Category: Pazz and Jop

Pazz and Jop 1971 -#16

Grateful Dead – Grateful Dead (Skull & Roses)

I have aggressively resisted the Grateful Dead for pretty much as long as I’ve been aware of their existence, for two reasons. First, the passion of their fan base is anathema to my broader tastes when it comes to art. Second, I mostly just shrugged at what I did hear through passive exposure (though I owned a 45 of their 1987 hit “Touch of Grey”, I was buying just about everything that made the charts back then, and rarely played it). (Also, 45s were the worst – I don’t need (well, I do, but that’s a different conversation) to be doing interval training while listening to music.) I can’t say there’s much chance of me seeking out other of their records, but after more shrugging initially, I ended up enjoying this album. It’s odd for a live record in that you are barely aware of the presence of an audience. I couldn’t find the answer (Google, you failed me!) but it would have been on brand to ask for quiet to enhance the quality of much-encouraged bootleg recordings. 

As for the songs themselves, the five-minute eight-second long drum solo at the beginning of “The Other One” was more interesting than any five-minute eight-second long drum solo deserves to be. This turns out to be noteworthy, because the Dead had two drummers until two months before the first of these tracks was recorded, so it seems someone took the opportunity to show off. Their poppy cover of “Me and Bobby McGee” is a delight (Kristofferson was EVERYWHERE in 1971), as is their faithful rendering of “Johnny B. Goode”, and I enjoyed the original “Wharf Rat”. You definitely come away understanding how much fun it might have been to see them live – there’s no better way to listen to an 18-minute song than stoned and in the company of fellow travellers. The Dead were as much a religion as a rock band, and this seems like a pretty decent introduction to their creed.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 24, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #15

Jeff Beck Group – Rough and Ready


I don’t think I’ll remember much about this record a month from now, but it was a (mostly) fun listen while it was on. It’s a messy record, a mishmash of rock, jazz, blues and soul influences that can’t seem to figure out what it wants to be. (Or maybe that’s exactly what it wants to be.) I know of Beck as a guitar god, and my first thought when I hear mention of him is his 1985 video for “Ambitious”, with its Murderer’s Row of B- and C-list celebrities (including Donny Osmond, who channeled George Michael’s look – and an unexpected assist from Peter Gabriel – into a comeback a few years later). So, of course, there’s a lot of great guitar playing, though it sometimes seems to serve no point other than to remind you that “Holy shit, Jeff Beck can really play!” The piano and drums are what stand out mostly (the instrumental centrepiece “Max’s Tune” is a showcase for the former) and my predilection for solid bass playing is frequently rewarded, but the vocalist is just a howler without much nuance in his delivery (sort of a discount bin David Clayton-Thomas was my initial impression). The lyrics are about as unremarkable as such things can be, with not a single phrase making an impression. Taken together, we are left with a record that is pleasing to the ear without making much of a dent on the soul.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 21, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #14

Joni Mitchell – Blue

My wife does not like Joni Mitchell’s music at all. I don’t feel quite the same (I owned on cassette and enjoyed often her 1988 sort-of comeback “Chalk Mark in a Rain Storm”), but in deference to the love of my life, I usually skip her tunes when they come up on a Spotify playlist. The problem is her voice: there are those too frequent moments when it sounds like a small bird is being gently murdered. She can never quite shake herself of the need to aim for those higher notes, even though the sound doesn’t really change, it just feels strained. I thus came to this with a lot of resistance, though half the tracks here were familiar from long passive exposure.

The songwriting cannot be faulted. I know next-to-nothing about Mitchell and her career arc, but would be unsurprised to learn she was a favourite of desperate artsy girls and boys lying stoned in dorm rooms trying to figure their shit out. There’s a nakedness to her confessional lyrics, a leaving-it-all-out-there (Kris Kristofferson supposedly told her to “keep something to yourself”) approach to her art that should draw young aesthetes to her. “I could drink a case of you, darling, and still be on my feet” just gutted me with that sense of desperate desire for another person that we all – if we’re both lucky and cursed – have felt. (And, weirdly, the strain in her voice works for this song.) I especially liked the songs where it is Joni and her piano (except “My Old Man”, which is a microcosm of the things that can make her a difficult listen) or guitar, and when she combines those and reins in somewhat the vocal tics, the results are sublime, as in “Blue” and “River”. “Little Green” was new to me, and I love this gentle song about the daughter she gave up for adoption. In the end, while I won’t be playing this regularly – I would like to stay married, for one thing – I can see myself coming back to it, all alone and wallowing in Joni.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 18, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 -#12 (tied)

Janis Joplin – Pearl

(Weirdly, it just occurred to me after doing this for the past two months that this is the 50th anniversary year of all these records. Ah, such a keen observer, I am.)

We finally come to a record I’ve listened to before. This was only a few months ago, after I read an incredibly sweet letter that she wrote to her family shortly before she became a star. (Check out “More Letters of Note” if you’re curious.) I thought it was fine, but didn’t remember much about it. My (now evolved) method with these mostly unfamiliar albums is to play them once to get over the strangeness (a lesson learned from Sly and the Family Stone), then again later with more attentiveness. When I listened on Tuesday past, I thought it was mostly meh. I don’t feel that way anymore. 

It’s an unfinished record – “Buried Alive in the Blues” is an instrumental because she died before her vocals could be recorded – which lends a bit of “what if?” to the proceedings. I think she was really a soul singer at heart, with several covers here of songs from Black artists and writers. Her voice is truly unique, which might explain why so few female artists of note have covered these songs over the past 50 years. There’s a bit of tension between her often howling vocals and the smooth playing of her Canadian (!) backing band that makes for a nice counterpoint. The piano especially stands out on a number of tracks, in particular on the powerful closer “Get It While You Can”, where the interplay between singer and band reaches its fulfilment. (Very different from the Howard Tate original, or the poppy posthumously released version from Chris Cornell.)

Other favourites are “Cry Baby”, which sounds in places like a relic from the 1950s. (It turns out to be a cover of a pretty decent 1963 hit from Garnet Mimms & the Enchanters. Check out the original for an object lesson in what happens when a good song ultimately finds the right singer. Mimms may be a forgotten great – she also covers his “My Baby” here.) “A Woman Left Lonely”, my favourite track, is more restrained (by Janis’ standards), almost tear-jerking, with a delightful instrumental bridge between the two verses that feels like it was part of a montage in “The Big Chill”. (Imagine the gloomy, sexless Jeff Goldblum staring into the camera.) (Also, props to Cat Power for taking this on, though her version is kind of lame.) “Half Moon” is a busy song, almost funky (pre-funk?), with surprisingly gentle vocals in places that brought to mind Fiona Apple. And, of course, there’s “Me and Bobby McGee”, known even to people living under a rock, which made me want to check out more Kris Kristofferson songs. There really isn’t a track here that I don’t like, and the record grows with each replay as I’m writing this. A good reminder to not always trust first impressions.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 17, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #12 (tied)

Carole King – Tapestry

The list has been light on female artists, but that’s about to change. I first heard of Carole King when I was 9 or 10 and read in the Guinness Book of World Records that this was the biggest selling album of all time. I couldn’t believe that anyone could outsell The Beatles or Elvis Presley. She is one of my wife’s favourites, and I’ve certainly been familiar with her work over the years – I already knew more than half the songs here (though maybe not her version – King’s considerable success as a performer probably ranks second to her achievements as a writer for others), but never once gave them a careful and respectful listen.

The problem with visiting the past is I’ve heard so many imitators over the years that it’s hard to define what made this so great in 1971. That’s where the unfamiliar tunes become so helpful in making sense of an album’s merits: you get to recreate the (in this case) 1971 experience of putting the needle on the record and settling in for the ride. The soulful “Way Over Yonder” stands out (shocked to learn this has never been covered by a major black female artist, though Blessid Union of Souls killed it on a tribute album). Her slowed-down “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” highlights the song’s pathos (and it was a bit of a rush to hear James Taylor on the chorus). “Smackwater Jack” is a high energy rollick with a bluesy (for King, anyway) feel. I was sort of annoyed by “Tapestry”, but I’ll chalk that up to my natural aversion to songs that seem to be working too hard to convey some deeper analysis of the mysteries of life. (It’s pop music, for God’s sake.) But what an ending. I felt actual chills (goose-bumpy, nipple-stiffening, who opened a window in January? chills) when she sang “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman”. King wrote it, but the chutzpah involved in taking on a song OWNED by Aretha is the ultimate sign of an artist in complete control and brimming with confidence. I also sort of love that she put a TON of money in her ex-husband’s pockets by covering three songs that they wrote together. Those royalty cheques must have felt a bit like a stabbing to Gerry Goffin. What a power move. Well played, Carole. Well played.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 11, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #11

The Beach Boys – Surf’s Up

I didn’t know the Beach Boys were still a thing in 1971. This album falls between the hits-keep-coming era and the Brian-Wilson-is-a-crazy-recluse era. I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of these songs, even live (I saw them at Sherkston in 1984, and roughly 10 years later at Canada’s Wonderland). I’ve also never played an entire Beach Boys record before (hits collections don’t count), revealing yet another gap in my listening career (“Pet Sounds” will accompany me on this morning’s walk), so it’s hard to put the record into context. Standouts were “Long Promised Road” and “Disney Girls”, the latter one of several tracks that make me wonder if Ben Folds played this on repeat during his formative years. (Need to reread his quite excellent autobiography, I guess.) There’s an overly earnest and not even slightly subtle political bent to some tracks, but, being the Beach Boys, it’s still a lot of fun. These include “Student Demonstration Time”, built on a fairly basic blues riff that is still a shocker because it’s coming from the bloody Beach Boys. Brian gets weird at the end with the title track (well, all three of his compositions here are pretty quirky), and despite having read Brian’s own explanation of the lyrics, I don’t think I can really trust him. It’s a beautiful tune that rewards repeat listening (I’m up to 6), with a stirring closing part that echoes “Good Vibrations”. Overall, a nice way to start a Saturday morning.

UPDATE: So, “Pet Sounds” kicks serious ass. I’m not surprised: not only is it consistently ranked among the greatest albums ever, but it also includes my all-time Beach Boys “God Only Knows” (I could honestly sing the chorus to my wife (and probably have) – it’s a near-perfect pop song, and I could never fully trust the judgment of anyone who disagrees) and a certifiable Top 5 in “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”. Definitely being filed in the re-listen category.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 10, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #10

David Bowie – Hunky Dory

I’ve never been much of a Bowie fan – loved the singles but rarely felt compelled to buy the whole album. Maybe it was a hangover from his Christmas duet with Bing Crosby sticking in my ear when I first became a serious member of the record-buying public: the man couldn’t be trusted since he might just do something that would annoy me enormously. Bowie’s vocals are never gentle, his lyrics (even on the singles) not easily accessible, and his style shifts from track to track.

I can’t really see myself playing this end-to-end again – too many tracks ended up not sitting right with me in one way or another – but there was a lot here that I loved. It starts with “Changes”, still great, of course (“Breakfast Club” shoutout), and the other single, “Life on Mars?”, never fails to move me with its swelling chorus. “Oh! You Pretty Things” mixes gentle verses with a rollicking chorus to distract from the Nietzsche-inspired notion of the new casually brushing away the old. (Check out Peter Noone’s uninspiring version for the sad answer to the question “What if Bowie had been in Herman’s Hermits?”) The vocals on “Kooks” (dedicated to his newborn son) first brought to mind Robin Gibb, and it’s a sweet, thoughtful tune with gentle strings and horn and a sort-of ragtime piano. The piano usually stands out, lending a jaunty barroom feel, especially on “Fill Your Heart”, despite the often eccentric vocal stylings. I really like the guitar sound on “Andy Warhol”, until the last minute when it becomes an assault. “Queen Bitch” is a frolic, the one true rocker on here, and, outside of “Kooks”, the only song here that I would label as fun. It closes with “The Bewlay Brothers”, an acoustic guitar forward, lyrically nonsensical epic that feels like it would fit in just fine on a Pink Floyd record.

Spotify does this thing where, when an album ends, they continue into what their algorithm thinks is a comparable artist. When “The Bewlay Brothers” ended, I was treated to The Cure’s “In Between Days”, followed by Roxy Music’s “More Than This”. These are two bands that I’ve listened to a lot more than Bowie, though I suspect I’ll be seeing more of Ziggy than Robert and Bryan on this journey. Since the point of this is discovery (with a touch of nostalgia), I’m okay with that.

(Originally posted on Facebook, April 3, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #9

Various – The Concert for Bangladesh

Another one that isn’t on Spotify, but someone has been courteous enough to put the entire thing on YouTube. This record is a lot more interesting as a cultural artifact than as a collection of music. I’m not generally a fan of live albums – I have this issue of wanting familiar songs to sound, you know, familiar (contradicted by my love of covers as reinvention, like M. Ward’s “Let’s Dance”, Scott Bradlee taking on Radiohead, or Richard Thompson and Fountains of Wayne giving Britney Spears a go) – but this outing is an exception. It is, of course, an epic accomplishment, the “We Are the World” or “Live Aid” of its day, without the, respectively, treacle or pomposity. The almost 17-minute long Ravi Shankar-led jam “Bangla Dhun” is bracing, and smartly opened the show before the audience was sated by the star power that would follow. Then you mostly get great artists singing already popular tunes. The other highlight for me was Leon Russell and Don Preston’s medley cover “Jumpin’ Jack Flash/Youngblood”, which has the energy and sense of the unexpected that only a live performance can deliver, but Bob Dylan messing with his own “Just Like A Woman” also makes an impression. Sometimes, a cultural artifact can still surprise you.

The playlist below is an excellent effort that gets as close as one can manage on Spotify to recreating this album.

(Originally posted on Facebook, March 28, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #8

The Kinks – Muswell Hillbillies

My first thought was that this fit in nicely with early ‘70s southern rock, which is a neat trick for a bunch of Brits. I’ve seen it described as country rock, but I don’t accept that: it takes more than a little slide guitar to make something country. There are bits of blues, and music hall piano flourishes. But what it really feels like is the song score for a musical theatre production: each track has that sense of a character stopping to sing part of the story. “Holiday” was the first place I noticed this (I even had the basic dance steps worked out in my head), but it could apply to pretty much anything here. The lyrics are rather glum in spots (the theme is essentially the destruction of a way of life thanks to government overreach in a specific London suburb), but done in such a fun way that you probably wouldn’t notice without reading the lyric sheet. Under the hauntingly beautiful melody of “Oklahoma U.S.A.” lurks the dark heart of an unsatisfying life. Other favourites include “Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues”, “Skin and Bone”, “Alcohol” (check out Brad Paisley if you want an actual country song with this title) and “Holloway Jail”. The closer, “Muswell Hillbilly”, returns (somewhat) to the southern rock mode (Ronnie Van Zant would’ve owned this tune), and offers a hint of rebellion to the attempt to fit everyone into “identical little boxes”. From beginning to end, there isn’t a weak song on this record. A lovely surprise from a band I’ve never paid much attention to.

(Originally posted on Facebook, March 27, 2021)

Pazz and Jop 1971 – #7

Sly and the Family Stone – There’s a Riot Goin’ On

At last, a black artist, the only one (I believe) to make the 1971 list. It’s certainly a comment on music criticism in 1971, though not music itself: individual critics cited records from Bill Withers, Marvin Gaye (“What’s Going On”, ranked the greatest album ever by Rolling Stone voters in 2020), Smokey Robinson & the Miracles and others, but there wasn’t enough collective support for any of these. So, how did Sly & company break through to get noticed in big enough numbers? (Trivia note – the album title is a direct response to Gaye’s query.)

There is soooo much going on in some of these songs – instruments competing with voices, or each other. And some weird stuff – slowed down vocals, yodelling (or a stoned man’s version), an unhealthy attachment to overdubbing. The bass playing (Drake’s uncle!) stands out (I do love a solid bass line) and a lot of it has an improvised feel, but it can also be discordant. (Sly does not care about your comfort.) It’s not a record for distracted listening if you’re trying to figure out what’s going on. Initially, I felt distanced from it, but by the side two opener “Brave & Strong” I was getting caught up in the experience. “Spaced Cowboy” was the most fun (yodelling!), and “Runnin’ Away” is bouncy (don’t listen too closely to what she’s singing if you want to enjoy this feeling) and relatively simple. The closer, “Thank You for Talkin’ to Me, Africa”, reworks and (I think) improves on “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) by slowing it down, uncluttering the instrumentation and softening the vocals. A great palate cleanser to end a messy and heavily-seasoned record.

UPDATE: As I replayed the album on my morning walk, the sounds no longer unusual to me, I had even greater appreciation for it, with “Just Like A Baby” and “Time” especially standing out. The yodelling remains my favourite bit – had fellow beachfront walkers looked my way as it played this morning, my lunatic grin would have likely terrified them. I think Sly would approve.

(Originally posted on Facebook, March 20, 2021)