Archive for category: Uncategorized

From “Tuesday Afternoon” through “Question” and “Nights in White Satin,” Justin Hayward gave us a retrospective of the Moody Blues’ greatest hits at the Lobero last night (June 20). What was different was his backup: instead of Graeme Edge, Mike Pinder, Ray Thomas, John Lodge and, perhaps, a full orchestra, he had a lead guitar, a synthesizer and a flute. No bass, no drums, no pounding rhythm section. The songs went from mellow to ethereal; we were surrounded, not assaulted. Of course it helped that the Moody Blues were my favorite group of the ’70s, and I lived by their first seven albums (and bought the next three as well). Their later hits rock more and are probably played more today: “Your Wildest Dreams” and “The Story in Your Eyes” brought the audience to their feet. The three or four standing ovations mid-show were three or four more than I saw at the Bowl for Daryl Hall. For me, the happiest surprise was Karmen Gould on flute. I don’t remember the instrument playing such a big role in the Moodys’ music: here it was beautiful, as was she, and my spirits rose every time she picked up her flute. Julie Ragins resembled a blonde Joan Jett as she stood behind the Mellotron and added background vocals. Again, the female voices replacing the all-male Moodys resulted in a different, slightly softer sound. The long-haired Mike Dawes played a rather inconspicuous guitar for a self-proclaimed virtuoso: he opened the set with twenty minutes of acoustic guitar solo and hawked a nine-hour guitar clinic available on thumb drive. But with so few people on stage, each was a personality we came to know. Unlike Elvis Costello’s band, they were all a generation younger than Justin, who is my age and married 53 years. His voice showed some age, but he hit the notes and charmed us. The music is just as good today as it was a half-century ago.

I don’t know what a “cantata” is, or what other term to use, but hearing “Jungleland” twice in one day on E Street Radio made me think of all the long-form rock songs that define an artist and elevate the genre. Many have a key change and/or tempo change or maybe seem to but are just long. They are not just a melody but a journey. They demand to be listened, not danced, to. (In fact, a defining criterion is you can’t dance to them.) I will list them in no particular order, giving me a place to come back to when another one comes on the radio and augments this category.

“Jungleland,” Bruce Springsteen
“Stairway to Heaven,” Led Zeppelin
“Scenes From an Italian Restaurant,” Billy Joel
“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Queen
“Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” Meat Loaf
“Taxi,” Harry Chapin
“Low Spark of High-heeled Boys,” Traffic
“Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” Crosby, Stills & Nash
“American Pie,” Don McLean
“Won’t Get Fooled Again,” The Who
“Magic Carpet Ride,” Steppenwolf
“Question,” The Moody Blues
“More Than A Feeling,” Boston
“Come Sail Away,” Styx

Graham Nash brought two hours of musical memories to the Lobero Theater last night, from “Bus Stop” with the Hollies to “Better Life” from his 2023 release, Now. I give great credit to an 81-year-old who is performing five nights a week on a tour through the U.S. and the U.K., hitting the high notes and performing as rock star, not a nostalgia act. (And his new record is not at all bad.) But it was nostalgia that carried the night. With two exceptions, however, the songs were never my favorites. In fact, one of the crowd-pleasing highlights, which also lifted my spirits in comparison, was Stephen Stills’s “Love the One You’re With,” which I hated at the time for its cynical message. One common thread of Nash’s own songs, which I had not noticed, was their narrative nature. They told a story or had a message–no “moon/June” or breakup tears. A highlight of the evening was Nash’s introductions, telling stories about how he came to write each song. As for the two numbers that count among my favorites, “Wasted on the Way,” a 1982 CSN hit, was damaged by the over-amplified or poorly mixed sound system. Instead of the clear voices and fine harmonies one expected, the first half of the concert, especially, was raucous and muddy. When called back for a second encore, Nash and his two backups did a sweet a cappella rendition of Buddy Holly’s “Every Day” and then, as I wished and predicted, ended with “Teach Your Children” from 1970.  More exactly, they let the audience end the evening by singing the final lines, “And know they love you.”
July 17, 2023

If it weren’t already trademarked, copyrighted and patented, Bob Dylan’s new book could have been titled, Riffs by Bob, for that’s what The Philosophy of Modern Song is–in spades. He takes 65 songs–not greatest hits or his own favorites, just 65 songs–and riffs on a subject in, or suggested by, the lyrics. For example, “I Got A Woman” by Ray Charles opens with the line, “I got a woman, way across town, she’s good to me.” Dylan picks up on “way across town” and riffs on that long ride, the hassle of traffic, the hot afternoon sun, the thoughts going through the man’s head, the way excitement has given way to routine. “It’s not like he was gonna be great company either after driving way over town.” And the final kicker: “Desire fades but traffic goes on forever.”

After he riffs, for many of the songs but not all, he offers a history lesson, or an essay in musicology. And these flabbergasted me. I’m not surprised that Bob Dylan is a student of music, especially early blues and other influential sources, but even so the range is overwhelming. The most songs are from the 1950s, when Dylan was learning his craft, but he also writes about three songs from the 1920s. And in addition to blues, he covers doo-wop, pop, country, soul, punk, barbershop, Broadway and every blade of Americana. And by “cover” I mean he gives the inside story, something I’d never heard before, something I don’t know where he got it. But that’s nothing. Beyond music he puts songs in their context: what else was going on in America. Open any page and you come across a subject someone had to research: what drugs truck drivers were taking in the ’50s to stay awake; the travails of the Santee Dakota Indians; the myth of lemmings perpetrated by a Disney nature film. Maybe Dylan had a bunch of interns doing the research for him. I can’t see how anyone could write this book without working on it full-time for years–yet Dylan, all the time, is writing and recording songs, endlessly touring, and even painting.

The book is a tour-de-force, but I’m not sure it’s much more. I know a lot of songs, but I didn’t know a third of Dylan’s selections, and if you don’t know the song his riff isn’t all that interesting. In fact, the riffs are so similar–maybe written by ChatBot?–that you don’t want to read more than one or two at a time. Nor is the song selection terribly interesting. I mean, “Ball of Confusion,” by the Temptations? “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,” by Cher? “Viva Las Vegas” by Elvis? My biggest complaint, though, concerns the illustrations, period photographs and posters. They are fantastic and evocative, but there are no captions, and the only photo credits are crammed microscopically onto one spread at the back of the book. How can Bob Dylan, a consummate artist, be so dismissive, so cavalier, about the intellectual property creations of other artists? When was the last time a book jacket’s back cover flap was blank? And I don’t even know who’s pictured on the book’s cover!