Listening to All My Music Chronologically

10 August 2023

Albert Hammond

I was listening to an NPR newscast recently and the host said, "An old song claims that it never rains in California, it pours...and well [awkward transition to news about catastrophic flooding]". I had a mixed reaction. Part of me was glad that "It Never Rains in Southern California" had achieved the status of a well-known, old song - common knowledge, if you will. However, part of me wanted to say, "Hey! That's not just some old song; that's by Albert Hammond, and I've just listened to every song he ever recorded - good stuff." Perhaps the newscaster's vague assessment is not unfair though. He's known most for this song - or for being the father of the guitarist from The Stokes. I found a lot worth listening to though. It turns out that he's a great songwriter.

Knowing nothing about Hammond before listening to all his music raised some interesting mysteries. Like: why so many well-known covers? And: why is this white guy singing so often in Spanish - and just as often not?

First, though born in London, he's actually from Gibraltar and got his start playing in Spain, where he remained popular. He must have done something right because he's OBE in merry ol' England. He moved to LA at 26 and that's where his career really took off.

Secondly, he wrote ALL those songs. Despite some cringeworthy lyrics and the occasional silly song, this man is a legendary song writer. He was inducted into the Songwriter's Hall of Fame in 2008. Even if you don't know him or his name, surely you have heard of some of the classic songs he has written, including:

"Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship [Stop complaining; you love it. It's the second- best Starship song!]

"One Moment in Time" by Whitney Houston. Oh yeah, and it was the theme song of the 1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul. Thus it won an Emmy. NBD!

"The Air That I Breathe" a big hit for the Hollies, and one I couldn't understand why he kept covering in different versions. Radiohead owes him a little something.

"To All The Girls I've Loved Before" which became a duet between Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson. When I saw Willie Nelson at NO Jazz Fest he did the duet with Orleans Parish Sherriff Harry Lee; it was really something. Damn if I can't find footage of it, but nola.com confirms: "The late Jefferson Parish sheriff Harry Lee was often a special guest for Nelson’s local appearances."

"When I Needed You," which I didn't recognize on paper as a hit, charted for both Leo Sayer(?) and Leap Lee(?). Ok, when I hear it I know it. Leo played it on The Muppet Show; maybe I saw it there.

Besides all that, and a bunch of other songs and artists I don't really know, he wrote songs for Celine Dione, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Tina Turner, Chicago, Heart, and the Carpenters. Wow- he even wrote an Ace of Base song! (Well, they covered a song that he wrote with the ubiquitous Diane Warren.)

Hammond co-founded the British vocal group The Family Dog and they had a minor hit in 1969 with "A Way of Life," from the album of the same name. It hasn't aged too well. However, he's mostly known as a singer-songwriter on his own, and that really begins in the 1970s with a classic 70s sound on his first album, which contains several of his best-known songs and his only real hit for himself. It Never Rains in Southern California is an excellent debut in 1972, and it certainly sounds like it comes from the 70s. The title tracks hit No 2. on the charts, and there are other good songs. "From Great Britain to LA" is a jaunty rocking number that belies the "soft rock" moniker he gets saddled with later. Not to be confused with Neil Young's far more intense song, "Down by the River" is a little silly ("there will be a tear in the otter's eye..."), but it's good early environmentalism made simple and fun. While some of this rhyming couplets are a little grating, there are actually some good zingers, including this innocently sexy line: "You put your jeans on top of mine / Said, come in the water's fine." And on "Anyone Here in the Audience" the speaker pitifully begs for musician's mercy. The album ends with "The Air the I Breathe," which is a nearly perfect song that Radiohead stole the progression from and The Hollies had a big hit with. All these themes will be re-mined on subsequent albums, but are present here in this initial solid set of songs.

Here he is, in all his early glory, playing his biggest hit at the time.

His second album, entitled The Free Electric Band comes out only a year later, with him producing and arranging himself. "The Day the British Army Lost the War" is a stand-out tracks that borders on hilarious (in a good way). Clearly building on the semi-autobiographical elements teased on the first album, the British Army loses the war because the daughter of the major ends up dating a working-class guy from America. He also retells the story of giving away his family's privilege and fortune for the rock-and-roll lifestyle. Both the title track and the "The Peacemaker" are singles, but they don't go too far. As a full studio album though, even the non-singles are solid songs.

His third album is sadly self-titled. It starts to settle into the "soft rock" genre, with most of these being mid-tempo numbers. "I'm a Train" is a weirdly simple song, almost a traditional, that was first recorded in French in 1967. Somehow it's the single here. I'd like to think that "Dime Queen of Nevada" is about weed, but it's not - it's about slot machines. "Mary Hot Lips Arizona" tells another compelling story about another interesting lady. Hammond meets lots of ladies in his songs. There's the working-class sentimentality again, such as on "Everything I Want to Do" (" don't want to go to work / Unless you're there when I get back home) and also on the relatively self-explanatory "I Don't Want to Die in an Air Disaster."

99 Miles from LA is not an album the sells much at all, but the title track ends up being Hammond's only number One on the Easy Listening charts and probably his most successful track overall. That's especially true considering it's a cover for Art Garfunkel and Johnny Mathis in the 70s, then Julio Iglesias, Dionne Warwick, and Nancy Sinatra later. He covers it himself on the next album, When I Need You, which was his poorest pop-chart showing so far, though it contained "To All The Girls I've Loved Before."

Then he starts singing in Spanish! Like, all in Spanish. The whole album. Having released at least an album a year since 1972, in 1976 he releases the again self-explanatory My Spanish Album. This helps him tour Latin America successfully, and leads to him producing other acts, like in Mexico. He later he also produced Duffy. (Remember Duffy? She was like an Adele/Amy Winehouse predecessor but did not stick around after her first hit, "Mercy," which is still a great song. If we are still allowed to call things "blue-eyed soul" than that was it.) In 1977, '78, and '79 he releases fully-Spanish albums - and they are great. Al Otro Lado del Sol was good enough to get the "Remasterizado" treatment, and it sounds fantastic. Very tastefully produced with acoustic and rhythmic flourishes. All his Spanish stuff is consistently, moderately great.

I'm still not sure why 1981's English-language Your World and My World, which didn't chart anywhere except Japan (#18), contains his top streaming song "When I'm Gone." It inexplicably bests "It Never Rains" and "Ansiedad," which somehow tops his big hit by appearing on some Spanish-language compilations. The single itself only charts in Germany, Switzerland, and South Africa- which I suppose is nothing to scoff at, but it wasn't a big hit there or anywhere else. It might be why Wikipedia calls him an "English soft-rocker." Fair. It does sound like Air Supply - as does "When I Need You." Actually, yea- he wrote an Air Supply song too: "Lonely is the Night" again with Diane Warren. This album in particular leans pretty heavily into the soft-rock. Here he is in the moment:

I was a little disappointed in the others extremeley-1980s sounding soft-rock album, Somewhere in America, but this guy is still around today and definitely not leaning into the 80s synth-pop sound anymore. There have been a series of collections and repackagings. The most recent was 2016's In Symphony, which--as the title indicates--offered symphonic versions of some of his best songs; some worked better than others. I'm happy to report though that his voice is still in excellent condition, and Hammond seems to be enjoying his ride as a respected elder-statesman of rock. Or at least Music. While he may not enjoy the widespread and ongoing popularity that he might deserve, his undeniable prowess as a successful songwriter makes him a true legend. And a good one at that! Unlike Alanis, his songs held up very well to extended repeated listenings. It's not all great, but very little of it is bad. I dig it!

In 2024, he dropped a new album, which I'll generously call "grizzled." And this article came out, which dismissed him as "the father of a Stroke," and reminds us again that he co-wrote Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us" from Mannequin.

Before listening to Hammond's discography I had knowingly heard him at least once before. His hit song memorably soundtracks the bittersweet/ambiguous original ending to the Veronica Mars series. Like this,

01 January 2023

Alanis Morisette

Alanis Morrissette is a fairly big pop star, but her career trajectory is somewhat atypical. Her career is front-loaded to say the least, but has successfully endured. Although she's still making music today, and occasionally salient music at that, many listeners will be familiar with her first album and its breakout success over 20 years ago. As an American, that's where I first heard her. And while I was never exactly an enthusiastic fan, I never had any problem with Alanis. That changed a bit, however, when I tried to sit down and listen to her whole album from top to bottom for the first time- and then followed it up by listening to every other song and album she ever made. It often made for a pretty uncomfortable experience, but I am as surprised as you are to report that the listening eventually got better, and Alanis' most recent work may be her best, though there is a catch. There's light at the end of this tunnel, but the tunnel is long and gets dark.

Maybe my harsh criticism is because I shouldn't have listened to this girl-power stuff while going through a divorce, but I am a slave to the alphabet. However, for the most part I was just not having this psychotic ex-girlfriend schtick. I found her to be frequently shrill, often unjust and hypocritical, and above all else incessantly complaining, I didn't enjoy much of it - and it did not stand-up well at all to repeated listenings. But there are moments. So now I'll try to review my listening to Alanis Morrissette's discography without descending into virulent sexism. Wish me luck.

Let's get this out of the way first: You know, she did some acting? She memorably portrayed God in those Clerks-adjacent movies. And I loved every season of Weeds, in which she also appeared, though blandly. She was also on Curb Your Enthusiasm and Sex and the City. I remember hearing that as a youngster she was on Canada's You Can't Do that On Television, but it turns out she was only on five episodes. Yet here she is getting slimed. (You're welcome.) That's why she gets to complain on her recent album that: "These are the reasons I drink / The reasons I tell everybody I'm fine / Even though I am not / These are the reasons I overdo it / I have been working since I can remember /Since I was single digits." I'm sure that was traumatic and all, but you know what else is traumatic: listening to her complain about the same shit for a couple of decades. She goes on in the same song, "And so that's it, I am buying a Lamborghini / To make up for these habits / To survive this sick industry." Yes. Yes, it is sick. I'm genuinely sorry for what she underwent. I'm just not sure I need to hear about it in a pop song, much less via so much screeching in so many songs. I don't know where else to mention that she was engaged to, but never married, Ryan Reynolds; the two Canadians met at Drew Barrymore's birthday party. There may have been some red flags. Raised by Canadian teachers, she still had a devout Catholic upbringing. She self identifies as a "highly sensitive person" . Yea, we got that.

She's bitter AF right out of the gate. And to understand why, you need to dig up her old glossy-pop garbage music from the 80s - and OMG it is bad. She's only two years older than me, and I have some sympathy. I am genuinely sorry that as a teenager she was horribly exploited like crazy by patriarchal capitalism, but we are ALL going to pay the price. She's had a hit song called "Too Hot" and an album called Now is the Time that is mostly ballads; these are Canada-only releases and I simply am not listening to any more than that one video from "the Debbie Gibson of Canada." She opened for Vanilla Ice during this era. (Since I'll probably never get to 'V' let me take this opportunity to briefly remind everyone that he had the first #1 rap song on Billboard's Hot 100.) Perhaps it's not a coincidence then that she is currently married to a white rapper from Massachusetts and "feat." on several of his songs; I'm sorry, but it it not good. I'll admit to not giving him a thorough listen, but what I heard was not even tolerable. Also, besides Vanilla Ice, the other bands she has opened for or toured with over the years make a fairly pitiful list of bands I don't like at all: Dave Matthews, Jason Mraz, Barenaked Ladies, Matchbox Twenty. Fuck - that's a short list of awful bands! And just so that I'm not guilty of bias, it's only fair to conversely admit that she has also toured with Radiohead, Tori Amos, and Garbage and Liz Phair (both twice). So she must be doing something right. She's "alternative," you see.

Jagged Little Pill an album I am very familiar with, despite never previously owning (physically or otherwise) was her breakout success, though technically her third album. It seemed to be omnipresent while I was in college. She released one single after the other over a period of months and months, so she was always on the radio and MTV. Madonna's then-new label, Maverick, put the album out after everyone else passed. It was Maverick's second ever success, following shitty-grunge band Candelbox's self-titled debut. (Maverick eventually folded, but not before being part of a music industry group that sued a 16-year old cheerleader to the tune of $27k for file sharing a handful of tracks, in a case that went all the way to the Supreme Court; the cheerleader lost.) There's no way around the fact that Jagged Little Pill is one of the best selling album of all time. Not bad for a worldwide debut. So many hit singles. So many sales. You maybe never heard of Glen Ballard, but he co-wrote some of and produced all these songs; he had previously done some writing/producing for Michael Jackson and a ton of other 80s pop acts.

It all starts with "You Outa Know," and I can't believe how dirty it is. It earns her a rare "Explicit" label, which very few of her other songs have, because she sneers, "Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?" - and that gets bleeped out, but not the part about "going down on you in a theatre." OK. People always be like, "Oh, you know Flea plays bass on that song?" as if that makes it cool. And I'm like, "Yea, I fucken know it's Flea (and the guitarist from the Chili Peppers at the time, Dave Navarro); he's popping and slapping a mess all over the song; how could I not know?!" I don't love the rhythm section here, which sounds like they strip-mined grunge and sucked out the bile (thank you Jello Biafra). I also understand that the late Taylor Hawkins from Foo Fighters played drums for her; you know it was only for one 18-month tour, right? He's in the video for "You Outa Know" but not on the album track. The song was a game changer for sure. It's like the 90s-post-grunge, post-Lilith Faire version of "I Will Survive" and people (girls?) were glad to hear it. I think she scared some of the boys. "Ironic" is actually the biggest hit from the album, and her most popular song ever. Some of this may be attributed to the iconic and admittedly clever video and also the endless public discussions around her occasionally inaccurate use of the term "irony." The song has massive cultural staying power too. This recent Politico news story contained the expression "Alanis-level irony" and everybody knows what the means, which is kind of beautiful. Sure, it's an OK song with a tad less acerbity, but with the intense over-singing I still feel like she's yelling at me. How does she sustain her anger? I feel bad for her ex-boyfriends, allegedly including Dave Coulier. Cut. It. Out. There's a reason that Rolling Stone called her the "Queen of Alt-Rock Angst," which is kind of niche-y TBH. Sure, it occasionally rocks, but I'd be more comfortable calling it alt-pop. Alternative-pop-rock?

One of the craziest things about that first album, and pretty much none of her other music: harmonica. I'll admit, I didn't see that one coming, and there's a certain charm in that. However, I actually can't believe how badly she plays the harmonica on this mainstream music performance; like, I could do that. YOU could do what she does to that instrument, I promise. John Popper agrees, as this guy quotes in his excellent response to the album., but I think it's great that Popper and Morsette played at the same Pro-Choice rally in D.C. in 2001 circa their respective peaks. Harmonica is one of the first things we hear on the album, as it opens the first song "All I Really Want," which rocks well enough. Many of her albums start strong, then fade fast. "You Learn" and "Head Over Feet" are slightly more-chilled out singles that kept this gargantuan pop phenomenon chugging for many months. I actually almost-like "Hand in My Pocket" because she kind of says "shit" and she's not as angry. I can also relate to the paradoxical self-assessment. The last song on the album (Was it a hidden song on the CD?) is the a capella "Your House." It's creepy and interesting, although not musically, but seems to be a clear violation of the consent the she otherwise holds so dearly.

I also want to say: that's not a very good album cover, but almost every other one she puts out is worse. I don't know what the problem is there.

She actually holds the record for the most Number Ones on the Billboard Alternative Song chart for a female soloist, group or duo, which is--again--a pretty specific niche. She's no Rihanna or TayTay. Yes, she's had like 8 singles reach the Top 40, but they are all on these first few album. Obviously the Grammys threw a couple statues at her. Her "highly anticipated follow-up" Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie is supposedly "experimental" (it's not) and "electronic-infused" (<eye roll>; it's no Ray of Light). It does have another awful album cover, far worse than the previous album, and not as many successful singles. "Thank U" seemed to ride the coattails of the previous album to keep things going for a bit. She capitalizes by recording an Unplugged, as that is what one did in 1999 when one is a pop star. It's got to be one of the more disappointing entries in the unplugged series; sure it offers a nice career retrospect, if her first two albums could be considered a career, but the songs sound thinner, and nothing is added by stripping them down. This is especially true of the live-with-some-strings version of "Uninvited," which she had the good sense to close her set with. Still, I'm going to say this is her best song, and easily my favorite. I love the exotic soaring vocals, the twinkling start, and the way it builds to an epic orchestral swell. It's one of few songs from her early career that she can take credit for writing entirely on her own, although it's seemingly penned by the same inappropriate creeper who sang "Your House." The song never appeared on an Alanis album and wasn't even released as a single, even though it did get airplay and climb those charts. It's from the soundtrack of City of Angels, a movie with Meg Ryan and and Nicolas Cage that seems otherwise forgettable. But the soundtrack had this song, her first release following the previous album's success, and has got a bunch of other famous songs on it, include the Goo Goo Dolls hit single "Iris," which I don't love but certainly got that band noticed (for better or worse).

After that things are not as great. Under Rug Swept is the last album most people seem to remember. It had "Hands Clean" - and granted: we absolutely need to hold the slimy men running the music business accountable for their sins, and this was way before most people were calling them out. The meta video does a good job of doing just that, but for some reason it didn't seem to get that much airplay. As someone with the privilege of not having to face sexual harassments, and who was hardly a feminist yet in 2002, I registered no reaction whatsoever to the song or it's message. My bad. When the album opens with the obnoxious 1-2-punch of "21 Things I want in a Lover" and "Narcissus," it starts coming across as just a laundry list of bitter complaints.

Somehow So-Called Chaos is a little better. Less bitter, less shrieking. She still has lots to complain about but has more diverse content, and she seems more reserved in these complaints. We get another truly awful album cover, including one of the most awkward photos of a famously beautiful pop star that I've ever seen. Perhaps the title and picture (the font is also relevant) are veiled reference to My So-Called Life. That was one of my favorite shows. If Claire Danes-super-fan me is left wondering if there's an allusion here, then it is falling flat.

Flavors of Entanglement is actually pretty good, or at least I didn't have any specifically articulated problems with it. It sounds very much like an "early 2000s" record and not at all like "90s rock." There's hardly a distorted electric guitar to be found, but there's plenty of electronica flourishes. There's even an almost-drum-and-bass song- with strings! OK...OK.... Even the ballads are tolerable, if not impressive or necessarily enjoyable. It helps enormously that she has toned it down a bit. She's still got plenty to complain about but she's more reserved, calmer about it: there's less angry shrieking and it helps. At least to this listener. Even the album cover is an improvement; it's just another obscured portrait, but this one is vaguely alluring, what with the smoky eyes and all. Maybe that's just me! Ironically, this is the first I've heard of any of these songs. I'm not sure they made much of an impression in 2008, and that's somewhat unfortunate. It's a well-constructed album of decent songs with a good, polished sound. Forty-six minutes might be the perfect album length. The Deluxe edition that adds another twenty minutes of original songs ruined it. This was the album about breaking up with Ryan Reynolds. The next one, 2012's Havoc and Bright Lights is a pretty weak and forgettable affair produced by the same guy that made her previous record. I appreciated the lighter tone, but like some of her other stuff it made no impact on me. It was her first album away from Maverick Records. It did well in Canada, but not elsewhere. Critically response was mixed at best. So maybe to make the critics STFU she released a four-disc collector's edition of Jagged Little Pill to celebrate its twentieth anniversary. That's too many discs. Five years later she took it on the road for it's 25th, although COVID killed that idea, at least temporarily. She kept milking it, and the album became a musical on Broadway in 2019; apparently its pretty good (15 Tony nominations!) if you're into musical theatre.

So yea, then she's been around for over 20 years and, after an eight year break between albums, she evolves. There's still that glossy pop production, but rather than electronics and dumbed-down beats this is a more band-oriented sound: I can hear the guitar, bass, drums, and plenty of piano and keyboard driven tracks. There's a new depth and maturity in her singing and lyrics on Such Pretty Forks in the Road, which could be described as mom-rock. I'm not saying that pejoratively. Moms needed this music, just as much as all those jilted ladies needed "You Outa Know" all those year ago. "Reasons I Drink" is a mom-rock anthem, despite being hyper-personal. The first song from the album, and another single, is "Smiling." It ain't bad! It's like she heard me praising "Uninvited" and leaned-in to that sound. I declare it to be my second favorite Alanis song. But you know what, the album cover is bad again. Like real bad. Like disturbing. Like - why? She's a pretty lady, but the pic of her on the album cover is the stuff of nightmares.

Right before what is currently her last album, she released a stand-alone single, the sincerely apologetic "Olive Branch." Again, it's like she heard me complaining about her complaining. It is not the greatest song, just a sparse piano ballad, but I really appreciate the lyrics. I mean she's probably talking about her relationship(s) or whatever. Her lyrics have always tended towards the poetically confession. In all seriousness though, it can be taken as as letter to her listeners who grew irritated. It's cool: we're good, Alanis.

Her most recent album from 2022 is my favorite...but she doesn't sing on it. At least, she doesn't sing any words, although there are some wordless vocals. No more biting lyrics though. It's an ambient album - and so I like it! I can listen to this while reading, yoga practicing, or maybe even falling asleep; it's versatile! I'm sure there is better meditation music out there by Brian Eno or whoever, but this was so nice to hear after all the bitter anger and complaining. The Storm Before the Calm goes on for a while and goes to some different places with a bunch of long tracks, but it is delightfully chill and I could listen to it over and over again without getting irritated at all. She made the album with the guy from Darkside, a semi-defunct electronic outfit. I'm picturing Alanis laying on her back on a yoga mat while bad ambient music plays; then her eyes pop open and she says, "Come on, I can make better instrumental chill-out music than this!" So she does. I'm here for it. This will stay in my rotation for chill-out purposes. Also: Who is this obscurely beautiful, young hippie woman looking so serene on the album cover? Has Alanis really chilled out? Is that even her? If so, I'll have whatever she's having...

I guess I'm slowly coming around, but it's to a mixed a big at best.

Even as I was drafting this Alanis was levelling her charges of sexism against the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, right after she was excited, apparently. And good for her, sincerely. Somebody needs to say something. I also want to fight sexism. But I want to fight obnoxious music too. I listened to a lot of Alanis in 2022 and was ultimately more vexed then entertained by it, but there's definitely some good stuff in there for some people. You could definitely do a lot worse for such a wildly-successful international pop star.

26 December 2022

Interlude: Best Music of 2022

Let's gooooo!!!

Best Songs of 2022

1. Spiritualized - Always Together With You

2. Glorilla - FNF (Let's Go)

3. Beach House - Hurts to Love

4. Angel Olsen - All The Good Times

5. Hatchie - Quicksand OR This Enchanted

6. Alvvays- Pharmacist

7. Momma - Rockstar

8. Panda Bear & Sonic Boom - Livin' in the After

9. Superorganism - On and On

10. Lucius - Next to Normal

-----------------------------------------------------

11. Rina Sawayama - This Hell

12. Portugal. The Man - What, Me Worry?

13. Mitski - The Only Heartbreaker OR Should've Been Me

14. Widowspeak - While you Wait OR Everything is Simple

15. Melody's Echo Chamber - Looking Backwards

16. Warpaint - Champion

17. Lights - In My Head (feat. Josh Dun)

18. Gorillaz - Cracker Island (feat. Thundercat)

19. Becky G & KAROL G - MAMII

20. BLACKPINK - Shut Down

21. Red Velvet - Feel my Rhythm

22. IVE - LOVE DIVE

23. Chloe - Treat Me

24. Ari Lennox - Hoodie

25. Caroline Polacheck -Billions

26. Phoenix - Alpha Zulu

27. Metric - Doomscroller OR All Comes Crashing

28. Municipal Waste- Crank the Heat

29. Undeath - Rise from the Grave

30. Kind Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - The Dripping Tap

Best Albums of 2022

Angel Olsen - Big Time

Beach House - Once Twice Melody

Alvvays - Blue Rev

Lights - PEP

Best New [to me] Bands

Momma

Glorilla

The Lazy Eyes

Widowspeak

Nilufer Yanya

Best Live Bands of 2022

Spiritualized

Outcalls - Release the Gowns

Josey Wails (at the Recher Theatre w/ The Red Eyeballers and also at Zen West)

New Music that Should Get Mentioned But Didn't Make the "Short"list

Spoon, Beach Bunny, Big Thief, Belle & Sebastian, Sigrid, Soccer Mommy, Sunflower Bean

Song, by an Artist That Should be Way More Famous, I Somehow Played the Most This Year

Hatchie - Quicksand

Oddly Passionate Sexy Pop Song that Helped me Realize I Wasn't In Love Anymore

Charli XCX - Beg for You (Feat. Rina Sawayama)

Next Year...

Weyes Blood

My Bloody Valentine?!

Rihanna!!!

Anyways, life's great...

23 June 2022

Al Hirt

It begins well: several solid albums of traditional Dixieland jazz. The first, attributed to Al Hirt and his New Orleans All Stars, barely features his trumpet. He plays with some unnamed but able-bodied all-stars and leaves the singing to the unidentified professionals. The results are a wonderful yet generic collection of timeless songs, though "Floatin' Down to Cotton Town" might raise a few eyebrows, especially opening with a "Dixie"-tease as it does. Hirt starts to show off just a little bit more on a second album, but there's nothing too obnoxious (yet). This album and most that follow are credited to Al Hirt, so it's no longer clear if he's playing with those same All Stars anymore. Swingin' Dixie is an apt title and description for another collection of relatively familiar trad-jazz songs; curiously, the streaming version of this album that I listened to was clearly ripped from vinyl, pops and hiss and all. I dare say the next album merely adds an exclamation mark to the title and continues with more of the same on Swingin' Dixie!, but it's undeniably great jazz playing. I'm not sure I heard them all, but there are at least four Volumes of Swingin' Dixie between 1958 and 1962. The live albums from this era on the Audio Fidelity label are the best. They are well-treasured classics and the ones to snag if you see them in a used record bin. He's playing live on several of these albums at the now-defunct Dan's Pier 500 in New Orleans. This, at least, is no gimmick. He and his band were playing nightly in the French Quarter from the mid-1950s until he got too popular in the 1960s. Then he opened his own club, like fellow New Orlenean Pete Fountain did, and became a minority owner of the NFL's New Orleans Saints. He then starred in what is improbably the first Super Bowl's first halftime show in 1967; a few years later he also played the National Anthem at the Super Bowl- with signature aplomb. Hirt also had a weird career-long association with horse racing, which he'd been playing at since high school. He wasn't down at the track just for Jazz Fest! His nicknames included "Jumbo" and "The Round Mound of Sound," which is vulgar enough but at least it doesn't mention his signature beard.

My listening experience skipped next to Al Hirt at the Mardi Gras, a superb live capsule that sounded great via the 1999 remastering. Despite existing as a perfect time capsule of live Dixieland revival music, it didn't chart at the time, unlike his first two for RCA in 1961. Things changed though in 1961 when he signed with RCA Victor, for whom he recorded two or three records a year through the whole of the 60s. That's a couple dozen albums of all kinds of music for RCA, and then a handful more in the 80s.

His big break occurs in 1963 with Honey in the Horn, which went all the way to #3. It is mostly this type of music he would pump out throughout the Sixties. It's not exactly Dixieland jazz anymore, but it will sound familiar to any observers of the early 1960s. It wouldn't be out of place in the background of a 60s stock footage montage, perhaps at a swinging bachelor pad - or in an elevator. Honey in the Horn features "Java," which was a bit of a runaway hit and became his signature track, appropriately as it captures his near-silly effervescences on the trumpet perfectly. The cringeworthy orientalism isn't exactly out of place in his catalog either, though I'm sorry to say that producer/songwriter Allen Toussaint probably needs to shoulder some of the blame on this one. Toussaint had a year earlier given the track to slip-note-style piano player Floyd Cramer, who just missed the U.S. Top 40 with his version. But it was a big hit for Hirt, and won him a Grammy for best Instrumentalist. It will show up on most of his live albums: first at Carnegie Hall and later with the Boston Pops.

He follows up the success of Honey in the Horny with another album of authentic-sounding New Orleans music, but it doesn't chart nearly as well. His next one does even worse, and deservingly so. Beauty and the Beard with Ann-Margret is almost creepy in the way they verbally flirt and giggle with one another through the album. The whole awkward enterprise is unintentionally campy, though I'm sure some theater freaks out there are going to love it. There are a lot of spoken word and speak-singing duets between the two. For example, in the middle of what could be a perfectly legitimate number, she sings: "Won't you come home Bill Bailey?" to which he speaks in response: "Actually, yes, I'm seriously considering it." <eye roll> And it goes on like that, with him responding to many of the lines she sings, frequently with something as simple as a gruffly spoken, "yea, that's right, baby." This album's ridiculousness was almost intolerable upon first listening, but a dozen albums later it was a distant memory; still, this is at least the worst of his scholocking nonsense singing and un-jazz-like overplaying.

Immediately after that cringey duets album we get something completely different. Pop Goes the Trumpet is his first, but not last, album with the Boston Pops Orchestra, and fair enough- the pairing makes a lot of sense. The album opens with some heavy-trumpet bull-fighting music: it is like Sketches of Spain without taste and subtlety. There are additional orchestral pop numbers. Next, Sugar Lips is where it really starts to come together, or fall apart depending on your perspective- or your definition of "real jazz." He gets back on the pop charts with a return to his signature sound. The title (and) track perfectly captures his main frolicking tone and happy-go-lucky style. Nobody will confuse his tone for the glory of Miles Davis or Louis Armstrong holding a note, but it is a distinct sound that he will mine over and over again throughout the early- and mid-Sixties. His virtuoso dexterity on the trumpet are often cited, but nobody is going to get his tone confused with true jazz greats. At all. This is something completely different. I just can't imagine Satchmo or Miles playing anything close to the jollyness of "Sugar Lips" (later gaining even greater prominence as the theme song to a daytime gameshow called Eye Guess that aired for three years).

It goes on like that with Cotton Candy, which was also released in 1964 (his fourth album that year). It's nominated for the Album of the Year Grammy- and it features the Anita Kerr Singers on backing vocals. The album charts and so does the single "Walkin" - at least the Easy Listening charts, on which the title track goes all the way to #3. Some of these renditions on this album (or maybe it is the reissue 20 years later) are the classic versions that are omnipresent during Carnival and show up on various Mardi Gras compilations over and over again through the years. Many times before cracking this album I'd definitely heard the exact versions of "Basin Street Blues" and "Saints" featured here. I always thought he was playing with Pete Fountain here, but maybe not. It says Al Hirt on the album cover, but it is alternately credited to Al Hirt and His Orchestra or Al Hirt and His Chorus. The next year he keeps us guessing with a Christmas album that is not Dixieland, not swinging bachelor bad music, and not orchestral pops; rather, it is occasionally all three, and I enjoyed it! At this point it was a genuine surprise, but the adaptions are perfect for each song. Al Hirt's Christmas album is deserving of another spin...in December.

Producing several albums a year, every year of the 1960s, his impressive output for RCA Victor pretty much guarantees that a search through a crate of old records at a garage sale or thrift store will turn-up at least one Al Hirt record. There are more...

He reels it in perfectly for Live @ Carnegie Hall, with beautiful, fancy arrangements. He still has plenty more of his main saccharine-sweet thing again on That Honey Horn Sound. Then They're Playing Our Song really settles down for a bit. There are maudlin strings and plenty of them. Remarkably, he takes on a completely different musical persona, playing with the same warm, previously elusive restraint throughout the album. It is kinda sleepy--there is nary a drum beat to be found--but some listeners will surely consider it relaxing. The Happy Trumpet splits the difference between the on-Quaaludes sounding last album and the excessive exuberance that had preceded it. Sure, it has got "The Happy Trumpet" on it and "Candy Man Jones", but it is generally not as as sickly sweet as some of the earlier albums.

Next, he's on TV again playing the soundtrack song from The Green Hornet and releasing a whole album of TV show themes. Quentin Tarantino, who you may recall from the previous blog entry as using Al Green in Pulp Fiction, used the Green Hornet song in Kill Bill, to some acclaim, although it is pretty clearly a rip-off of "Flight of the BumbleBee." The Horn Meets "The Hornet" sees Hirt covering various contemporary TV theme songs while usually adding a very-60s guitar, along with a traditional rhythm section, and occasional keyboards. The mix adds a lovely flavor to these songs, and I enjoyed some of them, especially the thematic pieces that weren't the main theme from The Green Hornet ("The Hornet's Nest" and "Night Rumble"). We also get the themes from Get Smart, The Monkees, King Kong (?), and Tarzan. His rendition of "Batman" is perhaps the best example on record of his fabled overplaying.

Then Al goes Latin! Damn if this guy didn't keep me guessing on every single album, working hard to prevent boredom. His playing is mostly more restrained for this album, and he sings not a note. The first note of the next album, however, reveals that 'ol Sugar Lips is back. Soul in the horn? I should have seen that one coming. I didn't love his version of "Mess Around," a beloved Ray Charles song that was almost unrecognizable. And then he's got the nerve after the "soul" album to return to Dixieland. Yet, color me impressed: that makes like 7 consecutive albums that virtually all hit different genres. Music to Watch Girls By is difficult to comment on; it doesn't break any new ground. In 1968 he released Al Hirt Plays Bert Kaempfert and somehow that is one that charts (slightly) for the first time since The Happy Trumpet, two years and seven albums ago. For a collection of songs by a German guy, Hirt keeps the tone mellow. I mean, really moderate the whole time- not too bright, not too chill, just consistently medium.

He just keeps on rolling. His later 60s jazz albums are very "now" in that they have a contemporary 60s sound for sure, something about those backing vocalists being the only vocals is so vaguely interesting. He does "Wichita Lineman" and some more easy listening classics. The albums are starting to become indistinguishable. Next up is Unforgettable, which is anything but. The strings and back-up vocalists are present, but don't worry - listeners will have no problem hearing that brash horn blowing way on top of all the other sounds. It's absolutely, consistently chill, but it's also very basic. No song rises above the others and the whole things sounds like background music. That said, if you want some sounds to read, sleep, chill, or seduce by then this record will do the job without any invasiveness. Then... he gets hit with a brick in the mouth at Mardi Gras and his prolificness slows down. Saturday Night Live parodied the event.

So after 1969's Here in my Heart he goes almost 20 years without releasing an album again. His return in 1989, Cotton Candy (again- yes, the same album title from 1964) at least makes sense and is a notable return-to-form in his vast catalog, although he stopped working for RCA. Ol' Sugar Lips is back and he's ditched the Quaaludes in favor of a return to some Dixieland roots, albeit with a brashness that bellies his original traditional playing. The next album, however, is definitely and clearly attributed to the Al Hirt Band. Jazzin at the Pops is the sound of an artist running out of steam. Virtually all of these songs have appeared before in his catalog, some of them--like "Java"--repeatedly. And they didn't sound as worn-out the first time through. As pop standards these songs are OK, but it is not great jazz. There's another Christmas album and a couple of live compilations before the end. His last is, fittingly, 1996's Live At Bourbon Street. He passes way at home in New Orleans in 1999.

In the end, a review of his full discography in chronological order forces some questions about Al Hirt. Is this legitimate New Orleans Jazz? Or is it music for squares who don't know any better? Is it really-literally-elevator music from the time period? For what it is worth, in Good Morning Vietnam he's the example of what the uncool DJ wants to play, contrasting with Robin William's hip selections. Yet, paradoxically Hirt is often seen as overqualified for the music he was playing, especially the pop standards if not the Dixieland (though charging him with overplaying is certainly not unfounded). Scott Yanow at All Music put it succulently when he said "he could have done so much more with his talent." He studied classical trumpet at a Chicago conservatory and played in some of the big swing bands before returning to New Orleans to carry the torch of the traditional Dixieland movement; again, that is the retro resurgence, rather than the original players. His work with legendary New Orleans clarinetist Pete Fountain is his best (they both went to Jesuit High School), but that is his early work before degenerating into churning out pop pap endlessly for multiple decades.

In retrospect, as a burgeoning jazz listener and I dare say aficionado, I went into this one with a certain amount of cynicism. Not only have I seen this guy floating around in the used record bin a lot, but I've also heard his versions of some of these Carnival standards also floating around and even in my collection for awhile. Individually some of these sound like corn-ball cheese. and they are. But damn it they are corn-ball cheese from New Orleans, which is worth something in my book. And the sheer variety with with this guys delivers is undeniably impressive and kept me somewhat engaged, even as I grew weary of the over-the-top playing.

[in Colombo voice] There's just one more thing...

Is Al Hirt incredibly racist?

Perhaps not overtly so. Maybe in the 60s whistling "Dixie" wasn't frowned upon with the same weight that it is today. Maybe he's just not-racist, and therefore (since he's not anti-racist) his sees no harm in playing "Going Down to Dixieland" and others like it that paint the slavery-past with cheery colors. Perhaps he views it all as his Heritage. There is no denying that the man is playing in a genre (Dixieland Jazz) that he didn't name himself. Strictly speaking, "Dixieland" is a style of jazz music, but of course it can't help but be associated with "Dixie," which is a nickname for the old South - and you know what that means. But Dixieland is such a foundational genre that we can easily swap it out with the term "traditional jazz" - which is maybe exactly what we should do, even if Al Hirt hadn't figure it out yet. Of course the genre was started by black folks in New Orleans around the turn of the 20th Century--thus raising issues of cultural appropriation--, but it had its heyday in a revival movement that started 20 years later. Hirt is an undeniably large figure in that revivalism. Not to get too into the history of jazz, but it all began a generation earlier: when soloists got bored with big bands and wanted to jam. Hirt's music is "traditional" in the sense that he and other revivalist are implicitly reacting against the emergent bebop and cool jazz styles, which really leaned into the improvisations and experimentation. There's another warning flag: an implied uncomfortableness with and reactionary response to the explicitly racial directions of new jazz. I may not have even raised the issue it it wasn't for a genuinely alarming album cover of his.

Excuse me?! Greatest trumpet artist in America?! "Greatest," eh? Hirt doesn't even make the top TEN list of best trumpet players on this list by folks who know better than me. Here's another well-curated list on which he doesn't even crack the top 15. "Jazzfuel.com" also gives him no love in their exhaustive list. Is he saying all those other guys are not "artists"?

Al Hirt is a lot of things, and a lot of them are good. But to make the claim that this man making silly noises with his horn, playing loudly over the whole band, and rarely understanding restraint- that he is somehow greater than all the other trumpet players in America is a bold claim that only serves to draw attention to its own absurdity. I mean, who decided that he was greatest?! Louis Armstrong is still alive in 1960 and nowhere near the end of his career: in fact, it was the mid-to-late 60s that saw him finally gaining widespread, cross-cultural acknowledgment for the playing he'd been doing for 40 years at that point. He hit it big, unexpectedly, with "Hello Dolly" and then "What a Wonderful World" comes out after that. There's also a trumpet player you may have heard of called Miles Davis. He's at the near-peak of his long career, with many ups and downs yet to materialize: 1960 is the year he releases Sketches of Spain to much acclaim, just a year after the revolutionary Kinda Blue. Maybe, and I'm deadly serious, maybe Al Hirt thinks he is the greatest trumpet player in America because nothing he does is revolutionary. Just off the top of my head, Dizzy Gillespie and New Orlean's own Lee Morgan also come to mind as far greater players. I would be hard-pressed to find someone who thinks Al Hirt's trumpet playing is greater than any of these people, and I worry about what might be informing such an opinion. It's not that hard to imagine that a belief in Hirt being the greatest may even be rooted in prejudice. Are these the same people that credit Elvis for starting rock and roll? Do they also just happen to think that Eminem is the only talented rapper? With some added information that Hirt was the son of a police officer and that he played in the N.O. Junior Police Band, I'm leaning towards "low-key racist AF." #BLM

Still: Hirt was inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame in Nov. of 2009. As such, there is a life-size bronze monument of him inside New Orleans's Music Legends Park, which is a lovely little oasis on Bourbon Street. His was actually the first statue erected there, as he is credited with bringing New Orleans music to mainstream America, for launching the careers of so many local musicians, and for playing regularly so often in the Quarter. And when you put it like that, fair enough - give the man a monument. Fittingly, he stands next to a statue of his old friend Pete Fountain. Here they are together again, going out on a high note, as they encore together at the end of Hirt's show at Wolf Trap in 1979.

24 March 2022

Al Green

The biography starts like this: born to an Arkansas share cropper, Al Green is the 6th of 10 children. His family moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where a teenage Green got kicked out of his devout family's house for listening to Jackie Wilson. His young life had some tumultuousness to it that would periodically revisit his personal life. Things were rough for the young Green but picked-up for him quickly while he was still in high school.

The music started off great right away with Al Green's first album. Back Up Train (1969) is an incredible collection of songs, especially for a debut, and is not to be overlooked, though it often seems to be: the title-track single did well but the album did not. These early albums bristle with a youthful authenticity that I would miss when I'm ten or more albums deep into his discography. This first one bridges the 60s and 70s wonderfully. It sounds a bit like "oldies," but by the third song the orchestra and back-up singers kick in, and it's veering towards his mid-70s signature soul sound already. It's such a nice sounding soul album, with an an incredible variety in his repertoire and his voice: funky, chilled, rocking. Note that the album features the real-spelling of his last named (Greene) and comes out on Hot Line Records, a label formed by his high school friends, who also played in his band and wrote most of the songs. Their lyrics aren't always great and the production isn't quite perfect (yet), but the drums anticipate that 70s warmth and the also-warm organ is kept effectively low. The album gets re-released several times over the years following various record label acquisitions, including for the first time in 1972 when "Guilty" re-charts as a Top 30 R&B Hit. This practically a 4-star album that promises a 5-star classic in the future, and that promise is fulfilled shortly. While his first album didn't really catch on much initially, it led to his fortuitous connection with Hi Records. So the second album is immediately better, but the fact that Green Is Blue (1969) is considered his breakthrough album is a disservice to his first. There are a bunch of covers here: they are nice vehicles for his incredible voice, but I just didn't need to hear "My Girl" done none-too-differently from the original, nor additional covers of both "Summertime" or "The Letter" - though the drum-breaks in the later would get sampled a lot in hip-hop (by both The Notorious B.I.G. and Salt-N-Pepa among others). The cover of The Beatles "Get Back" is wonderfully sick though and well worth it, yet not to be confused with the song that precedes it, "Get Back Baby," which in my mind needs a comma between the last two words. The 40th Anniversary edition of the album from 2009 includes another Beatles cover: "I Want To Hold Your Hand." However, the originals on the album are standout tracks and mark the beginning of Green's career-long collaboration with producer and player Willie Mitchell; they called him "Papa Willie" because he ran Hi Records. We have him to thank for that hard-hitting bass/drum sound, heard here and on the likes of Booker T and the M.G.s. As much as Green's second album improved from the first, the third one really kicks hard right from the start. I love the way the overblown vocals distort just a bit when he's yelling, but not, of course, when he switches to that soulful crooning, offering a somewhat miraculous range of possibilities. Although it still relies on a bunch of covers to fill out the album, the smooth-yet-heavy-hitting 70s soul sound was now fully in place for Al Green Gets Next to You (1971), which contains the title track, a bluesy version of the Temptations' "I Can't Get Next To You," but not "I Wanna Get Next To You" (that song is by Rose Royce of "Car Wash" fame). I won't complain much about anyone covering The Doors, but Jose Feliciano had already covered "Light my Fire" a few years ago; we don't really need to hear routine soul covers of random hits. At this point in my discography listen I was still waiting for him really to come into his own with more original songs. The next album is a really big deal, but the one after that is my favorite. Let's Stay Together (1972) in an indisputable classic. The title track was a runaway success, and his only number-one pop single, even before it was memorably used in the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. And he and Poppa Willie wrote most of these songs themselves. The notable exception is Green's legendary and stunning cover of The Bee Gees "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," which I want to say is better than the original, itself a #1 disco hit; it's Green's version that shows up on a bunch of contemporary movie soundtracks including Good Will Hunting. It brings me no joy to also report that in 2008 "Green's version was remade into a duet with Joss Stone for the soundtrack to the Sex and the City movie, with her vocals overdubbed onto the track"; the freakin' nerve of these people sometimes, I swear!

Although Let's Stay Together is the treasured classic, his next one is actually my personal favorite. I'm Still in Love with You is also released in 1972 and I prefer it. It doesn't have his most famous songs on it, but it is a five-star experience with some really stellar moments. It's entirely possible that I favor this album simply because it was on the jukebox in the all-night diner I worked at in New Orleans. And let me tell you, there were some Good Times had there, especially during Mardi Gras. I distinctly remember punching in "For The Good Times" one last time as I clocked-out of my last shift, blowing kisses to everyone as I dramatically backed out the front door. The song is incredible and vastly underrated in Green's repertoire, even though it was a Country hit for a bunch of other people; it is some of Kris Kristofferson's greatest songwriting, but so much more than just another cover here. The fact that it immediately follows a somewhat-needless rendition of Roy Orbison's "Oh Pretty Woman" just adds to its power. How was it not a single? Maybe because he didn't write it, but the song is an unforgettable encapsulation of Green at his very best: that is to say, perfect. I don't know that his voice has ever sounded smoother. The deep strings are so awesome. And that organ! The little riff the organ does the second time he mentions "the raindrops" is a transcendent musical moment of an absolutely perfect performance; it's penultimate trill waiting until just the right moment to embellish the soundscape. Thank you, organist Charles Hodges, who also played and wrote with the likes of Boz Skaggs and Albert Hammond- and holy shit in 2020 The Mountain Goats got him to play on their album! I'm Still in Love with You grooves from start to stop, and I've never grown tired of hearing a single moment on it. "What a Wonderful Thing Love Is" made my own wedding soundtrack because it is the track least about heartbreak.

Let's Stay Together and I'm Still in Love with You both come out in 1972, which is already a remarkable output, but then he puts out another album every year of the 70s...until the unpleasantness 1978. That said, his next album Call Me (1973) is supposed to be his masterpiece, but I read that for the first time after listening to it - and didn't really feel it upon my initial listening. It continued the greatness for sure, but I hadn't regularly heard most of these songs much before, as opposed to my old favorites. I was most struck by the multiple country numbers: a cover of Hank Williams' "I'm so Lonesome I could Die" (which, lyrically at least, is a good fit) and another of Willie Nelson's "Funny How Time Slips Away." Green and Papa Mitchell wrote most of the rest. The album was a hit, but the singles haven't endured as well as some of his other songs...Unless you're into pop-soul, of course. I'm wondering now if Al Green is to soul music what Bob Marley is to reggae: I don't know much about soul, but I know Al Green, and I know I like it.

1973's Livin' for You marks the start of a protracted but undeniable decline, as perhaps indicated by the somewhat absurd, illustrated album cover. It does contain the notable hit "Let's Get Married," and--other than a forgettable cover of "Unchained Melody"-- features all Green originals. Something has begun to slip though. It would almost be impossible to replicate the exquisite perfection of 1972 over and over again. The next albums, Al Green Explores Your Mind and Al Green is Love, just seem to repeat the formula without adding much of anything new to the mix. These aren't bad albums - they are generally good. However, they don't approach the Classic status of the earlier masterpieces....and is that so wrong? How many masterpieces is a man supposed to produce in his prime? Is one enough? Two? There are definitely some slightly awkward moments that arise. I couldn't believe how many times he ended up singing a duet with himself. I love the orchestral arrangements, but the strings really seem to be carrying some of these later songs with more than just so some spry countermelodies, especially on the Al Green is Love. That's The Memphis Strings playing with him once again. I'm not really complaining, but these albums are like that first one: not to be missed for fans of Al Green but otherwise less impressive than other key albums. You'll please forgive me if when I heard "Take Me To the River" I was almost ready to dismiss it as another apt but unnecessary cover, yet of course it was the Talking Heads (and others) who covered this Al Green original! The spoken word intro to the album version of "Take Me To the River" dedicates it to honey-voiced bluesman Junior Parker, who once notably covered the Beatles "Tomorrow never Knows." But again, the songs work well together and the albums are fine, but it is hard to justify spending too much time on this stuff in a world where Love and Happiness also exist. When people discuss the impeccable production on those classic albums it is not always easy to understand what they mean, but listening to these follow-up releases shows what it is like to just go through the same motions with the same instrumentation but somehow lack the perfect sound.

Things change noticeably for Full of Fire and Have a Good Time - and it is difficult to ascertain why. Willie Mitchell is still on board as a writer, and I'm assuming producer in some capacity, and Teenie Hodges is still around playing guitar and helping write. Hodgeses are on organ and bass. But the production values have begun to shift ever so perceptibly. There is some poly rhythmic stuff going on and they have otherwise begun to tinker with the sound. The palate gets broadened again and the sound distinctly altered for the bizarrely specifically titled The Belle Album (1972), his 12th but his first other than the debut recorded away from Mitchell and Hi Records. Most of his old band is gone too. The occasional bluesy acoustic guitar he prominently plays himself is an alright new sound and the clavinet is a great addition. However, the synth strings are so thin and whiney sounding, and I'm not a fan of that wacky sax that starts showing up either. All of these new sounds are incorporated somewhat more effectively on the next album, which finds Green in a more solid groove with that new instrumentation and production. That would be 1978's Truth n' Time, which, like the previous album, he self-produced. I'm a sucker for "To Sir With Love" but it's hardly a stand-out track here. There's not much to dig into here on his last secular album for a long while, but I liked the sound a little more than the previous slew of albums.

To bridge the coming gap, someone releases a live album of his at some point later in 1981. Apparently it is "rare and raw soul." It is taken from two June 1978 shows in Japan, right after he won the Tokyo International Music Festival's Grand Prize with his passionate performance of "Belle". The live band is alright- it's the new guys. Even if the songs don't all exactly sound right, his voice is still golden. At least the synths aren't even pretending to be real strings anymore. The horns are real, though they almost have trouble keeping up when they decide to do "Love and Happiness" crazily fast as an encore. I don't like how the album is chopped up with selections from both nights collected, rather than the presentation of a smoothly flowing show; the few songs that do lead into each other are appreciable. It's a great listen though: he's having fun with the audience, stretching out with some of these songs, and it's sweet when he sings his stage banter. There's a great moment when he's sing-shouting at the audience off-mic while the band plays lowly behind him. Overall, it's bit post-prime, but I thoroughly enjoyed the review of what turns out to be only the first third of his career, with the religious stuff in the middle period next, and then a less prolific late stage.

Still, his record sales were steadily declining at this point... And then he beat his girlfriend unconscious with a tree limb. It wasn't the first assault charge leveled against him either, including previously from his pregnant wife; this time the charges were dropped - though just because she didn't show up in court. The worst of it was in 1974: first his secretary sued him for back-pay and for shoving her through a glass door, and then he got in a fight with his girlfriend - who then killed herself. Then right after he got out of the hospital from that incident (she threw a pot of boiling grits on him) his cousin abducted him at gun point over money, again not his first tussle over disputed funds. In his defense, after all that trouble he stops making popular records completely and turns to the church. There have been sprinkled references to God, and then increasing allusions to Jesus, throughout the first half of Green's long career, but then he gets a little preachy. More than a little, he actually becomes a literal preacher and that is reflected in the tone and contents of his mid-career stretch of albums: there's about 10 gospel, Christmas, and contemporary Christian albums. I listened to each of these- once:

The Lord Will Make a Way

Higher Plane

Precious Lord

Feels like Christmas

I'll Rise Again

Trust In God

He is the Light

Soul Survivor

Sure there are some predictable though nice cover songs thrown in, and there are some traditional songs too, but he mines the same type of material over and over again on these albums, with little engaging about the overall sound or instrumentations. The Christmas album is functionally funky and occasionally soulful - the ballads work better than the intolerable version of "Jingle Bells". While the songs on these Christian albums with a choir are some good gospel tunes, otherwise the instrumentation and production are shadows of their former glory. The production gets increasingly 80s sounding, to a degree that it becomes grating by the time of his last fully religious album, Soul Survivor (1987), which gives us a minor hit in "Everything's Gonna be Alright," his first charting song in over a decade. It's OK if you miss(ed) this one and his next gospel one Love Is Reality (1992). Sure, his voice is still great, but he doesn't use it well. He raps about Jesus on a couple tracks and it is awful. This stuff would have fit right in on 1980s pop radio, but it is sad to hear it from this soul master. The instrumentation and production are disappointing: fake organ, slap bass, synth drums, and obnoxious sax solos all over the place. I'm not universally opposed to a child's choir, but here it is a particular misstep. The songs with a full gospel choir though again offer a more impressive power, and the man's enthusiasm for his faith cannot be denied. But Love is Reality got some really bad reviews, which it deserves; it might be his career nadir. It made me yearn for any half-forgotten track from any of those first few albums.

You may recall Green's return to secular music, which was inauspiciously on the soundtrack to the movie Scrooged, in 1988. Bill Murray is pretty funny in that movie, and "Put a Little Love in Your Heart" is featured memorably, though I'm not sure I ever knew it was Al Green's triumphant return to pop music until now (maybe because the song was originally and more appropriately played by Jackie DeShannon in 1969). Something about the fake snow and smiles makes the music video less than palatable. Afterwards he releases about seven albums between 1989 and 2005. Some of these are good, some are contemporary Christian, and some of them are lost, or at least not available for streaming right now. In some cases that remains a mystery: I'm not sure why I could stream all 10 pointless Christian albums but not his 26th Your Heart's In Good Hands, which was celebrated as an overdue return to form in 1995. I also wanted to hear 2003's secular I Can't Stop, which was released on Blue Note Records (his first for Blue Note and first album after after an eight year break in recording) and produced once again by Willie Mitchell; it doesn't seem fair that I had to go to YouTube for someone's CD rip of the album, but I did. The album is good and it charted: the best he'd done since 1975's Al Green is Love. Mitchell and Green tried to replicate that magic one more time for Blue Note on 2005's Everything's OK, which some say is even better than I Can't Stop. Again I had to listen to somebody's uploaded version, but ultimately I'm glad I did. Both those albums were solid and, while lacking stand-out tracks and slightly suffering from a long-past-peak vibe, are a welcome reprieve from the butchery of the 80s and 90s.

In 2008 Green gets the full revival treatment with a worthy comeback album featuring a bunch of special guest spots from the likes of John Legend and Corinne Bailey Rae. Lay It Down sounds consistently great, with a contemporary-yet-classic groovy sound thanks to production from ?uestlove. It was nominated for a Best R&B Album Grammy, but lost out to Jennifer Hudson's debut.

Then that's it. He hasn't released an album since Lay it Down, and that might be a fitting high-note to go out on. Not much occurs between 2008 and now (2022), an exception being a one-off for Amazon Music: a version of the oft-covered "Before the Next Teardrop Falls"; it actually sounds pretty great! That voice is still golden. He still shows up for awards ceremonies too. In addition to his 11 Grammys (mostly for gospel), Green was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1995, and he got the Kennedy Center honor in 2014, which is a BFD. Among other honors, he's also in the Gospel Music Hall of Fame and The Songwriters Hall of Fame. All of this is fitting and right, even if a comprehensive listen of his impressive output reveals its unevenness.

Al Green is apparently still an active pastor, after more than 40 years. And he's a 33rd Degree Mason.

03 February 2022

Al "Carnival Time" Johnson

First of all, Al "Carnival Time" Johnson should not be confused with Al Johnson. (Or Al Jolson for that matter.) And, no, I am not going to listen to Al Johnson's entire catalog just because of this confusion.

Secondly, this was a bit awkward at first because I was trying to wrap my mind around reverence I didn't immediately understand... because it wasn't all about the music. This guy is now over 80 years old and has been making music since he was a kid. And doing great things for New Orleans. Al "Carnival Time" Johnson is a cherished New Orleans musician...and yet it is hard to deny that, to most listeners, he has ONE GOOD SONG. Guess which song it is? It is in his name. Folks should definitely value and appreciate him for his contributions back in the day, but his offerings since that hey-day are slim. And yet he has been consistently continuing to rock out for years (at least at Carnival time). If I am going to be musically frank though, the handful of modern recordings are found to be wanting. These recent few albums sound rough and amateurish. It is like those Casio keyboards that you press "C" and get a beat and chord and a bass-line in C. Then play the blues. NOLA forgive me, that's what this stuff sounds like. Who are these New Orleans players backing him up? I'm not sure. Beyond Carnival from 2013 just can't hit the way it's supposed to or used to, but hey- why not? "Lower Ninth Ward Blues" needed to be sung, though there's not much to the song. "Jail Bird" is a sorry tale of domestic abuse. I appreciate the attention to the difference between Mardi Gras and Carnival in "Mardi Gras Strut," but the music isn't exactly The Meters- at least not anymore. It's a shame that the modern canned-sounding version was how I had to listen to his acclaimed 1958 hit, "Lena." That one later-day full length is the only such album I could find streaming other than repeated versions of "Carnival Time." There are lost albums then from 2006 and 2007 then too, but OK. He redoes "Carnival Time" as "Super Bowl Time" in 2013 when Mardi Gras coincided with the Super Bowl(?!)- thus his comeback album of sorts that same year. That was at least his second time with that trick, having trotted out "Who Dat Say?" in 2009, which was literally just "Carnival Time" again re-written for the Saints in the Super Bowl; that time he was excellently backed by modern New Orleans players, Egg Yolk Jubilee. Yet another version of "Carnival Time" featuring the Soul Rebels Brass Band even more recently ends up on the Treme Soundtrack, and that mix is genuinely great. I'd go see this guy live. So as far as I can tell, his entire discography consist of three extant albums, but there was session work and singles back in the late 50s and early 60s. And he's still out there! OK, I can see loving the guy. That one song is so good, and no Carnival playlist is complete without it.

Fairly recently, in this rare interview he sheds some light on the mystery. Some light is shed on the absurd lyrics of his one hit. One interesting tidbit is the revelation that the clubs named in the opening lines ("The Green Room is jumpin'...") were located in the part of the Treme neighborhood that got razed when I-10 came through. Another fun-fact is that he is Grand Marshall for Life of the Red Beans Parade, on Lundi Gras. The man is a legend, and fittingly so. Both of his old songs are absolutely fantastic on The Complete Ric & Ron Recording, Vol. 2: Classic New Orleans R&B and More, 1958-1965, recorded at Cosimo Matassa's famed French Quarter studio that was a home-base to Fats Domino and all those other guys. One of Johnson's two songs on that compilation is "Carnival Time." That's one great song.

He's still very much doing this and reinventing that song! Watch this too...?