There are movies that are difficult to explain, and then there is Eraserhead. I’ve watched some strange movies over the years, but David Lynch was playing in a different league here. I could tell you exactly what happens in this movie, and I’m not sure it would help you understand it. It would probably confuse you more. I’m not completely sure Lynch wanted us to understand it.
Eraserhead was David Lynch’s first feature film. He worked on it for years during the 1970s, largely at the American Film Institute, with a very small crew. It was completed in 1976 and appeared at Filmex in 1977 before eventually finding its audience as a midnight movie. That seems appropriate. I’m not sure Eraserhead was ever meant for a Saturday afternoon showing between Smokey and the Bandit and Star Wars.
Jack Nance plays Henry Spencer, a quiet and nervous man living in a bleak industrial world that looks like it hasn’t seen sunlight in years. Henry learns that his girlfriend Mary, played by Charlotte Stewart, has given birth to a baby. Calling it a baby is probably the easiest description, although anyone who has seen the movie knows that doesn’t quite cover it.
From there, I’m going to be careful. There is a story in Eraserhead, but the story isn’t really the experience. Henry tries to deal with Mary, the baby, his strange surroundings, and what may or may not be happening inside his own head. There is also a woman who lives inside a radiator.
Yes. I just typed that.
The movie is in black and white, and that is a huge part of why it works. Lynch makes Henry’s world look dirty, lonely, and almost mechanical. Pipes hiss. Machinery rumbles. You hear industrial sounds in the background even when very little is happening. The sound may be as important as anything we see. Lynch worked closely with Alan Splet on it, and the result makes you uncomfortable before you even know why. Criterion credits Splet and Lynch with the film’s sound work and Frederick Elmes and Herbert Cardwell with its striking black-and-white photography.
Then there is the Lady in the Radiator, played by Laurel Near. She performs “In Heaven,” written by Peter Ivers. In practically any other movie, a woman singing inside a radiator would be the strangest thing in the movie.
Not here.
I’m not going to tell you what Eraserhead means because I don’t know that there is one answer. You can see fear of parenthood in it. You can see isolation, sex, responsibility, anxiety, and someone trapped in a life he doesn’t understand. You can also watch it and say, “Max, what in the hell did you just tell me to watch?”
Both reactions seem perfectly reasonable.
What amazes me is how much of David Lynch is already here. This was his first feature, but the strange humor, dreams, uncomfortable silences, disturbing images and ordinary people surrounded by things that don’t make sense are already present. You can draw a line from Eraserhead to things Lynch would do later. Criterion describes it as his 1977 debut feature and notes that Lynch himself wrote, produced, directed and edited it.
This isn’t a movie I would recommend to everyone. If you need a conventional plot with everything explained before the credits roll…run. Run fast, don’t walk. But I do admire it. Lynch created his own world with very little money, spent years getting it finished, and made something that nearly fifty years later still doesn’t look or feel quite like anything else.
There are some songs that just make you feel good, and this is one of them. This song has such an easygoing sound that I can almost picture myself cruising around on a beautiful spring afternoon with the windows down and this playing loudly. There’s nothing complicated about it. It’s just a really pleasant song that puts me in a good mood, and I wanted to share it today. I also love that sax in this song. It has an Under the Boardwalk type of vibe.
The song appeared on the band’s 1977 album Monkey Island, written by Peter Wolf and Seth Justman. The J. Geils Band could deliver plenty of gritty R&B and hard-driving rock, but they also had a softer side that sometimes gets overlooked. This is a perfect example. The melody, the harmonies, and the relaxed feel give it a warmth that makes it stand out from some of their better-known material.
I don’t know if it’s the time of year, the mood I’m in, or just the song itself, but I could listen to this one over and over. It doesn’t demand anything from you. Just roll the windows down, turn up the volume, and enjoy the ride. Sometimes that’s all a song needs to do.
The song peaked at #83 in 1977 on the Billboard charts.
You’re The Only One
It’s very hard to define it Just why I feel this way There must be all kinds of reasons So many things I could say And I know I’m not mistaken This is love and that’s for sure
You, you’re the only one You, you’re the only one
There are times I remember It wasn’t so long ago I was lonely, sad and confused I didn’t know where to go But baby I want to tell you Just how good you make me feel
You, you’re the only one You, you’re the only one
I’d be a fool to deny it I want everyone to know
You, you’re the only one You, you’re the only one You, you’re the only one You, you’re the only one
I published my other song (Billy Joel) for Sunday last night for the prompt I joined.
The reason I like this song is all in that intro. The guitar in this is a lot of fun, and it is moving. Unlike most Lynyrd Skynyrd songs, this one was not written or co- written by Ronnie Van Zant. The new guitarist, Steve Gaines, wrote it before he joined the band. He recorded several songs before he joined them.
Gaines replaced Ed King as the band’s guitarist in 1976, but died in the 1977 plane crash that also claimed the lives of lead singer Ronnie Van Zant and Gaines’ sister Cassie, who was a backup singer for the group. This song provides a glimpse of songwriting and guitar talent. Steve Gaines was a special talent. I personally believe he would have gone far in music outside of this band. Street Survivors features guitar playing you never heard with this band before. Very sophisticated chord patterns and riffs in songs like “I Never Dreamed.”
This song was the B-side to What’s Your Name. I’ve heard the original version of this with Gaines. It’s supercharged, and he slowed it down for this version. They were a double-threat band…they could hit with singles and make superb rock albums.
Street Survivors peaked at #5 on the Billboard Album Charts and #3 in Canada in 1977. The band has sold 28 million albums in the US since 1991 when Nielsen SoundScan started tracking sales, not including album sales for the band’s first 17 years.
Of course, this band’s music is known as “southern rock.” Why, I don’t know. Is Aerosmith known as “northern rock?” I hate when music or people, for that matter, are generalized and boxed into one category like they are all the same. The Southern rock bands were different from each other. The same was true of the British bands as well. Was it a location thing? So by that rule, REM would be southern rock. Of course they are not, but you get what I’m saying. Anyway, let’s continue the post!
I Know A Little
Yes sir
Well the bigger the city, well the brighter the lights The bigger the dog, well the harder the bite I don’t know where you been last night But I think mama, you ain’t doin’ right
Say I know a little I know a little about it I know a little I know a little ’bout it I know a little ’bout love And baby I can guess the rest
Well now I don’t read that daily news ‘Cause it ain’t hard to figure Where people get the blues They can’t dig what they can’t use If they stick to themselves They’d be much less abused
Say I know a little Lord I do know a little about it I know a little I know a little ’bout it I know a little ’bout love Baby I can guess the rest Play me a little, oh yeah Yeah
Well if you want me to be your only man Said listen up mama, teach you all I can Do right baby, by your man Don’t worry mama, teach you all I can
Say I know a little Lord I do know a little about it I know a little I know a little ’bout it I know a little ’bout love Baby I can guess the rest Well I know a little ’bout love Baby I want your best
I’m writing this for Song Lyric Sunday for Jim Adams. This week the theme is to find a song about the American West, or one that mentions cowboys, a sheriff, an outlaw, horses, cactus, or tumbleweeds. I’ve always liked songs that tell a story, and this song certainly does that. I participate in a blogging prompt every now and then, and this week’s theme was Westerns, so I had to join.
This song immediately came to mind. It appeared on Joel’s 1973 album Piano Man, and it sounds like something out of an old Western movie. It has everything from galloping rhythms to dramatic orchestration, and you can almost picture the gunfights and dusty streets as the song plays. Joel was only in his early twenties when he recorded it, but he was already showing what a great storyteller he could be.
The song follows the legendary outlaw Billy the Kid, although Joel wasn’t too concerned about historical accuracy. He has Billy robbing banks and traveling through places that don’t exactly match the real outlaw’s life. In fact, Joel has admitted that he took plenty of liberties with the story. The real Billy the Kid was associated mainly with New Mexico, not the adventures described in the song. But that’s part of the fun. Joel was writing a song inspired more by the legend of Billy the Kid than the actual man. The music even has a cinematic quality, with its strings and changes in tempo. It’s almost a little Western movie packed into five minutes.
What I like most about the song is the way Joel brings the story into the present at the end. After all the tales of the outlaw, he introduces another Billy, this time from Oyster Bay, Long Island. It’s a clever ending.
The last verse brings the story into the present with another Billy, this time from Oyster Bay, Long Island. Some people have interpreted that as Billy Joel writing about himself, but Joel explained that he was actually referring to Billy Nastri, a local bartender he knew. I like that little twist at the end. After all the stories about the famous outlaw, we end up with an ordinary guy from Long Island. I’ve always liked Billy Joel’s earlier albums, and this is one of those songs that shows why. He could take a simple idea and turn it into something much bigger. It might not be a very accurate history lesson, but it’s a great song. And sometimes that’s all I ask for.
The album peaked at #27 on the Billboard Album Charts, #26 in Canada, and #98 in the UK in 1973. The song was released as a single in 1974 but didn’t chart.
The Ballad of Billy The Kid
From a town known as Wheeling, West Virginia Rode a boy with a six-gun in his hand And his daring life of crime Made him a legend in his time East and west of the Rio Grande
Well, he started with a bank in Colorado In the pocket of his vest, a Colt he hid And his age and his size Took the teller by surprise And the word spread of Billy the Kid
Well, he never traveled heavy Yes, he always rode alone And he soon put many older guns to shame And he never had a sweetheart And he never had a home But the cowboy and the rancher knew his name
Well, he robbed his way from Utah to Oklahoma And the law just could not seem to track him down And it served his legend well For the folks, they loved to tell ‘Bout when Billy the Kid came to town
Well, one cold day, a posse captured Billy And the judge said, “String him up for what he did!” And the cowboys and their kin Like the sea came pourin’ in To watch the hanging of Billy the Kid
Well, he never traveled heavy Yes, he always rode alone And he soon put many older guns to shame And he never had a sweetheart But he finally found a home Underneath the boot hill grave that bears his name
From a town known as Oyster Bay, Long Island Rode a boy with a six-pack in his hand And his daring life of crime Made him a legend in his time East and west of the Rio Grande
I’ve always loved concept albums when they’re done right, and The Who’s Quadrophenia is one of the best. Released in 1973, it was their sixth studio album and their second full-scale rock opera after Tommy. Pete Townshend wrote the album around a young Mod named Jimmy, who is trying to figure out who he is and where he belongs in 1960s Britain. He has problems with his parents, his friends, his girlfriend, and just about everything else. The music captures all of that frustration perfectly. This is one of those albums I like to hear from beginning to end because the songs work together to tell the story.
One of the things I love most about Quadrophenia is how Townshend connected Jimmy’s four personalities to the four members of The Who. Each member has his own musical theme. Roger Daltrey represents the tough guy, John Entwistle the romantic, Keith Moon the lunatic, and Pete Townshend the troubled, introspective side. Those themes appear throughout the album and eventually come together in the instrumental Quadrophenia and again in The Rock. It’s a clever idea, and it gives the album something extra beyond just a collection of great songs.
There are so many good songs here. The Real Me (my favorite on the album)opens things up with some incredible bass playing by John Entwistle. That bass is practically a lead instrument. 5:15 is another favorite, with its horns and driving rhythm. Then there’s Bell Boy, where Keith Moon gets to sing as the former Mod hero Jimmy once admired, now working as a hotel bellboy. I love the contrast between Roger’s powerful vocals and Keith’s almost comical delivery. And of course, Love, Reign O’er Me is one of Roger Daltrey’s greatest vocal performances ever! By the time that song comes around, Jimmy has been through just about everything, and you can hear it in Roger’s voice.
I have a hard time choosing between Who’s Next and Quadrophenia as my favorite Who album. Who’s Next may have more individual songs that I love, but Quadrophenia is a complete experience. Pete Townshend took a story about a confused young man and turned it into something much bigger. Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle, and Keith Moon were all at the top of their game, and the production gives the music a huge sound without losing the band’s power. It’s an album about growing up, feeling lost, and trying to find your place in the world. More than fifty years later, I think it still holds up as one of the best albums The Who ever made.
The four personality themes are associated with specific songs...Helpless Dancer (Roger), Is It Me? (John), Bell Boy (Keith), and Love, Reign O’er Me (Pete). I will say this as a huge Who fan: this album is their last great album, to me anyway. That’s not saying The Who By Numbers, Who Are You, and the rest are bad, but they never reached the level of this album again.
The album peaked at #2 on the Billboard Album Charts, #2 in Canada, and #2 in the UK in 1973.
I’ve reviewed the other two; now it’s time for Radio City. Some people rank this as their favorite Big Star album. I see why; it’s full of great songs, and Alex Chilton is at the top of his game here. For me, it’s hard to decide, but I always liked #1 Record, their debut, a touch better because of Chris Bell’s influence. Chris would leave the band after the debut album. But this one puts up great competition. Big Star is one of the reasons I started to blog in the first place. I thought if I turned one person on to this band, then I did my job.
Radio City was released in 1974 on Ardent Records. With Chris Bell gone, Big Star was basically Alex Chilton, Andy Hummel, and Jody Stephens. The change can be heard. #1 Record had a polished sound with Bell and Chilton balancing each other. Radio City is a little rougher and looser around the edges. That isn’t a criticism. It gives the album its own personality.
The album starts with O My Soul, and right away you know this isn’t simply #1 Record Part Two. It has more rhythm and a little more Memphis. Then you get songs like Way Out West, Daisy Glaze, You Get What You Deserve, and Back of a Car. There isn’t much wasted space on this album. Andy Hummel also deserves a lot of credit. He was more than just the bass player; ko contributed to several songs. Jody Stephens’ drumming is also a huge part of the sound.
And then there is September Gurls. If there were any justice in the music business, that song would have been all over the radio in 1974. Everything that makes Big Star great is packed into less than three minutes. The guitars ring, the melody sticks with you, and Chilton sounds effortless. It has since become one of their best-known songs, but at the time it went nowhere.
That was the story of Big Star. They received great reviews, but distribution problems kept their records out of stores. Radio City suffered the same fate as #1 Record. The people who heard it loved it. The problem was getting people the chance to hear it. Years later, bands such as R.E.M., The Replacements, Teenage Fanclub, and many others would make sure Big Star’s name didn’t disappear.
One of my favorites is Back of a Car. It has everything I like about this band. Great guitar, melody, and that slightly ragged quality that keeps Big Star from sounding too perfect. Chris Bell was gone by this point, but he had been involved in the early writing of the song before leaving the band. In a way, it provides a small bridge between the Big Star of #1 Record and the band heard on Radio City.
The album closes with the short and simple I’m in Love with a Girl. After everything that comes before it, Chilton ends the record with little more than an acoustic guitar and a melody. That’s another thing I love about Big Star. They didn’t need to make everything complicated. Give them a guitar and a good melody, and that was enough.
I can go back and forth between #1 Record and Radio City. If I had to choose, #1 Record still wins by a very small margin because I love what Chris Bell brought to the band. But ask me while September Gurls or Life Is White is playing, and I might change my answer.
Big Star never got the audience they deserved when these records were new. The good news is that the records never went away. People kept discovering them and passing them along to somebody else.
That’s really what happened to me. And if this post gets one more person to listen to Radio City, then Big Star is still gaining fans one person at a time.
September Girls
September girls do so much I was your Butch and you were touched I loved you, well, never mind I’ve been crying all the time December boy’s got it bad December boy’s got it bad
September girls, I don’t know why How can I deny what’s inside Even though I’ll keep away They we’ll love all our days December boy’s got it bad December boy’s got it bad
When I get to bed, late at night That’s the time she makes things right Ooh when she makes love to me
September girls do so much I was your Butch and you were touched I loved you, well, never mind I’ve been crying all the time December boy’s got it bad December boy’s got it bad December boy’s got it bad, woo ooo
This one came from a recommendation in the comments from Phillip Helbig. I knew the name Papa John Creach, mostly because of his connection with Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna, but I had never really sat down and listened to his solo work. I may have heard Papa John Creach’s name years ago without realizing it. He appeared at Charlie Daniels’ Volunteer Jams, which were a huge deal around Nashville when I was growing up.
That changed with this song. Papa John Creach was not your typical rock musician. He grew up in Pennsylvania in 1917; he started playing violin as a child and received formal training. After his family moved to Chicago, he studied classical violin and even did symphonic work. He eventually moved toward jazz and blues because that was where he could make a living.
By the time the psychedelic rock scene arrived in the sixties, Creach had already been a professional musician for decades. That is one of the things I like most about his story.
Drummer Joey Covington helped introduce Creach to Jefferson Airplane. In 1970, Creach joined the Airplane and also began playing with Hot Tuna, the group formed by Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady. Imagine being in your early fifties and suddenly finding yourself playing electric violin with one of the biggest psychedelic rock bands in San Francisco.
He fit right in. Creach played on Jefferson Airplane albums including Bark and Long John Silver, while also recording with Hot Tuna. When Jefferson Airplane evolved into Jefferson Starship, Creach went along for part of that ride as well and appeared on Dragon Fly and Red Octopus. His career connected jazz, blues, R&B, psychedelic rock, and funk in a way that not many musicians could manage.
This song came from Creach’s 1972 solo album Filthy!. The song was written by Miles Grayson, and the album featured Creach with his band Zulu. Creach’s electric violin is what grabbed me. It doesn’t sound like someone trying to force a violin into a rock song. It belongs there. He plays it almost like another lead instrument battling with the guitars and rhythm section.
The title tells you quite a bit about the song. It is filthy. It is funky. Sometimes a title does its job. What surprised me was how naturally Creach moved between styles. That probably came from spending decades playing almost anything that would get him a job. Classical music, jazz, blues, R&B and rock were not separate little boxes to him. They were all music.
That brings me to my bonus song. Bonus – Jump Up, Gimme Some Dancing
I also wanted to include the song Jump Up, Gimme Some Dancing that came a few years later on Creach’s 1976 album Rock Father. The song was written by Dick Monda, and Creach recorded the album with the band Midnight Sun.
This one is lighter and more immediately catchy than “Filthy Funky.” There is still plenty of Creach’s violin, but the song has a loose party feeling to it. By this point he had spent years around the Jefferson Airplane, Hot Tuna, and Jefferson Starship crowd, but he still sounded like Papa John Creach rather than simply a member of somebody else’s band.
That’s probably what impressed me most after finally listening to him. Here was a classically trained violinist who played jazz and blues, picked up an electric violin, joined Jefferson Airplane when he was already in his fifties, played with Hot Tuna and Jefferson Starship, and somehow made all of it sound perfectly natural.
I knew the name Papa John Creach. Now I know why I kept seeing it. Thanks to the Phillip who sent me down this particular rabbit hole. This is exactly why I love recommendations.
Here is a live cut with blues legends B.B. King and John Lee Hooker.
Ry Cooder is one of those guitar players who seems to be able to play anything. I’ve always loved his playing, especially his slide guitar work. He never sounds like he is trying to impress you with how fast he can play. Everything he plays seems to fit the song, and his tone is immediately recognizable. He plays for the song and for a purpose.
This song appeared on Cooder’s 1980 album Borderline. Like so many songs associated with Cooder, he reached back into American music for this one. It was written by Billy “The Kid” Emerson, who originally recorded it in the 1950s. Cooder had a knack for finding older blues, R&B, country and folk songs and introducing them to another generation without taking away what made them interesting in the first place.
The song is basically built around a man’s complaint that every woman he knows wants a man with a car, while he is stuck walking around on his “rubber heels.” It’s funny and doesn’t take itself seriously. Cooder plays right into that humor, turning the song into something that feels almost like a conversation between the musicians.
That’s part of what makes the track work for me. It has a loose feeling, but don’t mistake loose for sloppy. These guys could play. Cooder’s guitar moves in and out of the song without taking it over. He could have easily turned it into a guitar showcase, but that’s never been what I like most about him. He plays for the song.
A live recording from London’s Victoria Apollo was also released as a single in 1981. That might be the perfect setting for a song like this because it works live really well. There is humor, great playing and plenty of room for the musicians to breathe.
Cooder’s career is an interesting one. He has worked with everyone from Captain Beefheart and the Rolling Stones to Randy Newman, Little Feat, John Lee Hooker and countless others. He also helped bring Cuban musicians to a huge international audience through the Buena Vista Social Club. Then there are his movie soundtracks, including Paris, Texas and Crossroads. His fingerprints are scattered all over music without him ever becoming the kind of big name his talent deserved.
I don’t know where I would rank Ry Cooder among guitar players, and I don’t really want to try. Guitar playing isn’t a sporting event. I just know that when I hear him play, I know who it is. That is telling in itself. Only a few guitar players have that certain style where you can tell.
It is fun, loose and rooted in music that came before it. That’s Ry Cooder in a nutshell. He didn’t just learn old American music. He listened to it, respected it and then helped keep it moving forward.
Crazy ‘Bout an Automobile (Every Woman I Know)
-Man, I’m gonna tell you my story -Go on and tell about it, go on and tell about it more -Just what I’ve been doing -What you’ve been doing, Ry ? -Well, you know I used to be particular about the women’s that I picked -Aha! -Yeah! They used to be tender, lean and tall, that’s all -But the way things has been going, I’ll take ’em knock-kneed and bow-legged -What ? -I’ll even take ’em bald! Man. I’ll tell you why -Please, tell me why!
Every woman I know is crazy ’bout an automobile Every woman I know is crazy ’bout an automobile And here I am standing with nothing but rubber heels.
He-hey, every woman I know, crazy ’bout an automobile Oh, every woman I know, crazy ’bout an automobile And here I am standing with nothing but rubber heels.
Now look’it here! They say, walking women home is a thing of the past Women want to ride and ride around in class Some like Cadillacs, boys, some like Fords Some like anything as long as it rolls.
Crazy ’bout an automobile [That’s right] And here I am standing with nothing but rubber heels
Well, every woman I know she’s crazy ’bout an automobile Every woman I know is crazy ’bout an automobile And here I am standing with nothing but rubber heels
One more thing I wanna tell you
Said, riding and loving just can’t be beat, You and your woman in your own front seat. Now, she can play with your keys, shift the gears, Turn on your radio just loud enough to hear. Now, she can turn up the heat and flip on your fan, And then you start rolling just as fast as you can.
Crazy ’bout an automobile And just here I am standing with nothing but rubber heels
Man, when I get some money I just got to get me some kind of automobile You don’t seem like the women in this town just don’t pay no attention to ya ‘less you’re driving Look at that big, fine Buick over there Oh, I like that one Yeah, now, looks like somebody left the keys in it Oh, let’s take a ride
I bought L.A. Woman at a family’s yard sale sometime in the 1980s. If I remember correctly, I paid 10 cents for it. The album was in mint condition, which made that dime a pretty good investment.
Like a lot of teenagers, I went through a Doors phase. They were never one of my absolute favorite bands, but I liked a lot of their music and still do. L.A. Woman ended up being my favorite Doors album, and the first song grabbed me immediately. This song was love at first listen.
L.A. Woman was released in 1971 and would be the final Doors album released during Jim Morrison’s lifetime. It was also a change for the band behind the scenes. Longtime producer Paul Rothchild left before the album was recorded, and the Doors worked with engineer Bruce Botnick to produce it themselves. Much of the album was recorded in the band’s rehearsal space rather than a conventional studio. John Densmore later described the result as raw and simple, almost as if the band had come full circle and become a garage band again.
It is a great example of that sound. It has a dirty, funky groove that starts almost immediately. Morrison sounds different from his younger self on Light My Fire. His voice had become rougher and deeper by this point, and it fits this song perfectly. The band sounds loose, but they are locked together.
I’ve never understood why it wasn’t more popular. It wasn’t released as one of the major singles from the album. Love Her Madly became a hit, and Riders on the Storm followed it into the Top 20. The Changeling ended up as the B-side of the Riders on the Storm single. Even today it tends to be overshadowed by those songs and the title track. AllMusic even describes it as one of the album’s “better little-heeded tracks.”
I got my copy of L.A. Woman for about a dime at a yard sale. Of all the few bargains I’ve found over the years, that one turned out pretty well.
The Changeling
I live uptown I live downtown I live all around
I had money, and I had none I had money, and I had none But I never been so broke that I couldn’t leave town
I’m a changeling See me change I’m a changeling See me change I’m the air you breathe Food you eat Friends you greet in the sullen street See me change See me change
I live uptown I live downtown I live all around
I had money, yeah, and I had none I had money, yeah, and I had none But I never been so broke that I couldn’t leave town
Well, I’m the air you breathe Food you eat Friends you greet in the sullen street
You gotta see me change See me change Yeah, I’m leavin’ town On a midnight train Gotta see me change
Jethro Tull has to be one of the strangest bands to ever become successful. They mixed rock, folk, blues, jazz, and classical music, with Ian Anderson standing on one leg playing the flute. Somehow it all worked.
They were certainly an album band, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be catchy. Songs like Living in the Past, Teacher, Aqualung and Locomotive Breath could stick in your head with the best of them. Even when they stretched a song across an entire album, they didn’t forget about melody.
That brings me to Thick as a Brick. After Aqualung was released in 1971, some critics called it a concept album. Ian Anderson has said that wasn’t really what the band intended. So for the next album he decided to take the idea to an absurd extreme. If people wanted a concept album, Jethro Tull would give them one.
Thick as a Brick was released in 1972 and consisted of one continuous piece of music lasting more than 40 minutes. Obviously, an LP had two sides, so the song had to be divided between them. The original album was even packaged like a small-town British newspaper called The St. Cleve Chronicle and Linwell Advertiser.
Then there was Gerald Bostock. The lyrics were presented as a poem written by an eight-year-old boy named Gerald Bostock, who was completely fictional. It was all part of Anderson’s joke. They took the idea of the serious progressive-rock concept album and pushed it about as far as they possibly could.
The funny thing is that the joke produced some seriously good music. The album constantly changes. There are acoustic passages, hard rock, flute, keyboards and odd time signatures. It can become complicated and then suddenly return to something incredibly melodic. The opening acoustic section is the part I always remember. You don’t have to sit down with a calculator and work out the time signatures to enjoy it. The melody sticks with you.
The band at this point was Ian Anderson, Martin Barre, John Evans, Jeffrey Hammond and Barriemore Barlow. Anderson wrote the music and lyrics, although the lyrics were originally credited to our eight-year-old friend Gerald Bostock.
For something created partly as a parody of overly serious concept albums, Thick as a Brick did remarkably well. It reached number one on the American album chart.
Think about that for a second. A band featuring a flute player standing on one leg released an album containing one song that lasted nearly 45 minutes, based around a poem supposedly written by a fictional eight-year-old boy, and America made it the number one album.
The seventies were wonderful. Jethro Tull could be complicated, strange, and sometimes completely over the top. That’s part of what makes them interesting. But underneath all of that, Ian Anderson could write melodies.
That’s what keeps Thick as a Brick from becoming a musical homework assignment for me. It wanders all over the place, but there are sections that grab you immediately. I’m not going to pretend that every time I want to hear the song Thick as a Brick that I have 40-plus minutes available. Sometimes I just want that opening section.
But once it starts, it’s awfully hard to stop. I’m not a huge progressive rock fan. Sometimes I’ve heard bands change time signatures seemingly just because they could. I never get that feeling with Thick as a Brick. The changes seem to have a purpose. Underneath all of the progressive rock, odd time signatures and Ian Anderson’s flute, there are some real pop sensibilities. There are melodies here that stick with you.
One Note: Later CD and digital releases can make Thick as a Brick look like it contains a number of individual tracks or sections. Those divisions were added to make the music easier to navigate in the digital age. The original idea hasn’t changed. It is still one continuous composition, originally divided only by the necessity of flipping the LP over. So if your CD or streaming service shows a list of titles or sections, don’t worry, we haven’t suddenly discovered a bunch of missing Jethro Tull songs.
Thick As A Brick
See there, a man was born and we pronounce him fit for peace There’s a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease We’ll take the child from him, put it to the test Teach it to be a wise man, how to fool the rest
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional God is an overwhelming responsibility Oh, fluffy duck We walked through the maternity ward and saw two hundred and eighteen babies wearing nylons It says here that cats are on the upgrade (upgrade?) Hipgrave, downgrades are rare, it’s got that fat and old cat
In the clear white circles of morning wonder, I take my place with the lord of the hills And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured In neat little rows sporting canvas frills
With their jockstraps pinching, they slouch to attention Whilst queueing for sarnies at the office canteen Saying “how’s your granny?” and good old Ernie Coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win
The legends worded in The ancient tribal hymn Lie cradled in the seagull’s call And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist’s fall
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun, behind the gun And signal for the crack of dawn, light the sun, light the sun Do you believe in the day? Do you believe in the day?
The dawn creation of the kings has begun, has begun Soft Venus, lovely maiden brings the ageless one, the ageless one Do you believe in the day? Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night, to the night And fully pregnant with the day, with the day, wise men endorse the poet’s sight Do you believe in the day? Do you believe in the day?
Let me tell you the tales of your life Of your love and the cut of the knife The tireless oppression, the wisdom instilled The desire to kill or be killed Well, let me sing of the losers who lie In the street as the last bus goes by The pavements ar empty, the gutters run red while the fool toasts his god in the sky
So come all ye young men who are building castles! Kindly state the time of the year And join your voices in a hellish chorus Mark the precise nature of your fear
Let me help you pick up your dead As the sins of the father are fed With the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise And from the pan under your bed Well, let me make you a present of song As the wise man breaks wind and is gone While the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and the nursery rhyme winds along
So come all ye young men who are building castles Kindly state the time of the year And join your voices in a hellish chorus Mark the precise nature of your fear See the summer lightning casts its bolts upon you And the hour of judgement draweth near Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or the wiser man who rushes clear?
So, come on ye childhood heroes! Won’t your rise up from the pages of your comic-books, your super-crooks And show us all the way? Well, make your will and testament Won’t you join your local government? We’ll have Superman for president Let Robin save the day
So where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday? And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through? They’re all resting down in Cornwall writing up their memoirs For a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual
So you ride yourselves over the fields And you make all your animal deals And your wise men don’t know how it feels To be thick as a brick, yeah
Mark-Almond is one of those bands that can send me down a rabbit hole pretty quickly. You start looking at the people involved, and suddenly John Mayall, Marianne Faithfull, Zoot Money and the Alan Price Set all start showing up. But none of that matters if the music isn’t good. The City is good.
Mark-Almond was formed in 1970 by Jon Mark and Johnny Almond. The name can be a little confusing if you don’t know the band. It wasn’t one guy named Mark Almond. Jon Mark was the guitarist and singer, and Johnny Almond played saxophone, flute, and other woodwinds.
The two had met while playing with John Mayall. They appeared together on Mayall’s The Turning Point in 1969 and Empty Rooms in 1970. That period of Mayall’s music was moving away from straight electric blues into something quieter and more open. You can hear some of that approach in what Mark and Almond did next.
They left Mayall and formed Mark-Almond with keyboard player Tommy Eyre and bassist Roger Sutton. Their music wasn’t easy to put into one category. There was jazz, blues, folk and rock, sometimes all within the same song. The City appeared on their self-titled debut album in 1971.
The song develops naturally. Jon Mark’s guitar gives it a loose rhythmic foundation while Johnny Almond’s saxophone helps give the band its identity. That’s probably what I like most about Mark-Almond. They leave room in the music. Nobody sounds like they are trying to win.
The band developed a following, particularly through its live performances, but never became as commercially successful as some of the musicians they had worked with. They broke up in 1973, reunited a couple of years later, and continued recording in different forms into the early 1980s.
They left behind some music that doesn’t sound much like anything else from the period. This one is a good place to start.
What Am I Living For came from Mark-Almond’s 1972 album Rising. Written by Jon Mark, it’s a completely different kind of song from The City. The focus is on Mark’s vocal and a man looking at his life and wondering what all of it is for. A live version appeared on Mark-Almond 73 and became one of the band’s best-known songs on American FM radio. It’s quieter and darker than The City, but it shows the other side of this band. They could stretch out and play, but they could also get out of the way and let a song tell the story.
This is a live performance by them.
The City
Well last night I slept in the open Down by the redwood trees Yes last night I slept in the open Just to let, just to let, just to let my soul free
I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna go back to the city I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna go back to the city
It’s just a long, long, long, long Lonely taxi ride Going nowhere To no one No day No way
Well I woke in the morning early I could feel the good green earth beneath my tread Yes I woke in the morning early That’s when I knew, yes I knew I knew that the city was dead
I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna go back to the city I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna go back to the city
It’s just a long, long, long, long Lonely taxi ride Going uptown And downtown And round and round and round and round Round and round and round and round
It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city
It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city It gets so hot in the city
I love the Faces because they never sounded polished to death. This song sounds like five guys playing rock and roll because that was exactly what they wanted to be doing.
Ronnie Lane is probably my favorite member of the Faces. Rod Stewart had the voice and was obviously the biggest star, but there was something about Lane that I always liked. He was a great songwriter and bass player, and I loved what he did with the Small Faces, Faces, and later with Slim Chance and his solo career. He sounded more grounded than any other rock star I know.
This one appeared on the Faces’ 1971 album A Nod Is as Good as a Wink… to a Blind Horse. The song was written by Ronnie Lane and Ian McLagan, and Lane sang lead on this one. It’s loose, funny, and sounds like the band is having a great time playing it. That looseness was a big part of what made the Faces so good. They could sound like they were about to fall apart while somehow staying together. They sounded as if they were always on tour, and they were.
The Faces had grown out of the Small Faces after Steve Marriott left to form Humble Pie. Ronnie Lane, Ian McLagan, and Kenney Jones remained and were joined by Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood from the Jeff Beck Group. They dropped the “Small” from the name, and one of the great rock and roll bands of the early seventies was born.
Lane eventually left the Faces in 1973. He formed Slim Chance and moved toward a roots mixture of rock, folk, and country music. That side of him had always been there, but away from the Faces he was able to follow it wherever he wanted. His later career never brought him the fame that Stewart achieved, but the music has aged extremely well.
You’re So Rude
My mum she likes you, she thinks you’re swell Got the makings of a dance hall girl Your low-cut frock and your bird’s nest hair Stiletto heels and the way that you swear
She said to take you back to see my folks again On Sunday
Why, it looks as though there’s nobody in They’ve all gone out to see my Auntie Reenie Don’t you worry, you just come right in I’m sure we’ll pass the time ’til they come home
Well, let me take your coat Kick off your shoes, warm your toes Try the sofa
It’s getting dark, we’ll miss the late night bus It’s only eight? Well, I’m not taking any chances -Door closes What’s that noise? Why’d they come back so soon? Straighten your dress, you’re really looking a mess
I’ll wet my socks, pretend we just got caught in the rain Oh, you’re so rude
This is one of those songs where I heard the cover before I heard the original. I know some folk fans might not agree with me, but Bob Seger’s version of this classic song is still the one I think of first. Sometimes the first version you hear just sticks with you. Seger is from Michigan, but the South adopted him as one of their own. I heard him constantly while growing up. Whenever I’m in the small town I grew up in, the song Mainstreet is always in my mind. I remember hearing it when I played pool in Pop’s Pool Hall. I guess every town had a Pop’s Pool Hall in some form or name.
Tim Hardin wrote the song, one of those songwriters whose songs became much more famous than he did. Bobby Darin actually released his version before Hardin’s own recording came out. Darin’s version peaked at #8 on the Billboard 100, #7 in Canada, and #9 in the UK. Hardin’s version appeared the following year on Tim Hardin 2. Hardin would later perform the song at Woodstock in 1969.
What I like about Seger’s version is his voice. Hardin’s original has the style you would expect from the man who wrote it, and it is great. But Seger gives the song a completely different personality. His voice already had that rough edge that I love. Against such a tender song, that roughness works for me. If anyone deserved stardom, it would be Seger. Some believe he just magically appeared in 1976 with Night Moves; no, it was a long trek of touring in the 60s and 70s and building up his audience.
The song itself asks a pretty simple question. If everything associated with status and position disappeared, would you still love me? Would it matter what I did for a living or what other people thought of me? Hardin didn’t need a complicated arrangement or a lot of words to get the idea across. That’s probably one reason so many different artists have been able to make the song their own.
And there have been plenty of them. Bobby Darin had the first major hit with it. The Four Tops recorded it. Johnny Cash and June Carter turned it into a duet. Hardin himself gave us the songwriter’s version. Everyone brought something different to it. Bob Seger recorded this for his 1972 album Smokin’ O.P.’s. The album was made up mostly of covers, and the title was a play on “smoking other people’s” songs. Seger’s version was released as a single, and it peaked at #76 on the Billboard 100.
I’ll give Tim Hardin all the credit in the world. He wrote a beautiful song, and without him, none of those other versions would exist. But the first carpenter who showed up at my house was Bob Seger.
I’m sticking with him.
If I Were A Carpenter
If I were a carpenter and you were a lady Would you marry me anyway? Would you have my baby?
If I worked my hands in wood I wonder would you still love me? I say yes, I would, I’ll put you above me That’s what I want you to say
And would you save my love from loneliness Would you save my love from sorrow, if you would I give you my onlyness, girl and all of my tomorrows
If a tinker were my trade, would you still find me? Carrying the pots and the pans that I made Walking along the highway That long lonely highway
If I was a carpenter, and you were a lady And I was just a carpenter Instead of a rock and roll star Just a carpenter, a carpenter, a carpenter
I mostly knew Brian Eno through his work with Roxy Music and David Bowie. I knew his name long before I really started digging into his solo albums. When I heard Baby’s On Fire, though, the thing that immediately grabbed me was Robert Fripp’s guitar. You can tell it’s him. Fripp has one of those sounds that doesn’t get confused with anyone else.
The song appeared on Eno’s first solo album, Here Come the Warm Jets, released in 1974. Eno had left Roxy Music after two albums with the band. Instead of forming another regular group, he brought together musicians from several different bands for the sessions. Members of Roxy Music, King Crimson, Hawkwind, Matching Mole and others appeared on the album. This record is full of strange and catchy rock songs.
This song was recorded in September 1973 at Majestic Studios in London. Eno handled the vocals and synthesizer, with John Wetton on bass and Paul Rudolph on guitar. Simon King of Hawkwind played drums. But it’s Robert Fripp’s long guitar solo that dominates the recording. Fripp reportedly recorded several passes, and Eno selected and assembled the parts he wanted. The solo takes up a huge portion of the song, but it’s totally worth it. He is a guitar player who is instantly recognizable when he plays.
Fripp and Eno were already developing an interesting musical partnership around this time. In 1973, they recorded the experimental album (No Pussyfooting) together, using tape loops and Fripp’s guitar. Their collaboration would continue for decades. Eno would also work with David Bowie, most famously during the period that produced Low, Heroes and Lodger. Fripp himself would appear on Bowie’s Heroes and later Scary Monsters.
I came to Eno from the opposite direction. I knew Roxy Music and his work with Bowie, but I never explored his solo career nearly enough. This song is weird, catchy, and just a little unsettling. Then Fripp comes in and takes the song somewhere else entirely. I love guitar players who have their own voice, and Fripp certainly has one. Give me five seconds of that guitar, and I know who is playing. He likes to build up and then burst; no one does it like him.
Baby’s On Fire
Baby’s on fire Better throw her in the water Look at her laughing Like a heifer to the slaughter
Baby’s on fire And all the laughing boys are bitching Waiting for photos Oh the plot is so bewitching
Rescuers row row Do your best to change the subject Blow the wind blow blow Lend some assistance to the object
Photographers snip snap Take your time she’s only burning This kind of experience Is necessary for her learning
If you’ll be my flotsam I could be half the man I used to They said you were hot stuff And that’s what baby’s been reduced to
Juanita and Juan Very clever with maracas Making their fortunes Selling second-hand tobaccos
Juan dances at Chico’s And when the clients are evicted He empties the ashtrays And pockets all that he’s collected
But baby’s on fire! And all the instruments agree that Her temperature’s rising But any idiot would know that
I heard this song Saturday and knew I had to move it into Sunday’s post. I’ve heard this song many times over the years, but sometimes a song catches you differently on a particular day. I love that acoustic opening, and then Alvin Lee’s electric guitar comes cutting through it. His playing always had a sound of its own.
Ten Years After formed in England in the 1960s with Alvin Lee, Leo Lyons, Ric Lee, and Chick Churchill. They came out of the British blues scene, but they could stretch far beyond straight blues. Alvin Lee became the obvious focal point because of his guitar playing. Their appearance at Woodstock in 1969, particularly their performance of I’m Going Home, introduced the band to a much larger American audience.
I’d Love To Change The World was written by Alvin Lee and released on the 1971 album A Space in Time. It became their best-known song in America and reached the Top 40 on the Billboard Hot 100. The album was also a change for the band. There was more emphasis on songs and acoustic textures instead of the extended blues workouts they had become known for.
What I like about the song is the contrast. It starts quietly with that acoustic guitar while Lee sings about a world filled with division, inequality and confusion. Then the electric guitar enters and changes the entire atmosphere. His guitar doesn’t overwhelm the song. It answers it. Lee was known for playing incredibly fast, but this is a good example of why speed wasn’t the only thing he had going for him.
I hear this song, and I’m transported to the sixties. Guitarist Alvin Lee wrote and sang it. It peaked at #40 on the Billboard 100 and #10 in Canada. It’s been in many movies and TV shows. When I think of Ten Years After, I think of Woodstock and them playing “I’m Going Home” and Alvin Lee playing his guitar like it’s on fire…plus this one.
I’d Love To Change The World is over fifty years old now. Unfortunately, we still haven’t figured out what to do. Maybe that’s why it still sounds so good.
I’d Love To Change The World
Everywhere is freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies, tell me where is sanity
Tax the rich, feed the poor
Till there are no rich no more?
I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you
Population keeps on breeding
Nation bleeding, still more feeding economy
Life is funny, skies are sunny
Bees make honey, who needs money, Monopoly
I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you
World pollution, there’s no solution
Institution, electrocution
Just black and white, rich or poor
Them and us, stop the war
I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you
