Happy 71st birthday Bob Dylan. I remember seeing you and Joan at Club 47 in Harvard Sq in the mid-60s when we were all young and adorable. I was never much of a fan because you were weren’t political enough for my tastes, but I must say I got a lot of good use out of your tune “Lay Lady Lay.”
For old times’ sake we went to see your very expensive concert in the Boston area a couple of years ago. The sound sucked big-time, the music was muddy – we couldn’t distinguish one song from another, you mostly kept your back to the audience, and you never addressed a single word to us. Everyone says, “Well that’s Bob. He’s moody.” That’s not the word I would use (more like arrogant prick), but I won’t argue on your birthday.
It’s hard to understand your life choice to perpetually tour when you seem to resent performing so much. You yourself have explained it this way: “A lot of people can't stand touring but to me it's like breathing. I do it because I'm driven to do it.”
My best Dylan experience by far happened at the home in Rome of my friend Sergio. He lived in a modernized ancient building (the one on the left in the photo) overlooking the Trevi Fountain. He suggested that we dine on his balcony while watching the Americans throw their coins in the water. I have something to play you, he said, and put on Time Out of Mind. It was definitely my favorite album of yours since the old days, despite your voice going down the crapper. Happy birthday – you’ve been in my life a very long time, for better or for worse.
Here’s a recording of Till I Fell in Love with You (Time Out of Mind)
If it wasn’t for my young friend Rachel Hock, the Artistic Associate of the theatre company “Liars & Believers” – (last year they were called “Performance Lab”) – I probably would not be traipsing down to the Boston Center for the Arts, where one is forced to pay a wad for parking because it is a public transportation black hole.
But I digress, Artistic Director Jason Slavick seems to enjoy taking classic texts and turn them into something you can dance to. Last year this company put on the very entertaining “Le Cabaret Grimm – a punk cabaret fairy tale (sans faires)” as their premiere production.
This season’s production is “Song of Songs: A Love Romp” based on the Biblical text. The development process of this theatre company is collaborative – they seem to build their cast and team first, throw in the fine compositions of Nathan Leigh and then all dive in with their youthful creativity. Slavick codifies and refines the work, and out comes the performance. This reminds me, in fact, of the process used by the British director Mike Leigh.
But I digress once more. Although this text is from a religious anthology (ie, the Bible), the musical is secular indeed – if love can be considered secular. An animated (and funny) young woman is talking on her cellphone to her best boy-pal about her crush on a guy at school (while her mother texts her from the living room to ask if she is doing her homework). An unexpected package arrives from the boy she likes and it is a record album called “Song of Songs.” She puts it on her phonograph and the music catapults her into a dream world of love.
First, two women work out their lover relationship. Then a straight man stomps through his romantic life. A playful guy uses a biblical-looking puppet to advance his advances. It is an opera of love, with interplay all around.
I wasn’t always certain of the narrative, not the least because the young woman at the center, the dreamer, is filled with a speechless angst and I was uncertain of the source. Her dream personality is very different than her lively excitement in the opening and closing scenes – when she finally gets together with her crush – that bracket the meat of the play.
The five young actors are each talented, skilled and appealing and their energy never flags. The score is fabulous. Dance intertwines with singing, all supported by an impressive four-piece band using guitar, cello, trumpet and percussion (not only drums, but a plastic suitcase, a typewriter and a box of elbow macaroni!) This is a fresh Boston company theatre lovers will want to keep an eye on. The show is playing until June 18th. More info here.
Phoebe Snow hit the jackpot with her 1974 album and so did her fans. When I heard her incomparable voice and her unforgettable songs, she became a major part of the soundtrack of my life. The drawing of her on her first album cover combined with her amazing sound convinced a lot of folks that she was Black – we all just assumed it at first and of course we couldn’t Google in those days. There was something cool about the widespread ambiguity over her race. It turns out she was a Jewish girl from New Jersey with a natural Jewish ‘fro.
That throaty bluesy voice and those complex heartfelt songs were always swirling around my mind. According to the LA Times, her original musical dream was to be a guitarist.
"I always wanted to be the greatest woman guitarist alive," she told The Times in 1976. "I had fantasies about being a female Jimi Hendrix. I would go to his concerts and watch all the things he did. But I guess I just wasn't meant to be a superstar guitarist."
Taking guitar lessons affected her singing style.
"I finally said, 'I can't play these guitar lines but maybe I can sing them.' I tried to sing the way a guitar sounds and the way a saxophone sounds too."
She made the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine and was headed for the big-time, despite her unglamorous looks and allergy to slinky posturing. And then her daughter Valerie Rose Laub was born in 1975 with severe brain damage. Phoebe made what she said was the only choice she really had and more or less retired from public life to take care of Valerie. Not for the year. Not for the decade. But for the 31 years of Valerie’s life. She treasured the time the two of them were together. Valerie died in 2007 and Phoebe jumped right back into performing.
She brought out a “The Very Best of…” collection which I bought on my first visit to the town of Woodstock with my wonderful friend Victoria. I remember it was pouring, but having heard on the radio that the CD was out, I ran down the street when I spied a record store. I never buy things new and I never pay full retail price, but I did that time and it was one of my most worthwhile purchases ever. I’ve played that CD as often as my Marvin Gaye and Willie Nelson. My absolutely favorite cut is “Teach me Tonight” – it’s got an ecstatic intensity that I can’t help screaming along to. (Couldn’t find a YouTube clip of her performing it, but you can find an audio online.)
When I read that she was appearing at one of those community theatres an hour’s drive from Boston, I bought tickets and ran. It was a performance I will never forget. She was just getting her stage chops back in shape. She talked a bit about her “special needs child” (if I recall, she didn’t get specific about her gender). And she sang a glorious mix of her own amazing songs and some classics.
For a couple of years when I was dancing with my dear friend, Anne, we chose Phoebe’s “All Over” for our occasion performances of a Bossanova routine. It’s a velvety, intimate and sensual dance – just like Phoebe’s music. How painful to lose her.
Only today did I find out that in January, 2010, Phoebe suffered a brain hemorrhage and never recovered. She died today.
Here are a couple of clips of her work - not my very favorites, but the best I could locate.
This is "Either or Both" - during her "come-back."
Phoebe Snow and Linda Ronstadt doing "It's in His Kiss" and dancing a cha-cha together towards the end.
Jimmy Cliff is as adorable as an inexhaustible freedom fighter can be. He delivers his political messages with an irresistible smile. The minute he said how happy he was to be in Lowell, Massachusetts, but pronouncing it with a sexy interpretation as “low WELL”, he won my heart as he has done each time I’ve seen him live. The last time was decades ago, when I was visiting from my home abroad and my friend Stan got tickets for Cliff’s Boston Esplanade concert.
I thank Jimmy Cliff, too, for introducing me to the Lowell Summer Music Series. For 21 years this National Park project has built a reputation of bringing, as their tagline says, “great artists” to their “extraordinary venue” Boarding House Park. Over the years they’ve presented hundreds of musicians, including Martha Reeves & the Vandellas, Ani Defranco, Joan Baez, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Taj Mahal, Arlo Guthrie, the Neville Brothers and the Drifters. I’m just picking out the musicians of my generation – there is something for everyone throughout each annual series.
In fact, although he was just inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame this summer and was one of the first international Reggae stars, I was amazed at how many people I know who never heard of Jimmy Cliff (or only vaguely remembered him.) After all, he was the star of the greatest Reggae movie ever made: The Harder They Come. And the soundtrack of that is definitely part of the soundtrack of my life.
Here’s a clip from the film of Jimmy singing the title song:
Always socially conscious, Jimmy Cliff gave a shout-out to the people of Louisiana, to cheers from the crowd. He also gave his seminal anti-war song “Vietnam” a pertinent new twist – he has adapted it to the contemporary “Vietnam” by substituting “Afghanistan” in the lyric. Luckily, someone with the handle NHRASTA posted clips from the Saturday night concert on YouTube and kindly gave me permission to use this one so that you could enjoy it too.
Lowell Summer Music Series is a very special 21-year-old, founded as a project of the Lowell Historic Preservation Commission, which in 1978 created the Boarding House Park (see below) in which the concerts are held. I know this because I called John Marciano, the Lowell Summer Series Director since 2004 and the talent buyer.
He had provided the backstory, the ground rules and the intro on the night of the concert which, due to rain, had been moved into the high school auditorium. It was brilliantly organized: downstairs was for everyone who wanted to stand and dance; the balcony was for sitting and watching. The seats were comfortable and there were so many season-ticket holders around us festival newbies, that we had lots of baby-sitters and care-takers. In turn, we could tell them about Jimmy Cliff – they didn’t have a clue who he was.
Onstage, Marciano had enthusiasm enough for all of us and it was infectious. I was impressed with the collaborative effort all of Lowell seemed to be making to keep this series alive when so many music festivals have failed, not the least in this horrid economic climate. (Of course Lowell, once at the front of industrialization, has long been trying to cope with the end of American industry.) This is all the more impressive because there hasn’t been government money for the Series for nearly 20 years.
But the high school donates the auditorium on rain days; the National Parks authority gives the park venue and pays Marciano’s salary; the University of Massachusetts Lowell provides work-study employees; and one of the sponsors ensures that kids under 12 can get in free. That’s good news for those many blues-loving Canadians, Marciano tells me, who bring their children to Lowell when there are blues musicians on the program – because generally the blues can only be heard in bars.
We strolled around Lowell between saving our seats when the doors opened at 5:30 (and simply putting a program over the back of the chair was universally respected) and the start of the brilliant concert two hours later. From the beautiful old stone church to a yuppy-fied, restaurant-rich city center, we could feel how hard Lowell was working to keep itself livable. (At left: Portuguese mill girls in Lowell). Altogether the evening was groovalicious, Jimmy Cliff was a never-resting bounce of talent and Lowell was a lovely host.
I recently reviewed new albums by two old favorites of mine: Willie Nelson's "Country Music" and Carole King's “The Essential Carole King.” The reviews appeared on Edge Publications and I'll just give you the opening paragraphs. In case you are a fan, click over to the reviews themselves.
With his gut string acoustic guitar, much-admired vocal phrasing and top-notch country back-up band, Willie Nelson has joined with legendary producer T Bone Burnett - a fellow Texan - to create “Country Music.” It is surprising that as a country performer who has recorded over 100 albums, he insists that this is his first bluegrass album (according to the country music website cmt.com).
Later, I talk about his rendition of "Gotta Walk Alone":
At 77, Willie Nelson’s voice retains that unique quality that caresses and growls at you, while molding the bars with his own finesse. Nowhere is that more engaging than on the cut "Gotta Walk Alone." For a man who has spent most of his life on the road on tour and living in his bus - leaving behind his four wives and nine children - it sums up the way he endures:
It’s a long and lonesome road; I’ve got to walk alone. Don’t know where. Don’t even care. I just keep walkin’ on and on.
This recently-released double-CD reminds listeners of why Carole King is one of the most highly respected singer-songwriters in the business. One disc contains her own recordings of 18 songs she wrote. The other disc gives us 15 songs by artists whose careers were enhanced by their opportunity to record a Carole King creation.
As a writer, King’s songs - often done in collaboration with Gerry Goffin (they were married for a period of time) - have remained standards in a number of genres from R&B to pop. As part of the stable of songwriters working for Don Kirshner’s Aldon Music in the legendary Brill Building in NYC, she fed a plethora of singers their hits. From The Shirelles’ "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" in 1959 to "Just Once in My Life" the 1965 hit for the Righteous Brothers to Aretha Franklin’s 1967 hit "A Natural Woman," King has proven herself to be one of the most successful musicians of the last century.
For me Carole King is a flash from the past so it is wonderful to see that her present tour with James Taylor is such a huge success. Willie Nelson, on the other hand, is someone I’ve been consistenly following for a very long time. In fact, I just blogged about him going on Larry King’s show stoned a couple of weeks ago.
It’s all over the news that Willie Nelson – stoned – is on Larry King Live tonight. In this clip, below, he answers King’s voyeuristically excited questions about smoking. I don’t know about you but for perhaps the 2nd or 3rd time in my life, I’ll be watching Larry King this evening.
Willie Nelson: how do I love you? Let me count the ways. The last time I saw Willie live –2001 if I recall correctly – I was knocked out by his unassuming attitude and his sense of equity. Some aging stars – like Tom Jones – are used to getting women’s knickers thrown towards them on-stage. At the show I saw, women walked their undies down the aisle to hand them to Willie and he in turn removed an item of his own – like the red scarf around his forehead or a hat – to offer them something in exchange.
I love Willie’s battles with the authorities, his open dope love and his exquisite voice. I love that for decades he has been touring with his older sister Bobbie, who accompanies him on piano. He continues, at 77, to tour, record and do fundraisers.
Why do I love him? Oh those braids! I was always a sucker for braids.
Willie is no hypocrite and he’s no chilled-out stoner: he’s an activist. He’s worked for NORML (National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws) for many years and is a trustee of the Dayton International Peace Museum. He’s been involved in environmental struggles for decades, is a mainstay of FarmAid, and is one of the key investors in a bio-diesel company.
I found out on Wikipedia that Willie was a passionate supporter of Dennis Kucinich’s primary campaign. “In January 2008, Nelson filed suit against the Texas Democratic Party. Nelson alleges that the party violated the First and Fourteenth Amendments of the United States Constitution when it refused to allow co-plaintiff Dennis Kucinich to appear on the primary ballot because he had scratched out part of the loyalty oath on his application.[12]”
But most urgently, there’s his music – his voice and his guitar. Check out both on this lovely clip of “Funny How Time Slips Away.”
Willie is not slowing down. There’s Willie’s 2006 song release: "Cowboys Are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other,” his musical push for gay rights (see the clip below). He had earlier become an AIDs activist after losing a close friend. In 2007 he founded the “Willie Nelson Peace Research Institute.”
Here’s his "Cowboys Are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other,” put to some Brokeback Mountain footage, as I couldn’t find any decent footage of Willie singing these amazing lyrics. (Click on the youtube link)
All around us in the Wang Theater, the buzz was building. About 20 minutes later than the concert had been scheduled to begin, those in the front rows started screaming. The wave of adulation as he came out on the stage was profound and heartfelt. What kind of impact, I wondered, would a steady diet of that degree of fan-love do to the mind of an entertainer?
In Bob Dylan’s case, it seems to have made him… well, a rude and parsimonious performer. His musical styles may have changed over the decades, but not his attitude towards his audiences. Perhaps he’s of the “treat them mean; keep them keen” persuasion. He certainly wasn’t going to give us any sense that he was happy to see us, too. No, he was going to ignore us, never speak one word to us, never show the slightest emotion, excitement or passion.
My partner had surprised me with tickets to the Bob Dylan concert this weekend. I used to see him in the ‘60s at Club 47, an intimate basement folk club in Harvard Square. He was a curly-haired, rosy-cheeked lad in those days – and taciturn even then.
Here at the Wang, we sat in the center of the orchestra section. Luckily I had brought the Russian opera glasses that had been a present from my late friend Nina.
But what a bummer. The sound sucked. It was like a wall of noise, making every song a bit of a homogeneous jumble. Dylan’s band had been so highly praised that I was expecting music, not mud. Other than “Lay Lady Lay,” – which I really liked – Dylan’s reinterpretations of favorites turned them into a comfort-food-like sameness that was, at the same time, quintessential Dylan, for when we could hear it, that gravelly rasp gave it all a familiarity.
His show is very professional – even slick. There’s not a spontaneous moment, not a glance towards the audience or a lead-in anecdote to any song. There is only the playlist.
The set-up of the stage is calculated to isolate Dylan and the band from the audience. The band is spread across the stage, in a kind of rising semi-circle (the drummer is at the apex) with Dylan to the audience’s right. All the instruments and mikes are set in Dylan’s direction and the band members rarely look at anything but Dylan. They are a function of him – even when they’re doing a solo. It’s aimed to him, never to us. Not a one of them is having fun. There is no smile, ever. It is an especially dour group of white boys.
Dylan is crazy skinny, but dressed up and dapper in a hat, fancy shirt, dark vest and jacket. He stands with a certain elegant grace and while his movements are subtle and diminutive, they are also cool. When he’s not on an electric keyboard (most often) or guitar (a few times), he stands with his legs apart, knees slightly bent, feet parallel, and gesticulates with a muted version of crooner gestures, opening his arms wide, pointing his finger.
After each song, the lights go down. They huddle in the dark and decide on the next composition and are back in their places when the lights go up – all the musicians riveted on Dylan. They are supposed to play for 2 ¼ hours, but they play for 1 ¾ hours. It is enough for me. They don’t do an encore, but by the end of this cold, alienating set, the audience of multiple generations is no longer quite so adoring.
Here is a clip from a different town a few days earlier this week on their tour. His style is the same and the music is just as muddy. People paid big bucks in these hard times to see him, but he wouldn’t give us a thing. Not love. Not recognition. Very little nostalgia. Not a modicum of clarity in the music. It was a demonstration of constipated rote. My question: Why is the man touring when he obviously dislikes his work?
Motown (along with Doo Wop) has been the soundtrack of my life. It’s the 50th anniversary of the founding of Motown and I have been lost in YouTube-ville digging out my favorites. I’d love to serve you up a dozen clips, but I’ve controlled myself. Here are three that are meaningful for me.
DUSTY AND MARTHA Dusty Springfield was a brilliant British talent, tortured by the need to hide her lesbian sexuality. A white convent girl from small-town England, her biographer Lucy O’Brien wrote of her: “In true diva style, she had a succession of wigs that she named Cilla, Sandie and Lulu, and a host of gay fans who appreciated the fact that she modeled herself on drag queens. During a Gay Liberation march in the late 1960s, for instance, about 20 gay men led the parade dressed up as Dusty.”
Martha Reeves, of Martha and the Vandellas (“Dancing in the Street”) was a brilliant Motown artist who became very close to Dusty. As one of the top-selling Motown groups (1963-72), Dusty admired them from afar. The feeling was mutual. Wikipedia reminds us that, “Martha often cites her performance highlights as one being a performance with Vandellas worshiper, Brit soul singer Dusty Springfield, on the UK show, Ready, Steady, Go!”
Here is a clip (3:06) from that loving performance:
GLADYS KNIGHT AND THE PIPS After I moved to California in 1972, I got to see Gladys Knight and the Pips (1953-89) live a number of times. I was mesmerized by her backup singers, the Pips: her brother Merald "Bubba" Knight and their cousins Edward Patten and William Guest. As an old Doo Wop freak without much of a voice, I always identified with the backup dancers. Few were slicker than the Pips and I imagined myself in those matching white or rhinestone suits doing the steps with the other guys. It was like my favorite cross-dressing sexual fantasy.
Here’s a clip (5:29) from a 1972 performance for “Save the Children” that shows some of those fine shuffles:
MARVIN GAYE
Finally, I have been a life-long Marvin Gaye fan. Besides the moisture-producing sensuality of his music, especially all those astounding duets with Kim Weston, Mary Wells and most of all Tammi Terrell, Marvin was a brave political innovator whose number one Motown ranking helped him fight to break Motown’s restrictions. His anti-war “What’s Going On,” his urban critique "Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)" and his sexual liberation song “Sexual Healing” cut new ground. But I have played Marvin’s “Let’s Get it On” in almost every seduction scene I’ve mounted since he brought it out in 1973.
Marvin had his demons – he wrestled with drugs and sexuality. In 1984 Marvin Gaye’s fundamentalist father murdered him (don’t get me started). Here he is (6:26) in 1980 at the Montreux Jazz Festival:
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