There’s So Much You Have To Know

If Cat Stevens added a verse or two to Father and Son, and added the perspective of the grandfather, well  …  I’m old enough to also relate to that.

But I’m still pulling for the son.

Listing, Listing …

I’ve recently been wondering why I don’t write as much about acoustic guitarists as their plugged-in friends, because the music I listen to probably contains as many acoustic guitars as electric.

Maybe it’s the wow factor of the electric guitar.  I dunno.

I don’t even have a Top Ten list.  Maybe it’s just too hard.

I mean, where do you start?  You could fill the list with the influential blues cats like Robert Johnson, Big Bill Broonzy, Son House or John Lee Hooker.  You could fill it with acoustic specialists like James Taylor, Bruce Cockburn, Cat Stevens, Harry Manx, Paul Simon or Donovan.  You could easily fill it with players who also play a mean electric guitar, like Clapton, Page, Knopfler, Bonamassa, Neil Young or Colin James.

Hmmm.  Plenty of wow factor in all those names.

I guess there’s the “defined the instrument/broke new ground” thing that gets applied to musicians on other instruments.  In that case, I suppose my list would be: Leadbelly, Johnson, Broonzy, Taylor, Simon, Donovan, Stevens, Cockburn, Young and Page.

But then I’d be omitting artist I listen to – and wonder, “how did he/she do that?” – a lot.  People like Clapton, Harry Manx, Arlo Guthrie and Bonnie Raitt.

To hell with lists.  I revere all the guitarists mentioned – them, and a lot more.

Zombie Apocalypse Music

Of all the musical genres out there, the one that scares me the most is the one they call singer-songwriter.  Some earnest cat with a guitar telling you about his sad luck, or complaining about what’s wrong with the world.  Downer stuff, man.  Run away and hide.  We’re all doomed.

Wait a minute!  Wikipedia says singer-songwriter just means musicians who write, compose and perform their own music – in the finest folk tradition.  Leadbellly, Woody, Dylan – guys like that.  That’s cool, right?

And anyway, Buzz, don’t you adore James Taylor and Cat Stevens, and didn’t you enjoy and respect some of those hippy-era guys like Tim Hardin and Bruce Cockburn?

And by the way, Buzz, what the heck do you think most of your music should be called?

OK!  Fine!  Then why do I associate the genre with the likes of Harry Chapin and Jim Croce and Dan Hill, guys whose songs – with all due respect – make me lose my will to live?

Maybe it was that bad voodoo going on in the early seventies, the force that codified, stereotyped and exaggerated everything, the thing that pushed metal into silliness and prog rock into pointlessness and soul into disco and goofy hair.  Maybe it’s just that little bit of singer-songwriter that turns me off.

Anyway, it ought to be the most respected genre, ‘cause it’s got to be the oldest.  Troubadours, bards, poets, Homer and all that.

By the way, I’d respectfully suggest the Wikipedia entry needs a major overhaul.  Maybe Frank Zappa did write, compose and play his own songs, but come on!  Is singer-songwriter really the genre that pops to mind when you hear his name?

Then again, as David Knopfler’s thoughtful article points out, it’s a genre that has defied categorization.

Time Changes Everything

If nothing changed we’d all be stuck in a sort of groundhog day and life would get pretty boring.  Things change, we change, what we like and don’t like changes.

Dunno about you, but my musical tastes have changed a lot over the years, and it’s not just about getting mellower as I get older.  I hope.

For example:

Extreme changes, from “Hate it” to “Love it” – Van Morrison, The Band

Major changes, from “Don’t like it but respect it” to “Love it” – CCR, Motown, Blues, (some) Country

Minor changes, from “Like it” to “Love it” – Stones, AC/DC, Bob Marley

Minor changes from “Adore it” to “Love it” – Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Jethro Tull

Minor changes from “Love it” to “Like it” – Hendrix, The Who

Major changes from “Love it” to “Ya it was OK then but don’t care now” – The Byrds, The Cult, Humble Pie

Extreme changes from “Love it” to “Let’s pretend it didn’t happen” – Wang Chung (I don’t know; I really don’t know), Genesis, a lot of prog rock

Some things just wear thin over time.  Others seem to get better as I discover more and learn to appreciate what I’m hearing.

And some things don’t change.  In the “Can’t imagine ever not loving it” category – Clapton, Dire Straits, Bonnie Raitt, The Cars, The Police, Cat Stevens, James Taylor, Tom Petty.

And in a category of their own, the “this is perfect” category – The Beatles.  Sheer joy, any time at all.

Good News For Denver

I started playing with my U.S. music map, plotting where I thought some British artists would land. It looks like this:
 

I've already described how I thought The Beatles belonged in Ohio to reflect their

twin influences of Nashville and Motown, and how Cat Stevens sounds to me like a blend between Memphis and Motown.

The Stones? Chicago and Memphis, so they're neighbours of the Cat.

Eric Clapton's ancestors came from The Delta, Chicago and Texas, placing him somewhere on the Arkansas/Oklahoma border.

U2 and The Kinks split that Motown pop sensibility with a NY punk attitude, putting the somewhere in Penn state (OK, let's give U2 to Buffalo).

Bands like ELO and Queen blend that Motown pop gift with the Hollywood production thing (and jazz complexity), placing them squarely in the middle of the country.

Cream and The Animals blended their love of Chicago blues with a touch of California weirdness, making them natives of Colorado (there you go Denver). Zeppelin: about the same but with a pull from The Delta.

Deep Purple and Pink Floyd have lots of the Hollywood production and complexity, with a bit of pull from the eastern styles, which I guess lands them in the southwestern desert.

Neil Young lands in West Virgina (sorry Winnipeg), given an equal pull from Nashville and NY. And yes, I know he's Canadian.

Elvis Costello? A bit more NY punk.

Dire Straits? Nashville, Memphis, Delta.

Van Morrison: Memphis, Delta (maybe a bit of Motown?)

David Bowie was tough. NY punk and Motown pop pulling hard against California - landing him in Nashville of all places.

Hmmm ... there's a whole new twist on the idea of "Music City."

On The Road To Find Out

That earlier post about Sad Lisa got me wondering why I hadn't dealt with Cat Stevens before. Ultra strange, 'cause I love his music.

He was popular at a time when Folk music was enjoying a resurgence, and the acoustic guitar dominates his work, but his range was just too broad for that little cubby hole.

You've got your folky singer-songwriter stuff like If I Laugh, and your folky protest songs like But I Might Die Tonight, but you also have pop singer-songwriter tunes like Can't Keep It In. You've got your Mediterranean-influenced "folk" like Ruby Love, but you've got your Pop-Rock songs like Ready and Bitter Blue, which could have been played by The Who or Led Zeppelin.

Which brings me to the rhythm and percussion. Most of his songs are filled with rhythmic hooks, layers of percussion, and drummers going nuts. Even songs that begin as seemingly simple folk tunes end up building relentlessly into something more like Rock. Check out Longer Boats and Where Do The Children Play?

It's maybe telling that the only song I could find on my iPod that was just Cat and his guitar, The Wind, is also the shortest.

For a folky, the Cat sure could dance.

There Must Be More I Can Tell Her

Sometimes song lyrics are direct and clear. You know what they're about and you respond accordingly.

Sometimes, though, they are open to interpretation. Like the kid in the lit class that challenges the hapless teacher as he/she attempts to pronounce the one, curriculum-approved interpretation of a poem, some songs challenge the listener to imagine different possibilities.

Sad Lisa by Cat Stevens is one such song.

The song is about a sad female called Lisa. That much we know.

But what's her problem? Heartache? physical abuse? autism? insanity? We sense the pain is deep. We also feel something sinister is afoot. The piano shifts between normal and underwater, rising and submerging throughout the song. The tension builds in symphonic fashion as the piano yields to strings and guitar, the strings at first echoing the melody, then taking up a nervous counterpoint.

Who is she? A lover? sister? child? In fact, is she even real? She's lost in the dark. She can't hear the speaker. No one can see her. Is she a tortured soul, a prisoner, or an imaginary friend?

What a poet.

p.s. - like so many great songs, especially from that era, optimism never fully yields to sadness and despair. There must by more he can tell her, maybe one day he will free her.

And maybe that's the central point of the song: never give up.

Take A Sad Song And Make It Better

Listening to a good sad song can be cleansing, cathartic experience.

I got to thinking the other day about sad songs and started wondering which ones are the saddest ever.

It all depends on your individual experience, of course, which will influence how you react to any given song, but here’s my partial list:

I Can’t Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt is right up there, maybe #1.  It just aches.

Sticking with Bonnie, Matters Of The Heart, should also be on the short list.

Romeo And Juliet, by Dire Straits is either a close second, or maybe even #1.  Whenever I see Knopfler perform it live, my reaction is "I hope I’m never unhappy enough to be able to write a song like that."

You’re Missing, by Springsteen gets me every time.  So does Father and Son by Cat Stevens.  Not sure why, but so does Hysteria by Def Leppard.

Two Blues classics, Love in Vain and St. James Infirmary, deserve consideration.  Anyone’s version.

After that, I’m not sure.  Yesterday?  Yes It Is?  For No One?  No.  The Beatles could do melancholy, but they were masters of juxtaposition, and so even their sad songs feel upbeat.  Springsteen’s pretty good at that too.

Maybe John Mayer’s Gravity.  Nah.  Too pretty.

Fast Car?  No.  That’s depressing, not sad.
 

Lots of emotional songs, lots of downer songs, but not many sad ones come to mind.  Hmmm  ...  maybe we could use more.  The catharsis might be good for us, and then maybe we wouldn't need so many pissed off songs.

Favourite Albums - Part 1

I stumbled across a Beatles forum a while ago,and the burning question under discussion was, "What's your favourite Beatles album?"  Like it's possible to decide, or consensus could be achieved.  So I typed "the last one I heard" and moved on.

But like a bad TV commercial, the idea wouldn't go out of my head.  So, against my better judgement, here is my list of favourite albums (excluding the Greatest Hits, since that would be cheating).

AC/DC - Back In Black.  Easy.

The Band - Music From Big Pink.  They could have stopped there.

The Beatles - yes.

Bonnie Raitt - Luck of the Draw.  Tough call.

B.B. King - Deuces Wild.  I know it's cheating, but you get his greatest hits repackaged with some great guest artists.

The Cars - A tie.  The Cars and Candy O.

Cat Stevens - Another tie.  Tea for the Tillerman and Teaser and the Firecat.

Colin James - National Steel.  More acoustic and less big band, please.

Cream - Wheels of Fire.  'cause it has two discs.

The Cult - Electric.  In case you care.

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here.  Maybe it's the cover.

Deep Purple - Another tie.  Shades of ...  and Fireball.  Not Machine Head, not that I don't like that.

Dire Straits - yes.

Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True.  It was.

Eric Clapton - Crossroads.  OK, that's cheating.  So From the Cradle.  No wait!  Me and Mr. Johnson.  Wait!  ...

The Guess Who - Share the Land.  Just to be contrary.

James Taylor - Sweet Baby James.  Unsurpassable.

Jeff Beck - nope

Jethro Tull - Mood dependent, but let's say Stand Up.

More later.