Her daddy was C.L. Franklin, a minister at New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit. He was a famous preacher man, check out some of his preachings on YouTube and you’ll get an idea of the pipes he had. But his daughter Aretha, well, she was something else. When she sang in the choir, angels sat, their jaws dropped, and listened in wonder.
She pursued a life of secular recording at age 18 with Columbia Records and did what the engineers told her to do. She had some success but was hardly a star.
Five years later, when her contract expired, Aretha switched labels to Atlantic Records. She went to Muscle Shoals, Alabama, and began recording with its legendary studio musicians. Aretha started doing her own musical arrangements, giving songs her vision and voice, and bada bing, the angels they shat themselves. The Queen of Soul was born and she would reign for another five decades.
You can pretty much dive anywhere into her catalog and get lost. The woman expressed emotion like a raw nerve with pipes of gold. She was a songwriter, pianist, actress, feminist, and civil rights activist.
The world lost a queen last year, but her voice will live on for the ages.
Grab a match, everybody get in line, stop making sense!
Four former art school students formed a band in New York City in 1975, and in ’77, they released Talking Heads: 77. Bassist Tina Weymouth explained what ‘Talking Heads’ meant: “A friend had found the name in the TV Guide, which explained the term used by TV studios to describe a head-and-shoulder shot of a person talking as ‘all content, no action’. It fit.”
Talking Heads had incredible content, like songs about a psycho killer, worrying about the government, ‘the book I read’, having no compassion–– you know, standard rock fare stuff.
Instantly Talking Heads drew attention as one of the freshest new wave bands and became mainstays at CBGB.
After the release of their second album More Songs About Buildings And Food, I saw them at the Tomorrow Club in downtown Youngstown, Ohio. I was a writer for the Youngstown State University ‘Jambar’ newspaper and smooth talked my way into reviewing the concert and meeting the band.
I am bad with faces, and to identify the band members I relied on their portrait shots from their first album. I met three of the band members at the soundcheck–– two men, one woman. I instantly deduced the woman was Tina Weymouth, pretty good gumshoe work there! The two young guys were clean cut, as were all three male members in the band portrait.
I asked the first guy if he was “David By-run?”
“No,” he said, “I’m Jerry Harrison.”
I asked the second guy if he was “David By-run?”
“No, I’m Chris Frantz. David Byrne is coming later,” he said.
“Oh,” said I, registering the singer’s name was pronounced “Burn” not “By-run.” The three band members were nice enough not to walk away in disgust from this punk kid reporter pestering them.
When I met Byrne that night, he was aloof with a faraway look in his eyes. He was shy and introverted and spoke about as much as a mime. David Byrne was on his own wavelength. His lyrics reflected that sensibility. No one wrote lyrics or songs like Talking Heads.
That night at the concert, the band played tight. Byrne stuck to a three-foot circumference around his microphone. He played guitar and delivered his lyrics exactly as recorded on the band’s albums. The epitome of “All content. No action.”
Imagine my surprise when I saw the movie Talking Heads Stop Making Sense, the best concert film ever IMHO. Byrne is a masterful showman (the big suit? Come on!). The band is tight, fun, and fluid. Content finally had action. I would pick that album as my favorite since they play cool renditions of some of their greatest songs, but that pick would be too easy.
Instead, I’ve selected 1983’s Speaking in Tongues, with the band’s only legitimate hit, Burning Down The House. This disc includes Making Flippy Floppy, Slippery People, Girlfriend is Better (where the phrase “Stop making sense” is used), Swamp, I Get Wild/Wild Gravity, This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody) and more. The sound is a fresh mashing of rock, funk, and get your groove on, baby. The music would sound just as original if released today. Give it a go for a good time.
I’m telling you, that ‘David By-run’ is something else. And if you haven’t heard it, Remain In Light is a close second for me as their best work.
It’s a gun in his pocket and he’s happy to see you.
I know it’s only rock and roll but… had to happen, the Stones on my list.
For me, the band was at its best in the Mick Taylor years. While Keith Richards is undeniably great, and Charlie and Bill laid down a foundation upon which rock cathedrals were built, it was Taylor who took the band to new heights with his playing. This album is a classic example.
The cover concept was created by Andy Warhol. On the original release, the zipper worked and the belt buckle had perforations. No, the model did not go commando. He was a tighty whitey dude.
Remember the days when album covers were special? When you not only received the album, you also got cool gimmicks like The Beatles Sgt. Peppers insert card containing a genuine Pepper mustache, sergeant stripes, badges, and the Sgt. Pepper band stand-up (with perforation for easy assembly!), Beatle pics suitable for framing in The White Album, and the trippy lenticular cover of Their Satanic Majesties Request from the Rolling Stones? Those were glory days (what were your favorite album gimmes?)
With Sticky Fingers, you got an operational zipper, and the classic songs Brown Sugar, Wild Horses, Can’t You Hear Me Knocking, Bitch, Sister Morphine, Dead Flowers, Moonlight Mile–– you get the drift. Great cheese, and lots of it.
Much of the album was recorded at the famous Muscle Shoals Sound Studios in Alabammy. The backstory of Moonlight Mile is that Keith had created a guitar riff on tape (he called it Japanese Thing). Mick Taylor worked with Jagger (playing acoustic guitar) on developing that riff into the song heard on the album. Taylor had the idea for strings. After all that creating, Taylor received no songwriting credit. It was another Jagger/Richards song in the publishing world.
The Glimmer Twins are notorious for being stingy with sharing credits. They even took credit for Robert Johnson’s Love In Vain Blues, which Mick and Keith claimed as their own when they recorded it as Love in Vain on Let It Bleed. The Johnson estate sued and won. The blues legend got his credit. Oh, those boys–– bad, bad, bad!
Carnival barker, huckster, hip philosopher–– pull up a bar stool and let’s go!
I didn’t discover the wonders of Tom Waits until the mid-’80s, but once I got my head out of my ass, I dove deep into his catalog.
Discovering an artist late is good because you can sample his wares and gorge on the buffet he’s produced. This baby is his second album, the title track a tribute to Jack Kerouac.
When you drop a diamond on this disc, it’s clear Waits is one way gone daddy–– balling the jack on his piano pedals and taking listeners on a journey through sweaty smoke-filled bars stinking of cheap booze and desperation. He understands lonely crushed souls nursing tender heartaches, and he does it with sweet beat poetry and woozy jazz sensibilities.
Waits is a fine aged whiskey to savor. He’s an incredible songwriter, profound poet, charismatic performer, sideshow barker, and emotional huckster.
Pour me another, buddy–– it’s going to be a long night, and I’m loving every moment.
Should you ever have the chance to catch Waits live, which is about as rare as a dodo bird riding a unicorn, grab a ticket fast. The guy is a masterful performer.
He lost his money and he lost his wife, those things don’t seem to matter much to him now.
While “Born To Run” was the album that made Springsteen a sensation (he was on the covers of TIME and NEWSWEEK, not too shabby), this one is my favorite one.
It’s dark, bleak, brooding, introspective–– with glimmers of hope, optimism, and determination to carry on. It’s a young man struggling to find his way (don’t we all?).
When he toured for this album, I somehow wrangled my way into working security for the show at The Richfield Coliseum in Cleveland. I then talked my way away from the duty of inspecting women purses to being a security guard guarding the seats behind the stage and making sure no one sat in them.
I did my bouncer duty before the show, then plopped my ass in a seat to the side of the stage. I then enjoyed an incredible four-hour show.
The songs on this album are all emotional lightning rods. They strike to the dark places within, the yearning that’s hungry to be satisfied.
Years later, Bruce would confess he deals with depression issues. He does so through his music. This album is a prime example. It’s therapeutic, cathartic. As The Boss bleeds, strap into your car and enjoy this emotional roller coaster ride (please keep your arms inside the car for safety’s sake).
I think this band will be pretty big if only they would get haircuts.
I was recently invited on a social media platform called “Facebook” (why not just call it “Cover”–– that’s what the face of a book is!) to participate in a game of selecting ten albums that are important to you.
This seemed an innocuous enough task, and I suppose it is if you just make your ten picks, sit down and shut up.
I didn’t. I obsessed and went down rabbit holes of research and traveled down memory lanes I hadn’t visited in ages. It starts innocently enough, but then–– you’ll see.
It ended up being a time-consuming but enrichening process. They will be shared in ten separate posts.
They are not in an order of preference, that would be silly and way too difficult. Enjoy and feel free to give your two cents.
Here’s day one. Beatlemania was in full swing, the boys rocked Ed Sullivan and owned the airwaves. Then, in 1964, they made a movie about living in the madness of pop stardom. In a beautiful black and white film, we followed the lads as they smoked cigarettes, were chased by mobs of girls, and played rock songs with more hooks than a Bass Pro Shop to adoring fans. What boy didn’t want to be a Beatle? I was all in on the devil’s music. Where are the old man’s smokes?
He lost his money and he lost his wife, those things don’t seem to matter much to him now.
