Happy Holidays - Be Back Next Week!!!

Christmas Presence

If you're getting ready to write to Santa (hopefully, you were good this year) then BSRR would like to suggest you ask for the following musical gifts under your tree:


1. Bruce Burnside: Sample the output of this talented musician - singer - songwriter and you'll find a wealth of carefully crafted traditional music. Bruce's dedication to the various musical genres he enjoys is obvious and infectious. For Bruce's music and musings, visit: http://www.bruceburnside.com/


2. Scott Allen: "Doc" Allen's lyrics range from biting commentaries on the hypocrisy that poisons the public sector to his innermost reflections on love and life. His approach is reminiscent of Dylan, but his voice is melodic and his playing effortless. For more, check out Scott Allen at http://www.milomusic.com/.


3. William Topley: His voice is bigger than life - from soulful wails to soft litanies -, his music ranges from blues to ballads to reggae to rock, and his band changes seamlessly from style to style. Topley is a commanding presence. Find out at http://www.williamtopley.com/.


4. Robert Johnson: Hard to believe the extent of this Delta bluesman's influence on the modern music world based on two recording sessions in Texas in the 1930s. His exceptional guitar playing - picking, sliding, strumming as if two people were playing at once - combines with his powerful plaintive voice to create an indelible impression that inspired Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton among others.


5. The Cutlass Three: Their music is far from low key, but it is surprising that these three relatively young musicians can produce such solid, textured and driving rock. Not only is most of their music original, it is also road-tested, which bodes well for the band's promising future. Check out www.myspace.com/thecutlassband.

More next week - have fun at the Mall, if that's possible.

The (American) Eagles

Although the Eagles' music played a pivotal role in my former radio career, it never occurred to me to write about them until I saw a TV ad for their latest album at Wal Mart. It's not a bad fit - their music was always fairly mainstream - it just seems incongruous that a band whose members brought us songs like "Smugglers Blues" ,"Life in the Fast Lane" and "Tequila Sunrise" would end up being showcased along with the other Christmas merchandise at America's leading discounter.


I suppose I could argue that the first taste of the Eagles I got was being at Kent State from 1972-1974 when Joe Walsh and the James Gang were storming through the greater Cleveland area bar scene, but it would still be a few years before Walsh made the transition from Pacific Gas & Electric to join Frey, Henley et al. My relationship with their music formally started on Martha's Vineyard from 1974-75, fresh out of school and hired at the former WVOI FM, the island's first attempt at a full time radio station. I would wander into the production studio during segments of the classical music program I was supposed to engineer at night, and listen to "Already Gone", a song which I've re-discovered thanks to my IPod. When the station finally caved in to become a rocker, the Eagles quickly became a staple, adding "On The Border", "James Dean", "Lying Eyes", and "Heartache Tonight" among others. I didn't think of them as country rockers , but saw them as an outgrowth of the California music scene, the evolution of the surfer sound combined with a touch of San Francisco. It was "clean" music with crystal clear harmonies and smooth guitar solos.


The next barrier was crossed when I heard Big Dan Ingraham - a staple of New York's legendary WABC AM - introduce "Hotel California" as the longest song ever played on the station, a testament to the band's power to overcome the three minute "box" most AM hits were supposed to fit into. Ingraham's skill at talking right up to the beginning of the vocal was sorely tested due to the length of the intro. The song itself is sort of like a postscript on the West Coast phenomenon from Monterey Pop to Altamont to the Manson family to the celebrity dilettante lifestyle , a dream that sank into the abyss of drugs and dissolution. Being able to play "New Kid in Town" sustained me through a truly dismal job at a Connecticut AM, since the only tunes I could stomach in between megadoses of Tony Orlando and Dawn were "New Kid" and "Bohemian Rhapsody", although Queen was just a bit too pretentious for my taste.


Glenn Frey and Don Henley paced my final reincarnation on a Rhode Island rocker. Frey achieved the ultimate cool by not only co-starring on the hippest TV show of the 80s - Miami Vice - but also summarizing most of the plot lines in "Smugglers' Blues". Henley's powerful lyrics and plaintive vocals haunted the airwaves with "Boys of Summer" and "Sunset Grille" among others, proving that the groups' talent was the sum of its members. When they finally reunited,
I was pleasantly surprised by the freshness of the new tunes on "Hell Freezes Over", most notably "Learn to Be Still ", but honorable mention definitely goes to "Get Over It" - in the same vein as "Dirty Laundry" - and the Nashville twang of "The Girl From Yesterday".


I guess it's fitting that the Eagles newest great American album debuts during America's greatest retail selling season - the holidays - at America's greatest retail outlet. Just like Mom, apple pie, the flag, the Fourth of July and hot dogs, the Eagles have been inducted into the ranks of popular culture icons. I better got out and get my copy now while supplies last.

Replusive Christmas Music

I feel vindicated; yesterday, at a store, I actually heard one woman say to another: "...And they're already playing that (expletive deleted) Christmas music!" For years, I thought I was the only one who couldn't stand the onslaught of Yuletide tunes that spew out of all those speakers in the Mall or pollute the airways from - in some extreme cases - before Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. Actually, in case you haven't noticed, the retail version of Christmas now starts sometime between Labor Day and Halloween. I guess it's good that Johnny Mathis, Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole and all the other holiday music giants get their annual shot in the arm (hopefully, the Crosby estate donates all those excess royalties to domestic violence agencies) but how many times can you hear "White Christmas" or "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" without grinding your teeth and muttering under your breath ?


The low point for yours truly was back in the depths of my sordid radio career when I drew the Christmas Eve AND Christmas Day shifts at a country & western station in Waterbury, Connecticut. The format was nothing but country Christmas tunes, so I had to hear Ernest Tubb singing "Christmas Island" and Johnny Cash doing "Little Drummer Boy" over and over again. Every so often, I had to say stuff like "Johnny's Twin Oaks wishes you and yours a real country Christmas" - which means you best be hitting the barroom right after opening your presents, or "Dave's Auto Parts hopes you have a happy and prosperous New Year" - so you can continue to afford all those expensive truck parts. I ended up so depressed that I got totally wasted for Christmas Day.


In the Fifties, those Yuletide carols had more of a limited shelf life - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day maybe. But now, it's all part of the military/industrial/retail complex. The big scam is that, even if your house is being foreclosed on or the boss cut out the Christmas bonus or your car is making one of those "I'm-about-to-burst-into-flame" noises, you - collectively, WE- are all expected to spend money we don't have to buy things that we think we need, thus driving up holiday sales and giving the economy a boost. Consequently, the Christmas tunes are intended to evoke a Pavlovian response, unlocking a subliminal desire to buy stuff. Years of seemingly innocuous , cheesy melodies have finally been subverted to yet another nefarious purpose.


That's why I like Thanksgiving. All you have to do is drink and eat.

Tina and Me

I haven't been entirely honest about my obsessions. I've always fantasized about being with Tina Turner. I realize there are some obvious drawbacks. First of all, she has no idea who I am, although I frequently feel the same way what with my ongoing identity crisis. I doubt if the six degrees of separation theory would work here; chances are better I'll see Ike Turner playing for dimes in some rundown bar before running into Tina. Secondly, I can't dance like she does. Sure, I try but my body -although marginally limber despite all the miles on it - just wouldn't make any one's liver quiver, except people with really bad vision. Third of all, I can't sing like Tina. Most people would in fact pay me to keep quiet.


But how can you ignore a woman who just exudes sexuality, who bellows and growls and belts out R & B while she prowls across the stage? "Better Be Good To Me" should be the anthem of disgusted women everywhere - the lyrics and the way Tina bites off the words against the simple but powerful guitar riff are enough to back any disrespectful creep up against the wall. Tina's version of "Can't Stand The Rain" is light years away from Ann Peebles, bending the phrases to squeeze out every last ounce of blues. You may very well ask yourself: "What's Love Got To Do With It?" and you're right, this obsession I have with Tina is probably closer to lust but I'm still convinced after one night that she'd be insisting "Let's Stay Together."


I guess the conclusion is, based on" Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome", that you don't stand a chance with Tina unless you're Mel Gibson, and even then it's debatable if you'll score. I suppose I'm destined to admire her from a distance. Of course, there's always the chance we might bump into each other or she might issue an urgent appeal for available old white men, but chances are better that I'll just listen to "Proud Mary" or "Honky Tonk Woman" or even "Nutbush City Limits" one more time, although I'm probably better off sticking with "Dream On" by Aerosmith.

About those links:
John Mayall - www.johnmayall.com
Bruce Burnside-www.bruceburnside.com
Scott Allen - www.milomusic.com
Motels/Martha Davis - www.marthadavis.com
William Topley - www.williamtopley.com
The Cutlass Three - myspace.com/thecutlassband
The Rhode Island International Film Festival - www.RIIFF.org

BSRR'S Top Five Musical Fantasies

I think the roots of our celebrity-obsessed culture probably started with the royal rock stars and spectacular soul singers of the Sixties, when they commanded the same adulation and awe as movie stars did in the preceding decades. Although there's been no official research whether us baby boomers suffer from rock and roll fantasies, the number of over fifty types who still play air guitar and try to dance to Motown hits is a clear indication that at least some of us have refused to let go of our youthful delusions of grandeur - like:


1. Playing guitar like Jimi Hendrix or Jimmy Page: How many times have you - in private of course - picked up a broom or a tennis racket and duplicated the stinging riffs from "Red House" or the spine-straightening break from "Whole Lotta Love"? Luckily, you don't have to suffer the callouses on top of callouses that would result from practicing the same notes over and over again.


2. Dancing onstage like James Brown or The Temptations or Michael Jackson: James was the king of dropping, spinning, sidestepping, whirling and just plain punctuating his gut bucket soul with raw funk in human form; The Temps were the kings of flawless execution of soul-drenched choreography, moving smoothly to their own melodies; Michael Jackson's moonwalk simply defined cool.


3. Drumming like Ginger Baker: This gaunt Englishman was probably the first rocker to make the drums a staple of endless solos, although honorable mention goes to the percussionists who backed Carlos Santana.


4. Singing in a high falsetto like Stevie Wonder or Phillip Bailey or Michael Jackson again: All you have to do is put on "Fingertips Part I & II" and let Steve's 12 year old voice tickle your eardrums, or nearly anything by Earth, Wind and Fire that showcases Bailey's crystal clear tones, or "Thriller" - maybe even some of the Jackson 5 hits - to experience one of the multi-million selling voices of the twentieth century.


5. Writing lyrics like Bob Dylan: Who else could spit out angry metaphors and trainwrecks of images that managed to capture and keep pace with the sweeping changes of the life and times of the "Now" Generation, from the commanding folkieness of "The Times They Are A Changin'" right on up to "Someday Baby" on Modern Times?


I'm sure you have your own musical fantasies. My advice is to nurture them and, if somebody questions your lunacy, just remind them that age is a state of mind.

Thank You, Robert Johnson

My own personal theory of rock and roll goes something like this -first, Hank Williams, whose rockabilly inspired people like Chuck Berry, Little Richard and the like, which eventually translated into Elvis Presley, a black man's voice in a white man's body, and then mushroomed into an industry, branching out into Motown, San Francisco rock, surfer music and so on. Ironically, the mysterious, legendary Delta blues guitarist and singer Robert Johnson may very well be the true father of rock. The Rolling Stones have recorded "Love in Vain" and "Stop Breaking Down"; Cream made "Cross Road Blues" famous; I've heard various versions and variations of songs like "Stones in My Passway" , "Travelling Riverside Blues" and "Rambling on my Mind" from artists as diverse as Led Zepplin to John Mayall to - of course - Eric Clapton. Johnson's lyrics and blues riffs echo throughout Twentieth Century popular music.


The facts of his life are sparse: born in Hazleton, Mississippi in May, 1911; married twice, his first wife dying in childbirth at age 16, his second wife an older woman with three children whom he later abandoned; poisoned to death - supposedly - by drinking a bottle of whiskey laced with strychnine at the age of 27 near Greenwood, Mississippi. It seems that nobody really knows where he was buried - there are three different markers . Johnson spent most of his life as a performer travelling up and down the Delta, playing on streetcorners, with a woman in every town.


The myth of Robert Johnson revolves around a story that he cultivated, at least according to his fellow musician Johnny Shines. Johnson went to a crossroads at midnight to meet up with the devil, and handed his guitar over to Satan. The devil tuned it so Robert could play anything he wanted and then handed it back to Johnson in exchange for his soul. It is known that he started playing the guitar at the tender age of three and was also proficient on the harmonica.


Whether he took music lessons from Beezlebub or not,there is no question in my mind that Robert Johnson coaxed sounds out of his Gibson guitar that still resonate strongly from the grainy recordings he made in 1936 and 1937 at two different sessions in Texas. His biggest "hit" - Terraplane Blues" - sold about 5,000 copies. His ability to play rthymn and melody at the same time, coupled with sliding up and down the neck, create a unique, spellbinding sound, combining with Johnson's mournful wail to define Delta blues, at least for a generation of 60s and 70s musicians. His lyrics - as in "Stones in My Passway" - "Where did you stay last night? / Your hair's all messed up and you ain't talkin' right" - or "Come On In My Kitchen" - "The woman I love took her from my best friend/Some joker got lucky, stole her back again" - are just a few of the verses that have been incorporated into countless blues tunes.


Ironically, were it not for Keith Richards, Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page - among others - deciding to emulate Johnson, he would have ended up a relatively obscure figure. Instead, Robert Johnson's life and legacy have made him into an icon, a towering but cryptic fixture of early Twentieth Century blues music.