Personally, when I listen to the sound the Boston-based band The Cars were putting out in the late 70s - early 80s, I am convinced they've never really been equalled. Their music still sounds fresh, the eclectic mix of synthesizers, keyboards, guitars and whimsical lyrics evoking the avant garde on the artistic edge image that they fostered, with obvious parallels to Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. "Heartbeat City" is no exception with its abstract cover art and Warholian photos of the band.
Plaintive keyboards and rhythmic tape loops are the key elements of "Hello Again", perfectly matched with Ric Ocasek's jaded vocals, punctuated by inventive synthesizer riffs as well.
" Magic" is an anthem to the electricity of attraction, showcasing Elliottt Easton's penetrating guitar riffs enveloped in techno effects. Ben Orr's mournful vocal is the focal point of "Drive", a paean to a troubled lover, the low key musical background mirroring his sense of loss and grief.
The most haunting cut on the album is "It's Not The Night". The fragile blend of cascading keyboards and strident guitar give an almost ethereal tone to the song. The tenuous nature of the melody seems to collapse and re-form as the song progresses, leaving an almost mystical riff to trail off at the very end, the kind of signature that sticks in your mind. "Why Can't I Have You?" is in a similar vein. "You Might Think" is a bouncy, cheerful assertion of affection, echoing the Cars' earlier crowd pleasers "Let The Good Times Roll", "My Best Friend's Girlfriend" and the ultimate bar tune "You're All I've Got Tonight."
I know that half the reason I like the band so much is misplaced nostalgia for the 70s. Nevertheless, the Cars blend of decisive hipness and multi-layered mixes makes them stand alone.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Chuck The Great
I first saw Chuck Berry as part of a huge lineup at a bluesfest in White Plains, NY. I barely knew who he was, but I picked up on his spontaneous energy, his sense of humor, and his time-honored routine of duckwalking with his guitar on and offstage. A few years later, I was perusing the stacks at the Bunch of Grapes in Vineyard Haven when I came across "Chuck Berry's Golden Decade", a Chess double album collection that I bought without blinking, despite the fact that I was barely making money at the time. I held onto it for so long that a double course of duct tape was needed to reinforce the spine. One of the records disappeared.
Fortunately, the surviving album still had "Maybelline", "Johnny B. Goode", "No Particular Place To Go", and "Nadine", most of the best known Berry anthems. I was more excited over the lesser known tunes, like "Wee Wee Hours", the only blues song I ever heard Chuck Berry perform, or "Deep Feeling" with its expansive slide guitar. "Havana Moon" is Chuck's calypsoish homage to Cuba, a sad tale of missed love connections. "Thirty Days" and "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" are vintage Chuck, saucy, mocking, clever and energetic, as well as the time honored tale of the teenaged wedding - "You Never Can Tell" - and the fate of aging rock and rollers - "Too Pooped to Pop".
I finally met the living legend himself in 1986 at a concert for the state of Rhode Island's 350th birthday on a closed airstrip in Quonset Point. The heavily promoted event featured a hook driving the average citizen to his or her local Chevy dealer to obtain a coupon for alleged VIP parking at the concert. Needless to say, the alleged parking crew was quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught of vehicles, their ineptitude causing a miles-long backup all the way to Route 95. When I finally drove home around 4:00 AM the next morning, the road was a wasteland of abandoned strollers, upended coolers, broken glass, cans, diapers, malfunctioning cars, barbecue grilles, towells, clothes, general garbage and mountains of cigarette butts, a panorama of decimated consumer goods. It was Labor Day weekend, a sunny day unlike the weeks of dreary rain that had preceded it, and the lineup at the FREE concert consisted of Tommy James and the Shondells, Chuck Berry, Bob Hope and a "twin theatre" fireworks display by Grucchi.
In the midst of the chaos, a long, lean green Lincoln glided to a stop by the side of the backstage compound. Chuck himself got out from behind the wheel, and immediately asked for the promoter, which, in this case, was yours truly. I welcomed him profusely, surprised by how tall he was, and made sure he got a healthy handful of the towells and bottle of wine he requested. Chuck disappeared into his RV/dressing room with a redhead in tow, unaware it had been recently vacated by his designated backup band who had shown up way too early and spent the afternoon drinking and snorting.
Once Chuck and company finally mounted the gigantic stage, overhung with a ton of lighting gear mandated by Hope's presence, the crowd literally went crazy. Eight separate fights broke out in front between anxious bikers who had shown up at the last minute to crowd in on the picnicking families. By the time I had settled down enough to enjoy the incredibility fluid but traditional riffs that Chuck coaxed effortlessly out of the strings, word came back to me from one of the musicians that Berry was pissed because he saw people videotaping the performance out in the crowd. Being the promoter, I was supposed to stop it ASAP. At first, I was actually gearing up to wade into the mob and start batting away the minicams, but then I realized how incredibly stupid that would be so I devised another strategy. I waited about five minutes , then walked back to the player, and told him to tell Berry everything was cool.
After he had thoroughly punished the crowd, Chuck hung out briefly backstage, actually giving a few autographs before bundling the redhead back into the Lincoln. He beckoned me over at the last minute. Chuck the Great wanted to make sure he could still use the hotel room - for a couple of hours anyway - that we had set aside for him back in Providence.
I smirked as he drove off, since my lasting memories of seeing a rock legend up close and personal would consist of the towells and wine, the command to stop the illegal recording and the query about the hotel room. Nevertheless, Chuck Berry is a true original, with a hip attitude that was way ahead of its time, ensuring his unique place in the lexicon of rock and roll.
Fortunately, the surviving album still had "Maybelline", "Johnny B. Goode", "No Particular Place To Go", and "Nadine", most of the best known Berry anthems. I was more excited over the lesser known tunes, like "Wee Wee Hours", the only blues song I ever heard Chuck Berry perform, or "Deep Feeling" with its expansive slide guitar. "Havana Moon" is Chuck's calypsoish homage to Cuba, a sad tale of missed love connections. "Thirty Days" and "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" are vintage Chuck, saucy, mocking, clever and energetic, as well as the time honored tale of the teenaged wedding - "You Never Can Tell" - and the fate of aging rock and rollers - "Too Pooped to Pop".
I finally met the living legend himself in 1986 at a concert for the state of Rhode Island's 350th birthday on a closed airstrip in Quonset Point. The heavily promoted event featured a hook driving the average citizen to his or her local Chevy dealer to obtain a coupon for alleged VIP parking at the concert. Needless to say, the alleged parking crew was quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught of vehicles, their ineptitude causing a miles-long backup all the way to Route 95. When I finally drove home around 4:00 AM the next morning, the road was a wasteland of abandoned strollers, upended coolers, broken glass, cans, diapers, malfunctioning cars, barbecue grilles, towells, clothes, general garbage and mountains of cigarette butts, a panorama of decimated consumer goods. It was Labor Day weekend, a sunny day unlike the weeks of dreary rain that had preceded it, and the lineup at the FREE concert consisted of Tommy James and the Shondells, Chuck Berry, Bob Hope and a "twin theatre" fireworks display by Grucchi.
In the midst of the chaos, a long, lean green Lincoln glided to a stop by the side of the backstage compound. Chuck himself got out from behind the wheel, and immediately asked for the promoter, which, in this case, was yours truly. I welcomed him profusely, surprised by how tall he was, and made sure he got a healthy handful of the towells and bottle of wine he requested. Chuck disappeared into his RV/dressing room with a redhead in tow, unaware it had been recently vacated by his designated backup band who had shown up way too early and spent the afternoon drinking and snorting.
Once Chuck and company finally mounted the gigantic stage, overhung with a ton of lighting gear mandated by Hope's presence, the crowd literally went crazy. Eight separate fights broke out in front between anxious bikers who had shown up at the last minute to crowd in on the picnicking families. By the time I had settled down enough to enjoy the incredibility fluid but traditional riffs that Chuck coaxed effortlessly out of the strings, word came back to me from one of the musicians that Berry was pissed because he saw people videotaping the performance out in the crowd. Being the promoter, I was supposed to stop it ASAP. At first, I was actually gearing up to wade into the mob and start batting away the minicams, but then I realized how incredibly stupid that would be so I devised another strategy. I waited about five minutes , then walked back to the player, and told him to tell Berry everything was cool.
After he had thoroughly punished the crowd, Chuck hung out briefly backstage, actually giving a few autographs before bundling the redhead back into the Lincoln. He beckoned me over at the last minute. Chuck the Great wanted to make sure he could still use the hotel room - for a couple of hours anyway - that we had set aside for him back in Providence.
I smirked as he drove off, since my lasting memories of seeing a rock legend up close and personal would consist of the towells and wine, the command to stop the illegal recording and the query about the hotel room. Nevertheless, Chuck Berry is a true original, with a hip attitude that was way ahead of its time, ensuring his unique place in the lexicon of rock and roll.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Van Halen Tour DOA
At first read, the Van Halen reunion tour sounded like the spike in the vein that the record industry - I mean, the CD industry - or, more appropriately , the music CONTENT companies needed. You could just imagine the promo guys walking around, muttering: "It's huge. Huge." The Val Halen nuclear family and black sheep David Lee Roth tear up the major venues across the known universe, giving us all one last chance to hear Eddie's frantic guitar solo on the re-make of "You Really Got Me" as well as David Lee intoning : " Have you seen Juniors grades lately?", followed by a double live album to make the cash register ring even louder, not to mention the merchandise tie-ins and the maelstrom of publicity. It was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow until Eddie was a no-show at the Rock and Rock Hall of Fame induction, simultaneously bailing out before they even started rehearsing. I'm sorry that he can't crawl out of the bottle, but I think he did the band a favor.
The glitz is gone. The brown M & M stories these days sound more like mindless petulance rather than some kind of statement against corporate rock. Bringing legendary acts back from the dead sounds good, but the animosity between the players means separate suites - separate hotels is more like it - and as little contact as possible, except onstage for a few hours. Since money is the motivating factor, it follows that the hapless fans will have to dig into their kids' college fund to come up with the ticket price.
That's the key- the fans. The party animals that would once upon a time sample everything they could get their hands on just to get cranked up for the show are older, with babies and jobs and wives. Their idea of a good time is a massive home stereo-theater combination, that recreates the concert hall feeling right in your own study - minus the sweat, puke, screams and adrenalin rush. Van Halen is not the type of band that encourages multi-generation loyalty - the father-son/mother-daughter approach to the Stones or the Who, for example - because their music doesn't really have as much staying power. It was flashy, hip and overwhelming at the time - but that was then. Why would their fans pony up all that coin to sit in on folding chairs when they can lean back on a leather couch and get the same buzz?
It's hard sometimes to know when to stop, but Neil Young was on to something when he said it was better to burn out than fade away. The Van Halen tour started fading out as soon as it was announced
The glitz is gone. The brown M & M stories these days sound more like mindless petulance rather than some kind of statement against corporate rock. Bringing legendary acts back from the dead sounds good, but the animosity between the players means separate suites - separate hotels is more like it - and as little contact as possible, except onstage for a few hours. Since money is the motivating factor, it follows that the hapless fans will have to dig into their kids' college fund to come up with the ticket price.
That's the key- the fans. The party animals that would once upon a time sample everything they could get their hands on just to get cranked up for the show are older, with babies and jobs and wives. Their idea of a good time is a massive home stereo-theater combination, that recreates the concert hall feeling right in your own study - minus the sweat, puke, screams and adrenalin rush. Van Halen is not the type of band that encourages multi-generation loyalty - the father-son/mother-daughter approach to the Stones or the Who, for example - because their music doesn't really have as much staying power. It was flashy, hip and overwhelming at the time - but that was then. Why would their fans pony up all that coin to sit in on folding chairs when they can lean back on a leather couch and get the same buzz?
It's hard sometimes to know when to stop, but Neil Young was on to something when he said it was better to burn out than fade away. The Van Halen tour started fading out as soon as it was announced
Monday, March 12, 2007
East West Revisited
I got a treat from my discophile friend up the street recently in the form a mint condition copy of The Paul Butterfield Blues Band's 1966 breakthrough record "East West" on Electra, probably the fourth album I actually spent money on. I escaped from prep school with a friend from Boston just to see Butterfield live in Cambridge that same year, so I figure that the music was embedded on my impressionable teenage brain. Listening to the record again makes me angry; angry that Mike Bloomfield was found in a parked car dead from a heroin overdose in 1981; angry that Paul Butterfield passed away in 1987 from a combination of drugs and alcohol.
Butterfield's signature harmonica settles into a march- like cadence for the opening cut, an urban version of the classic "Walkin' Blues", underscored by the penetrating riffs of legendary lead guitarist Bloomfield, the broken, bluesy picking of Elvin Bishop, the dependable rock bottom
rt hymn from bassist Jerome Arnold and Billy Davenport on drums. Mark Nataflin's robust keyboard playing highlights "Get Out Of My Life Woman", his choppy but melodic runs evenly matched by Butterfield's shouted vocals and Bloomfield's backing riffs. "Got a Mind To Give Up Living" is riddled with spine-straightening guitar solos that Bloomfield seems to rip out of his Fender, Butterfield's lament of lost love equally matched by the razor-sharp chords. The harmonica forms the key to "All These Blues" , a showcase for the seamless "tonguing" technique Butterfield uses to isolate the notes like all great harpmasters, but he takes it one step further in the way he bends and broadens the sound. Sometimes it suggests a saxophone, sometimes an organ, always darting in between the other instruments. Side One finishes off with the jazz influenced "Work Song", contrasting Bishop's stinging riffs with Bloomfield's more fluid caressing of the strings, as well as Nataflin's extended organ solos.
"Mary, Mary" leads off Side Two, Butterfield's pleading vocal combined with his rhythmic harp to lead the blend of guitar and piano into another series of stinging Chicago blues riffs. Bloomfield's funky, energetic picking on "Two Trains Running" gives the song the bounce of rock and roll. Elvin Bishop's laconic vocal dominates "Never Say No", his resigned, world-weary tone exuding the sarcasm that shows up in later recordings like "Drunk Again" and "No More Lonely Nights".
Elvin has the first solo in the nearly 14 minute title jam that finishes out the record, his angry urban notes slowly bending and building into a mini-climax that sounds vaguely San Francisco-ish before Paul Butterfield's harp cuts in and takes over. The harmonica soars up and down the scales, this time linking up with Bishop to build the next minor crescendo.
At this point, in Cambridge, in front of my 16 year old eyes, Butterfield and Bishop left the stage, so all I could see below was the lanky, hunched over form of Bloomfield, his fingers racing up and down the guitar neck as Arnold and Davenport maintained the hypnotic beat. Bloomfield turns the instrument into a sitar, evoking the sound of the classic raga, the rt hymn talking back to the melody, simply reeling off endless cascades of Indian-influenced sound, climbing again to a third crescendo that then slips into a psychedelic interlude. When Butterfield and Bishop rejoin the tune, the song rises to a jazz-influenced finish that trails off in one last raga motif.
Unfortunately, Bloomfield left the band in a year after clashing with Butterfield, going on to fame with Al Kooper in "Super Session." Instead of the beginning of a series of finely-crafted workingman's blues records, "East West" was just a one time thing, a monumental collaboration that shows how pivotal the Paul Butterfield Blues Band was in pushing Chicago blues into the mainstream of rock and roll.
Butterfield's signature harmonica settles into a march- like cadence for the opening cut, an urban version of the classic "Walkin' Blues", underscored by the penetrating riffs of legendary lead guitarist Bloomfield, the broken, bluesy picking of Elvin Bishop, the dependable rock bottom
rt hymn from bassist Jerome Arnold and Billy Davenport on drums. Mark Nataflin's robust keyboard playing highlights "Get Out Of My Life Woman", his choppy but melodic runs evenly matched by Butterfield's shouted vocals and Bloomfield's backing riffs. "Got a Mind To Give Up Living" is riddled with spine-straightening guitar solos that Bloomfield seems to rip out of his Fender, Butterfield's lament of lost love equally matched by the razor-sharp chords. The harmonica forms the key to "All These Blues" , a showcase for the seamless "tonguing" technique Butterfield uses to isolate the notes like all great harpmasters, but he takes it one step further in the way he bends and broadens the sound. Sometimes it suggests a saxophone, sometimes an organ, always darting in between the other instruments. Side One finishes off with the jazz influenced "Work Song", contrasting Bishop's stinging riffs with Bloomfield's more fluid caressing of the strings, as well as Nataflin's extended organ solos.
"Mary, Mary" leads off Side Two, Butterfield's pleading vocal combined with his rhythmic harp to lead the blend of guitar and piano into another series of stinging Chicago blues riffs. Bloomfield's funky, energetic picking on "Two Trains Running" gives the song the bounce of rock and roll. Elvin Bishop's laconic vocal dominates "Never Say No", his resigned, world-weary tone exuding the sarcasm that shows up in later recordings like "Drunk Again" and "No More Lonely Nights".
Elvin has the first solo in the nearly 14 minute title jam that finishes out the record, his angry urban notes slowly bending and building into a mini-climax that sounds vaguely San Francisco-ish before Paul Butterfield's harp cuts in and takes over. The harmonica soars up and down the scales, this time linking up with Bishop to build the next minor crescendo.
At this point, in Cambridge, in front of my 16 year old eyes, Butterfield and Bishop left the stage, so all I could see below was the lanky, hunched over form of Bloomfield, his fingers racing up and down the guitar neck as Arnold and Davenport maintained the hypnotic beat. Bloomfield turns the instrument into a sitar, evoking the sound of the classic raga, the rt hymn talking back to the melody, simply reeling off endless cascades of Indian-influenced sound, climbing again to a third crescendo that then slips into a psychedelic interlude. When Butterfield and Bishop rejoin the tune, the song rises to a jazz-influenced finish that trails off in one last raga motif.
Unfortunately, Bloomfield left the band in a year after clashing with Butterfield, going on to fame with Al Kooper in "Super Session." Instead of the beginning of a series of finely-crafted workingman's blues records, "East West" was just a one time thing, a monumental collaboration that shows how pivotal the Paul Butterfield Blues Band was in pushing Chicago blues into the mainstream of rock and roll.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Roots of the Blues - Part One
Fortunately, acoustic blues are not dead but carefully preserved on compilations like Smithsonian Folkways Recording's "Classic Blues". Folkways is dedicated to documenting some of our best known as well as least appreciated musical talents with authentic, high quality,original recordings, and this particular assortment reaches back to document the rural Southern country blues and barrelhouse piano of the early Twentieth Century. Most of the major icons of the genre are represented with at least one cut.
Sonnie Terry and Brownie McGhee's "Old Jabo" evokes the rolling fields of their native North Carolina, its' lyrics suggesting African roots, Terry's vibrant harmonica dancing over McGhee's nimble guitar. Big Bill Broonzey's Depression-era "Mule-Ridin' Blues" is a steady, smooth talking blues laced with Broonzey's sardonic humor and easy picking, infusing animals with human sensibilities like Pink Anderson's tongue-in-cheek tale of the devastation caused by the scourge of the old, cotton-picking South - the "Boll Weevil". Reverend Gary Davis does a whimsical version of "Candy Man", his roughened, street preacher's voice sounding strangely gentle. One of the most haunting tunes is sung a Capella by Vera Hall, her soaring, full-bodied voice creating its own rhythmic refrain with the lyrics of "Black Woman." The legendary Son House relates a straightforward commentary on crime and punishment, his throbbing baritone combining with ominous guitar chords on "County Farm Blues."
True roadhouse, jukejoint piano is personified here by Memphis Slim , Champion Jack Dupree and Roosevelt Sykes, whose frantic assault on the ivories, called "Run the Blues Out of My Window", was originally recorded in 1936. His driving melody and pounding rt hymn combine with a frenetic vocal and shouted refrain: " I'm gonna ride - the train they call the Cannonball!" Probably the funniest song in the collection is "Beer Drinking Woman", in which a mournful Memphis Slim, accompanied by Willie Dixon, relates the story of the battle between his wallet and a woman with two hollow legs. "Clog Dance (Stomping Blues)" is an energetic romp for New Orleans bluesman Champion Jack DuPree, the ex-boxer pummeling the keyboard in melodic bursts, struggling to be heard above the handclaps and cascading feet. Edith North Johnson's mocking vocal , classic piano and mellow horns highlight "Nickel's Worth of Liver", a comic rendition of a lover's quarrel.
One of the truly great blues instrumentals of all time has to be "One Dime Blues", featuring the virtuoso guitar of the late Etta James. Her fluid finger picking caresses the ear, infused with a sense of muted resignation, the melody and rt hymn flowing seamlessly together. Although the original was recorded on Tradition Records in 1956, this live version dates from the Folk Master Series in 1992.
Leadbelly's rough, plaintive wail is showcased on "Leaving Blues" in contrast to Josh White's mellow , modulated "Careless Love". Big Joe Williams is characterized by his usual controlled but frantic pace, begging "Don't You Leave Me Here", while Lightnin' Hopkins' unique style of talking blues infuses "Come Go Home With Me." The legendary David "Honeyboy" Williams makes a rare appearance with "Pony Blues", his musicianship matched by the fact that he claims to have been with Robert Johnson the night he died.
These are just some of the artists on Classic Blues, but their work reinforces the music as a truly homemade cultural influence, creating the tradition that would travel further up the Delta and beyond Beale Street, ultimately becoming electrified and amplified in Chicago and Detroit. It is ironic to consider the fact that gangster rap may have had its roots back in those sarcastic Depression era commentaries passed off as "talking" blues. These musicians were the originals, and they deserve a listen.
*************************************************************************************
"One of the Top Ten Short Film Festivals in the United States...Don't miss it."
Chris Gore, Ultimate Film Festival Survival Guide
The Rhode Island International Film Festival ...Rhode Island's Premiere Cinema Event
Get information or get involved at www.RIIFF.org or www.RIFilmFest.org
Sonnie Terry and Brownie McGhee's "Old Jabo" evokes the rolling fields of their native North Carolina, its' lyrics suggesting African roots, Terry's vibrant harmonica dancing over McGhee's nimble guitar. Big Bill Broonzey's Depression-era "Mule-Ridin' Blues" is a steady, smooth talking blues laced with Broonzey's sardonic humor and easy picking, infusing animals with human sensibilities like Pink Anderson's tongue-in-cheek tale of the devastation caused by the scourge of the old, cotton-picking South - the "Boll Weevil". Reverend Gary Davis does a whimsical version of "Candy Man", his roughened, street preacher's voice sounding strangely gentle. One of the most haunting tunes is sung a Capella by Vera Hall, her soaring, full-bodied voice creating its own rhythmic refrain with the lyrics of "Black Woman." The legendary Son House relates a straightforward commentary on crime and punishment, his throbbing baritone combining with ominous guitar chords on "County Farm Blues."
True roadhouse, jukejoint piano is personified here by Memphis Slim , Champion Jack Dupree and Roosevelt Sykes, whose frantic assault on the ivories, called "Run the Blues Out of My Window", was originally recorded in 1936. His driving melody and pounding rt hymn combine with a frenetic vocal and shouted refrain: " I'm gonna ride - the train they call the Cannonball!" Probably the funniest song in the collection is "Beer Drinking Woman", in which a mournful Memphis Slim, accompanied by Willie Dixon, relates the story of the battle between his wallet and a woman with two hollow legs. "Clog Dance (Stomping Blues)" is an energetic romp for New Orleans bluesman Champion Jack DuPree, the ex-boxer pummeling the keyboard in melodic bursts, struggling to be heard above the handclaps and cascading feet. Edith North Johnson's mocking vocal , classic piano and mellow horns highlight "Nickel's Worth of Liver", a comic rendition of a lover's quarrel.
One of the truly great blues instrumentals of all time has to be "One Dime Blues", featuring the virtuoso guitar of the late Etta James. Her fluid finger picking caresses the ear, infused with a sense of muted resignation, the melody and rt hymn flowing seamlessly together. Although the original was recorded on Tradition Records in 1956, this live version dates from the Folk Master Series in 1992.
Leadbelly's rough, plaintive wail is showcased on "Leaving Blues" in contrast to Josh White's mellow , modulated "Careless Love". Big Joe Williams is characterized by his usual controlled but frantic pace, begging "Don't You Leave Me Here", while Lightnin' Hopkins' unique style of talking blues infuses "Come Go Home With Me." The legendary David "Honeyboy" Williams makes a rare appearance with "Pony Blues", his musicianship matched by the fact that he claims to have been with Robert Johnson the night he died.
These are just some of the artists on Classic Blues, but their work reinforces the music as a truly homemade cultural influence, creating the tradition that would travel further up the Delta and beyond Beale Street, ultimately becoming electrified and amplified in Chicago and Detroit. It is ironic to consider the fact that gangster rap may have had its roots back in those sarcastic Depression era commentaries passed off as "talking" blues. These musicians were the originals, and they deserve a listen.
*************************************************************************************
"One of the Top Ten Short Film Festivals in the United States...Don't miss it."
Chris Gore, Ultimate Film Festival Survival Guide
The Rhode Island International Film Festival ...Rhode Island's Premiere Cinema Event
Get information or get involved at www.RIIFF.org or www.RIFilmFest.org
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Cutlass Three
The Cutlass Three cut right to the bone, their killer combination of penetrating lead, "war" drums, solid bass and authoritative vocals creating ironclad jams punctuated with a chopping reggae/ska rthymn that evokes the best of the Clash, filtered through metal, hillbilly, blues and their own sometimes ironic twist. Whether you catch TCT live on the Southern New England club circuit, or pick up their just out EP " Ready To Strike" (Available at gigs or at www.myspace.com/thecutlassband ), you'll be amazed that three people can put out such an onslaught of sound.
The Three are brothers David - lead guitar, lead vocals - and Brenden DePrest - drums, backing vocals - plus Steve Cannella - bass, backing vocals. TheDePrests have been playing together for about six years or "for as long as they've been playing" as bassist Cannella puts it. David DePrest writes most of the lyrics, while all three combine on the music. Since the band formed about a year ago, they've been at the Century Lounge in Providence, Gillary's and The Elbow Room in Bristol, the Abbey Lounge and the Empress Ballroom, just to name a few, as well as getting airplay on the college stations and WAAF 97.7 FM in Boston.
Some of my favorite TCT cuts: "The Chills", an ominous warning that " the war is coming", underscored by Brenden DePrest's militaristic drumbeats and David DePrest's hard driving solos. It builds to a crescendo, then devolves into a dependable reggae beat, echoing the haunting refrain. "Cadillac Blues" is a frantic, raunchy tribute to a luxury ride that slyly points out " When I fill her up I feel soiled/cuz my government decided to use blood to pay for oil."
The true test of a great bar band is whether they have to compromise on their own tunes to deliver those crowd-pleasing covers, but The Cutlass Three plays 99 and 44/100% original music, like "Faraway Man", straightforward ska to get the crowd moving. One of their few covers is the Bobby Fuller Four classic "I Fought The Law" which TCT turns into its own with frenetic, soaring guitar solos and tongue-in-cheek vocals.
What's the name all about? TCT is closer to a brotherhood than an average band, according to Steve Cannella: " It's like the Three Musketeers, it's unity. There will never be another member or different members, we are the Cutlass Three."
Check out TCT's website for club dates, general band information and sample cuts from of "Ready To Strike" at www.myspace.com/thecutlassband
The Three are brothers David - lead guitar, lead vocals - and Brenden DePrest - drums, backing vocals - plus Steve Cannella - bass, backing vocals. TheDePrests have been playing together for about six years or "for as long as they've been playing" as bassist Cannella puts it. David DePrest writes most of the lyrics, while all three combine on the music. Since the band formed about a year ago, they've been at the Century Lounge in Providence, Gillary's and The Elbow Room in Bristol, the Abbey Lounge and the Empress Ballroom, just to name a few, as well as getting airplay on the college stations and WAAF 97.7 FM in Boston.
Some of my favorite TCT cuts: "The Chills", an ominous warning that " the war is coming", underscored by Brenden DePrest's militaristic drumbeats and David DePrest's hard driving solos. It builds to a crescendo, then devolves into a dependable reggae beat, echoing the haunting refrain. "Cadillac Blues" is a frantic, raunchy tribute to a luxury ride that slyly points out " When I fill her up I feel soiled/cuz my government decided to use blood to pay for oil."
The true test of a great bar band is whether they have to compromise on their own tunes to deliver those crowd-pleasing covers, but The Cutlass Three plays 99 and 44/100% original music, like "Faraway Man", straightforward ska to get the crowd moving. One of their few covers is the Bobby Fuller Four classic "I Fought The Law" which TCT turns into its own with frenetic, soaring guitar solos and tongue-in-cheek vocals.
What's the name all about? TCT is closer to a brotherhood than an average band, according to Steve Cannella: " It's like the Three Musketeers, it's unity. There will never be another member or different members, we are the Cutlass Three."
Check out TCT's website for club dates, general band information and sample cuts from of "Ready To Strike" at www.myspace.com/thecutlassband
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Dr. Metal and Me
I first met Mike Gonsalves when he was at Rhode Island College, mainly because he showed up at my office in WHJY in East Providence looking for an internship.
Although I've heard people say that most radio personalities lead glamorous lives, paid millions to work twenty hours a week, my position at the time as Promotions Director required a lot of time, usually a stretch since I was also the Morning Show co-host, and help to execute the idiotic ideas we came up with. I needed interns for free labor, for dumping movie passes to some lame flick that the ad agencies decided fit our listener profile, or tickets to a concert by some up and coming act the record label wanted to promote, or merchandise from car wax to cases of soda and chips to merchandise certificates, or the infamous 94 HJY tee shirts. The shirts were such a hot fashion item that one pissed off fan actually punched out a hapless staff member because he had just finished giving out 94 shirts at a club and the angry listener just happened to be number 95. Despite the fact that the interns had the toughest job, the trade off was free concert tickets and the definitive pickup line: "Yeah, I, like, work at the station, you know."
Mike was always cheerful, energetic, funny and willing to do almost anything, although he probably had serious second thoughts after one particular fiasco. The promotion involved telling the audience to meet up with the station's Paddy Wagon (a black, screwed up van that looked like it needed to retire to a body shop) after we announced on the morning show where the van would be, the incentive being the listeners would get free stuff. In this case, the stuff was a bag full of summertime essentials from a major advertiser. It was a good idea, it was just that we only had 40 to 50 bags that were supposed to last four weeks, so the quota was 10 bags per week. Unfortunately, on that particular morning a lot more than 10 cars were already waiting for the Paddy Wagon when it arrived, leaving Mike and his sidekick no choice but to throw the bags in the direction of the people and take off. They were nearly run off the road on the way back to Providence.
I left the business but Mike - or "Gonzo" as he was better known- stayed and prospered, his dream of doing the metal show full time finally coming true. Dr. Metal took over the night, a steady diet of Loudness, Priest, Iron Maiden, Metallica, the entire hit parade of headbangers. The next time I saw Gonzo was on a platform in New Haven after we stopped to change trains. I was going to Manhattan to run a trade show, and he was on his way to hear a Vietnamese metal band, the same low-key, positive persona Mike had when he walked in the door ten years earlier. I rode the rest of the way into the city glowing with pride that I had introduced him to radio, that those cold, slimy mornings dumping passes had finally paid off, that he was doing exactly what he wanted. His name came up again in a random conversation with a forklift mechanic, who mentioned that Mike played on his softball team, what a great guy he was,etc,etc. I was glad to hear he hadn't changed, still felt proud of him, but by that time, Mike Gonsalves was part of a network of memories from a former life that was no longer important.
I was sad and disgusted when I found out he was dead, feeling a twinge of guilt. Although we had had no contact for years, it was still my doing that he was "in" the business, or so I thought. It was really just a passing concern, but I've never lost sight of the fact that no matter who really got him into the business, it was too bad that nobody got him out before the Great White concert at the Station nightclub on the night of February 20, 2003. The really spine-tingling thought is, if things had gone differently, I probably would have been there too.
Although I've heard people say that most radio personalities lead glamorous lives, paid millions to work twenty hours a week, my position at the time as Promotions Director required a lot of time, usually a stretch since I was also the Morning Show co-host, and help to execute the idiotic ideas we came up with. I needed interns for free labor, for dumping movie passes to some lame flick that the ad agencies decided fit our listener profile, or tickets to a concert by some up and coming act the record label wanted to promote, or merchandise from car wax to cases of soda and chips to merchandise certificates, or the infamous 94 HJY tee shirts. The shirts were such a hot fashion item that one pissed off fan actually punched out a hapless staff member because he had just finished giving out 94 shirts at a club and the angry listener just happened to be number 95. Despite the fact that the interns had the toughest job, the trade off was free concert tickets and the definitive pickup line: "Yeah, I, like, work at the station, you know."
Mike was always cheerful, energetic, funny and willing to do almost anything, although he probably had serious second thoughts after one particular fiasco. The promotion involved telling the audience to meet up with the station's Paddy Wagon (a black, screwed up van that looked like it needed to retire to a body shop) after we announced on the morning show where the van would be, the incentive being the listeners would get free stuff. In this case, the stuff was a bag full of summertime essentials from a major advertiser. It was a good idea, it was just that we only had 40 to 50 bags that were supposed to last four weeks, so the quota was 10 bags per week. Unfortunately, on that particular morning a lot more than 10 cars were already waiting for the Paddy Wagon when it arrived, leaving Mike and his sidekick no choice but to throw the bags in the direction of the people and take off. They were nearly run off the road on the way back to Providence.
I left the business but Mike - or "Gonzo" as he was better known- stayed and prospered, his dream of doing the metal show full time finally coming true. Dr. Metal took over the night, a steady diet of Loudness, Priest, Iron Maiden, Metallica, the entire hit parade of headbangers. The next time I saw Gonzo was on a platform in New Haven after we stopped to change trains. I was going to Manhattan to run a trade show, and he was on his way to hear a Vietnamese metal band, the same low-key, positive persona Mike had when he walked in the door ten years earlier. I rode the rest of the way into the city glowing with pride that I had introduced him to radio, that those cold, slimy mornings dumping passes had finally paid off, that he was doing exactly what he wanted. His name came up again in a random conversation with a forklift mechanic, who mentioned that Mike played on his softball team, what a great guy he was,etc,etc. I was glad to hear he hadn't changed, still felt proud of him, but by that time, Mike Gonsalves was part of a network of memories from a former life that was no longer important.
I was sad and disgusted when I found out he was dead, feeling a twinge of guilt. Although we had had no contact for years, it was still my doing that he was "in" the business, or so I thought. It was really just a passing concern, but I've never lost sight of the fact that no matter who really got him into the business, it was too bad that nobody got him out before the Great White concert at the Station nightclub on the night of February 20, 2003. The really spine-tingling thought is, if things had gone differently, I probably would have been there too.
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