collectors and musical academicians to wax poetic about their favorite albums (or movie or book for that matter).

Some Rock n Roll bands are a given, a fixture. They are ensconced in your older brother's record collection. They pose, grinning, holding framed gold records. They sport sunglasses on the covers of music magazines. Then there are bands you see coming over the pop culture horizon. They take on familiar shapes, they are musically amiable. Another link in the chain of pop trendiness. But...sometimes a Rock n Roll band comes out of the blue. They jump up fully formed, Athena-like, out of the Rock God's head. The Screaming Blue Messiahs were just such a band.

Of course they came from somewhere. The Messiahs' background was specifically London, circa Pub Rock o'clock. But Gun-Shy was the 1986 debut LP, long out of print, but now reinstated courtesy of the Wounded Bird label. And what a debut! You would be hard pressed to find another first release sporting as much weird wit and power. Gun-Shy is one of those records that simply gets down to business...no hemming nor hawing about.

First track “Wild Blue Yonder” is a pretty good indication of what the group is all about. Bill Carter's guitar sports a nagging, ragged riff, Kenny Harris plays his drums wildly loose-limbed behind Chris Thompson's rumbling bass line. What really grabs your attention, though, is Carter's half menacing, half comic vocal. You can hear similarities to Joe Strummer, but he is definitely one of those Rock front men who are a unique presence, driving the band by force of personality. The Messiahs were a loud, aggressive band, but the stoic, bald Carter dominated all proceedings.

Several Gun-Shy tracks display a rockabilly influence (albeit warped), coupled with Carter's Americana lyrical fixations. On the sole cover, they soak Hank Williams' “You're Gonna Change” in reverb. Raucous tunes “President Kennedy's Mile” and “Twin Cadillac Valentine” invoke a brew of cultural tropes; guns, cars and biblical wrath. Elsewhere, as on “Smash the Market Place,” the Messiahs’ stellar rhythm section make the rock downright danceable, not unlike mid-period Clash. On paper, I fear all these different elements - pop, dance, punk, twang, hard rock - sound of a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. Trust me though, on Gun-Shy (and the equally great subsequent albums Bikini Red and Totally Religious) The Screaming Blue Messiahs created potently exciting Rock music.
-Brian

Preservation-An Album To Benefit Preservation Hall & The Preservation Hall Music Outreach Program

With the attention on the great city of New Orleans that has surfaced since the tragedy of Katrina and now the celebration of the amazing Super Bowl victory of The Saints, the time seems perfect for this release. The music of New Orleans has rightfully been singled out as the city's greatest contribution to culture, and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band are emblematic of one of the more important facets of that music. Their traditional, perfectionist take on brass band jazz sets the standard and keeps the tradition beautifully preserved for future generations. Preservation pairs the band with a variety of contemporary artists to glorious results. The list of artists is varied, drawing from rock, folk, bluegrass and world music to create a whole that shines a light on the joyous feelings the Preservation Hall Jazz Band bring to whatever they are playing.

Kicking off with Andrew Bird and moving to Paolo Nutini (two pretty distinctive modern artists) it is immediately apparent that the guest artists involved will be playing it the Preservation way, not the other way around. With very few exceptions, everyone plays it straight and lets Preservation Hall be the star of the show. Highlights of the modern artists include Yim Yames of My Morning Jacket doing "Louisiana Fairytale," a revved up Ani Difranco's take on "Freight Train" and Steve Earle's appropriate take on "T'aint Nobody's Business." On the more traditional side, Dr. John is perfectly greasy on "Winin' Boy," The Blind Boys Of Alabama raise spirits on "There is a Light," Bluegrass legend Del McCoury fits like hand in glove on "After You've Gone," Pete Seeger and his son Tao Rodriguez-Seeger are warmly familiar on "Blue Skies" and a Louis Armstrong vocal is lifted for a new version of "Rockin' Chair" that couldn't sound more right.

For me, the real winners of this consistently winning set were Tom Waits and Angelique Kidjo. Waits tackles "Tootie Was My Big Fine Thing" and it is absolutely classic Waits. He is truly a genius who can make anything familiar weird, and vice-versa. Angelique Kidjo pairs with New Orleans Trumpeter (and son of Preservation Member Walter Blanchard) Terence Blanchard to deliver a spellbinding version of "La Vie En Rose." Her exotic voice offers the perfect contrast to the rock solid Americana background provided by Preservation.

Two other things worthy of note:
There is a deluxe version that comes with a second disc that contains an additional 6 songs, including another essential Waits contribution "Corinne Died On The Battlefield," and a second Yim Yames contribution-the spooky "St. James Infirmary." Very worth while in my opinion.

On release day - Tuesday we will be celebrating this great release by having two authentic King Cakes shipped up from New Orleans. Come by starting at 3:00 pm, have some King Cake, listen to the album and feel some pride for one of the things that makes America great.
Click Here for more information about King Cakes and Mardi Gras

Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On #2: Charles Mingus - The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady

We spend so much of our time buying, selling and listening to the latest releases that we sometimes forget to plumb the depths. Every one of us here got in to record store thing, at some level, because we have a deep interest and curiosity about all kinds of music. Most of us are collectors to some degree or another, and one of the abiding joys of collecting is to pull out the rare, beautiful, little known or downright obscure album and turn on a friend. Sometimes it's a classic that needs to be shined up and put back on the top shelf. With that in mind we are going to revive a column we used to include in our newsletters called, appropriately enough, I'd Love To Turn You On. This will give our super collectors and musical academicians to wax poetic about their favorite albums (or movie or book for that matter).

When I was a teenager and started getting into jazz, I was told to check out Charles Mingus. The title The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady stuck out in my mind—it was very evocative, but of what? After a shift at Twist & Shout, where I had just started working, I took a copy to the listening station and put it on. The first track of the album-length composition started off with a repeated drum figure, then the full band came in with some of the most hauntingly beautiful harmonies I'd ever heard. This was all I needed to hear—I bought the disc and went home. Over the next few months, I listened to it repeatedly. I turned my friends onto it. We all sat around listening to this amazing music over and over again. I came to know it so well that I could sing along to all the solos and hear the tape edits. Still, it was mysterious and maintained its power. How was this music created?

That was almost 10 years ago. As my relationship with music has changed and grown, a lot of it that I once loved has lost importance. Mingus music and Black Saint in particular have not. Charlie Mariano's alto saxophone solos still send chills down my spine, even as I understand more how they are constructed. The rhythm section interplay between Mingus and drummer Dannie Richmond seems even richer to me now that I've experienced such interaction first hand. This album is an inexhaustible document. It is music that transcends genre—as Mingus asserts in the liner notes, it “is part of a very old idea that someday all good music will return from its assorted labels which inhibit it with fashions [and] styles...” I feel the reason for this transcendence is its emotional content. It is not an attempt at “making jazz” or merely a cerebral exercise.

Much of the parts that I used to think of as “hooks” are, I can see now, improvised by the musicians. But they are a result of Mingus' compositional choices—selecting a band, rehearsing with them, setting up situations that call out for these sorts of responses. Mingus again: “Charles Mariano knew tears of sound were what was the intended thought in the background and what also was meant to come out of his alto solo. No words or example were needed to convey this idea to Charles Mariano. Only his love of living and knowing life...”

There's not much else to say about this album except, check it out. It was formative and, I suppose, life-changing for me. I've talked to all kinds of people—huge jazz fans and people who barely listen to jazz—who feel the same way.
--Ian Douglas-Moore

Soul Power

How times have changed! While watching this riveting movie one is just overwhelmed by how very different the times were in 1974 when the greatest fighter of all time, Muhammad Ali, went to Zaire to reclaim his heavyweight crown from George Foreman. At the same time a small group of impresarios and investors decided it would be a good idea hold a three-day concert to coincide with the fight. They would bring some of the biggest names in American soul music and mix them together with the cream of African and Latin musicians and bring the ghetto to the jungle as it were. Great idea, right? Well it does turn out to be a very musically rewarding experience, but the best laid plans as they say. The first 45 minutes of the film chronicle the political and financial jockeying to make the concert happen. It becomes clear that the ego of Don King drives things forward, while the poor schnook who represents the investors becomes paler by the minute as the Ali/Foreman fight faces trouble. The concert as it turns out has a life of its own as headliner James Brown is put in front of the press, and Ali does his thing. Ali’s presence looms large throughout the movie as he antagonizes Foreman, the U.S. press corps and anyone else who will listen. He is a marvel of physical perfection and mental acuity. Compared to what he is like today, it is remarkable and sad. He truly was the greatest. If you want to see his whole side of this story check out the excellent film When We Were Kings which is entirely about the fight itself. The main event here though is the music. In a way it feels like the African-American version of Woodstock. The scenes of the artists on the plane over to Africa really convey how meaningful the whole event to them. We see James Brown and Lloyd (Mr. Personality) Price embracing and saying “We’re going home.” The struggle for civil rights was not a distant memory to these men but a recent wound.

The performances are, without exception, breathtaking. The musical portion kicks off with The Spinners who are immaculate as they groove through “One Of A Kind Love Affair.” They are soul personified in their lightning sequined outfits and synchronized dance steps. The artists come fast and furious, and none disappoint. In fact there wasn’t one performance that didn’t make me wish to see the whole set. BB King is at the height of his powers, Bill Withers sends chills with a solo acoustic performance. The Crusaders are one of the real highlights with a very young Larry Carlton being notable as the lone white guy on stage. All the African performers are magnificent. It is a rare and inspiring treat to see a radiant Miriam Makeba defining exotic beauty, or Franco leading his OK Jazz band through a tight workout or Tabu Ley dancing and singing with unbelievable charisma.

The musical highlights just build as The Fania Allstars featuring Celia Cruz and Hector Lavoe completely tear it up. The full stadium of Africans erupts in joy as Cruz proves why she is one of the most explosive performers the world has ever known. The musical and emotional peak has to be Soul Brother Number One, James Brown, who is such a commanding presence it almost seems impossible. His performance of “The Big Payback” is as good as it gets. He has put on a little weight since his 60’s heyday but his dancing is clearly where Michael Jackson got much of his inspiration and his singing is unearthly. One can’t even fathom where Brown’s style came from - it is so unique and personal. He is truly unlike any other singer - ever. Brown is given the last 15 minutes of the movie, which is appropriate because obviously his image and music made a great impression on the African audience. In fact throughout the movie, everyone - Ali, the other Musicians, the investors, everyone - seems to be in awe of James Brown. As the movie ends you just yearn to see more of the footage of James Brown and each of these amazing musicians in this once-in-a-lifetime gathering.
Paul Epstein

I’d Love To Turn You On #1: The Orb - Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld

We spend so much of our time buying, selling and listening to the latest releases that we sometimes forget to plumb the depths. Every one of us here got in to record store thing, at some level, because we have a deep interest and curiosity about all kinds of music. Most of us are collectors to some degree or another, and one of the abiding joys of collecting is to pull out the rare, beautiful, little known or downright obscure album and turn on a friend. Sometimes it's a classic that needs to be shined up and put back on the top shelf. With that in mind we are going to revive a column we used to include in our newsletters called, appropriately enough, I'd Love To Turn You On. This will give our super collectors and musical academicians to wax poetic about their favorite albums (or movie or book for that matter).

In 1991 when this album was released the dance music revolution was in its infancy. It was just staring to break out of basements and tiny clubs and explode into what, for better or worse would become “the rave scene.” With the gelling of the scene the music started to adhere to rules, and fit specific needs - mainly to keep the dance floor throbbing until everyone stopped rolling. In 1991 the music was still wide open and somewhat unclassifiable. Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld is the realization of the promise that this music held. The Orb’s first album was experimental, highly ambitious and free from any genre restrictions. In many ways, because of its success it paved the way for a far less interesting form of music, but what pioneering album cannot be accused of that? If every droney, out of key, noisy rock band was laid at the Velvet Underground’s feet, they would need much bigger shoes. Doing it first often means doing it best, and Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld proves that notion as neatly as The Velvet Underground and Nico does for its era.

Opening with the single that would become their most identifiable song, “Little Fluffy Clouds” remains one of the most irresistible and unforgettable songs of the era. The title is derived from the primary sample: a clip of Rickie Lee Jones describing what the skies looked like when she was growing up in Arizona. Orb mastermind Alex Paterson builds a luscious soundscape around this sample that burbles and whooshes with interesting embellishment but never drops the beat for a moment. It achieves the seemingly impossible - it is the embodiment of intelligent dance music. I guess you could drop the “dance” and say it is just intelligent music. The fact that you can dance to it is icing. As the tracks unfold on disc one, one realizes that this music has as much to do with Tangerine Dream, Pink Floyd, Negativland or Mike Oldfield as it does with Paul Oakenfold or The Chemical Brothers. It is part of a long tradition of willfully avant-garde music informed equally by minimalist classical, popular rock and early experiments in electronics or what the French termed Musique Concrete. Each song on Adventures opens up a new world of sonic collage with a different beat structure beneath it. In fact, some songs have no beats whatsoever and are more akin to ambient experiments bringing together sweeping landscapes with a fascinating array of musical and spoken word samples. Much of the sampling on this album relates to human exploration of outer space, and the choice of subject matter is completely sympathetic with its surroundings. It almost feels like one is exploring uncharted territory while listening to this album. How many albums can you say that about? Amazingly, much of it still sounds pretty groundbreaking all these years later.

Much of the success of Adventures is based on Alex Paterson’s deft use of samples. Unlike much modern music, his samples never dictate what the melodic or rhythmic structure of the song will be. They act as poetic devices that give the songs depth - the music is created by Paterson, and he uses the samples as lyrical as opposed to technical inspiration. One never feels like he is just riffing off of someone else’s musical innovation. That is the big problem with sampling in a lot of modern music; it takes the place of a genuine idea. Not so with The Orb; there is clearly an artistic mind behind the music that is brimming with ideas of its own.

Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld closes a couple of hours later with the Orb’s second most renowned song; “A huge ever growing pulsating brain that rules from the centre of the ultraworld.” A seductive, snaky rhythm pushes its way through a barrage of cosmic synth waves lapping on the inside of your skull and gives way to a sample of 70’s songbird Minnie Riperton’s otherworldly voice singing her signature song “Loving You.” Instead of using Riperton’s song to inform the melody of his own work, Paterson just lifts her voice singing and it floats above The Orb like some angelic choir looking down approvingly. The song then shifts off into worlds that are alternately meditative and energizing. There are single mixes of this song that stretch to over 20 minutes, but the version on the album comes to a halt after about 18. The song did revive interest in Riperton, who died at a tragically young age, and it’s hard to imagine it would not have met with her approval. As the album ends the listener is left in a state of exhausted bliss, having figuratively traveled to other worlds. Not for the faint of heart by any means, Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld is a big glorious slice of dayglow pie that will fill you up to the brim with musical ideas and big beats. This album is neither a poppy dance confection, nor is it a mere vehicle for special effects, it is, rather, a serious attempt to take the listener on a voyage. The fact that Alex Paterson and company actually achieved this goal is monumental, the fact that it is such a good and enduring album almost 20 years later is miraculous. -- Paul Epstein

Magnetic Fields - Realism

The Magnetic Fields continue their playful love-hate relationship with pop music with Realism, a new album full of love songs, un-love songs, plus the sort of absurd humor that the band's always enjoyed putting across - the new title "The Dada Polka" might serve as an overall header for these types of songs. And Realism spends its time equally bouncing between songs that, if not actually sincere reports from songwriter Stephin Merritt's own heart, could at least be applied to real-life situations and the sort of humorous and/or precious little ditties that they relish. So if he sounds genuinely tongue-tied with infatuation on the Brian Wilson-ish melody of the lovely "I Don't Know What to Say" or if Claudia's vocal on "Always Already Gone" reflects the weariness of a relationship that hasn't worked for so long that she can't remember how it went sour it's sure that he'll pull the focus back quickly to the dainty "The Dolls' Tea Party" or precede it with "We Are Having A Hootenanny." By my count, he's reporting on love and meaning it about half the time - six cuts out of thirteen - and this is where he's invested not just his emotion, but usually his melancholy as well. It's a given that he's put his gift for melody there too, and he doesn't spare it on the remaining seven cuts, which split the time between the precious and the simply humorous, songs which oftentimes still manage to slip in something to say, as when "The Dada Polka" - surely what should be the most ridiculous song here, right? - offers this advice to listeners: "Do something / Anything / Do something out of character / It won't kill you." Basically, it's the new Magnetic Fields album, full of the type of clever, well-crafted songwriting we've come to expect from them, but with unexpected flashes of the genuine. And like all its predecessors, this one cultivates its own sonic identity. Merritt has stuck with his "no synth" creed and instead made acoustic instruments sound like synths, but here instead of faking synth-pop as on i or dressing the band up as the Jesus & Mary Chain as on Distortion they've chosen to explore "folk." It's a dangerous concept to put across one of the most sincere forms of music in the hands of a committed ironist, but between his gift for simple melodies and his unusually sincere-sounding approach to some of these lyrics, I think he manages to nail it.

Amchitka - The 1970 concert that launched Greenpeace

This 2 CD set completely came out of left field. A show that was largely unknown to collectors that signified an event (the birth of Greenpeace) that has also not been given the historical gravitas it deserves. The artists represented (Joni Mitchell, James Taylor and Phil Ochs) also run the gamut from more famous than they’ve ever been (Taylor) to not given their correct historical due (Mitchell) to largely forgotten (Ochs). The resulting musical experience ranges from interesting and poignant (Ochs) to thoroughly enjoyable (Taylor) to sublime (Mitchell). Ochs’ set, while politically bracing and well-played sounds like the voice of a man whose time had come and gone. And that, unfortunately is exactly what it was. Ochs always toiled in the shadow of Bob Dylan, and as the 70’s dawned his political righteousness seemed hidden beneath the blanket of Watergate and the close of the Viet Nam debacle. As the realities of American life crumbled around this modern day Paul Revere, the general reaction of the public seemed to be “yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” James Taylor, on the other hand is the consummate workman. What his shows lack in spark and inspiration are compensated for with always-to-be-counted-on guitar playing, his consistently pleasing voice and a grip of better-than-average songs. He performances rarely rise to a boiling point - he is terminally mellow, but he never fails to offer a pleasant evening of music. The sweet 7 song set he offers up is heavy on the “Sweet Baby James” material, so how bad could it be?

The real main event here is Joni Mitchell’s mind-blowing performance. Her voice is one of the real gifts of Rock and Roll and her easy manner with the audience is charming throughout. Her 10 song set is full of great songs and big surprises. The first surprise comes during her first song (“Big Yellow Taxi”) when it magically, almost accidentally, drops into “Bony Moronie.” Mitchell claims it as a song she remembers from teenage dances in her hometown of Saskatoon. It is a charming and totally unexpected moment. She follows with a great selection of tunes from her best albums performed with superb guitar and dulcimer accompaniment. There is a previously unreleased song “The Hunter” (an outtake from “Blue”) and then toward the end she busts out another revelatory surprise when she takes her song “Carey” directly into Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” again as if by accident. She then slows it down and invites Taylor onstage to duet with her. They sing it with different phrasing and step on each other a little bit, but the overall effect is pure magic. One can’t help but be amazed that this great performance has sat on a shelf all these years.

The package also contains a lovely booklet with great photos of the event, and the profits from this release help fund Greenpeace (one of the few vestiges of the hippie era that still carries some serious political and moral resonance), so one can feel extra good about this purchase. Do yourself a big favor and pick this one up.
Paul Epstein

It Might Get Loud

On the surface this might seem like a vanity project designed to make some already famous rock stars look even cooler than they already are, and at some level that is exactly what this is, but when one digs deeper this turns out to be one of the best movies ever made about the creative process, the intricacies of stardom and the abiding love affair rock music has had with the electric guitar. The premise is simple enough: put three huge rock stars from three different eras in a room together and let them talk about and show off their electric guitars. When the stars are Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin) The Edge (U2) and Jack White (The White Stripes) it seems obvious that this will be no ordinary jam session, and it most certainly isn’t. In fact, very little jamming really goes on at all. The majority of this fascinating film is taken up with each of the guys talking about their love of and mastery of their instrument. It quickly becomes clear that each of these guys; Page the elder statesmen, Edge, the mysterious, reserved technician, and White the hot-shit, brash new kid all have an uncommon relationship with their instruments. Their accomplishments as songwriters, rock stars and humanitarians are put in the back seat so that they can show us how much they love their axes.

The film really has two components. The first is the time they spent together on the soundstage rapping with each other and showing off licks. For instance in one scene (actually found in the bonus material) White teaches the other two one of his signature licks. It is totally simple, but both Page and Edge mutter “brilliant” as they try to play it along with White, who looks like it is not lost on him that he is teaching Jimmy Page and The Edge one of HIS songs, and they are hanging on his every word. The second component follows each guitarist individually as they retrace the steps of their own development as musicians. These moments hold the greatest treats as Page air-guitars to a Link Wray single in his very own man-cave, or The Edge shows us the bulletin board in his high school where U2 drummer Adam Clayton put up a notice for “bandmates wanted” or when Jack White, with the aid of a young actor, teaches himself at 9 years old what the blues are all about. Through deft editing and unprecedented access to the musicians, we get a view of some very famous people as they have never been seen before. They appear, for all the world, to be exactly the same kind of fanboys that those of us who love them actually are. The thrill of seeing Jimmy Page teach the riff from “Kashmir” to two other rock stars is really cool, but to see him as a vulnerable teenager talking about his love for skiffle music and hopes to one day be a medical researcher really opens your eyes to how human these guys are. Yes, Page is the wizard, the most devilish man in rock history, but really, he’s just a kid with a handful of 45’s and a dream to play guitar, and that makes this an incredibly insightful film for people who like their Gods to have feet of clay. I have not enjoyed a movie about rock music as much as this one - maybe ever.
Paul Epstein

King Crimson - In The Court Of The Crimson King and Red 40th anniversary editions

King Crimson occupies an interesting place in rock history. They have no hits, very little legacy of mind-blowing live shows and little penetration of the general public’s consciousness, yet, like The Velvet Underground or The Thirteenth Floor Elevators they are shrouded in mystery and the reputation of being one of the great bands that people “in the know” know about. The truth is somewhat more complex than that. King Crimson was not and are still not a flash in the pan or part of some arcane drug-related movement. More similar to Frank Zappa, they have had a long, prolific career that has been marked by supreme musicianship and the unwavering professional seriousness of leader Robert Fripp. Fripp is one of the great auteur nuts of rock music. He is the only member who has been in every iteration of King Crimson and it has been his precision, psych, buzzsaw guitar playing and angular, heady compositional style that have been their consistent features. For the 40th anniversary of this important band, Fripp has enlisted Porcupine Tree mainman Steve Wilson and embarked upon creating the definitive versions of his landmark albums. Appropriately enough they have begun with the first, and most beloved Crimson album In The Court Of The Crimson King from 1969 and their 1974 masterpiece Red which marked the end of the first major era of King Crimson.

Aside from having one of the most recognizable and iconic album covers in rock history Court is possibly the quintessential “Art-Rock” statement. Jazzy, experimental and often startlingly noisy it is miles ahead of its time and sounds willfully avant by even today’s standards. It hearkens back to a time when musicians were trying to stretch the limits of popular music to include all their interests and emotions and move away from formulaic love songs. Unlike so many bands, King Crimson succeeded in creating a one-of-a-kind work of art that is as satisfying musically and conceptually now as it was then.

Red represents a much different King Crimson and a much different musical approach. The original Crimson line-up with Greg Lake, Ian McDonald and Michael Giles had been replaced by extraordinary drummer Bill Bruford and prog-rock legend to be John Wetton on bass and vocals and the album shines with intricate songwriting and powerful musical arrangements that bring together the best of jazz and rock. This is what FM radio was all about in the early 70’s and songs like “Fallen Angel,” “One More Red Nightmare” and “Starless” are the kind of onanistic science fiction fodder that completely lit my imagination at 15.

The real point of this review however, is not how great these two albums are, but how amazing these new editions of the albums sound. Each one is housed in a slipcase that holds a CD with the original album remixed in a definitive fashion and then a handful of bonus tracks. The second disc is a DVD that contains multiple versions of each album in all kinds of souped up audio quality with surround versions and alternate takes galore. They also each contain pieces of video that show the band at the appropriate time. I have been following the progress of sound and especially 5.1 and high-fidelity versions and I must proclaim these releases the ultimate in audiophile satisfaction. The clarity and detail is breathtaking and to hear the delicacy of “I Talk To The Wind” or the crushing finale of “Fallen Angel” in full surround, ear-bleeding mode was pretty damn exciting. In direct opposition to the movement toward more and more condensed music and storage capability trumping sound quality, these releases stick a finger in the face of the iPod and say “you wanna hear what music can really sound like?”

For those who are completely mad there is the awe-inspiring import version of In The Court Of The Crimson King which stretches the package to 5 CDs and a DVD and adds rare promo versions, alternates, different mixes of the album and two live shows from 1969. It might seem like overkill, but I can’t say I was less than riveted the entire time I listened to it. It is one of the most original and haunting albums in rock history and actually deserves this kind of treatment.
Paul Epstein

Neil Young - Dreamin’ Man Live ‘92

A couple of years ago when Neil played at the Wells Fargo Theatre downtown I got to go back stage and talk to him for a minute. We talked about the archive series and I asked him what else they were going to do. He said “next is ‘Over The Rainbow.’” I asked him if he meant the Rainbow Theatre in London on the Tonight’s The Night tour. He smiled and said yes. That tour is largely unheard in the public, and in collecting circles it is the most sought after stuff of all – kind of a holy grail search for the heart of Neil. On that tour he regularly performed drunk and went on long rambling raps in the middle of the song “Tonight’s The Night.” Some versions would last 45 minutes and some nights he would play the song three times in the same set. There are really no high quality versions of these shows out there so I was quite excited for the prospect. Then the next release to come out was The Canterbury House and it was so good that I forgot about the Rainbow release. Then “Dreamin’ Man” got announced and I thought; “what happened to the Rainbow? So, I went into this release with a somewhat bad attitude. When I got a copy I put it on and was almost immediately transported. It is one of those things that Neil and only a few other performers I have seen can do; completely engross the audience as a solo act. Very hard to do. From the first note of this CD it is clear Neil is playing these songs (the entire Harvest Moon album before it was out) with an uncommon urgency. He is in beautiful voice and his solid, accompaniment is wondrous in its simplicity and natural perfection. He is what every dorm-room wannabe wants ta be. Like the earlier Massey Hall release the effect is transcendent. The concert ends (Dreamin’ Man is actually taken from a series of concerts) and you realize you have shared an intimate experience, not just listened to a record. The material stands up pretty well too. Harvest Moon is sort of the sequel to the classic Harvest and it showcases the loving, homebody Neil as opposed to the tortured rock warrior. His love songs resonate in the heart as profoundly as his electric guitar playing stings in the ears. This is another bullseye for the archive series.

Paul Epstein