Everybody Goes As Far as They Can, Big Star memories

7/11/14 train to Mineola

I’ve been listening to a lot of Big Star lately.  This was the band that influenced REM, The Replacements and so many others.  They were a mythical band which were unheard while they were together.  My Big Star kick started out with the documentary “Nothing Can Hurt Me” which was released a couple of years back.  If you have not seen the movie and are at least curious what the story is behind this influential band; do yourself a favor and watch it.  The band was compared to The Beatles and heralded in Rolling Stone, Creem and other rock magazines back in the early seventies.  There is awareness on some songs to The Fab Four, but Big Star was original.  They created an Americanized mix, a little country twang, check their version of Velvet Underground Femme Fatale. The sound created a buzz within all corners of rock establishment and made their first album a must have classic.  If you have not heard it, the layers of instruments will grip you and give you a ride through various emotions.  The first song of the album, FEEL had Chris Bell singing the lead.  It starts off very slow, plucking power chords and then Bell screams the lyrics.  The choir, “I feel like I am dying!” with the rest of the band backing him up.  Sure it sounds like Beatles in some harmonious parts, but then we’re rocking with a sax and a true authentic jangly American guitar sound.  This sound made the band different from other established rock bands. It drove Chris Bell to perfect the quality of their recording while engineering at Ardent Studios in Memphis. This is where the band originated - but the story of their demise is layered like their sound.  It was a lack of record sales which is a story within itself.  There was a clash of ego, but from the movie’s perception, I don’t think there was the violent fall out, the big conflict, the fists; the rift was mental.  It was created in Chris’s head being jealous that Alex Chilton received most of the attention.  It was Chris’ early departure which could have devastated the band, but they did not go their separate ways.  The second album was a bold departure from the first.  They were a three piece.  Their musical style had changed to a more jazz/folk even a WHO influence.  Their singles September Gurls and Back of a Car are examples of what I am trying to disseminate.  The third album, Third/Sister Lovers was their final.  For some listeners they will hear the sound track of a band breaking up.  Some will say it was Alex Chilton who was breaking apart at the seams.  It was the first Big Star album I heard and I knew it very well by the time I saw Big Star perform their 2009 show in Brooklyn.  It was the last time Alex Chilton performed before his passing early in 2010.  That night in Brooklyn was memorable, there was the slightly intoxicated blur. There were too many Polish beers and not enough food.  The band was tight although I recall Alex kept going back to check on his heavy winter coat which he stored behind one of the amps.  Just a thought, but there was something in one of the pockets he did not want to lose.  Thank you Friends is the second song on Third.  I attended the Third performance at Baruch in New York back in 2011 which had Mike Mills, Michael Stipe, Matthew Sweet and a heck of a lot of others who sang the album in entirely as well as other Big Star covers…some of these songs as well as clips from that last show in Brooklyn are captured in the documentary. There is a brief second when you see me as I am walking out of the auditorium and about to shake Jody Stephen’s hand who stood in the lobby and shook many hands before calling it a night…Nothing can hurt me…Big Black car…to sum it up Big Star never had the opportunity to succeed.  From the movie, there was just a sense of bad luck with the band.  Chris Bell recorded a 45, I am the cosmos, and tragically died at 27.  The original bassist left after the second album.   And to capture the thought are the lines from their song Holocaust, “Everybody goes as far as they can.” (Big Star/Third)

Thank you for reading this.

  

Morrissey Saves The Night on Long Island

What do you mean you’re going to the concert by yourself?  I thought Chris was going?  Mike?  Frank?  Dave?  Shar?  Eric? No, they all couldn’t make it and it was very short notice.  The day of the concert I asked if they’d like to go.  The night before Amanda gave me the look when I mentioned we were going to the concert. What?  You don’t want to go?  Not really, it’s one of those things you get excited about when you first hear of it and then…not really.  I understood.  There is something about getting back into the routine of life, it’s still early in the year and I’ve been back to work for a little over a week.  Amanda is on her college break.  When I saw Morrissey was playing on CW Post, I felt it was a good opportunity to see a local show and an artist I have never seen before.  The Smiths were one of my favorite bands  and I still listen to them from time to time.  See radioHead’s cover of The Smiths on YouTube… going back to my ancient days - I remember Marjorie Eisenberg bringing home their first record and playing on the player in their living room, the wooden floors, the sparse furniture, boxes of matzos in the closet.  The album was on Rough Trade Records, the label was silver and the cover was maroon.  It was sparse as well, but the music captivated me.  We sat in the room and listened to the whole thing after school.  It’s one album and a memory which I will cherish.  I tried to speak to Marjorie yesterday, these days she owns Permanent Records in Brooklyn and I wanted to tell her I was seeing Morrissey.  She wasn’t at work, but the clerk asked if he could help me.  No, I’m a high school friend and I wanted to say hi.  She’ll be back tomorrow.  So I left work later than usual and picked up a vegetarian burrito on account Morrissey is a vegan and a downright activist for the animal rights movement.  I read reviews of other shows.  I should be prepared for a violent anti-meat film which plays on the screen behind the band, while they perform Meat in Murder…Meet your Meat. What was one of the first comments a member of the audience made after the film?  "So does this mean you don't eat eggs?"  Are you serious?  Morrissey shook his head and must have assumed we were all ignorant.  "Why do you care?" He asked her and took the mic back before she could offend him any more.  The scenes in the film were gruesome, but he has me contemplating my next decision for lunch.   I went to the show by myself, parked in the parking lot outside the Tilles Center at CW Post and walked in and down the stairs.  I was surprised by the ancient ages of the audience. I fall with full force into this category.   From speaking to Mike Fallon when the suggestion to  scalp,  “You’d see some despondent fifteen year-old in the parking lot who’s holding up a sign, no one in the world understands me except Morrissey…give him the extra ticket. “  I didn’t see the lad.  There is one song I wanted to hear, Shoplifters of the World…and this was the opening song.  My only weakness is a desperate crime; my only weakness is well…never mind…never mind.  I love that line.  You listen to it and analyze what desperate crimes did he commit?  Shoplifting?  Maybe the song inspired, Wynona Ryder?  Morrissey’s voice was weak at times and in perfect pitch as the set and show progressed.  In fact for most of the set he was on.  He made a comment regarding the break from his last tour, which he called off and now was back.  For the haggard Smith’s fan, there was an eclectic mix of songs.  For the Morrissey worshippers, I confess I did not know each song the band performed, there was the Ouija board song and many others, but I am not an adoring fan, but I can see how one can fall for this performer who adores his fans.  He easily walked from side to side, shaking hands, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants after slipping his hand into a sweaty palm, and taking flowers, receiving hugs and yes, giving hugs from both men and women.  Oh, Mother…I can feel the soil falling gently over my head…his whipped his microphone cord like a whip many times, appearing like a stoic Spanish bull fighter…how often does the performer ask the audience if they have any comments?  He handed the Mic down, and the first comment, can we hear your best New York accent?  He took the mic back and said, Next and handed the Mic to someone else after asking the fan, “Do you know the name of the drummer? Previously, he introduced the band…”No,” was the answer.  At this time there were calls from the audience, I love you Morrissey…” The typical adoration for the demigod on the pulpit.  I was warned to be prepared for a quasi religious experience.  And it happened.  They broke after the set and came back on and Morriseey mentioned not having a tooth brush and sharing it and then the religious episode…the opening of How Soon in Now…and I related to the song so well in my old age.  I am the son and the heir….more fans rushed the stage, a corpulent man who wore bright underwear was hauled off the stage, a boy of 14 with a smile on his face as he ran to the man and handed him a note and a hug…after all of these years I felt strangely the same in the darkness as the lights poured out into the crowd.  So close to the emotions of isolation, the same way when I was younger.   I walked into the Tilles Center on my own and left on my own and went home…but this time I didn’t cry.  I curled up next to my wife who was snoring.  I wanted to tell her everything about the show…

The show was 90 minutes…

Opening act was Kristeen who thanked the twenty of us for being raised properly since we clapped for her.  Her music reminded me of the bands I glazed over, Missing Persons and such.  But she is a solo artist, no need for a band for her.  Kind of makes the argument stand that all those synth bands were not musicians, they were artist who stood on stage and looked pretty under the lights.  Kristeen had an impeccable voice that radiated the room like an opera star.  I hope she plays with a band the next time she swings through and has a dress she doesn’t need to adjust ever second….

There is a set-list on the web for the show:

Shoplifters

Irish Blood

Alma Matters

Still Ill

You’re the one for me fatty

You have Killed me

I’m throwing my arms around Paris

Speedway

Action is my Middle Name

I know it’s over

Ouija Board

Maladjusted

One day Goodbye

The Youngest was the most loved

Meat is Murder

To Give

November spawned a Monster

Sweet Tender Hooligans

Let me Kiss you

How Soon is Now

We Were Promised JetPacks @ Bell House Brooklyn on 9/11/12

Driving into the Brooklyn as night crept up into the sky. Eleven years after the attack. The sky yesterday was clear blue and similar to that morning when we were in a collected shock. Two erect ghostly beams of light shredded into dim stars. This is where we lost loves. This is where souls collected in the city and rose like the lights into heaven. What a difference a night makes for a band. Compared to their performance at Ollie’s Point the night before, We Were Promised Jet Packs kicked it into full gear. This was the last show of a shortened US tour. There was an opening band from Indianapolis and I hope they get someone who can sing instead of a pouting and a somber ho hum murmured clown. A drummer and guitarist and a sound board with licks from the eighties, hey that sounds like The Cure, no sounds like Joy Division, it’s something. No it’s nothing. It was a forgettable opening act. The crowd, roughly three hundred, maybe closer to five hundred by the time We Were Promised Jetpacks walked onto the stage. The Bell House is an open vast venue, tucked in an industrial section of Brooklyn, with two fine bars and a little food section. This place has class; it has chandeliers, cement floors and a dignified crimson curtain. I’d like to get back in there and discover more corners. The band played an extensive set. Adam joked that he didn’t want anyone come up to him after the show and complain why they didn’t play something else. The crowd sang along, screamed out like a chorus of saints. It was amazing to be so close and look back and watch the responses, pumped fists…I’m curious if they are working on their next album. The band has the repudiation for their live shows, but it’s almost a year since they released a new album. I found out last night’s show was being recorded…maybe it’s a live album? I wish Amanda was there. Today she is 18…as I left the venue I pulled a poster promoting the show…a gift for my Mo Cheeks…

Why The Clash were the best fucking band in the world

I wrote a few blogs on REM. Little is mentioned on this blog regarding perhaps my all time favorite band, The Clash. Back in 1978 Tom Snyder had them on, they played sold out shows at Bonds, and the NYFD shut down some of their concerts due to overcrowding. I remember wondering who was this band who made the news in NY, the fans seems like outcasts and radicals. It was as if a riot was erupting since they could not get into the show. On Snyder’s stage were temporarily fiberglass walls. A graffiti artist used them for his work and I remember feeling this is my favorite band. They played Radio Clash. Paul Simenon on bass was a bad ass as he slapped his low strung beast. A family friend went to Asbury Park to see them and said he met Joe on the boardwalk. My walls were plastered with their pictures. I bought everything I could and they made their record cheap for the kids to afford their music. Who does this anymore? The first and only time I saw The Clash live was back in 1982 when they opened up for The Who at Shea Stadium. The weekend before they were on Saturday Night Live, and played Straight to Hell and I recall Should I Stay or Should I Go. The Who concerts were supposed the signify the passing of the baton from The Who, veterans of arena rock to The Clash, the radical punks who were making a commercialized name for themselves on the AM radio with Rock the Kasbah. I came back home from a Boy Scout trip from the Delaware River and told the truck full of good God fearing lads who they were. At Shea heard they played Train in Vain, London Calling and more. I was packed with others in the outfield. Strummer wore glasses and the band sounded loose, not really what I expected. MTV later played a live version of Should I Stay or Should I go, but that was recorded from the previous night. Someone corrected me at school when I went around declaring I was in the audience. Being a Clash fan was a radical declaration that I was a punk. I was a rebel with a fuck you attitude. I did not want to conform. The only option to Regannomics was anarchy. John Wayne was dead and so is America was a statement I would write in my social studies class. Anger can be power don’t you know that you can use it. Was a line from their song Clampdown off London Calling, my English teacher read the back of my test where I wrote the line and read it out loud to the class; I was not sure if I was in trouble or he appreciated the blunt statement. If I recall he was going through a divorce at the time, and maybe the sentiment triggered a deeper hatred. I spray painted buildings in the VA in Northport with The Clash sign, the same large font which was used off their first album. There were different versions of their record, the import with a black background and the domestic olive green. Mick and Joe and Paul stood in a stairwell and looked blankly into the future. I was given London Calling for my 16th birthday a couple of years after it came out. Uncle Bob Runyan my 11th grade social studies teacher brought an article he found in Mother Jones’s on them and was impressed with their support of the Sandinista movement. In fact we worked on having a spokesman from the movement come to our school. Soon I became consumed with every Clash record. The band ended with a fizzle. It’s a shame Joe kicked out Mick Jones and they released, This is London which I am sure I have still in the wrapper. They toured the US but the life was sucked out of them. This is London is a shitty song and when they played a local venue Hofstra University, I refused to see them since this was not the band. I still go back to the songs from time to time. Meeting Joe Strummer was lifelong dreams come true. In fact I met him twice. Years after I saw The Clash and saw him perform at The Palladium for his – I will give it three stars - Earthquake Weather album. He only played a few shows in the US and for years went sort of underground. When I learned he was playing in town I was invited to a pre-show event. Strummer was playing Irving Plaza. My sister’s boyfriend Dennis worked at KRock and he was known in town as being Joey Ramone’s favorite DJ on the radio. Dennis said he had passes for the VIP and invited me to have dinner with Joey and Tim from Rancid and some other friends. I think Jesse Malin was there. I sat next to Joey and didn’t have a dime to get anything to eat nor did I add my input to the conversations. There was little I could say except when it became obvious this outsider was sitting at their table, he looked at me, asked casually, “And who are you?” I explained who I was and who brought me; he nodded and shook his head. He was a gentleman. Tim was quiet, sitting across from us, barely audible above the clamor in the place. From what Dennis explained Strummer was on his label, Black Cat records, Tim was a millionaire. Not bad for a tattooed punk from California, I think they were from California, I remember one of their songs I saw on MTV. One of them spat into the camera, but they appeared too professional. California has a way to make sweat appear glossy. I’m getting away from the first time I met Strummer. Up in the VIP section at Irving Plaza, Matt Dillon was there, Jim Jarmuch the director, Joe was in some of his movies. There were other artists and actors. Strummer did a shout out to Joey Ramone, and he also yelled out to the house manager shut off the air conditioning. Soon the place was sweltering. “I got something for you,” he said dripping in sweat and belted out the open power chords to London Calling and the place flew into a riot. Heads rose up and rejoiced, falling back into the crowd, their arms flung and twisted, hundreds of bodies were sporadically lurching to get closer to the man. He also played something he rarely played Rock the Kasbah as a shout out to Topper Headon. After the show we walked through the village with Matt Dillon who had three girls on him over to Jesse’s bar. We had the downstairs VIP to ourselves. Matt was standoffish, a dick for the most part, had a stuck up Hollywood attitude. Maybe it was my drunken state? Then Strummer came down and Dennis came over to me and said, “I got’s someone who wants to meet you.” He brought me over to Strummer and we shook hands and another DJ took our picture together, Joe leaned his sweaty head into mine and I wish I had that picture. Joe signed my concert ticket and we were off to cause drunken destruction in Queens. The second time I met Strummer, his last release received critical acclaim and he seemed to back in the game. The show was at the St. Anne’s Warehouse in Brooklyn. He played six shows and was his last in New York. Rudy Can’t Fail was sung and the crowd sang along with him. He looked somewhat overweight, his black shirt stuck to his sweaty skin. The concert was incredible and he played a good chunk of his new material. I thought the night was over, but we walked down to a bar from the club to have a nightcap. Strummer walked in with a cheer. He wore a light blue jacket and I approached him asking if he would sign my poster. He was a nut job for the most part, pretended to speak to someone who had their back turned to him, just to throw me off. It didn’t stop me. “Can you please sign my poster?” He did and we shook hands. As always I have a question, “What was it like playing with The Pogues?” “They’re all a bunch of drunks.” Later I corned him in the basement of the bar, a drunken Asian woman begged him to sign her breasts but he wouldn’t. I nudged her off and had one more request, this was the one song I never heard and wanted to hear, even just a few lines. My sister was with me and I leaned in. “Joe can you sing me a couple of lines from Broadway?” He said, “No Michael….Nope…No…” I thought I lost. Then he leaned over and sung into my ear. “It ain’t my fault it’s six o’clock in the morning.” We drove home (Green Lights…drive) and I had a fixed smile on my face and felt nothing could compare to that…