More Time-Released Reviews

How did I ever find time to read so much, to take such extensive notes, and write such superficial reviews? The bigger mystery is why did I bother?
To answer the last one, they were commissioned, and never published.
I got interested in biographies while working on The Juicy Parts book for Jack Mingo. (Go ahead and look that one up; copies start at about $0.01 U.S., I imagine.)
While I didn't pursue authoring a second Juicy volume, per Jack's suggestion, I did find myself hooked on biographies, for several years. A lot of them were junk, and made no other pretenses; a number of them (those with the names Richard Ellman or Peter Guralnick on the spine) were entertaining, edifying, and well-written.
Unlike the following, a few of my "lost" book reviews, which deserved to remain that way:

Colonel Tom Parker: the Curious Life of Elvis Presley’s Eccentric Manager
by James L. Dickerson [AMG RATING: 8]
The greatest mystery surrounding Elvis Presley isn’t whether or not he actually died in 1977, but what was the nature of Elvis’ relationship with his secretive manager, the man known as Colonel Tom Parker. For one who was so often in the public eye, and whose decisions drove Elvis’ career—and so affected millions of Elvis’ fans—there are few definitively known facts about Parker. How did Parker convince Elvis to pay him a reported 50 percent commission? Why didn’t he let Elvis tour Europe? Was Parker a U.S. citizen? And who, exactly, was Colonel Parker?

Many of the facts and allegations about Parker have appeared elsewhere. James Dickerson brings to the subject a knowledge of Memphis history, organized crime, and the racial politics of America’s South. He speculates on some of the biggest mysteries surrounding Elvis and the Colonel, and supports several of his theories well. Elsewhere, conjecture on Parker’s ethnic heritage, for instance, goes nowhere. And at times, the normally reasonable Dickerson’s conjecture—such as suggesting that Parker failed his Army physical due to his “homosexual reaction” to other naked men—is both unsupported and ludicrous.

Dickerson is at his best when demonstrating how Parker’s “dark destructive … impulses” impeded Elvis’ career. The fact that the most tantalizing questions about Parker are probably unanswerable doesn’t make it any less exasperating when the author poses them. And when the author himself admits that a fact as basic as his subject’s true identity may never be known, it doesn’t augur well for a definitive biography. Dickerson does provide some interesting perspective; just don’t expect Colonel Tom Parker to dispel all the mysteries of an enigmatic subject.

Dancing With Demons: The Authorized Biography of Dusty Springfield
Penny Valentine and Vicki Wickham [AMG RATING: 6]
Some of the worst biographies are produced by friends, family members, and business associates who should know their subjects best. Whether due to inadequacies as writers or the desire to bend history to their interests, these insiders perpetrate some of the most incomprehensible biographies. Add Dancing With Demons—written by Dusty Springfield’s long-time friend, Penny Valentine, and long-term manager, Vicki Wickham—to the list of insider biographies that utterly fail to lend any sense of what made its subject exceptional. While the authors clearly care for their subject and her music, their attempts to interpret Dusty’s eccentricities, along with their hazy sense of chronology, are as much of a disservice to the singer’s legacy as a sleazy tell-all would have been.

Dusty Springfield was a remarkable stylist who crafted an achingly soulful vocal sound from her deep appreciation of rhythm and blues music, not that you could discern much about her talent from this book. The overwhelming impression of Dusty in Dancing With Demons is that she was famous primarily for being an eccentric “personality,” like Zsa Zsa Gabor or Anna Nicole Smith. Throughout Demons, Dusty’s musical accomplishments are overshadowed by accounts of her bizarre behavior and unconventional lifestyle. The authors trot out numerous accounts of Dusty throwing dinnerware and cutting herself before revealing that she was diagnosed as manic depressive. Many of these numbingly repetitive episodes serve no purpose other than to support the authors’ pop psychology analysis, that Dusty’s behavior was her way of dealing with “chaotic … psychic pain.”

Dusty’s contributions to pop music are incidental to the story the authors try to tell, which focuses far more extensively on her sexuality than on her accomplishments. It seems likely that anyone who would seek out a biography of Dusty Springfield would be more interested in reading about her singing a duet of “Mockingbird” with Jimi Hendrix (on her BBC TV show), for example, than with the names of the gay clubs she played late in her career. There are some revealing anecdotes, such as the encounter with Buddy Rich that gained her a reputation as a “difficult” performer, but far too few. Late in the book, there are brief references to her “fine” R&B record collection (which she sold to Graham Nash) and to her perfectionism in the studio. These tantalizing glimpses into the singer’s personal and professional life only make the reader more aware of the book’s shortcomings.

There are allegedly better books on Dusty Springfield out there, and it’s always possible that one of her confidants will pen a revealing biography doesn’t lose sight of why the singer is so revered. Dancing With Demons, though, despite an author named Valentine, is no love letter.

[Bonus JAG blab: I recently read a reference to this book, and author Penny Valentine, in an interview with Andrew Loog Oldham. As I recall (which is usually dimly), Oldham disparages the book, saying something like “at least Penny Valentine acknowledges being Dusty’s friend,” and suggesting the lack of objectivity that goes along with that. So if someone like Oldham, who was there, finds this account lacking, I’m not surprised it seems so deficient.
Just so you know where I stand on, you know, deficiencies.]

Dream Lovers: The Magnificent Shattered Lives of Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee by Dodd Darin and Maxine Paetro [AMG Rating: 6]
Reading Dream Lovers feels like having a somewhat hysterical stranger tell you his life story. It is compelling, yet disturbing, in both content and the way it’s told. In this unusual tell-all, Dodd Darin makes numerous shameful revelations about his celebrity parents, Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee, and others in his family, not to shock readers, but ostensibly to sort out his own feelings about them. Darin is apologetic about airing the family’s secrets and faults, reflecting on how his parents would feel reading his disclosures. Ultimately, though, the principal “shattered life” Darin is concerned about is his own.

Darin takes an unsettlingly familiar tone with his readers, often leading to the unsettling sensation that he is speaking to close friends or dictating to his diary. While this personal approach may have been therapeutic for him, it makes for uncomfortable reading and a clumsy narrative flow. It doesn’t help that the story is often moved forward by reminiscences (indicated by long passages of italic text) from friends, family members, and professional associates of Darin and Dee. The harsh criticism of Bobby Darin from his sister, Vee, in particular, indicates that Dodd isn’t the only family member with conflicted feelings about the late singer.

Although the Dee-Darin marriage was brief, it is central to Dream Lovers. The characters and situations could have been drawn from the work of James M. Cain or Tennessee Williams. Bobby Cassotto Darin was raised never knowing his father’s identity, believing his mother was his sister, and always aware of a heart condition he thought would kill him by age 30. Sandra (Dee) Douvan was raised by a stifling, dysfunctional mother who may have willingly overlooked her husband’s sexual abuse of Sandra. The couple’s youth—he was 24, she was 16 when they married—and disastrous family backgrounds ensured drama and tragedy, and Dream Lovers delivers plenty of both.

While the Dee-Darin story is fascinating and obscure, the way it’s told will leave readers wondering if dragging such skeletons out of the closet is ever justified, no matter how therapeutic it may be for the author.

Dumb Angel: The Life and Music of Dennis Wilson by Adam Webb [AMG Rating = 6]
Despite good looks and a lifestyle that exemplified the Beach Boys’ image, Dennis Wilson was part of the group only at his mother’s insistence. He was a rudimentary drummer who played on only a few of the group’s records, and his vocal contributions were overshadowed by brother Brian’s soaring falsetto and cousin Mike Love's lead voice and front-man antics. And yet, it was Dennis’ emergence as a songwriter that helped the group craft some of its best work, like 1970’s Sunflower, an album critics have compared favorably to the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper's.

Adam Webb attempts to make a case for Dennis Wilson as the “Surf City Soul” of the Beach Boys, their initial inspiration and the champion of their integrity after Brian’s retreat from the band. Dumb Angel, however, is biographically sketchy and more enthusiastic than insightful in examining often transcendent music. Webb devotes too much space to material that has been better presented elsewhere—such as the lengthy chapter on Wilson’s relationship with Charles Manson—and making specious comparisons between Wilson’s music and that of Lou Reed and Big Star. (In fact, Alex Chilton’s name is dropped as often as Carl Wilson’s, Dennis’ brother and fellow Beach Boy.) Even Steven Gaines’ much maligned Heroes and Villains offers a better overview of Dennis Wilson’s life and career.

Webb’s statement that “Dennis Wilson had dreamt the Beach Boys into existence” is a nice sentiment, but one that overlooks the fact that Dennis was part of the band only as an afterthought. Good intentioned as Webb may be, his admiration for Wilson’s music doesn’t translate into a worthwhile addition to the Beach Boy’s history. Overall, Dumb Angel has the feel of liner notes barely expanded to book length.

Get Back: The Unauthorized Chronicle of the Beatles’ Let It Be Disaster by Doug Sulpy and Ray Schweighardt [AMG Rating: 7]
If the Beatles’ obvious disintegration in the film Let It Be seems depressing, consider what authors Sulpy and Schweighardt went through in researching this book: they listened to every available bit of tape from twenty days’ worth of recording done for the project.
The authors list and describe hundreds of attempts at rehearsing and recording material originally intended for a live performance, although many of the listed titles are either very brief (many running only a few seconds) or formless jams.

The overall picture of the band is discouraging and unflattering. Presumably because the book is not authorized by the Beatles, none of them (or anyone else) is directly quoted; the authors only describe what is said over the course of the sessions. As a result, what could have been a fascinating “fly on the wall” documentary often reads like a paraphrase of court transcripts. This drawback is likely to limit the book’s appeal to a wide audience.

Still, those familiar with the Beatles’ history may be interested to learn that the band was aware of their decline and that they weren’t disciplined or motivated enough to stop it. When Harrison cites manager Brian Epstein’s death as a turning point, McCartney points out the pessimism that has crept into the band since then, calling it a “chore” to be a Beatle by 1969. They marvel at how the same band that produced Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band could be so sloppy and unproductive just two years later. Also apparent is the extent to which Lennon has already opted out of the band, contributing few songs, generally letting Ono speak for him, and shrugging off the possibility that Harrison may permanently leave the band.

Despite the band’s hostility and disarray, there are lighter moments chronicled here, such as the discussion of cover versions of their material and the pleasure they take in playing old rock and roll. Verbatim quotes would be especially welcome in the segments where the Beatles are enjoying each other and their music. As it is, Get Back is more useful as a reference book than a documentary.

Happy [insert appropriate retail holiday]!

Many Americans will not be at work or school on February 18, due to something called "Presidents' Day." Back in my school days, we observed George Washington's birthday, although I don't recall that we had a day off school in observance.
(In those harsh and primitive times, of course, school holidays were few and far-between: a full day off for Christmas, early dismissal on Thanksgiving, after a special luncheon of turkey log and cranberry Jell-o with celery bits. That was it!)

It is tempting to beat the dead horse here about the prevalence of national holidays and the attendant opportunities for bargain shopping. And to sour grape about how unfair it is to those of us who will be going to work rather than to red tag sales.

Instead, let me suggest a new national holiday, Citizen's Day, when the president and Congress -- heck, let's just make it all elected and appointed officials -- work for us while we take the day off. Including, especially, those employed in retail.

George Washington's Birthday Mixtape . . . someone on the radio this morning was talking about Washington's favorite music, and mentioned something along the lines of Successful Campaign or Independence Cotillion or How Great O Thou Republic!
Anyone who's ever been asked to put together a "desert island" list of favorite music, books, or films, though, has to wonder if those aren't just the songs our first U.S. president felt that he had to cite as preferred or superior.

What about the "guilty pleasures"? Shouldn't one's favorite works of art also be those that elicit pleasure? (Why must we be "guilty" if they are "pleasures"? Discuss.)

Think about it. Do you truly believe that every top rock music critic considers The Velvet Underground & Nico, Neutral Milk Hotel's In An Aeroplane Over the Sea, and Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica to be indispensable castaway listening?
Maybe.
Had every critic who claimed to need Big Star's Third l.p. to live actually owned it, Alex Chilton wouldn't be playing Box Tops medleys at Holiday Inns these days; as it is, you could barely build a raft with the copies sold. Or so it seems to me.

There's certainly nothing wrong with having sophisticated tastes or preferences in popular arts that are unconventional, and you would not be the first to suggest that my skepticism is due to my inability to appreciate challenging art. Perhaps I can only appreciate junk culture and enjoy trying to bring others down to my level.

Still, I think that most pop music critics, if they were being honest, facing an existence of splitting coconuts and conversing with a volleyball, would choose top ten Motown over proto-fusion Miles Davis.

And I'd like to think George Washington cut loose to The Brandywine and Lord Howe's Jig once in a while.*

* All the song titles mentioned in connection with our first president, above, come
from George Washington: A Biography in Social Dance, by Kate Van Winkle Keller
and Charles Cyril Hendrickson, not from my imagination. No, it is not on my
desert island list.

Easy To Swallow C*pl*ts

It is appropriate to the Valentine's season that my thoughts turn to a long, somewhat tumultuous, mutually unsatisfying relationship.
All Music Guide and me.

Over ten years ago, I started writing short music reviews for AMG, but I was most attracted to the opportunity to review books when they announced that as a major initiative. Most of the music I've reviewed for them has been old (from the 70's, primarily) and lesser-known-to-obscure.

Since then, they've abandoned the book review initiative and have alienated a number of their long-time freelancers. "Work for hire" writers should certainly be realistic in their expectations in these professional relationships. Still, the blatant commodification and neglect ... as I said, it's appropriate for them to come to mind during the Val's Day season!

No idea how many of these old reviews are still on the AMG site. I see my stuff as often on commercial sites and music blogs as on their site.

My hope here is to counteract some of the lousy karma of the whole thing by raising your interest in some of these albums, and make an effort to hear them.

Mystic Moods Orchestra: Mystic Moods Country [1972] AMG Rating = 6
The Mystic Moods Orchestra’s concept of overlaying easy listening music with sound effects may have been inspired by a DJ’s prank, but this studio group built an entire, improbable career on that formula. Their atmospheric, low-impact renditions of make-out standards such as “Love Is Blue,” on albums with titles like Erogenous, were state-of-the-art seduction music of their day.

In a departure from their “stormy night” albums, the (misleadingly titled) Mystic Moods Country surveys an odd assortment of folk and protest-light songs from the late 60’s and early 70’s. The closest they come to an actual country song, in fact, is Joe South’s “Don’t It Make You Want To Go Home.” Other than that, the Orchestra applies its soft-focus approach to songs by, or closely associated with Bob Dylan, the Byrds, Donovan, Harry Nilsson—even Bobby Darin’s denim-wearing days are represented with “Simple Song of Freedom.”

And while Country uses plenty of the Mystic Moods’ signature sound effects, the effects on this album are often startling rather than soothing. On the opening track, “Elusive Butterfly of Love,” the frenzied crickets’ chirping sounds more panicked than amorous. Later, the croaking of bullfrogs shatters any prospect of romance. Despite the usual relaxed tempos and cushy arrangements, the choice of sound effects throughout the album almost comes across as self-parodic.

Mystic Moods music was a unique sub-genre of bachelor pad music. With Mystic Moods Country, the songs have all the sharp edges removed, in typical Mystic Moods Orchestra fashion, only with obtrusive animal noises added. A unique entry in the Mystic Moods’ catalog, it has to be one of the most misguided “romance” albums ever.

Procol Harum: Broken Barricades [1971] AMG Rating = 8
Building on the more guitar-oriented sound of the previous year’s release, Home, Broken Barricades is Procol Harum’s most mainstream rock album. Guitarist Robin Trower plays an unprecedented role in the album’s sound, his last with Procol before leaving to form his own band. He contributes nearly as many songs as does pianist Gary Brooker, including “Song For A Dreamer,” which foreshadows the contemplative Hendrix-influenced style so prominent on his solo albums, and his guitar often dominates the material he didn’t write; his work on the opening song, Brooker and Reed’s formidable “Simple Sister,” features interplay between electric guitar and orchestra as powerful as any in rock and roll.

Apart from that, most of the album finds the band augmented only by tasteful synthesizer work (as on the title track) or a blowzy horn section (“Playmate Of The Mouth”), if at all. Drummer B.J. Wilson is given plenty of room in the mix to showcase his solid, inventive drumming, contributing greatly to the album’s punchy sound. It was their best-sounding studio album to date, and showed each member of the band to their best advantage.

With its single-length songs and strong guitar presence, Broken Barricades could have been the blueprint for a new sound for the band. With Trower’s departure for a successful solo career, however, Procol Harum wound up falling back on the more ornate sound of their earlier albums. This would be Trower’s last recording with the band for another 20 years, until the reunion album, Prodigal Stranger (1991).

Flash Cadillac & The Continental Kids: Sons Of The Beaches [1975] AMG Rating = 8
For their third album, Flash Cadillac masterfully recreates the breezy California pop of the mid-60’s. Beach Boys comparisons are inevitable, especially given that they open the album with an expert cover of “Summer Means Fun,” originally recorded by Bruce Johnston, a Beach Boy himself, and sometimes Beach Boy producer, Terry Melcher. They also manage two satisfying Beach Boys homages with the original (Kris Moe) compositions that follow it, “Time Will Tell” and “It’s A Summer Night.” “It’s A Summer Night” may be the pinnacle of Flash Cadillac’s recording career, with outstanding vocal and instrumental work by the group, set against flawless 60’s production values.

Two tracks by Hondell Richard Burns--the oldie “Come On Let’s Go” and a new song, “Good Times, Rock & Roll”--fit into the program nicely. Another Moe original, “I Wish You’d Dance,” brings some sparkle to the album’s second side, but “It’s Hard (To Break The Ice)” is bland, and the closing “Rock and Roll Menace” is pointless and dull. With a few more top-quality tunes, this album could’ve been a 10. As it is, Sons Of The Beaches is a refreshing, well-executed evocation of a golden age of pop songwriting and record making.

(After more than two decades out of print, the Varese Sarabande label issued Sons... on CD, for the first time, in 2000. The CD adds two versions of the single, "Did You Boogie (With Your Baby)," the first featuring legendary d.j., Wolfman Jack; their sparkling cover of Roy Wood's "See My Baby Jive"; and that single's flipside, "Brown Water." Along with the informative liner notes, the crisp, clean remastering makes the CD a must for fans of well-executed, 60's style pop.)

[Stupid me. A few months ago, I started to get a huge spike in comments on my blog posts--anything over zero being huge--and thought maybe I was being read and should start posting to this blog more often. Turns out they were ALL spam, ads, and links to malware sites, attracted by my post titles that included words like "c*plets" . . . as I said, stupid me.]

Playing for Keeps: Battle of the Bands Live!

Rock and roll has been around long enough now to have developed its own traditions. ‎Some, we could do nicely without — drum solo, I’m looking at you! Several of the early ‎rock traditions that have disappeared over the years, though, are true losses and none ‎more so than the live album.

Of course, plenty of live concert recordings, audio and video, are released every year, ‎with increasingly-sophisticated enhancements like 7.1 (and counting) surround sound and ‎hi-def resolution. And while studio sweetening has long been a mainstay of live ‎recording, the out-of-tune bass on Steppenwolf Live and Morrison blowing out his throat ‎on the Doors’ Absolutely Live are the kinds of authentic concert moments that make live ‎rock and roll so exciting and unpredictable, and which would never make it onto a ‎contemporary live album.

Another rock and roll institution that has nearly disappeared is the battle of the bands. ‎Beginning about five minutes after the Beatles first appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show, ‎kids started bugging their parents for electric guitars and drum kits. Soon after that, it was ‎common for even small communities to have several rock combos—with names like The ‎Dukes and The Elements of Time—competing for the few available gigs at area high ‎schools, church basements, and teen hangouts. This was the environment that led some ‎enterprising individual to invent an ingenious means of providing entertainment for the ‎kids, performance opportunities for the musicians, and some modest admission fees for the ‎promoters.

Battle of the Bands Live! (from the wonderful Collectables label) is as close as you can ‎come to reliving those band competitions that were fixtures of the local music scene ‎across America throughout the 60s and early 70s. Unlike Hollywood’s depiction of the ‎‎“typical” American high school rock n’ roll dance, this CD offers an unvarnished, vérité ‎version that’s as raw and immediate as the best documentary film.

Over the course of 22 tracks, The Outcasts, The Stingrays, and The Apollos blast through ‎short sets, comprised mainly of mid-60s rock standards. While the setting isn’t identified, ‎the recording is low-fi to the extreme, almost as if it was made using the bulky tape ‎recorder that ordinarily played the national anthem over the school PA each morning, and ‎the gray, plastic mic the principle used to read the daily announcements and lunch menu.

The lack of 21st century high-fidelity is what makes Battle of the Bands Live! so genuine; ‎short of building a time machine, this is as close as you will get to experiencing a classic ‎rock and roll throwdown. And the disc more than compensates for lousy sound with its ‎authenticity. In contrast to today’s freeze-dried, computer-assisted perfection in “live” ‎performances, the bands’ punky energy and exuberance are as refreshing as an ice-cold ‎glass of Bosco.

Like on their swaggering take on “Dirty Water” when The Apollos’ singer daringly ‎spouts off about how he “can take a shower with my baby and walk around”! The same ‎guy also takes some entertaining stabs at the lyrics on a three-song mini-set of Animals ‎covers—such as “sweatin’ ‘round, at my command” (“It’s My Life”) and something that ‎sounds like “don’t you know that no allow can always be natured” (“Don’t Let Me Be ‎Misunderstood”)—because, man, it’s a hassle to suss out the right words off the record! ‎And it wasn’t like you could look them up on the Internet.

There’s much more to the appeal of Battle than the lack of polish, of course. Looking at ‎the track list, you may wonder why, apart from the improvised lyrics and asides, you ‎would possibly want to hear yet another version of many of selections here. But The ‎Outcasts’ snappy take on “Louie Louie,” for instance, actually sounds fresh with the ‎addition of their vocal harmonies. Strong group vocals also rejuvenate worn-out ‎standards like “Little Latin Lupe Lu” and lend polish to The Stingrays’ “Eight Days a ‎Week.”

What may be most unexpected is (holy manzarek!) how often the combo organ players ‎get to the front of the mix for solos and fills. It’s been a long time since bands included ‎the distinctive sounds of Farfisa’s and Vox’s instead of a generic digital “keyboard,” and ‎the combo organ-grinding here is a welcome sound.

If anything, the degree of professionalism these three bands display is the only aspect which may not be truly representative of the typical battle of the bands. One band member ‎even refers to making a demo. At most of these “battles,” you would have had a better ‎chance of hearing Marty McFly on lead guitar than a band that had seen the inside of a ‎studio. Still, this disc provides a glimpse of the career path that wasn’t entirely ‎improbable back then, when a band could rise to regional prominence, get a recording ‎contract, and be professional musicians, at least for a while.

Most participants in these battles, however, never cut demos, never signed record deals, ‎and probably never realistically aspired to any glory much greater than besting the other ‎rec-room rockers they competed against. For them, a night like the one captured on Battle ‎of the Bands Live! was the stuff of local legend and lifelong bragging rights. Although ‎The Stingrays express the hope that “we can do something with” their original, “If She ‎Were Mine,” it was The Outcasts who later records a single (“I’m In Pittsburgh and It’s ‎Raining”) that has realized impressive longevity by appearing on garage-psych ‎anthologies such as the first Pebbles volume. Otherwise, it’s safe to assume that the ‎performances on this disc, which someone thought enough of to not only record, but also ‎to preserve all these years, were career high points.

Given the ongoing American Idol-ization of popular music, it is more important than ever ‎that upcoming young musicians get to hear what actual amateurs sound like performing ‎genuine rock and roll, without any sweetening, enhancement, or retakes. Imagine how ‎disillusioned the pioneering rockers of the 50’s and 60’s would have been if TV then had ‎been so saturated with the glossy airbrushed perfection of most of today’s “live” music ‎performances.

So, while it may seem ludicrous to hunt down a definitively low-fi CD of obscure cover ‎bands from forty years ago (or to read a few hundred words extolling its virtues), Battle ‎of the Bands Live! is nothing less than an artifact of a time, long past, when a group of ‎neighborhood kids with some talent had the chance to perform, and maybe even get a ‎shot at the Big Time.‎