Continuing with my own personal Top 40....
Morning Dew - The Grateful Dead
The Golden Road To Unlimited Devotion was probably the second album I bought with my own money, prompted by the fact that I had seen the Dead live at the Village Gate. Ironically, they were OPENING for another band that dropped out of sight. Morning Dew is highlighted by Jerry Garcia's tentative vocals meshing with plaintive guitar chords. The song has such a loving quality to it, painting a picture and creating a mood. In my mind, it marks the beginning of the reign of the Dead.
Panama Limited - Tom Rush
Rush's deft use of a kitchen knife sliding up and down the guitar strings coupled with his authoritative vocals and meticulously clean finger picking makes this song a folkie classic, complete with the various "train" sound effects. He does his musical homework well, able to adapt and refine various guitar styles until he makes them his own. "Panama Limited" was best experienced from the vantage point of a crowded cafe table in the old Mooncusser on Circuit Avenue in Oak Bluffs.
Heard It Through The Grapevine - Gladys Knight and The Pips
This song simply drives itself - a blend of the funkiest piano hooks on record combined with Gladys' intense vocals and the staccato punctuation of the Pips, a solid R & B riff that never lets you down. I always wonder why Marvin Gaye's version got all the attention.
Chest Fever - The Band
A true virtuoso run for keyboardist Garth Hudson as he jumps from organ to piano to synthesizer and back, the song's refrain echoing like thunder across some vast imaginary plain. I used to always visualize the song being performed live, with Garth as the centerpiece, rising up from the stage on some kind of hydraulic platform during his solo, hunched over his array of instruments.
Leavin' Trunk - Taj Mahal
Or any of the other cuts off his first eye-opening album - who was this dude who ground out such tight, hard-driving, electrifying blues? Taj's voice on this cut is a controlled, melodic shout, while the harmonica provides a dynamic, amplified wail. If you ever get a copy of this record, sit back and relax to "The Celebrated Walking Blues", kind of like Taj Mahal's musical thesis on the nature and history of the blues.
By the way - how about YOUR Top 40? Send me some titles and brief descriptions and I'll add it to the list.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
My Top 40
In celebration of its 40th anniversary, the May 07 issue of Rolling Stone has a list of the 40 songs which - in their opinion - changed the world. In a manner of speaking , since music like most art is ultimately subjective, we all have our own Top 40 tunes, the music that stands out in the stages of your life.
The first song that caught my attention was "Twist Twist Senora" by Gary US Bonds, the bouncy, vibrant rthymn standing out in the WABC (New York) AM mix that I was addicted to with my tinny transistor and plastic earphone. Bonds' voice was closer to a hoarse shout than a melodic voice, but the beat and the vocal made me move, in contrast to Chubby Checker and Joey Dee, so much so that I went out and bought the record. Bonds' music has some Caribbean flavor, the song lyrics vaguely reminiscent of gonzo calypso.
Then there was the Contours "Do You Love Me?", the driving, early Motown beat combined with the classic "spoken" intro before the song simply breaks out into the "call and respond" format. The interaction between the shouted lead and the melodic chorus gave it a rough but high energy edge, sort of like doo wop on meth.
The Kinks' "You Really Got Me" was one of my very few 45s, which I played over and over on my two tone monaural until the words were embedded in my brain. The music was so straightforward and simplistic that even I could carry the tune. I never realized how much potential the song had until Van Halen ripped it open 20 years later.
The real mystery is "Psychotic Reaction" by the Count Five. This was my first big driving song although it hinted of psychedelia, a harbinger of the extended guitar solos to come, but it's like the song never existed. I haven't heard it since I was 17, but I associate it with great moments like cranking my mother's station wagon up to 100 + and singing at the top of my lungs: "Well I feel this way - can't get satisfaction - feels just like a PSYCHOTIC REACTION."
Stay tuned for more of my own personal "charts".
The first song that caught my attention was "Twist Twist Senora" by Gary US Bonds, the bouncy, vibrant rthymn standing out in the WABC (New York) AM mix that I was addicted to with my tinny transistor and plastic earphone. Bonds' voice was closer to a hoarse shout than a melodic voice, but the beat and the vocal made me move, in contrast to Chubby Checker and Joey Dee, so much so that I went out and bought the record. Bonds' music has some Caribbean flavor, the song lyrics vaguely reminiscent of gonzo calypso.
Then there was the Contours "Do You Love Me?", the driving, early Motown beat combined with the classic "spoken" intro before the song simply breaks out into the "call and respond" format. The interaction between the shouted lead and the melodic chorus gave it a rough but high energy edge, sort of like doo wop on meth.
The Kinks' "You Really Got Me" was one of my very few 45s, which I played over and over on my two tone monaural until the words were embedded in my brain. The music was so straightforward and simplistic that even I could carry the tune. I never realized how much potential the song had until Van Halen ripped it open 20 years later.
The real mystery is "Psychotic Reaction" by the Count Five. This was my first big driving song although it hinted of psychedelia, a harbinger of the extended guitar solos to come, but it's like the song never existed. I haven't heard it since I was 17, but I associate it with great moments like cranking my mother's station wagon up to 100 + and singing at the top of my lungs: "Well I feel this way - can't get satisfaction - feels just like a PSYCHOTIC REACTION."
Stay tuned for more of my own personal "charts".
Friday, April 20, 2007
Junior Walker
For years I thought that the only way to play a saxophone was to sound like Junior Walker, mainly because I had a copy of the Shotgun album that I played over and over, listening to the way Walker made the instrument shriek, wail and squeeze out spine-straightening riffs. True, Shotgun is the tune commonly associated with Junior Walker and the All Stars, but I liked "Roadrunner" and "Cleo' s Mood" and "Shake and Fingerpop" just as well.
As far as facts are concerned, Junior was born Autry DeWalt Jr in Blytheville, Arkansas, then grew up in South Bend, Indiana. He originally recorded for Harvey Fuqua, but went to Motown when Berry Gordy, Jr. bought out all Fuqua's labels. Besides Junior himself, the All Stars featured Vic Thomas on keyboards, Willie Woods on guitar and drummer James Graves. Most of the group's hits were sandwiched in between 1965 and the early 70s, but none of them ever reached the same stature as "Shotgun".
Soul Session was the All Stars' second album on Motown's Soul label. The funkiest tune has to be the way Junior and the band rip up "Moonlight in Vermont", title tune from a 1943 "b" musical, starting with the original comforting melodic line, then upping the tempo and injecting the funk before settling back into a comfortable, romantic groove. Soul Session definitely stands out because it is totally instrumental , and shows the true depth of the All Stars' talent. Best cuts include "Satan's Blues", the sound of gritty urban blues at its best, including organ riffs reminiscent of jazz great Jimmy Smith; "Shake Everything"; "Good Rockin'" and "Brainwasher." Junior's playing on this album has always been for me the true definition of (for lack of a better term) "urban" saxophone, ranking with Miles Davis in my lexicon of horn players.
Walker decided to branch out on his own in 1979 with little success except for the fact that he played the sax solo for "Urgent", the rock group Foreigner's hit in 1981, and was back at Motown in 1983. He succumbed to cancer in 1995.
In general, I prefer music with energy, power and humor. Junior Walker and the All Stars exceeded all three categories, and created a monument to funk that was ahead of its time.
As far as facts are concerned, Junior was born Autry DeWalt Jr in Blytheville, Arkansas, then grew up in South Bend, Indiana. He originally recorded for Harvey Fuqua, but went to Motown when Berry Gordy, Jr. bought out all Fuqua's labels. Besides Junior himself, the All Stars featured Vic Thomas on keyboards, Willie Woods on guitar and drummer James Graves. Most of the group's hits were sandwiched in between 1965 and the early 70s, but none of them ever reached the same stature as "Shotgun".
Soul Session was the All Stars' second album on Motown's Soul label. The funkiest tune has to be the way Junior and the band rip up "Moonlight in Vermont", title tune from a 1943 "b" musical, starting with the original comforting melodic line, then upping the tempo and injecting the funk before settling back into a comfortable, romantic groove. Soul Session definitely stands out because it is totally instrumental , and shows the true depth of the All Stars' talent. Best cuts include "Satan's Blues", the sound of gritty urban blues at its best, including organ riffs reminiscent of jazz great Jimmy Smith; "Shake Everything"; "Good Rockin'" and "Brainwasher." Junior's playing on this album has always been for me the true definition of (for lack of a better term) "urban" saxophone, ranking with Miles Davis in my lexicon of horn players.
Walker decided to branch out on his own in 1979 with little success except for the fact that he played the sax solo for "Urgent", the rock group Foreigner's hit in 1981, and was back at Motown in 1983. He succumbed to cancer in 1995.
In general, I prefer music with energy, power and humor. Junior Walker and the All Stars exceeded all three categories, and created a monument to funk that was ahead of its time.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
The Beantown Legacy
The Boston area has always had a reputation for good music, and the passing of two individuals from opposite ends of the spectrum amply illustrates the point.
Former Boston lead singer Bradley Delp apparently committed suicide several weeks ago. Although I really haven't paid any attention to his career since the 1970s, his voice is a staple on classic rock stations across the country. The first Boston album is a rock and roll masterpiece, so well done that the band could never improve on it, and Delp's strong melodic vocals are a prominent part of the mix. "More Than A Feeling" is the best known cut, showcasing both the voice and the precise, electrifying guitar solos that were Tom Scholz' trademark, but as you run down the list of tunes on the album, nearly every one has become a classic. Unfortunately, the band drowned in its own hype by creating a standard that was just too good to be true. Almost like the so-called "One-ders" - the bands that materialize long enough to cut a record before disappearing into the mist - Boston's legacy is just one magnificent album, which would not have been possible without Bradley Delp's voice.
Long before Tom Scholz started crafting leads in his Wayland basement, John B. "Fritz" Richmond was a vital part of the 1960s "folk" scene in Cambridge, the undisputed master of the washtub bass as well as the jug. Besides backing such legendary Boston area "folkies" as Eric Von Schmidt, Tom Rush and others, Fritz Richmond helped found the The Jim Kweskin Jug Band in 1961. Although it may seem hard to believe that an empty Clorox or juice container can, in fact, be a musical instrument, Richmond was able to coax incredible melodies out of the plastic, including several amazing solos on Prairie Home Companion in the recent past. After the Jug Band broke up in 1968, Richmond moved to California where he worked as a sound engineer for Elektra and recorded with musicians like the Doors, Ry Cooder, and Jackson Browne among others.
Two dramatically different talents from two separate eras, yet they were both part of Boston's legacy.
Former Boston lead singer Bradley Delp apparently committed suicide several weeks ago. Although I really haven't paid any attention to his career since the 1970s, his voice is a staple on classic rock stations across the country. The first Boston album is a rock and roll masterpiece, so well done that the band could never improve on it, and Delp's strong melodic vocals are a prominent part of the mix. "More Than A Feeling" is the best known cut, showcasing both the voice and the precise, electrifying guitar solos that were Tom Scholz' trademark, but as you run down the list of tunes on the album, nearly every one has become a classic. Unfortunately, the band drowned in its own hype by creating a standard that was just too good to be true. Almost like the so-called "One-ders" - the bands that materialize long enough to cut a record before disappearing into the mist - Boston's legacy is just one magnificent album, which would not have been possible without Bradley Delp's voice.
Long before Tom Scholz started crafting leads in his Wayland basement, John B. "Fritz" Richmond was a vital part of the 1960s "folk" scene in Cambridge, the undisputed master of the washtub bass as well as the jug. Besides backing such legendary Boston area "folkies" as Eric Von Schmidt, Tom Rush and others, Fritz Richmond helped found the The Jim Kweskin Jug Band in 1961. Although it may seem hard to believe that an empty Clorox or juice container can, in fact, be a musical instrument, Richmond was able to coax incredible melodies out of the plastic, including several amazing solos on Prairie Home Companion in the recent past. After the Jug Band broke up in 1968, Richmond moved to California where he worked as a sound engineer for Elektra and recorded with musicians like the Doors, Ry Cooder, and Jackson Browne among others.
Two dramatically different talents from two separate eras, yet they were both part of Boston's legacy.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Heartbeat City: Cruising With The Cars
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.
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.
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
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