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Robin Trower – Twice Removed From Yesterday

June 8th, 2010 2 Comments

Robin Trower‘s debut solo album, Twice Removed From Yesterday, has finally been reissued on compact disc courtesy of IconoClassic Records. I’ve sung the praises of Trower and Twice Removed before, and am happy to have a digital backup to my well-worn vinyl copy of this underrated album. And, the CD is stacked with a bonus track, “Take A Fast Train.”

Twice Removed is moody, melodic and a revelation to those who had heard Trower only in his more supportive role as Procol Harum‘s guitarist. In Procol, Trower had the chance to spread his six-string wings on tracks such as “Whiskey Train,” but the band’s biggest successes relied on Matthew Fisher‘s organ stylings (“Whiter Shade Of Pale”) and lush arrangements (“A Salty Dog”). Eventually, Trower’s desire to merge the blues with rock was too much to deny and he struck out on his own, not knowing if he would ever be part of another recording. But, as the CD liners quote Trower, “Procol Harum were a keyboard band, and musically I was going off in a different direction. I had to find my own way to pursue that, and so I decided to form my own band.”

With little more than faith and the help of bassist/vocalist James Dewar and drummer Reg Isidore, the trio went to work recording a set of original material along with a stomping version of B.B. King’s “Rock Me Baby.” The songwriting – a partnership primarily of Dewar and Trower – showcased Trower’s controlled fire across some of the strongest material of the guitarist’s career. The brooding opener, “Can’t Wait Much Longer,” reunited Trower with Procol-mate Matthew Fisher (who also produced the original recording). For me, it is Trower at his best. One of the coolest parts about Trower’s playing is his ability to create “circular-sounding” riffs from a handful of notes. Unlike Tony Iommi, who would bludgeon and trample listeners with brontosaurus-like chords, Trower would paint mysterious musical pictures drenched in feedback and heavy in atmosphere. The compositions are not complex, but they drip with the pure emotion of the blues and imbue a sparkle to rock.

Dewar on the mike was the perfect foil for Trower’s potent compositions. His bluesy-soaked voice, often compared to Paul Rodgers, gives tracks like “Can’t Wait..,” “Hannah” and “Daydream” a gritty glimmer that’s hard to imagine bettering. And Isidore’s drumming is heavy yet smooth as quicksilver.

Success would follow Trower and Twice Removed, when Bridge Of Sighs was released a year later, but his first solo album remains the benchmark for Trower and the many hopefuls looking to meld blues and rock.

Pretenders – Pretenders

June 7th, 2010 No Comments

Pretenders – Pretenders

It’s 1980 and the world is still trying to figure out what to make of the recent punk explosion. The rebellion against the arty pretensions and overblown drama that passed for rock & roll had been deconstructed and stripped to the barest elements. Three chords, two minutes, and voices displaying raw emotion rather than vocal gymnastics were stealthily becoming the norm once again. Ohio native Chrissie Hynde had left the stale confines of the U.S. some seven years earlier at age 22 to write about, work for, and jam with London’s punks. Her taste in music and her songwriting abilities were now honed to where she was comfortable leading her own band. This is the setting for one of the finest rock records ever recorded, the self-titled debut of Pretenders. Although I haven’t owned this release for the first 30 years of its existence, I’ve recently acquired the Rhino/Audio Fidelity 24 K + Gold CD version and felt compelled to commit the emotions that I experienced upon listening to this jewel to words.

The stark cover to Pretenders, featuring the musicians dressed in only black, red, and white against a white backdrop, let us know that this is a band composed of four people with four very different personalities and centered on the red leather-jacketed and pouting Hyndes. She stands between a dangerously dark Pete Farndon and a grinning, suited Martin Chambers with a playfully mysterious James Honeyman-Scott peering over the rim of his black sunglasses and also over Chambers’ shoulder. The image, photographed by Chalkie Davies, seems to have captured the souls of the foursome with a device more crystal ball than camera.

Hynde is the dominant songwriter as well as the singer and rhythm guitarist. Her leadership of the band is clearly established early on. But Pretenders is a record made by a band, not a group of assembled musicians under complete direction of Hynde as Pretenders would later become. With the opening attack of “Precious” and Honeyman-Scott’s buzzsaw guitar, we’re led to believe that this is a punk record. But as Hynde steps to the mic, spewing lines about “shitting bricks” and telling us that she’s too precious and had to fuck off, unlike Howard the Duck and Mr. Stress who are trapped in a world they never made, we understand that the attitude may be “punk” but there’s a woman writing and singing these words, not a cartoon character. Farndon’s bass and Chambers’ drums are clear and sturdy (sounding especially great on the Gold Disc version) while Honeyman-Scott is divebombing us with siren sounds and tasty little licks. It’s as perfect as a song could get amid the tumult of rotting economies on both sides of the Atlantic.

Skipping through the tracks, we find one of many buried treasures in “Up The Neck.” Here we’re treated to some of Hynde’s best poetry in a lyric detailing a violently erotic scene and a realization that this love affair may be the singer’s undoing. But love it is and what may be will be. Honeyman-Scott employs a perfect, chiming sound as a prelude to some impressive quintuplet pull-offs. We also hear an early example of Hynde’s trademark fading vibrato vocals. As good as the performances are on this cut, what follows is perhaps the best song ever conceived by this band – “Tattooed Love Boys.” Weighing in at seconds shy of three minutes, there are more ideas flowing through than on some bands’ entire albums. While Hynde’s words are filled with brilliant double entendre that still manage to keep the exact meaning obscured, the true star is Honeyman-Scott. Backed by a locomotive rhythm from Chambers and Farndon, chattering maracas, and punked-up rhythm guitars, the lead breaks tackled by Honeyman-Scott grab from his bag of tricks at a dizzying pace. His pick is scraping and the strings and neck are bending as he alternates with rockabilly barre chords. The group is unbelievably tight while maintaining a balance between the heavy and the delicate. The early MTV video was what convinced this little metal-head to pay closer attention to Pretenders, as Honeyman-Scott’s powers simply could not be denied.

One song that I’d nearly forgotten about is the instrumental “Space Invader,” composed by Farndon and Honeyman-Scott. Farndon’s bass line does a great job at approximating the chugging sound of the “music” from the very influential video game, but the song itself is not all that spectacular. It is, however, a nice example of the chemistry between the two ill-fated songwriters.

There is a trio of songs tacked on to Pretenders that saw release well before the record was issued. All three are remarkable in their own way. The Nick Lowe-produced cover of the Kinks’ classic “Stop Your Sobbing,” sounds very different from the other tracks on the album, which are produced by Chris Thomas. Lowe’s approach has a more distant, echo effect that draws parallels between both the original version of the song and Motown girl groups. It’s one more reason to love Nick Lowe, but the song doesn’t do much to give an identity to the group. “Kid,” by comparison, contains all the elements that we typically recognize as being part of the Pretenders’ sound. Honeyman-Scott takes a rockabilly stance for the most part, but he’s also very inventive with the lines he chooses to bridge the changes of the piece. Hynde’s voices are as sweet and seductive as she’s ever sung, choked with sadness and employing her vibrato with completely charming results. And speaking of charm, the super smash “Brass In Pocket” remains unlike any song recorded before or since. I can remember way back to my teenage years and just how much impact the song had on girls that I went to school with. It was huge! There are so many ideas that contribute to the success of the song: the falsetto voices of the guys on the “make you notice” and “special” refrains, Honeyman-Scott’s irresistible and simple guitar lines, the bass way up high in the mix, and of course Hynde’s sexy and pleading vocals. These three tunes are what built the foundation for Hynde’s career in the decades to follow and they remain fresh to this day.

There are longer, lesser known, more experimental songs on Pretenders as well, chief among them “Lovers Of Today.” The pace is much slower on this ode to society’s expectations that young people’s love affairs are doomed. The music forms an aural spotlight for Hynde before and after making way for yet another genius solo from Honeyman-Scott. The lyrics are some of the most gentle crafted by Hynde and really point to the direction she would head in the wake of the tragic deaths of Farndon and Honeyman-Scott.

Everyone that was into music in any way in 1980 has a visceral reaction to Pretenders. In fact, I’d lay money on the fact that the emotions you experienced upon first encountering this band are rolling through your minds at this moment, whether you’re listening to the tracks right now or not. The band was that different, that exciting, and that special. The magic captured on their first release was never matched by anything they’d produced since, and, with very few exceptions, matched by any other artists on their debut record. In 1980, few could imagine that 25 years into this rock-n-roll thing a band could come along and shake things up like Pretenders did. I keep looking to other new artists to see if they may have what it takes to leave a similar legacy.

- Mark Polzin

Sigur Ros ( ) – A case for Classic Rock?

June 3rd, 2010 2 Comments

Sigur Ros – ( )

What do we make of a recording that has no title, no album credits, no song titles, and minimal cover art? This is the product delivered to American audiences by the Icelandic post-rock quartet Sigur Ros in October 2002, and which is commonly known as ( ), a title taken from the cut-out section of the CD’s plastic jacket, which resembles parentheses. This album first caught my attention upon its release due to the pastoral beauty of the untitled 4th track (also referred to as “Njósnavélin”) and has been on my “must purchase” list ever since. If you’re like me, your “must purchase” list contains far too many items to acquire in a human lifetime, but ( ) has haunted me until I picked it up earlier this month. The purchase did little to dispel the ghostly nag within my brain and has instead created more intrigue. While ( ) is not considered a classic rock album by most listeners, and can hardly be considered “rock” most of the time, it points a direction toward the future of music and draws from elements presented by artists such as Brian Eno, Radiohead, and early Genesis.

With no information to guide you through your first listen to ( ), you have no choice but to immerse yourself in the sounds and discern your own meaning. Now, I can’t speak Icelandic and wouldn’t know if someone was speaking the language let alone singing it. It turns out that I don’t really need that skill anyway. What I thought were lyrics in an established foreign language with which I had no familiarity was, instead, an entirely created language named “Hopelandic,” by the band’s singer and guitarist, Jonsi Birgisson. ( ) is not the first Sigur Ros release to feature “Hopelandic”, but it is the first to capitalize on the use of syllables in combination with the vagaries of the album concept to produce a record that’s meaning is left completely up to the listener and for which meaning will vary from fan to fan. On top of that, Jonsi’s delivery incorporates a high falsetto that occasionally peaks in squeaks. He does, however, have his fall back “words,” especially the syllable combination “ee-sigh-oh,” that are intended to produce some commonality in order to differentiate from gibberish.

I know that I’ve shaken at least half of my readers at this point. That’s cool. This release is definitely not every cat’s meow. But have no fear; I’ll get back to the ROCK later. And for those of you still with me, you’re either wondering if I’ve gone off the deep end or else you’re intrigued by this mysterious document called ( ). Well, my toes may be hanging over the edge of the pool, but there’s plenty of substance on this record to attract more than me alone. Please allow me to explain.

Track 1, also known as “Vaka,” begins with a simple, repeated piano chord progression supplied by keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson and is joined shortly thereafter by Jonsi’s echoing choral voice. A string section is added to the mix as Jonsi dispenses with the echo and presents full voice syllables before ramping up to his trademark falsetto. Although the tunes build in complexity over the course of the record, “Vaka” sets the tone and alerts us to the fact that ( ) intends to be more of a thought guide than a collection of songs. Six and a half minutes float by like clouds hanging overhead at daybreak.

The first half of the album’s eight cuts are generally more calm than the remainder, but the aforementioned track 4, or “Njósnavélin” if you prefer, starts to hint that Sigur Ros was once a rock band. Bass and drums courtesy of Georg Holm and Orri Pall Dyrason respectively are more prominent, but the pace remains slow and the music ethereal. The term “post-rock,” used to describe music that involves traditional rock instrumentation but steers clear of the conventions of the blues, jazz, and country backbones of rock music, is epitomized by the sounds on track 4. We’ve heard this approach, with differing effect, from Chicago’s Tortoise and the disparate King Crimson-affiliated projects, but Sigur Ros take the course more commonly pursued by classical composers. However, such composers also rely on conventions that are avoided by this band. Just as Iceland remains its own microcosm, with its unique volcanoes, geysers, glaciers, language, and lifestyles, Sigur Ros is as different from anything else found in popular music. Dyrason’s orchestral beats and Jonsi’s chiming reverb, enhanced by the use of a cello bow pulled across the strings, blend with the otherworldly keyboards and French horns that make up the guts of the piece. Jonsi’s presentation is truly beautiful as he hangs with his voice’s middle register. The song is broken at various intervals by majestic organ, odd voice samples, and tinkling music box electric piano elements. Eventually all sounds drop out of the mix and we’re left with Jonsi’s pleading “Hopelandic” as a prelude to a full 30 seconds of silence.

Track 5, or “Alafoss,” is dark as a cave and saturated by a sense of menace, dread, and sorrow. Dyrason keeps time as the minutes crawl by, but Jonsi sounds as if he’ll burst into tears at any moment. The music relies on more of the band’s devices than on the use of strings or horns as found elsewhere. Nearly 10 minutes of gloom will easily have you recalling memories that either should be faced before you can proceed with your life or that will drain your soul if dwelt upon unduly. The bass and organ draw from something that may have been left on the machine during a Pink Floyd session, circa 1971. Call this “rock” if you will, but it feels more like something summoned from an unholy dimension.

Track 7 and 8 (“Dauðalagið” and “Popplagið”) are the two longest pieces on the disc, both topping out over 10 minutes in length. On seven, the band is again toying with rock music, and on a collection from any other group, might be considered to be the experimental gloom ballad that offsets more traditional rock fare. On this record, it is the embodiment of angst and pent anger which Jonsi channels through a foghorn effect created by his guitar and the cello bow. His voice is more the wail of a dying Norseman, rising to cacophony and buoyed by thundering drums and crashing cymbals. The bass tones maintain the song’s ebony chord changes and never veer off course. Track eight, by contrast, is the noise of a fallen spirit soaring beyond the material world. Jonsi’s reprise of “eee-sigh-oh” and his gently plucked electric guitar offer moments of grounding, but the reverb and echo soon spill over into a slowly strangled solo and battering percussion before returning periodically and triumphantly. The darkness this time reinforces where previously it crushed the listener. It’s a sort of heroic tale and easily the most “rock” of anything found on ( ).

If the heavy metal band Sleep could be considered rock music, if Tiny Tim could be considered pop music, and if Frank Zappa’s orchestral pieces could be found in the rock bins, this record can also be considered a rock album and it’s absolutely classic in its scope and accomplishments. And just like all of those artists will have people either hate them or love them, Sigur Ros draws its own line in the sand and dares us to cross. If you decide to take the journey, you’ll experience an album that’s a modern day masterpiece and which may employ techniques that seem commonplace decades down the road. For these reasons, fans of Classic Rock ought to at least make an attempt to broaden their placid horizons and let ( ) guide their thoughts for a time. I rest my case. “Ee-sigh-oh.”

- Mark Polzin

Free music all summer long – Rod Stewart, Atlantic Crossing

June 2nd, 2010 No Comments

All summer long, ClassicRockMusicBlog.com will be giving away free music. For the next 3 months, you can register for a chance to win free CDs and LPs from the greatest classic rock acts and from up-and-coming bands.

Simply register for the site and let us know your favorite album of all time. That’s it. There’s no catch. These aren’t MP3s but real compact discs with all the packaging and extras, and we’ll also be giving away record albums, too. Winners will be picked randomly each day at 6:00 p.m. CST.

Today’s CD giveaway is Rod Stewart‘s Atlantic Crossing. The deluxe 2009 reissue includes two discs and 25 tracks in all, including the complete alternate version of Atlantic Crossing. Good luck!

White Willow-Signal To Noise

June 2nd, 2010 No Comments

Norwegian art-rock group White Willow takes its name from the tree whose bark contains salicin, from which may be derived the chemical salicylic acid, or aspirin. While White Willow may not produce the perfect cure for a headache, they are responsible for some of the most original, progressive music that I’ve recently encountered. My discovery of White Willow comes late in the band’s history with their 5th studio album, Signal To Noise, and their first with singer Trude Eidtang. The band’s prime mover, however, is guitarist Jacob Holm-Lupo, the author of most of the CD’s lyrics and music. I’m not sure how Signal To Noise stands up to the rest of the band’s catalog (most of which can be found on the excellent prog-rock label Laser’s Edge Records), but as an introduction, it’s worked quite well to pique my curiosity towards their other releases.

The CD opens with the track “Night Surf,” a slowly building power rocker centered on Eidtang’s angelic voice and a bubbling synthesizer line programmed by keyboardist Lars Fredrick Frøslie. Each member of the band has a chance to shine, including woodwind player Ketil Einarsen (on mournful flute), bassist Marthe Berger Walthinsen (whose guide line for Eidtang’s voice is featured high in the mix) and percussionist Aage Moltke Schou. Holm-Lupo is obviously a fan of Rush, and his background fills nod enthusiastically in the direction of Alex Lifeson. Yet Eidtang is the star of this piece, with a vocal presence that shifts intentionally from a whispery intro to stinging harmonies on the chorus.

The follow-up, “Splinters,” at over 8 ½ minutes begins with Holm-Lupo’s feedback dropping down to a lead line comparable in sound to Marillion’s Steve Rothery or Genesis’ Mike Rutherford. He’s later providing a heavy metal, crunchy contrast to Eidtang’s shimmering pop. Frøslie’s synth is the ever-present atmosphere holding the song together as Eidtang sings of Evie, a woman stepping gingerly through the wreckage of her shattered world.

The instrumental “Ghosts” picks up the pieces as Holm-Lupo propels the combo through an odd mechano-Arabic tune with rapidly changing time signatures. Frøslie contributes the spook factor with an intangible solo leading into Holm-Lupo’s violent turn and back out again with a repetitive machine precision.

Toward the disc’s end, “Dusk City” features Walthinsen in conjunction with Holm-Lupo’s heavy effects before giving way to another star turn from Eidtang, tribal drumming from Schou, and a manic flute solo from Einarsen. As Eidtang takes the song down to a quiet close, we’re left with the brief, but amazing instrumental, “Ararat.” Here Holm-Lupo reverts to his Arabic mode with a darkly swirling synthesizer as his lone accompaniment. His playing here is spellbinding and deserving of more than the minute and a half devoted to the song.

Signal To Noise is notable for leaning closer to art rock than prog and for using the brightly glowing talents of Eidtang to set the contrast to the numerous male voices at the front of so many bands with similar approaches. With striking cover art from Killustrations and co-production courtesy of semi-legendary European metal figure Tommy Hansen, the entire package is a refreshing alternative to the concept-heavy, sci-fi experiments presented by the marching army of European prog rock clones who think they’re on to something new. If I get a chance to explore White Willow’s back catalog, I’ll be sure to report what I find there as well. I’m already certain that there’s more than pain relief in the bargain.

- Mark Polzin

The Wishing Tree – Ostara

May 31st, 2010 No Comments

Early 2010 saw the U.S. release of Marillion guitarist Steve Rothery’s second record in collaboration with singer Hannah Stobart under the project name The Wishing Tree, Ostara. The record saw release in Europe a full six months before crossing the Atlantic, which goes to show how Marillion fans in the U.K. greatly outnumber those from America. Aside from the left-field hit “Kayleigh” in 1985, Marillion remains relatively unknown in The States, unfortunately. Rothery has long sought another outlet for his talents and The Wishing Tree, first conceived of as an acoustic music project, with Stobart’s seductive voice as its main strength, may prove to crack into a fan base with too short an attention span to grasp the conceptual conjurations heard with Marillion’s pop/prog approach. Ostara is a disarmingly fascinating album deserving further discussion.

Rothery, very much a team player in Marillion, cuts the team down to two members with The Wishing Tree. By handling all guitars, basses and keyboards, he’s freed cohort Stobart to layer her vocals in haunting harmonies and left the drumming to Stobart’s husband, Paul Craddick of the American neo-prog combo, Enchant. All compositions on Ostara are courtesy of Rothery and Stobart working together, however. Stobart’s training as a journalist allows her to lend the strength of lyrical composition to the project as well.

One of my favorite cuts from Ostara is track 2 on the disc, “Easy.” Rothery’s strummed minor chords employ only the smallest amount of distortion, while the bass and keyboards conjure a fog of lament as Stobart sings of the loss of innocence. Her intentionally open-ended words seem to refer to the growing complexity of modern society in comparison to the back-breaking concerns of people living in decades past. The question arises whether we, as a society, would have chosen the same path of advancement had we known what else would come along for the ride. That’s only my interpretation, alas, and the lyrics could refer as well to anything which gains unexpected levels of difficulty through the passage of time. Rothery’s solo slide guitar is a keeper, simple yet supportive of Stobart’s bittersweet voice.

The song “Falling” examines similar lyrical territory, but more from the first person view of someone taking control rather than allowing moments to exist in a pure form. Rothery uses an acoustic guitar to provide the backdrop this time, soloing and filling delicately with his electric guitar before dropping a heavily phased gem at the song’s close. “Fly,” by contrast, sings of the making of a moment to erase or escape an unpalatable fate. The pace is slower here and sets a structure for Rothery to ply delicate trills and showcase a truly Clapton-esque solo. Stobart’s range is exhibited in her multi-octave harmonies. She is Alanis Morissette with rounded edges.

“Soldier” is another standout track, with its baroque classical guitar and keyboard approximations of woodwinds. Stobart’s voice is framed squarely as she deftly rises and falls through her register. The lyrics question how a man will relate to his woman and whether he would step outside his life’s role to support her as she needs him to. It’s not really a love song, but more an inquest into whether the man truly understands what love means. There’s no rock and roll to be found here as elsewhere on the record due to the absence of drummer Craddick from the track. It remains the record’s most elegant moment for that loss, however.

The disc closes with live versions of both “Fly” and the CD’s title track, which are actually quite superior to the studio versions. The live mix is outstanding and Rothery’s solo on “Fly” is more emotional as it rides above a splendid, whirring organ. Live appearances by The Wishing Tree are rare and proven to be that much more special by these bonus cuts.

Side projects are usually only vehicles for artists to work out ideas that don’t quite gel with their day gigs. On certain occasions, however, the material and collaborators allow the artist to produce music that easily stands alongside that produced by the ensembles for which they’re better known. Such is the case with Ostara, one of the most enjoyable titles that I’ve come across in recent months. As blasphemous as it sounds, I actually hope that Marillion has more downtime in the years to come and that Rothery again finds time to work with Stobart under a very fruitful Wishing Tree.

-Mark Polzin

Larry Coryell with the Les Paul Trio, live at the Iridium Jazz Club

May 22nd, 2010 No Comments

Jazz and fusion guitar great Larry Coryell played a show with the Les Paul Trio at New York City’s Iridium Jazz Club, May 17, 2010. Catch the action of Coryell jamming with Trio members Lou Pallo (guitar), Nicki Parrott (bass) and John Colianni (piano) in this gallery of 60 photos taken by Blue Storm Music’s Arnie Goodman.

Blackfield – Live In New York City (CD/DVD review)

May 19th, 2010 1 Comment

Blackfield Live In New York City CD cover

Blackfield NYC

Three years ago I picked up a copy of the second release by the group Blackfield, appropriately titled Blackfield II, based solely on hearing the cut “Christenings.” I was really amazed that there was a group with a fresh and intelligent approach to pop music that also owed much to story-teller outfits such as The Kinks and Pink Floyd. I knew very little about Steven Wilson, main man behind prog innovators Porcupine Tree and even less about ultra left-leaning Israeli pop star Aviv Geffen, but this duo were taking another sidestep from their main gigs to collaborate on a second record. I was quickly smitten by their bittersweet lyrics, beautiful vocal harmonies, and understated approach to songwriting. Off to the stacks went Blackfield II, only to be unearthed when I needed a reminder that pop music doesn’t have to also be idiotic.

I was very happy to recently receive a copy of their DVD/CD combo, NYC, a live document of the tour supporting Blackfield II from a show at the Bowery Ballroom in Manhattan, March 16, 2007. I wasn’t even aware that this had been released by Kscope/Snapper Records later that year, but I’m damn glad I own it now. By this time, I’d learned all about Wilson and his multiple projects, recordings, and production credits. He’s quite the Renaissance man and Blackfield is quite dissimilar from all that has come from him both before and since. He and Geffen took their recording band out on the road with them (though most of the ideas captured in the studio come solely from Wilson and Geffen) and also took their music to another dimension on stage. What a kick it is to see who plays what instrument, who sings whose song, and that Geffen looks rather fetching in glitter shadow (yes, that’s glitter shadow eye make-up). Blackfield has gone back into hiatus, but let me tell you about a few of the high points on this collection (the track order of the CD is duplicated exactly on the DVD) so you can understand why I hang my hopes on the possibility that the duo may return once more to enchant me with their combined brilliance.

The best moments among NYC’s 18 tracks are not coincidentally the best moments from Blackfield II. The material is strong and played energetically by Wilson, Geffen, keyboardist Eran Mitelman, bassist Seffy Efrati, and drummer Tomer Zidkyahu. Efrati and Zidkyahu were also present on Blackfield II, so their solid rhythms are well understood and expanded upon during the transition from studio to concert hall. All save Zidkyahu contribute vocals, with Wilson and Geffen alternating the lead. This helps to translate the lush studio wizardry of Blackfield’s records to the live setting. Wilson, at center stage left, plays a dazzling metallic, gold-finish PRS six-string electric, while Geffen, at center stage right, switches off between acoustic and electric guitars and the occasional borrowing of Mitelman’s electric piano and synthesizer. Wilson chooses not to engage in pyrotechnics, sticking with sparse lead lines, occasional “stun guitar” (to borrow a term from Blue Oyster Cult’s Eric Bloom) blasts, and splendid slide set-ups. His voice is the smoothness to Geffen’s rougher, Hebrew-inflected delivery.

The first “wow” moment comes, for me, on the Geffen-penned and sung “Miss U.” The lyrics, as with many of Blackfield’s songs, deal with the emotions torturing a man in the wake of a failed romance. The woman/subject has clearly moved on with her life, yet Geffen can’t get past what they once shared. There’s a depth to the lyrics that isn’t revealed at first listen as Geffen’s pleas verge on the narcissistic; the woman more an object than a human being. Is this why the relationship fell apart? We ponder this as the band unleashes perfect harmonies and Wilson’s chiming guitar line dips into a simple, yet amazing solo and back again.

Skip ahead to the disc’s only cover tune, Alanis Morrisette’s “Thank You.” Wilson opens with a slow-paced slide part and the sturdy backing of Geffen’s piano and then stops playing completely to focus on his singing. We’ve all heard this song, well, Morrisette’s version anyway, umpteen times, but the perfection of her songwriting is unveiled through Wilson’s longing, pained delivery and the simplicity of the arrangement. This is the left turn we’d never expect Wilson to take, but the idea and the presentation are completely stunning.

Another deviation that works to great effect is Geffen’s handling of the lead vocal on his song “Someday,” which Wilson sings on Blackfield II. Geffen’s voice, much lower in pitch than Wilson’s, fits the somber tone of the lyrics, which deal with a loner’s buried anger and resentment towards those that excluded him from recognition and acceptance throughout his life. Bitterness and sadness are feelings that Geffen excels in conveying and “Someday” is the prime example. The band lays down a moody, orchestral build-up while Geffen suggests that someone, either the loner or his shallow enemies, “find the highest cliff and dive.” This open-ended lyrical approach runs parallel with the best art, in whatever form, leaving those experiencing it to determine their own meaning and walk away contemplating more than the piece.

The Wilson composition “My Gift Of Silence,” features an incredible performance from both Zidkyahu and Wilson himself. Any doubts about Wilson’s superb voice are dismissed on this song about a man choosing to silently accept a broken relationship and slip into numbness. It’s the poker face of love that he’s on about, with Geffen’s harmonies as the perfect compliment.

One last heart rending gift comes through the song “Hello,” from Blackfield’s first album. This song, written through collaboration between Wilson and Geffen, has the duo taking turns singing the verses and showing sharp contrast in their voices. Wilson’s stinging slide intro and solo over the song’s ending give us a glimpse of what he’s holding back in order to satisfy the needs of this material. He’s truly a master musician, able to exert power through restraint and the space between notes.

The disc’s bonus features include music videos of the songs “Hello,” “Pain” and “Blackfield,” all directed spectacularly by artist Lasse Hoile. There’s also a gallery of backstage photos and stills from the promotional shoot for the album’s cover photo, featuring Geffen and Wilson in various New York locales. For those of you with the killer stereo set-up, the playback can be set to 5.1 surround sound.

After viewing and listening to this release, I’m waiting in anticipation that we’ll hear more from Blackfield in the years to come. True, both Wilson and Geffen have their “day jobs” in other outfits, but Blackfield’s following continues to grow. If enough of us show our appreciation, we may even see them tour one day, far outside the boroughs of the Big Apple.

-Mark Polzin

Free – Forever DVD

May 16th, 2010 No Comments

Let me first say that this DVD should be required viewing for any fan of classic rock. Though Free‘s existence was short-lived, the legacy of Paul Rodgers, Andy Fraser, Paul Kossoff and Simon Kirke is alive and well nearly 40 years on.

The very thing that used to make or break a band – a radio single – can also spin the greatest songs into the grave. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard Free’s biggest hit, “All Right Now,” but I grew weary of it long ago. Watching the band perform it in their prime, while the song was still fresh and gaining popularity, helped me reconnect and appreciate it. Kossoff’s bare-bones riff fleshed out with Fraser’s brilliant use of bass harmonics is rock at its most primal and anthemic. And that’s where Free excelled.

What jumps out immediately is the attitude and power of these four. The July 1970 performance for Grenada TV is a monster and worth the price of the DVDs alone. Of the five songs – “Ride On Pony,” “Mr. Big,” “Songs Of Yesterday,” “I’ll Be Creepin’” and “All Right Now” – it’s “Mr. Big” that blows up the stage. Kirke starts it off, pounding out a snare-bass drum/hi-hat groove at a snail’s pace. Kossoff then enters, with a skeletal three-notes-and-a-chord riff that’s blues-y and sleazy. Finally, Fraser pops in with his bass, alternating between single notes and those long, rubbery slides that made him the Jaco Pastorius of the rock world. (Did Fraser ever play a bum note?) On top of it all is Rodgers’ incomparable voice, soaked in blues and mature beyond reasoning for a 20-year-old. From the barest threads, Free take “Mr. Big” and build it into a roaring storm. Kossoff turns the tune on top of itself, playing a pattern of cascading arpeggios, while Fraser rocks back and forth, fingers running across his Fender as Kirke smashes out the rhythm. It’s an absolutely stunning performance.

Along with the performance footage, the DVD is studded with interviews past and present. Get the scoop on how “All Right Now” was composed, through the accounts of Rodgers, Fraser and Kirke. Fascinating, and now with 5.1 surround sound. A must-see and hear for Free fans and those wondering what all the fuss was about. You’ll now know.

Steely Dan – Countdown To Ecstasy: A Reappraisal

May 13th, 2010 No Comments

Today, I listened to an old favorite record, Steely Dan‘s 1973 release, Countdown To Ecstasy, and I heard it as if for the first time. And I’ve heard it a lot. This record ran through my head during college, when my friend Craig and I would spin it on long weekend nights. Craig loved “Razor Boy,” and would glide across the room singing the chorus as if he – and the song – was too cool for reproach. Probably so.

I don’t often take the time, but I plugged in headphones and listened to Countdown in its entirety and came away feeling that this was not only Steely Dan’s masterpiece, but one of the greatest “rock” records ever. The arrangements and lyrics are remarkable, but it’s the individual playing that stands out. Before Steely Dan became a sole vehicle for Donald Fagen and Walter Becker‘s muse, the Dan were a real band. Remember Jim Hodder? He was the drummer on the first two Steely Dan albums. Hodder’s playing is often overlooked, with the likes of Jeff Porcaro, Bernard Purdie and Steve Gadd getting all the props. Give another listen to Countdown and tell me Hodder isn’t the equal of anyone. Check out the beginning of “Bodhisattva,” with Hodder working the snare drum and hi-hat to crystalline perfection, or the song’s outro as he rages across the kit like Keith Moon channeling Elvin Jones. Temper it with the laid-back, sly groove of “Your Gold Teeth.”

And the guitars…

Jeff Baxter‘s pedal steel guitar on “Razor Boy”is bubbly and at times teeters with the cosmos, while the country-rock stylings on “Pearl Of The Quarter” recall The Byrds of years earlier, when Clarence White was blowing minds by playing pedal steel licks on his Fender Telecaster via the Parsons/White B-Bender.

Denny Dias unleashes a wildebeest of a solo on “Bodhisattva,” one that runs across the very time of the tune and threatens to run off the tracks entirely before Dias throws a lasso over the beast and finally reigns it in. Bad ass!

The oblique guitar solo on the post-apocalyptic “King Of The World” is strange and sublime, unlike anything in the Dan catalog. Dias exacts a miniature composition through an inverted sonic protractor, tracing angles and shapes that don’t sound quite right but somehow keep the zig-zag signature on the page.

There’s nothing like a set of headphones to open the ears.

Classic rock bands, music, songs, LPs, CDs, DVDs and interviews

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