Your Mind Is On Vacation..

And Your Mouth Is Working Overtime by Mose Allison.

I clipped this song to title a prior post describing Republican antics last week. Mose Allison is 81 and still touring. He's been on "The List" for years.

"The List" requires some explanation. My start in the music industry came before I got my driver's license. 30 years later I've easily been to over 1,000 gigs/shows/musical performances.

Believe you me. It's not all fun & games. Understand when you work in the "industry," you are required to endure any number of acts whether you like it or not. Certain bands, usually those you work with directly and their tour mates, you hear over & over & over again. You begin to hear them in your sleep.

After the Foresters went thru a terrible 3 years (car accident, TBI, lost bigstupidmusicbiz job, seizures , 9/11 WTC collapse (rocked our building), hospital merry-go-round et al), we fully grasped life's transitory nature. A pact was made: We'd make an extra effort to catch select musical greats for our first time before they either died or dissolved the band. iants, for some reason or other, we've just never seen live.

"The List" was born.
(All-time #1 lister Bo Diddley post w/more "List"specs)

Currently Mose Allison tops the "List". Mose first came to my attention thru The Who's ferocious, stone-cold classic cover of "Young Man Blues" off Live At Leeds. (The Who here & The Foos there). Few years later I stumbled across "Your Mind Is On Vacation." I was hooked.

I'm in good company. Mose's music influenced artists from The Rolling Stones, John Mayall, Eric Clapton, J.J. Cale, Jeff Beck & even The Pixies who paid tribute via "Allison" on Bossanova. The true tale of the tape is told by culling through Allison tunes as done by dozens of devotees...

The Yardbirds, and The Misunderstood interpreted "I'm Not Talking". The Clash laid down "Look Here" for Sandinista!). Leon Russell got "Smashed!". Elvis Costello hit "Everybody's Cryin' Mercy" (Kojak Variety) & "Your Mind Is On Vacation" (King of America Rhino re-issue bonus disc). Van Morrison released an entire album(!) Tell Me Something: The Songs of Mose Allison.

One of his songs in particular, "Parchman Farm", inspired scads of versions. As a result it's Mose's best known track. Parchman Farm, the infamous Mississippi prison, located in the county adjacent to Allison's birthplace. It looms so large in regional culture as to require elaboration.

Those once incarcerated at Parchman Farm include Elvis' dad, Stokely Carmichael, dozens of Freedom Riders. BBC doc subject Edward Earl Johnson was executed there. William Faulkner, August Wilson & John Grisham's works prominently feature the former plantation. Delta blues titans Son House (shot a guy in the leg), Bukka White (murder) and a passel of lesser bluesmen were jailed there too. White was recorded there by Alan Lomax in '39 and wrote "Parchman Farm Blues" upon his release.

For his Parchman Farm", Moses Allison's taps into his inner Faulkner. It's a chilling prisoner's story told first-person POV style . It's compelled covers by Blue Cheer, The Blues Image (of "Ride Captain Ride" fame), Blues Project, Cactus, folkster Michael Chapman, Chris Spedding, Hot Tuna, Ray Condo, Rick Derringer, Georgie Fame, The Kingston Trio, John Mayall, Johnny Winter, Bobby Gentry and others.

I just learned 81 year-old Mose Allison plays The Jazz Standard in NYC March 13, 14, 15 & 16 -- two shows each night!!!

I can't wait.

-AF
*Late Atlantic Records' producer Jerry Wexler called Mose Allison "The William Faukner of Southern Blues.""

The Great Lost Gem of "Brit Pop"

Cast's "Alright"*

"Brit Pop." How I hated that word. But then again I've always been against labeling or pigeonholing. Unless I was tired or lazy and grasping for shorthand to explain a band's sound or milieu. When the "Brit Pop" flash in the pan that gave rise to Oasis and validated Blur is now examined some dozen years on, Cast invariably gets short shrift.

What a mistake! I'll gladly put All Change track for track up against any other "Brit Pop" release out in 1995. Pulp. Suede. Oasis. Supergrass. Blur. (OK, maybe not Elastica because I still hold a major unrequited crush on Justine Frischmann -- pay no mind). Cast's John Leckie-produced debut sounds great today.

I spent a lotta time with Cast on their first US tours. Being Liverpudlians, it was like hanging out with the Beatles' kids. I spent so much one-on-one time with the band over that stretch that by the time they headed home I had picked up their dialect's trademark lilt. It wore off, not in a fortnight, but in about in ten days time.

I don't have to try very hard to I hear John Power, in the Back of My Mind, saying, "Anacher, la..."

-AF
*Those brilliant fuckers at Universal still won't allow video embeds.

It's Over

I've worked on this for a couple days 'cuz I'm positively bereft. Yet another dagger is thrust into the heart of my youth.

I'm a reasonably rational person. I realize as I grow older beacons of my formative years will inevitably dim or die out altogether. But I was not prepared to bid adieu to Out of Town News.

It may be a National Landmark but to call Out of Town News such is to tag the Pyramids a pile of rocks. (Similarly, I believed OOTN to be there for eternity -- Wrong-em Boyo.) Few "landmarks" impact our daily lives. I lived on the NYC waterfront for 13 years. I can tell you with certainty nobody gives a rat's ass about Grant's Tomb.

To quote the great sage Homer [Simpson], "But I digest." **burp**

Out of Town News was an icon. It was a cultural institution. It was a genuine meeting place.⁺ It defined Harvard Square. Hell, it was the heartbeat of The Square. So much so that OOTN is featured prominently Harvard Square's Wikipedia page, get it now kiddies?

As the Page Fucking 1(!) Boston Globe story tells it:

John Kenneth Galbraith bought a copy of Le Monde there every day. Julia Child searched for obscure Italian and German cooking magazines, and Robert Frost once stopped by - it actually was a snowy evening - to get directions to a reading. Over the years, pretty much anyone looking for news from far and near, be they eminent professors or the masses rushing to work on the Red Line, found it at Out of Town News.

Yes, Out of Town News was that important. Seattle Weekly pinpoints it as the newsstand where Microsoft founder Paul Allen picked up Popular Electronics, had his eureka moment and ran to find Bill Gates. (I hear they both did pretty well after that). Name me any other kiosk to reach this millennium that boasts such a diverse and occasionally historic constituency? Stop now because you can't.

Hub Arts' Joel Brown, whose father used to work there, nails it:

Out Of Town News was second only to Harvard in securing the Square's reputation as an international crossroads of learning and weirdness. You could get anything there, and it was a great relief to many that the newsstand survived the various "improvements" to the Square over the years. It maintained an eclectic clientele even as most of the Square's once-eccentric businesses gave way to the toxic blandness of chain retailing. Now it will probably turn into a f*ing Starbucks. This is heinous news. At least Charlie's Kitchen still serves a cheap martini.

True dat. Even though (and later because) I lived at the very opposite end of the Red Line, I frequented Harvard Square. My mother brought me there early on to experience that "international crossroads of learning and weirdness." Still in elementary school, my first unchaperoned trip on The T was to Harvard Square. (I think we got banned from The Coop -- maybe that was later on). Regardless, it was impossible to go to Harvard Square without a glimpse of OOTN.

Now I'm certainly not a John Kenneth Galbraith, Paul Allen or Robert Frost (I swing more Julia Child-like w/o the dress. Natch.), but Out of Town News played an important role in the ongoing development of my musical sensibilities. When I ventured from the 'burbs to "The Square" to taste its "weirdness",⁺⁺ I could pick Melody Maker and NME without the ball-breaking double-back to the original Newbury Comics. OOTN was also a Ticketron outlet.

This was key. Back in the day, tickets weren't electronically printed at a terminal as you bought them. Concert tickets were much smaller. Unlike today's generic tickets replete with bar codes, old school tix had a color and maybe a font distinctive to each show. Tickets for every seat at every concert were printed ahead of time. Just before on-sale tickets were physically distributed to various individual ticket outlets. Very quaint, I know.

Most music fans preferred the closer, Boston proper ticket outlets. They hit Out of Town as a last resort once the good seats were gone in town. Armed with this knowledge (gleaned from extensive trial & error), I'd split school for a short ride on the old Mattapan trolleys to Dorchester's Ashmont Station. From there it was a long trip to the end of the Red Line, Harvard. I'd pop out of the station, grab some of the best seats available in all of Boston (maybe a Brit music mag or two) and hop a train to the bus back to my safe suburban home. It was ritual.

I rarely wasted time with The Orpheum⁺⁺⁺ box office. It was Out of Town where I bought my tix to see The Clash London Calling Tour (3/9/80), Devo Freedom of Choice Tour (7/17/80 - a veritable sauna & 17th row floor!!), Pretenders (5/81 - original line-up & The Jim Carroll Band too!), U2 October Tour (11/14/81 - 3rd row balcony⁺⁺⁺⁺), The Jam The Gift Tour (5/20/82 - 1st row balcony!)...I could go on and on.

**Sigh**

I'm not alone in my despair.

Out of Town News tributes pour in here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.

-AF

⁺Countless hordes of people have said to one another, "Meet me at Out of Town News."
⁺⁺In this context probably means smoking pot -- Shocking I know.
⁺⁺⁺For Boston-area high school kids (underage by definition), The Orpheum was the prime place to see our heroes. Boston's best club, The Paradise was impossible to sneak into tho' we did get for an early R.E.M. show.
⁺⁺⁺⁺The first rows of The Orpheum balcony were fave seats -- unobstructed view and still surprisingly close to the band.

Woke Up Feeling Some Cynical Today

I'll shake it off before lunchtime. After all, it is my birthday. 'Til then it's...

The Godfathers - "Birth, School, Work, Death"*

Been turned around till I'm upside down
Been all at sea until I've drowned
And I've felt torture, I've felt pain
Just like that film with Michael Caine*
I've been abused and I've been confused
And I've kissed Margaret Thatcher's shoes
And I been high and I been low
And I don't know where to go

Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death

(Sony fucked me on the embed. Watch the clip here).

Although diminutive in stature, guitarist Kris Dollimore makes a big noise -- searing stuff. One of the most extraordinary players I've ever known. His "BSWD" riffs & leads cut like a hot knife through butter. Singer Peter Coyne spits, spews and snarls. The rock solid rhythm section kicks up a racket. Super-sonic genius the late Vic Maile (Live at Leeds, the seminal Ace of Spades, Guns 'n Roses EP -- everybody from The Vibrators to Hendrix) puts it down on tape. Rarely does perfection sound so furious.

I caught one of the 'fathers' first US gigs on a Sunday nite at T.T. the Bears'. Maybe 20 people joined me. They were touring to support their debut Hit By Hit. Man, they were awesome. ("This Damn Nation" fucking slew me!) This band had the chops. They had the songs. They had the look down pat: gangster suits, skinny ties & haircuts to match. Nice guys as well. The Godfathers weren't at all dark as their music.

Sadly, The Godfathers landed 5-10 years too soon. Their smart, bleak, crunchy brand of rock was out of step with a nascent rave culture. I did my job by making 'em big in Boston. Like played on KISS 108 big. Elsewhere most folks were scared to spin it on-air.

The Godfathers were a great, great band while they lasted.

-AF
* Initial import pressings of "BSWD" 12" came in a nifty black shopping bag.
**I'm kicking myself for never asking which film. Get Carter would be in keeping with The Godfathers' image, I think they're referring to The Man Who Would Be King.
----------------
Now playing: The Godfathers - Birth, School, Work, Death

Let There Be Rock

The Mighty AC/DC - "Rock 'N' Roll Train"
(From last Sunday's final tour rehearsal)*

Along with 2997 people I've never met, I was privileged to catch AC/DC's final US Tour dress rehearsal in Wilkes-Barre. It was outstanding. I've now seen AC/DC concerts in three different decades. God, I'm old. Take a gander at this VIP pass pic while I take my medicine...






















OK, I'm back and fresher than ever. It may surprise you to learn that before I heard punk, I mean really heard punk, I was a suburban heavy metal kid. That's just the way it was back in der '70s. It was the law. And no one did the heavy metal boogie better harder or better than these Aussies.

Putting their muscianship aside, and make no mistake about it they are all exceptional musicians, AC/DC is a band like no other. They exist in a state of suspended adolescence and do so unrepentantly. You'll find the AC/DC v.08 little changed from the AC/DC of 1998 or 1988 or since I first saw them on Dec. 25, 1981. And that's a very good thing.

Now about that muscianship. Anchored by Cliff Williams' chugging bass Phil Rudd's pounding drums and Brother Malcolm's archetypal rhythm guitar, AC/DC the band is tight as balls. Brian Johnson chimes in with his patented growl. (Has there ever been a more clutch performance in rock history as when Johnson replaced the recently deceased Bon Scott only to write⁺ the bulk of & record the iconic Back In Black in a just few months time?)

And then there's Angus.

Sure, Angus is only 85% as spastic as he was back in the day. (He's 53 for chrissake). But even at 85%, Angus is 200% more spastic than anyone else out there. He remains a guitarist nonpareil too. His playing is fluid, his picking is crisp and his Scots folk-inspired pull-off arpeggios are a wonder to behold.

If the hard rock is your thang, you owe it to yourself to catch this AC/DC tour. You never know how much longer they will keep on kickin' it. Oh, and their stage production is completely over-the-fuckin'-top too.

-AF

Soon Come: We rewind to 1991 with an AC/DC edition of Uncle Anacher's Punk Rock Tales in which yours truly meets the band.

*I meant to post this Monday but the week quickly got out of hand.
⁺In the tireless Bon Scott vs. Brian Johnson debate there are those who believe Bon Scott wrote the bulk of Back In Black before he died. Johnson has long laid claim to the majority of the lyrics, most notably "You Shook Me All Night Long", without the band correcting him. This alone would lead me to believe him. Plus I know for a fact that out of respect AD/DC ditched any and all new Bon Scott tunes to start anew with new singer Brian Johnson.

Bad Religion "Infected"

You gotta love a band that names themselves "Bad Religion" and kicks off their debut album with the likes of "We're Only Gonna Die from Our Own Arrogance." "Infected" is an all-time great song from what I believe is BR's best, most consistent record album. Ace Andy Wallace production too. This will have to tide me over until I find my copy of Stranger Than Fiction. Get yours here.

Some twenty years-and-change ago, in my incarnation as commercial Radio Boy v. 2.0, I spent much time kicking against the pricks. As the station's Music Director, I had to deal all record company representatives. There was a certain unbelievably obnoxious & totally relentless VP/Promotion from a label that shall go unnamed (hint: rhymes with bArista). He wouldn't stop jamming me (and I do mean jamming me) to play records songs that there was no fucking way we were ever going to play.

I was new in the job so I tried my hardest to be patient and polite. One day, I had had enough. During an especially exasperating conversation about some particularly foul piece of AOR fodder, I snapped at bArista Records' VP of National Promotion:

Me:"I don't know how to get it through to you, we're not that kind of radio station. Fer chrissakes I played The fucking Wipers' "When It's Over" on-the-air last nite! Ever heard of them?"

VP: "Did you know that I was the original drummer for Bad Religion?"
Me: "Get the fuck out! Really?"
VP: "Really"
Me: "Then why are we even having this conversation?"

We had reached an understanding. VP was only mildly obnoxious from then on out.

When I last ran into him he was a helluva lot more mellow. Ex-VP had an absolutely stunning Brazilian or Argentinian girlfriend on his arm and had started his own alt-Latin company. I had never seen him happier. How could he be not?

More on The Wipers soon come.

-AF

I Awake

"Woke up depressed..." These words describe the way I feel at least once a week. Waking up already profoundly depressed makes my daily battle with depression that much harder. It's not a fair fight. Waaaaaah! How do you beat back an enemy that hits so hard before you've opened your eyes? You just keep on fighting.

Enough of my whining, let's talk music. I first saw Soundgarden January 21, 1990 on what I remember as the "Blizzard of Sound" tour (although I can't find any reference to a tour by that name via the Google nor can I easily place my hands on my scrapbook). "Astronomy Domine"-period Voivod (Note to all bands: if you feel absolutely compelled to cover the dread Pink Floyd please make it a Syd song) and the Mike Patton-led Faith No More rounded out the bill.

Having religiously listened to my Louder Than Love advance CD (picture disc. Natch.) for six months, I had high hopes for the 'Garden. A chance run-in with guitarist extraordinaire Kim Thayill at dinner whetted my appetite. A wickedly funny guy, Kim showed no compunction in telling an unbelievably off-color joke in the company of someone he had only just met. I liked him immediately.

With two other "co-headliners on the bill, Soundgarden wasted no time getting down to business. "Flower", the churning first track from their debut album, kicked off the set. They segued neatly into Chris Cornell's Adhan-like wailing intro to "Hands All Over."

As the band's first truly great song, "HAO" is ostensibly about the damage we do to Mother Earth (hence the widely misunderstood "kill your mother" chorus). But it digs deeper than that. Given a listen nearly twenty years later Cornell's lyrics are downright prescient:

Hands all over the eastern border
You know what? I think we’re falling
From composure
Hands all over western culture
Ruffling feathers and turning eagles into vultures

"Gun", my least fave Soundgarden tune to that point, came next. They quickly got back on track with the towering "Loud Love", the jackhammer-subtle-but-all-the-better-
'cuz-of-it "Get On The Snake" and the hysterically funny "Full On Kevin's Mom" (think Robert Plant fronting Black Flag). Then came a transcendent "I Awake" followed by the "Big Bottom"/"Earache My Eye" medley. (If they were going to go all ironic and silly on me, I would have greatly preferred hearing the far better "Big Dumb Sex"). The Sabbath-cum-Zeppelin stylings of "Beyond The Wheel" was the closer.

I saw Soundgarden a few times after that night. While later on they had better songs and musicians, sometimes your first time seeing a band is the best time. This was one of those times.

-AF

PS Jason Everman was Soundgarden's bassist for this tour replacing founding member Hiro Yamamoto. Everman has the dubious unfortunate distinction of having quit(!?!) Nirvana and being fired from Soundgarden. He exited both bands immediately prior to the recording of breakthrough albums Nevermind and Badmotorfinger.

Now that's something to be depressed about.

Uncle Anacher's Punk Rock Tales: Johnny Rotten, Part 1

Public Image Ltd.'s signature song "Public Image."

The first time I interviewed Johnny Rotten was an experience to remember. It was **shudder** just over twenty-two years ago. Solely by virtue of his reputation, Johnny cuts an imposing figure. And I was in NYC for the first time as an adult. I was nervous as hell. For my own personal consumption, I had brought a modest quantity of high-powered herb. It was going to have to be enough. For unlike most people, pot calmed me down and helped me focus.

When we first met at his record co.'s HQ, Johnny was positively resplendent in what was without a doubt the loudest, custom-tailored no less, red plaid suit I have ever seen. I mean it was screaming. As far as this suit was concerned, Dicky Barrett and the rest of The Bosstones had nothing on Johnny. (An aside: I almost came to blows once with Dicky's older brother, Billy, over the music selection at one of our many high school graduation parties. That's a story for another time perhaps.)

Anyway, at about 11:00 AM, Johnny was drinking Beck's. We gave each other the once-over, glanced around the big stupid corporate conference room. I complimented him on his togs. I put down my tiny professional cassette recorder. We both chuckled at the absurdity of this scene.

There was, at least for me, a bit of weirdness in that Johnny was in the middle of his "I'm-not-Johnny-Rotten-
I'm-John-Lydon" phase. Still, the interview went surprisingly well. I was well-versed on all the outstanding musicians with whom he had collaborated. Johnny warmed to me. By the time we wrapped up, I had the distinct feeling that this was one his better chats of this particular press junket.

To put a capper this day, Johnny's wife Nora burst in. Looking for all the world like a twisted version of the St. Pauli Girl (right down to the long braids), she was a sight to behold. It wasn't until I returned from NYC that I realized Nora is Ari Up's mom. Oh yeah, she's also the heiress to the Beck's Beer fortune hence Johnny's brew of choice.

I took Amtrak home later that afternoon. I had barely enough of my stash left to enjoy a quick bowl on the New Haven platform whilst the electric locomotive was swapped for diesel. I arrived home both exhausted and exhilarated. I wish I still had that interview tape. It's long, long gone.

Recounting this story seals it. My next audio adventure is to digitize my Metal Box vinyl. They can master it for CD nine ways to Sunday and it will never sound as good as it does on wax. The occasional bit o' scratchiness just lends it more character.

-AF

Talking To The Taxman About Poetry

I was one of the first people in the US to play Billy Bragg on the radio. I later met him on his first American tour. I found Billy to an extremely personable guy with a somewhat incongruous passion for pro wrestling. "Greetings To The New Brunette" is from his major label debut the name of which is one of the best album titles ever and provides the title to this post. When I charted this record at #1 at my first commercial radio gig, Billy was on tour in Europe. He sent me a thank you note. I still have it.

Get yer tax stuff done folks.

-AF
+FYI: the fine folks at Red Eye released the Billy Bragg Volume I & Volume II box sets about a year and a half ago. The remastering job is amazing

Uncle Anacher's Punk Rock Tales: The Clash, Vol. 1

"White Man In Hammersmith Palais" March 8, 1980.*

Those who know me from my parents to my past and present neighbors' dogs are well aware of my decades long Clash obsession. I was always the music guy. The Clash tossed my musical world on its ass.

Back in 1979 I was 15 years old and in a band that was more what I now know as pub rock than punk rock. My band played all originals at real gigs in the city in real clubs. We usually $6-$10 apiece -- enough to cover gas money and a slice of pizza or two on the way home. Already an outsider in high school, this made me a somewhat of any alien. It was just the way I liked it.

That Halloween we played an elaborate costume party in my home town. (I'm saving that story for the movie). I met an outgoing, friendly lass in my grade there who was exactly one month younger than I. Our common bond was music. I was immediately smitten.

She soon lent me the Americanized version of The Clash sans lyric sheet. Dropping the needle on the record I was immediately hooked by the raw, powerful guitars but bewildered by Joe Strummer's heavily accented barking then incoherent to my ears. Fer chrissakes I was already well familiar with, and at least could understand, The Ramones! We frequently covered Road To Ruin's "I Just Wanna Have Something To Do" at band practice.

I listened to The Clash again and again. I started to pick out two or three words in every sentence. What I little I comprehended was radical and compelling -- plus I needed to be able to discuss The Clash with my new friend. (Ha!) By the 10th time through I was completely hooked. My life was forever changed.

It never did nor ever would have worked out between my friend and I. I'm totally cool with that. I'm not the type that pines for any "love lost" that never was. Until we both moved once too many times, we kept in touch for 15 years or so. Still, I'd like to speak with her again if only to remind her I owe her a huge debt of gratitude for an album lent almost 30 years ago.

-AF
*Exactly one night before I saw 'em at Boston's Orpheum Theater.

Uncle Anacher's Punk Rock Tales: Beck

OK, so in 1994 a new band I was working with played a radio station festival. At said festival a young Beck Hansen was playing his first big show outside LA. Mellow Gold had just been released. If I remember correctly, I ingested half a hit of high quality acid – Hey, I wasn’t driving. It added a nice lil' sparkle to the festivities.

Beck’s band trotted out to a rousing ovation. Their stage clothes and in some cases their hair were adorned with selections from their backstage deli and crudités platters. An original, inventive and highly charged 45 minute set followed. Sadly, the crowd expected “Loser” parts deux through douze. Beck left the stage to a polite smattering of applause while most of the 1500 present were just plain confused. I was one of the smatterers.

Later I found myself standing next to Beck. I struck up a conversation with him. Now this is not something I normally do. I’m not big on bugging musicians I don’t work with, who don’t know me and to whom I haven’t been introduced. Beck looked bummed. So that night I made an exception.

I told him how and why I was impressed by his set. Beck's crisis of confidence was revealed in his reply, “They didn’t get it.” I countered with “Some people take this shit way too fucking seriously.” I smiled, bid him adieu and walked away.

The rest as they say is history.

-AF

I Wanna Riot of My Own

The only band that matters' performs their debut single,"White Riot", at the 1978 Rock Against Racism* concert, Victoria Park. Rude Boy was a bit crap but it did have brilliant Clash footage. When it first played the art houses, I was in high school/college.** I vividly remember my teenage girlfriend freaking out a bit at the bathroom bj scene which was not very graphic by today's standards. It's funny. In comparison to the teens of today, time and space have somehow made my punk rock youth look positively Victorian.

Rude Boy was finally released here on DVD about a year ago.

-AF

*"Rock Against Racism" conjures up fond memories of the long defunct WBCN/Boston Sunday morning radio of the same name. It featured everything from punk, reggae and the blues. The host's patter i.e. dubbing Peter Tosh the "right reverend of reggae" was a lodestar. Now if I could only remember his friggin' name!

**Long story. I split high school halfway thru my senior year. A neat trick if you can pull it
off. I highly recommend it.

++3/17/08 Update & FYI: Just so there's no misunderstanding... Joe Strummer's lyrics are a pledge solidarity with London's black community after he and his band mate Paul Simonon got caught up in 1976's Notting Hill Carnival riot.

I Say He's A National Treasure, Schee...

I escaped the bunker last nite to catch Bob Mould's NYC's Irving Plaza* gig. Bob's doing what I am told is his first full-on full band tour in a decade. This time around his band consists of longtime Mould protégé Jason Narduccy on bass (former co-leader of the oh-so-Sugar-y Verbow), Deep Dish bud/remixer extraordinaire/club maven Richard Morel AKA Pink Noise on keys plus fellow former hardcore superstar Brendan Fraser (of the tragically mothballed Fugazi) pounding the skins. How was it you ask?

O-M-F-G.

I think I've seen Bob 10 times in various incarnations over the years -- tho' prolly not in a decade or so. Since Hüsker Dü's '87 drugs/alcohol/ego/tragedy-fueled implosion (I believe the resulting crater can still be seen from space with the nekkid eye), Bob's built an impressive arsenal to call his own. I hadn't paid much attention to all things Bob lately. I hadn't heard his new album. I didn't know who was in his band. I was hopeful but wary. I burnt offerings & mumbled prayers that the gods of sound would favor our cause.

Fuck. Me.

Bob didn't just show up with his best band ever. No sirree. Bob & friends played a veritable fistful of Hüsker hits! Bob & co. dusted off a sixer of Sugar shanties too -- a full fucking half of Copper Blue! In fact, when all was sung and done, Bob's career-spanning 21-song two-encore set featured precisely two songs(!) from the brandy new District Line. (An aside to Mrs. Forester: You may be right. "Miniature Parade" is growin' on me).

I was woefully unprepared for this onslaught of Mouldy-goodness. If I had known, I would have packed a spare pair of skivvies. They would've come in handy 'cuz The Bobster gang roared relentlessly through a main set consummated by a deuce off HüDü's New Day Rising: "I Apologize" bursted into "Celebrated Summer". It veered on pleasantly overwhelming for all, Bob included.

Know this. Once upon a time -- I'm talking waaaaay back when Bob & I both still had little hair -- we chatted a coupla times at shows and during at least one interview. I found Bob to be not so very dour after all. Listening to his music you'd never know it. For this reluctant godfather of emo's mainstay is tapping into rage and sadness at their most primal levels. By its very nature the Bob Mould Concert Experience doesn't lend itself to witty on-stage banter, rock star smirks, collective group hugs and the like.

So as we basked in his reconnection with the cream of his canon, I was amused to catch intense ole Bob repeatedly & consciously catching himself right before he cracked a grin. And why the hell not grin? Those of us not on-stage were all in and went all-out from the sec he broke out "A Good Idea" at song #2. Together we forged our way thru 14 more angst-filled anthems 'til we reached that terribly rarefied spot where performer and performees simultaneously strike the Catharsis city limits. And we hadn't even made it to the goddamn encores!

Alas, the show's best moment kicked off its last: the first wig flipping chords to HüDü's "Makes No Sense At All". Walking off-stage Bob was visibly moved and seemingly shocked at our fervent gratitude for his gift. With the last note still ringing in our ears, we spilled into the streets our hearts full and our energies spent.

Shorter version: If Bob Mould is booked in your town by any means necessary GO! If he isn't, fer chrissakes get your ass to somewhere he is playing. It'll be good for your soul but bad for your ears.

-AF

Buy Bob Mould solo here. Workbook is 100% ASIAF-approved.
Buy Sugar here. Copper Blue is 100% ASIAF-approved.
Buy Hüsker Dü here. All but the first two are 100% ASIAF-approved. If I hadda pick just three I'd hafta snag New Day Rising, Zen Arcade and Candy Apple Grey.

*Note: I refuse to call Irving Plaza by any other name. Who in the name of Bill Graham's great ghost came up with this bright idea? The one and only NYC rock 'n' roll Fillmore, The Fillmore East, was 11 fucking blocks away in a completely different neighborhood! Live Nation's marketing dopes are tripping (and at least in their mid-60s) if they truly believe the "Fillmore" brand has a speck of name cachet with their core customers or anyone else after a 35-year absence.

All who do remember the real Fillmore - East should be be offended by this corporate identity theft. But then again they'd at best go to Irving Plaza a scant handful of times in their lives. No name change will make them attend more frequently. Calling the joint Hitler's Haus wouldn't keep them from queuing up for a dwindling chance to see Dylan, Santana or Dolly in club setting either.

++++Update: I cribbed last nite's set list from Palimpset & sprinkled lil' discog bits on it...

"The Act We Act" – Copper Blue – Sugar
"A Good Idea" – Copper Blue – Sugar
"I Hate Alternative Rock" – Bob Mould – solo
"See a Little Light" – Workbook – solo
"Hoover Dam" – Copper Blue – Sugar
"I Am Vision, I Am Sound" – Body of Song – solo
"Hanging Tree" – Black Sheets of Rain – solo
"Miniature Parade" – District Line – solo
"Your Favorite Thing" – File Under Easy Listening – Sugar
"Again and Again" – District Line – solo
"Circles" – Body of Song – solo
"Paralyzed" – Body of Song – solo
"Can’t Help You Anymore" – Copper Blue – Sugar
"I Apologize" – New Day Rising – HüDü
"Celebrated Summer" – New Day Rising – HüDü
"Divide and Conquer" – Flip Your Wig – HüDü

Encore #1
"Moving Trucks" – Last Dog and Pony Show – solo
"Egoverride" – Bob Mould – solo
"If I Can’t Change Your Mind" – Copper Blue – Sugar

Encore #2
"Chartered Trips" – Zen Arcade – HüDü
"Makes No Sense at All" – Flip Your Wig – HüDü

On The Road

I'll try to post whenever possible. In the meantime, there's always music.

I tend to get hung up on specific songs. Really hung up on certain songs. Sometimes it's for days or weeks. Sometimes it's for decades. "Temptation" is one of my "decades" tunes. I recently ran across my original 7" while going through my old vinyl.

I had quite the Love/Hate relationship with New Order. Love their music. Absolutely hated their live show. I had a serious case of bias based on my initial experience.

My first, and nearly last, New Order "concert" was the infamous August 2, 1985 gig at Boston's Opera House. It the band came on-stage over an hour late. New Order played 10 mostly obscure songs* -- not just refusing requests shouted out between songs but also taunting the audience too i.e. "We're not gonna play that one". Bernard went so far as to blow his nose into his mic repeatedly during "Everything's Gone Green."

The sound was awful. The "hits" nearly unrecognizable. No "Love Vigilantes." No "Your Silent Face." No "Dreams Never End." No "Confusion." No "Temptation." No encores. The band couldn't have cared less.

I left as the crowd began their riot. In '85, $18 was an exorbitant price to pay for such abuse. A decade later I worked with a surprisingly charming Peter Hook who was genuinely ashamed and appalled when reminded of this incident. (Apparently the New Order Opera House show had interrupted a bit of a band drug binge). In my experience, Hooky's shows with Monaco were professional affairs. A few nights bordered on the sublime.

A stellar studio group and consummate singles act, New Order should be forgiven for their past on-stage sins. (I know I would line up for a reunion gig). "Temptation" was their first great A-side. This "Temptation" has New Order live at the Beeb's Radio One.

Nice shorts Barney!

AF

*New Order Opera House Boston, MA-- August 2, 1985 set list:
The Perfect Kiss
Sooner Than You Think
Everything's Gone Green
Subculture
As It Is When It Was (obscurity with a version available on Retro)
Leave Me Alone
Thieves Like Us
Weirdo (early pre-Brotherhood version)
Face Up
Age Of Consent
Blue Monday

Happiness Is A Warm Gun?

I worked on a post for the entire afternoon. Best thing I've written in ages. One false key stroke and BANG! Gone forever. No return. I'm sick over it.

In times like these I've habitually turned to music's power to make everything alright (at least until the end of the song and as long as I'm the one picking it. Ha!) This is one of those times.

Marc Ribot is the best, most unique guitar player most of us have heard plenty yet never heard of. I first saw him play sometime in a fuzzy part of the last century when the Lounge Lizards were still going strong. Ribot has worked with a veritable smörgåsbord of uncompromising artists: Tom Waits (Rain Dogs), Elvis Costello (Spike), T-Bone Burnett (many projects), Marianne Faithfull, Solomon Burke (Soul Alive!), Cibo Matto, Feotus, David Sylvain, DJ Logic, John Zorn…Ribot is a also big fan of Albert Ayler as am I (“Witches and Devils”, anyone?). Here’s Marc Ribot’s take on the Beatles classic:



I really, really, really wanted the Breeders’ Tanya Donnelly version but no luck. Aside from her obvious gender-bending take on this Fab Four ditty. I admit I adore all things Tanya: Throwing Muses, The Breeders, Belly and, well, Tanya Donnelly herself…though not in that creepy-guy-living-in-
his-parent’s-basement-whittling-animals-in-the-dark-to-
send-to-her-management-company-while-silently-screaming-
every-word-to-“Feed-The-Tree”. Nope. That's not me. No, I haven’t talked to her in a long while but I first met Tanya at the dawn of her career. (I'm absolutely certain I have an original Doghouse cassette tucked away somewhere here in the bunker).

Here's Tanya inna in-store stylee:










Tanya is sweet, super-talented and a real trooper. I remember Belly once performing a special sound check show for their fans despite the fact she was sick as a dog. She has earned my highest possible compliment: Tanya has paved the way and continues to pave the way for so many (especially but not limited to female) artists to follow. Her first band Throwing Muses wrote the book on twisting tempos, weird chord structures and abstract but still highly personal lyrics. All of this written from a female and subtly feminist perspective. No Muses no Ani. No kidding. 'Nuff said.

Visit Tanya's Slumberland website. Buy Tanya's music: TD, Belly, Breeder’s, Throwing Muses. Catch her live if you can. Once you have, don't thank me. Thank Tanya instead.

AF

More Songs About Buildings And Greed

The music industry is reminiscent of a B-movie thug bleeding out from a belly wound who refuses medical treatment lest he get thrown in the slammer. The main difference is that the music biz's wounds are entirely self-inflicted. These wounds were caused not only by unprecedented stupidity but also by unprecedented greed. A bold statement given our subject but hear me out. It wasn't enough for the label honchos to fill their coffers to overflowing with found money re-selling their back catalog as music buyers converted their vinyl faves to CD.* They had to overcharge for new releases too.

I recall an extremely frustrating and somewhat bizarre conversation with a now former major label president in the mid-90s regarding CD pricing. We were trying to break a completely unknown new artist. The list price was $16.98 with certain stores charging up to $18.98. Competitive artists were selling in the $11.98 to $13.98 range. I asked this prez who ran our distributing label to agree to lower our list by at least $2 and preferably by $4. His verbatim reply: "If they (the consumers) really want it, they'll pay $16.98 for it."** Through persistent lobbying, the list price was eventually lowered. We did break this band after a year-and-a-half single-minded perseverance. No thanks to a certain old school label fat cat their debut sold in excess of 1 million copies.***

Can the music business as we know it survive? Not a chance. There's been decade-long mass exodus of many of the industry's brightest minds. Frustrated by the stupidity, sickened by the greed and tired of jumping from one unstable company to the next, these folks have forsaken their life's passion for relative normalcy. They have rewarding new careers as real estate agents, insurance salesmen, teachers, caterers, software developers, activists, advertising executives, political bloggers, and stock brokers. That's right. Those who could have performed timely surgery necessary to save this wounded beast have long since left it to die on its own.

Some of collateral damage caused as the music industry staggers bleeding into the future has been difficult to swallow. I hate watching old friends and former colleagues lose their jobs. I acutely feel the loss of history and tradition as labels from A&M, Virgin and Polydor (US) to the much maligned, and deservedly so, MCA became mere imprints. (For fuck sake the EMI idiots sold the Capitol Records Tower to be made into condos! Thankfully, the resulting outcry and loss of face forced them to enter into a sale and lease back agreement).

Still I cannot help believe that this may be for the best. We've seen how the music industry historically is highly resistant to change. Their bloated inefficient business model begs to be razed to the ground. Perhaps then and only then will a visionary or three be free to undertake a long overdue industry re-make/remodel.

AF

*Record companies rushed their back catalog CDs out so fast that they didn't bother to master them properly. No worries. A few years later, after much negatively publicity (just two examples here and here) regarding the superior sound of vinyl vs. that of CDs, they re-mastered them and sold them back to us yet again. The re-mastered CDs were then followed by "expanded" or "special anniversary" editions containing B-sides, unreleased tracks, demos, radio spots et al. Those bastards! I can't count how many different CD versions I have of Elvis Costello's This Year's Model alone.

**Music fans' resulting resentment and rejection of this highway robbery were major factors spurring the explosion of "free" MP3 sharing discussed previously.

***For this and our overall unprecedented success, we were rewarded with the equivalent of our long-promised, long-awaited Christmas bonuses...and pink slips. Natch.

Music Biz Still Hemorrhaging From Deadly Self-Inflicted Wound

Former Reprise Records prezzie Howie Klein has a post, How To Destroy A Profitable Industry, over at his wonderful Down With Tyranny. It's his response to this New Yorker piece describing backward Universal Music honcho Doug Morris' ineptitude in dealing with the introduction of MP3 technology almost a decade ago. Howie mentions a key aspect of this equation a key that deserves elaboration. By hemming and hawing (and suing rather than embracing MP3s, record companies alienated an entire generation of young music fans. This is important particularly since teenage consumers traditionally spend a large part of their disposable income on music. At this time they also tend to establish specific buyer behavior that may last at lifetime.

One again the Luddite old school record company presidents foolishly believed that they could bend the marketplace to their will instead of pro-actively responding to the marketplace's demands. The result is a whole generation of music buyers with a deeply ingrained belief that they should always get their music for free. Furthermore, they believe that by not paying for this product, they are striking a blow against the evil, greedy music biz establishment. The same corporate forces that had been suing people just like them.

Once the record companies finally surrendered it was too late. The music industry's belated demand to charge the consumer for mp3s was akin to locking the barn door after the cow was stolen. To make matters worse, they've been spectacularly unsuccessful in convincing these music fans as to why they should pay for music. Just telling people that it's stealing doesn't cut it.

The extent to which this fandango has negatively impacted recording artists has been largely and typically ignored. Without going into mind-numbing specifics, the wholesale distribution of "free" MP3s makes it exponentially harder for musicians to make a living. Any directly related reduction in sales further limits artists' leverage with their record co. as well as the music industry at large. This affects everything from recording budgets, tour plans and radio airplay. These factors may force musicians to compromise their artistic vision in ways hitherto unthought-of of. Thus discouraged an artist could feel compelled to cut their career short before its time.

Wholesale sharing of free downloads can be murder to a developing artist. It can wreak havoc on a new release by an established artist too. A few years back I worked with an artist whose intricate marketing plan was sabotaged by a college kid who somehow got his hands on an advance copy. 125,000 downloads later we were forced to release the album's six weeks earlier than planned. We had to forgo some important set up in the process. This cost us a good third of our projected sales before this album's new street date. Once the album was in stores the lost six weeks of marketing setup cost us dearly too as it's impact was lessened considerably.

AF