It's one of the few times when an artist's death has absolutely gutted me...even if I wasn't surprised.
When I read about Grant Hart's passing, I was....well, on the one hand, I was watching a recent news item involving a music festival he was running. He...didn't look too well. But hearing of his passing was just gutting.
Husker Du and the Replacements helped me survived my twenties. Their music helped me through breakups, angst...and they still do. I'm one of those people who find loud, distorted guitars rather comforting.
So in that spirit, a selection of my favorite Grant Hart tunes....because I can. (And because pal Chris Brown would probably remove my unofficial designation as his "musical guru"). And music speaks so much louder than my written words.
First, two selections from Zen Arcade, the album that introduced me to the band. Pink Turns to Blue is my favorite of the two selections, although I've been really listening to Turn on the News in light of recent events:
One of my personal favorites is Green Eyes, a song from Flip Your Wig that was especially comforting when falling in love with a past girlfriend. (It also works, like Crush Story by Too Much Joy, on crushes)
Although everyone points to Don't Want to Know if You are Lonely, I actually prefer Hart's other tracks on Candy Apple Grey: Sorry Somehow served as a soundtrack to a moment of personal betrayal (and no, I'm not going to talk about it. Or blog about it), and No Promise Have I Made (which seems almost a great answer song with its "and now you've faced up to you facing me betrayed" lyric):
Finally, the ending track from Warehouse: Songs and Stories has always hit me in the gut. It's one of the things I had always wanted to say to my father, especially in the heat of one of our regular knock down, drag out arguments: "...I can be beautiful without you torturing me..."
For many fans, I've ignored some other choices....but that's the great thing about Hart's music: there's a treasure trove of gems worth exploring...
As some of the dust clears workwise (settling into small scale projects and Chicago TARDIS planning), this is the one song that's consistently playing in my household...and yes, you can guess the reason why...
Let me take you back to the glory days that were the early 1990s: Bill Clinton was in the White House, I was enjoying a post-college preview of the "real world", and I was getting involved in music. More specifically, the kind of "alternative" rock promulgated by the fanzine called The Big Takeover.
(Yes, I'm still a subscriber, why do you ask?)
One of the bands I "discovered" was The Damned, who were part of the holy triumvirate of 1977 punk along with the Sex Pistols and the Clash. If the Pistols were the Beatles and the Clash were the Rolling Stones, the Damned were more like the Who, with some wild experimentation and musicianship behind some killer tunes. (I also discovered the genius of their third album Machine Gun Etiquette).
All of this is a preface for possibly one of the best music documentaries of 2015, The Damned - Don't You Wish That We Were Dead?
I'm not sure where to begin with this documentary...because it's that good. Much of it is the music, but where the documentary really comes alive is in how the Damned's approach to music differed from its contemporaries. There was as much "art" as "thrash" in their style of punk, and part of what helped was that the Damned were making noise by touring when other bands were making news.
It's also remarkable how many of the band members seem...well, remarkably down to earth. Dave Vanian and Captain Sensible are the kind of people who seem more than happy to hang out and have a drink with you (at least, as long as you pick up the tab). Even former members come off relatively unaffected by their involvement - Brian James still has some ego, but a great sequence involving Paul Gray and (the now late) Bryn Merrick - both bassists for the band - really cements how a love of music permeates this band.
It's only Chris Miller, aka "Rat Scabies", who comes off in a very unflattering light. At one point, Captain Sensible hints as business issues, and Mr. Miller looks at the camera and provides a very patronizing lecture on how the Damned record royalties are distributed. An ill-advised tour with Brian James provides the only wince-worthy moment (their lead singer....well, let's just say that for ten seconds, you'll be in physical pain), and at the end, Miller just rails in bitterness. It's not a pretty sight....but it's one of the most honest moments in the film.
The Damned - Don't You Wish That We Were Dead also contains some great character moments: Captain Sensible discussing hijinks when cleaning toilet, David Vanian revealing more than you would expect from his performing persona....this is as much an entertaining film as it is a thorough documentary.
This one's a keeper. Watch it, especially if you really like music. It's nostalgia without the sappiness.
Although I must disclose that I received a complimentary electronic copy for review, I'm glad I took on the assignment, because Up From Where We've Come is one of the best memoirs I've read in awhile.
First, I enjoy reading about the small, more personal takes on history, and this is where Up From Where We've Come shines. Wright structured his book as a series of small vignettes, but these vignettes craft a very intricate portrait. Starting from his experiences of something that happened before he was born to his family's move to California, Wright explores his experiences as a child in the deep South.
While discussing his youthful experiences, Wright doesn't pull punches. For those seeking a smaller, more intimate exploration of the African-American experience, Wright shares in a direct, honest way. Up From Where We've Come has several stories where heartbreak and pain are prevalent. (There's a scene involving Wright, his brother, and a turtle that will soften even the hardest of hearts). Even when describing experiencing racism in the South, Wright provides a matter-of-fact tone that neither condones nor condemns.
But much of Up From Where We've Come is a sheer joy to read. Wright gives his tale warmth, humor, and refreshing surprises. (Like an introduction by Little Richard). Up From Where We've Comeis one of the best things I've read this year, and is definitely worth reading.
Up From Where We've Come is supposed to be the first volume in a series of memoirs by Charles Wright....and I'm looking forward to the next volume.
You might think, "Oh, this is the Columbo episode with Johnny Cash, so it's got to be a bit terrible."
Actually, this entry from Columbo's third season is quite remarkable in how it both reveals the crime and the resulting investigation....
But first, the not-so-good parts.
At the beginning, there's a quite obvious visual difference between actual Cash concert footage and studio-filmed Cash footage. (Admittedly, it was the 1970s, but the feel as like bouncing from the Captain America: Civil War trailer and the Batman V Superman trailer). It also doesn't help that Sorrell Booke - playing the victim's brother and the man who kick starts the investigation - plays his role a little too over-the-top.
But Johnny Cash? His performance is pretty rock solid. There are some...interesting dialogue and pronunciation choices (as the Just One More Thing podcast points out), but Cash never plays Tommy Brown as an overt villain. It's reminiscent of Andy Griffith's turn in A Face In the Crowd - behind the aw-shucks demeanor is a carefully calculating individual. A man who sees himself as slightly ahead of the curve....which is what Columbo's counting on.
But there's another nice aspect to the episode....and that's Columbo's interactions with Pangborn, an FAA investigator played by veteran character actor John Dehner. Normally, Columbo's interactions with investigators of various kinds tends to be....well, Peter Falk portrays Columbo as a slight annoyance to others. With Dehner (I'm willing to bet it's the script) there's a nice, polite respect between the two men. Gone are the obvious overt Columbo-isms - there's a great deal to joy in watching these two men work together. It's only a few scenes, but it's sheer delight.
Finally, this is one of those scripts that - with only a minor tweaking - could be a 21st century episode. A religious country music singer who murders his wife and background singer in order to gain money....and hide a dark secret? Had this been produced two or three years ago, the conservative set would have been up in arms about this. But in the 1970s, it was....a bit more polite, but still has something of a contemporary edge.
Although I really liked Love & Mercy - a film about Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys - I have to admit a huge personal bias.
In my college days, I was fascinated with the story of Brian Wilson and his "therapist", Eugene Landy - so much so that it influenced my decision to become a
therapist. (Think "someone doing right rather than someone doing wrong"). So my own personal biases may be coming into play, but even so, Love & Mercy is still a powerful film, and possibly the most underrated film of 2015.
One of the strengths of the film is how it uses two actors to play the same character at different points: the mid-1960s Brian Wilson (Paul Dano) struggling
through creating Pet Sounds in the midst of his oncoming psychological burdens, and mid-1980s Brian Wilson (John Cusack) as he struggles with
dealing with Landy (Paul Giamatti) and falling for Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks).
Now, there will (and have been) the obvious this-is-a-biopic-that-gets-the-details-wrong criticisms, but Love and Mercy is not a docudrama....
it's simply a drama. Much of the film's strength comes from how it depicts how Wilson created in the studio - it's worth watching just to hear the wonderful
Pet Sounds backing tracks - as it does the love story between Wilson and Ledbetter. The script never falters or descends into easy cliche, and some
of the images are simply outstanding.
What makes Love & Mercy deliver are the performances - Paul Dano really captures the essence of the younger Brian Wilson: a boy always seeking approval for the unusual sounds he hears in his head. (And whose descent into mental illness is just as harrowing). There's a wonderful love of the early Wilson, and when the film documents the creation of Pet Sounds - usually simply through backing tracks - you get a sense of why the album is so highly regarded. But it's John Cusack - an actor I thoroughly dislike - who embodies the more mature Wilson so effortlessly. Yes, there are some obvious tics, but never loses charm at the expense of eccentricity.
Although I'm not an Academy Award watcher, I am thoroughly surprised that Love & Mercy is not one of the more nominated films. (Granted, they have their own issues with the nomination process right now). However, Love & Mercy is a must-watch: a powerful film that provides a great viewing experience that never descends into the usual mechanics of its genre.
Seriously. See this and then buy Pet Sounds. It's that good.
My introduction with Bowie didn't come during one of his better-known albums (like Ziggy Stardust or Heroes) - it actually came with Let's Dance, aka "Bowie's commercial period). Granted, it may sound rather lame (nobody's going to claim that "China Girl" or "Jazzing for Blue Jean" are cutting edge), but it did one important thing...it led me to Ziggy Stardust. And Heroes. And other albums.
The best tribute I can give is this....imagine a mix tape of the following (randomly selected) song titles:
The Man Who Sold the World Under Pressure Rebel Rebel Look Back In Anger I'm Afraid of Americans Hang On To Yourself Life on Mars
Now, go to YouTube, search, and listen to these songs....and realize that they were written and recorded by the same person.
Bowie explored many genres, many personas, and crafted a very eclectic body of work.
Want to pay the man tribute? Listen to his music. I know I will.
Part of my disbelief is due to his indomitable approach to touring, playing, and living the "rock and roll lifestyle." He was a man with a killer work ethic, and I admired that.
Plus, I also think Motorhead was a frickin' awesome band.
If you can, hunt down the documentary Lemmy. And when you play these YouTube videos, please play them loud.
Like many people who grew up in the 1990s, I became enamored of the music of Big Star - mostly through word-of-mouth testimonials. (That Replacements song about Big Star's Alex Chilton didn't hurt, either) So I easily fell in love with the sensitive, shimmering songs of #1 Record, the harder-edged-yet-brittle Radio City, and the flat-out darkness of Third.
(And if you don't find yourself repeatedly listening to September Gurlsafter hearing it the first time, there's something seriously wrong with you)
Of the two, Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Meis the more revelatory piece about Alex Chilton, with its sole focus on the band and its limited output. It's a story about how a small studio gained slight prominence, bringing in local talent and fostering a sense of community. It's about two polar creative opposites finding their way into collaboration. But most importantly, it's about the output - there's a great mix of testimonials and actual music that shows why Big Star gained the hearts and minds of many people. (It's almost as good as the Replacements documentary Color Me Obsessed). It shows why, for a band relatively unheard in its own time, Big Star has an appeal for many people....
....and A Man Called Destruction places it in the overall context of Alex Chilton's life. Granted, she starts with a little too much detail (did we really need to explore the history of the Chilton family?), but Holly George-Warren does a splendid job of highlighting some of the various aspects that drove Chilton: unusual parenting styles, the death of a sibling, the effects of early stardom as lead singer of the Box Tops - all of these factors influenced some of Chilton's later behavior.
If there's one complaint about A Man Called Destruction, it's that there's never really a sense of Chilton as a person. Of course, perhaps the idea that Chilton was so erratic in his career, and that his musical choices were a bit....eccentric, to put it mildly. (To paraphrase a Paul Westerberg quote, Chilton was either a massive genius or a guy who lost it a little too quickly).
Long ago, I used to have a Record You Should Own podcast, which I gave up due to personal commitments. Big Star has a prominent place in my top recommendations, and both Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Meand A Man Called Destruction provide great justification for that reputation.
Read and watch both. And you'll never again travel far without a little Big Star.
As part of the "Ask Gordon Anything" series of posts, today is part one of a two-part series featuring questions from pal/near-twin Roger, whose first two questions are
When you're prone to melancholy, what gets you out of it? What musician/singer I've never heard of should I be listening to?
To answer both questions....I usually listen to the music of Joy Division.
Granted, the band has gained notoriety for Ian Curtis' suicide, but this is some of the most emotionally engaging - and challenging - music ever recorded.
Part of the myth is due to the limited amount of music - two full albums, two compilations, a great documentary and Control (the obligatory biopic). It's not an easy listen - very minimalist, very existential....but this music is a great soundtrack for facing one's demons. (Even the surviving members - who went on to form New Order - have some qualms about performing. Here's a great interview with Peter Hook, the bassist, about the band's legacy)
Trust me - listening to Closer can be brutal, but there's something transcendent about the experience. It's as much about the "I survived the gloom" as it is "it doesn't get any worse then this."
It's a bit of a challenge, but Joy Division's music is worth it.
And soon, Roger, I'll answer your other questions - honest!
I have an almost gleeful appreciation of the pop song. I am not ashamed to admit this.
Much of it came from listening to my mother's Beatles/Stones/Kinks records as a child; another was the prevalence
of "oldies" radio in Chicago. (Not as prevalent as St. Louis, which has at least two....as well as three or four country stations....and three or four classic rock stations....I think you get the idea). So hearing that Lesley Gore recently passed away brought back some pleasant memories.
First, I'm going to say this out loud: "You Don't Own Me" is one of the greatest pop songs ever written and recorded. Never mind the proto-feminist sentiment - the initial bars of the song, the shift into the chorus, Gore's vocal - sell the emotional complexity of what should have been a simple piece of teen melodrama.
In addition, there's also "It's My Party", famously arranged by Quincy Jones....well, it's just a darn good song.
We've all had that feeling of loving some piece of art - some creative expression that speaks to us and us alone, that moves us in an extremely personal way. But imagine, if you will, living under a repressive regime, and discovering hope in an American folk singer....who never had the glory or attention in his native land, but who sells multiple units in your part of the globe.
That's the premise of Searching for Sugarman, a great documentary from last year that should be on your must-view list.
The movies focuses on a group of South African fans of a singer named Rodriguez, who released two little-heard albums (and worked on a third) in the United States. If all this film did was look at an artist in his native habitat (in this case, a decaying Detroit), and/or examine the forces which led to his lack of success (or even limited success), this movie would be a masterpiece. (And yes, Rodriguez' music deserves attention - it's glorious sounding, soulful, and worth owning on compact disc).
But the movie goes several steps further, looking at layers of myth and legend around the artist. Examining how South Africans embraced an American artist, and how a group of concerned fans attempted to "follow the money" to find him. (When Sixto Rodriguez is finally located, it feels less like an obvious plot point...and more like a moment of surprise and joy. Yes, the direction on this documentary is that good).
Thankfully, once Rodriguez is discovered, the movie does something remarkable - it hits familiar beats, but does so without any trace of obviousness. If you're expecting a Behind the Music-style expose, you'll be sadly disappointed. Searching for Sugarman is a film infused with joy, sparkling with wonder, and quite simply, will warm even the hardest of cynical hearts.
is still a powerful film, and possibly the most underrated film of 2015.
. It's that good. 
and Holly George-Warren's biography of Alex Chilton, 
. Both are invaluable guides to how one man pursued his creative vision....descending into self-destruction and then a kind of redemption.
