Lou Reed, "Berlin" -- revisited

It had been a while since I last heard "Berlin" in its entirety.  I felt as though I was hearing it through a set of fresh ears, and my reaction to the music somewhat shocked me.  

I heard an colourless pastiche of emotional decay.  A ploddingly staged and unconvincingly acted two act tragedy, where the pain and sadness are presented for the composer's own amusement.  I couldn't suspend my disbelief and immerse myself in the sentiments suggested by the lyrics. Maybe listening to it in the car was a mistake, this album demands a certain atmosphere that intercity traffic jams obviously don't provide.   

These are the reasons why "Berlin" was, according to legend (I won't try to sort out truth from legend in this brief post), so hated and misunderstood in the 70's.  It eventually became viewed as a masterpiece, the most depressing album ever, an album that can devastate one's mood for the remainder of the day more decisively than just about any record ever made.  So these criticisms are nothing new, I just never agreed with them.  

Sure, I have skipped down this path before, notably in my review of the "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse", where the music was dragged down to turgid levels of disinterested ineptitude "thanks" to a cringe-worthy and perfunctory Lou Reed performance.  But I also think there's something deeper going on here.

I discovered "Berlin" in 1998, which in retrospect was its peak societal impact.  Lou Reed was a living legend, still coasting off his reputation as an alternative rock pioneer and the good will generated from the Velvets reunion a few years earlier.  Enough time had passed for a thorough re-evaluation of his more "difficult" albums such as this one and "Metal Machine Music".  Before social media and the widespread influence of the TMZ-style internet, the culture was ripe for acceptance of art involving flawed celebrities and their horrifying secrets. The unsettling imagery in "Berlin" -- delinquent parents, and their shrieking children, all-consuming sorrow made worse through copious amounts of drugs -- could have been a commentary on Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love's relationship.  Or more specifically, pre-Twitter and pre-direct windows into thought processes of every major celeb on the planet, it could have been a commentary on how the public perceived their relationship.  This week marked the 25th anniversary of Phil Hartmann's murder.  In the 90's, the music was heavy and serious and debates over "Jeremy" and the impact of Marilyn Manson's shock/art was widespread.  "Berlin" fit right in.  

With the passage of another twenty five years, the culture has flipped.  Hate and depravity get exposed more quickly, sometimes due to the perpetrators own ill-advised tweets.  But "Berlin" had a voyeuristic appeal, all the behaviour it described was taking place in the seedy underground of a divided, isolated city, hidden from public eyes.  That situation no longer exists.  Berlin the city has been transformed immeasurably as well since 1973.  

So what's left of "Berlin" the album, once the debauchery becomes routine?  It enters a sort of limbo between unintentionally amusing (in terms of its orchestration and production) and vapid, tossed-off shock rock (in terms of its artistic merit ... "ooh, he mentioned drugs and suicide again, this is deeeep").  It should be crushingly sad, but instead comes across as disingenuous and not to be taken seriously.     

Andy Rourke RIP, The Smiths Live at Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre June 29, 1985

Smiths bassist Andy Rourke passed away last weekend at the far too young age of 59.  I never cease to be amazed by how young the band was in their time.  Three-quarters of them were only nineteen when The Smiths made their first recordings.  Regarding Rourke's importance to the band, I think the debate over individual contributions to The Smiths (and rock groups in general) has long since been settled.  Singers and lead guitarists are often overrated, whereas rhythm sections are often underrated.  One of the many great things about the Smiths was the perfect musical synergy between its members, each instrument functions as a lead instrument yet blends perfectly into the whole.  Each part is intricate and complex, all the band members are equally busy, but nobody is showing off and trying to dominate over the others.  In the same era, Joy Division were like this, but New Order weren't, except at their very best.   The Stone Roses were like this on their debut album, but not afterwards.  

If there was a tragic figure in The Smiths, it was Rourke (either him or Morrissey, depending on whether you consider his alt-right turn to be tragic or simply a case of getting what he deserves after years of excuses).  His personal issues got him fired from the band, only to be brought back a couple of weeks later (in part, allegedly, because his parts were so difficult to play).  In court, he settled with Morrissey and Marr for a fraction of his true worth, sacrificing millions of pounds of back and future revenues from his singular work with the Smiths.  Morrissey might have trashed him in his court testimony, but he could have grabbed any number of session bassists for his early solo recordings.  He chose Rourke time and again.  The long-awaited reunion, the subject of endless discussion for over three decades, which I and countless others had assumed would eventually happen, never did.  

And that brings us to the ninth in a series of albums that I haven't heard in over twenty years, since the start of this blog in January 2000.  I bought a number of Smiths bootleg cassettes over the years, and this one is particularly famous for its encore, which showcases Rourke at his absolute best.  The audio recording can be heard here.

At this point in their career, The Smiths were a taut live ensemble, infusing a manic energy into their live shows in part thanks to a general quickening of the tempos compared with the studio versions.  The sound quality of this recording is poor, it's a standard audience recording likely done with a cheap tape recorder smuggled into the venue.  These recordings tend to swallow the mid-range treble, thereby ruining the clarity of Johnny Marr's guitar playing.  Morrissey's vocals seem to drift in and out occasionally.  But Rourke's bass playing and Mike Joyce's drumming are accentuated, shining through the hazy mess on several songs but particularly on "Hand In Glove", "Shakespeare's Sister", "Still Ill" (I never liked the studio version of this song, but on live recordings it was always a highlight), and "The Headmaster Ritual".  

I used to revisit this bootleg mainly for two reasons.  The first was the touching and elegant version of "Reel Around the Fountain" that closes the first encore.  It's always been one of my favourite Smiths songs and they rarely played it after 1984.  The second reason is the famous third (!) encore, featuring the final and longest ever live version of "Barbarism Begins At Home", stretched out for an astonishing sixteen minutes.  Marr does his best Nile Rodgers impression on guitar, and Joyce is a muscular machine on drums, but Rourke is the star.   Such impressive funk workouts were unheard of for The Smiths (especially considering Morrissey's infamously dismissive attitude toward all forms of dance music), so it's clear that we have Rourke to thank for this song being the monster that it is.   

Reviewing every Eurovision Song Contest Winner (1972, 1973)

1972.  Vicky Leandros, "Apres toi" (Luxembourg)

A workmanlike entry but nothing more, co-written by the same lyricist (Yves Dessca) who worked on the previous year's winning song ("Un banc, un abre, une rue"), perfectly passable but easily forgettable.  It expresses your standard "oh what will I do without you" sentiments, rendered even more flat and emotionless that it reads on paper owing to Leandros' lack of charisma and indistinctive voice.  At least the orchestra had a good day, unfortunately she's nearly drowned out by it throughout her "winning" performance.  3/10.   

1973.  Anne-Marie David, "Tu te reconnaitras" (Luxembourg)

We're deep into 70's soft rock balladry here, but David's performance is actually quite riveting.  With her piercing stares into the camera and soaring, powerful voice, she lifts the song to the level of a worthy winner.  Truly a moment for the perfect singer having a moment while making the most of a bland and featureless song.  This was one of the closest Eurovision finishes ever, with just six votes separating first place from third.  I have no idea how anyone could have preferred Spain's third-rate 5th Dimension (Mocedades) or the UK's post-post hippie rock (Cliff Richard) entries to this.  6/10.    

Reviewing every Eurovision Song Contest Winner (1970, 1971)

Eurovision is on, and I am back after a four year hiatus to continue (finally) with this project!

1970.  Dana, "All Kinds of Everything" (Ireland)

This was the first of Ireland's record seven wins (as of this writing).  The song is a mix of weepy 50's balladry and post-hippie dewy-eyed shlock.  France Gall and Serge Gainsbourg won in 1965 and provided Eurovision with more of a pulse, those years of excitement came to a crashing halt.  Even the ballads from the mid-to-late 60's, such as Frida Boccara's "Un jour, un enfant" from the previous year, tended to have an operatic fervor that jolted you out of your seat.  Dana's performance is perfectly competent but also somnambulantly boring.  4/10.  

1971.  Severine, "Un Banc, Un Arbre, Un Rue" (Monaco)

This is more Eurovision catnip about growing older and following one's dreams, nearly elevated into something special by Severine's fiercely committed performance.  The bombastic arrangement would have made the LA Wrecking Crew proud, although for me the four male backing singers add nothing and even subtract from the performance because their voices don't mesh with Severine's at all.  What little they add in harmonic depth is taken away by their distracting presence -- the visual impact of the performance could have been far more powerful by focusing it completely on the soloist.  A worthy, but flawed winner.  6/10.    

Gordon Lightfoot RIP

So many thoughts about Gordon Lightfoot ...

• "If You Could Read My Mind" just may be the greatest song ever written, and if it's not, it must be the most perfect song ever written.  There's not one iota of detail about it that you could dream of changing.  The melody, arrangement, vocal delivery, and lyrics are all impeccable.
• Some context regarding this famous, yet brutally awkward clip of Bob Dylan inducting him into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame.  Viewed in isolation, it might appear as though Dylan was confused and/or stoned and/or half-assing it on some low-budget Canadian awards show that he was reduced to appearing on during the nadir of his commercial and critical fame.  In fact, Dylan was never comfortable at award shows, he always appeared nervous, unrehearsed, and would stumble to find his words.  Eventually stopped going to these ceremonies altogether -- remember, he skipped his own Nobel Prize ceremony.  Nearly every Lightfoot obituary in the MSM contains at least one Dylan quote, his esteem for Lightfoot can't be questioned.  Dylan showed up in person to a ceremony not to receive an honour, but to honour someone else, this was a special moment and it speaks volumes about how Dylan felt about him.  
• I grew up seeing the mustachioed Lightfoot of the 70's and 80's, I think that it still most people's first association of him, since it coincides with his commercial peak.  But Young Lightfoot was suave and charismatic, with pop star good looks that could have translated to any era.  
• Who is the better lyricist, Dylan or Lightfoot?  They are often compared with each other, even though their styles are so different.  Dylan is a vocabulary wizard, his twisted turns of phrases and colourful imagery are uncopyable.  But Lightfoot was the master of capturing the feels, he could articulate nearly any human emotion and craft the experience into something more haunting and real than anything you have felt in your entire life.
• An underrated aspect of Lightfoot's lyrics: he could do both sides of heartbreak better than anyone.  Plenty of artists can write about getting one's heart broken, but Lightfoot could also write about those who break hearts ("For Lovin Me", "Go Go Round").
• I think Lightfoot reached his creative peak in the early 70's, as evidence, check out this 1972 performance on the BBC.  There has never been a better acoustic folk troubadour than early 70's Lightfoot.  But my first association with his music is symbolized by "Carefree Highway", for me, it's the sound of late 70's FM-ready soft rock in a nutshell.  

Atlantic Rock and Roll Series

This box set collects six albums by six giants of 50's rock and roll and R&B.  Don't be misled by commenters arguing about the genre categorization of this music.  The line between R&B and R'n'R in those was mostly nonexistent.  The distinction mainly came down to marketing, which in turn was largely due to race.  When Atlantic released a Ray Charles album and promoted it as rock and roll, they were actively trying to reach a white audience.  The music was the music regardless.  

When these albums were first released, they didn't contain entirely new music.  They were, and are, compilations of the artists' biggest hits recorded throughout the decade to that point.  Ray Charles' album comes closest to sounding like a modern album, with varying styles and tempos sequenced into a coherent multi-track journey, rather than a random assortment of unrelated tracks.  Joe Turner's is entirely homogeneous in tempo, feel, and lyrical cadence, it's almost like a reggae compilation with repeated toasting over the same riddim.  It's quite obviously a collection of singles that was never meant to be heard in one sitting.  And yet, it's by far the most breathlessly exciting material in the box.  Turner's album is packed with classics ("Shake, Rattle and Roll", "Honey Hush", "Chains of Love") that transcend time,  they simply never fail to set your heart racing.  

Clyde McPhatter's voice is sublime but his album is the most restrained in the set.  Ruth Brown was a blueprint for rock and rock years before it was named as such.  She could be gritty and intense, or sweet and soothing depending on what the song demanded.  For black audiences, she was the queen of R&B but with more polish in her voice could be relatable to whites as well.  This album shows her talent and versatility exceptionally well.

La Vern Baker's voice could cut through a block of stone, when she meant business she really meant it -- check out "Jim Daddy"or "How Can You Leave a Man Like This".  The lyrics of the latter are rather uncomfortable to listen to these days, but you can't fault her blistery, impassioned delivery.  The songs aren't always the strongest, but that's no fault of hers.  Finally, according to the notes on the original back cover of the album, Ivory Joe Hunter didn't like being tagged as a blues singer.  That's marketing speak for "he's a blues singer that we're targeting for crossover appeal".  It's not surprising that he never did cross over into the mainstream, despite his prolific output and multi-genre talents (blues, country, R&B) he was just too esoteric for a large national audience.

I would recommend this set for the great music and the even better history lesson.       

Sinopoli's Bruckner 7 (Deutsche Grammophon 1993)

Before listening to this recording with the Staatskapelle Dresden, I was aware of the criticism surrounding Giuseppe Sinopoli's conducting style. I knew about his obsession for micromanaging his the sound of his recordings, his penchant for subjecting everything he touched under a mountain of oppressive strings.  I didn't care.  For me, these descriptions seemed simply wonderful.  Sure enough, I found this recording of Bruckner's 7th to be immensely powerful, if you take it for what it is.      

It amounts to nothing less than a shoegaze version of the symphony, nearly every great moment of note is choked to the gills by an immense wall of  sound dominated by strings.  Make no mistake, this is the sound brought forth by the conductor, not a characteristic style of the orchestra.  Jochum's recordings of the Bruckner symphonies with the same Dresden orchestra sound nothing like this.  I say that even while admitting, in all honesty, that Jochum's versions are most likely the best overall, the apex of all Bruckner recordings.  

In Sinopoli's take, you can't hear all of the instruments.  I know that transparency and clarity of the different parts of the orchestra is integral to the performance ... most of the time.  It simply doesn't matter here.  Much like with MBV's "Loveless" (to name the most obvious example from shoegaze), it makes no sense to complain about not being able to understand the lyrics, or to gripe about the imbalance between guitars and drums.  Likewise, I don't see the point of complaining about the brass section getting drowned out during the climaxes, or the relatively colourless woodwind sonority.  It's all about the rich, zen-like droning strings.  Everything they say about Sinopoli is true, his fans and his critics have both got it right. It's simply a matter of deciding whether you, the listener, like hearing the music performed in this way.

The return of Depeche Mode

I wrote a post last year in memory of the late Andy Fletcher, but it might as well have been a eulogy for the entire band.  Little did I know that a new album had largely been written, albeit not recorded, and a world tour was in the works.  

Veteran superstar touring acts like The Rolling Stones and Bruce Springsteen have always ensured that the show goes on, defying any concepts of age and personal tragedy.  Charlie Watts dies and the Stones keep chugging along.  Clarence Clemons passes away, and his son joins the E-Street Band in his place.  I never expected Depeche Mode to be one of those bands, even though their every four years album and tour schedule has been entrenched for decades.  

I haven't heard "Memento Mori" yet, but "Ghosts Again" is probably their best single in over a decade.  Watch the video and the familiar sights and sounds are all there -- Anton Corbijn's dystopian black and white urban landscapes, all-black wardrobes and dark sunglasses, standoffish rock star cool, growling synth melodies and lamentations on death in yet another pseudo-revival of the "Black Celebration" narrative.  It's nothing new but it's wonderful to see.

Speaking of wonderful to see, I watched a fan video of the encore from their first concert of the tour and it's almost enough to erase the bad memories of the pandemic.  In the darkest days of 2020 I feared that stadium and arena concerts might never return, but despite years of delays and the death of a founding member, here they were again, Depeche Mode performing their hits on a huge stage, a triumphant return to the new normal.  Performing a duet of "Waiting For the Night", Dave Gahan and Martin Gore looked thin and fit, their voices are as pure and as powerful as any time over the past thirty years.  They surveyed the crowd and couldn't have looked more happy to be there, and to be standing shoulder to shoulder with each other.  The rest of the encore -- "Just Can't Get Enough", "Never Let Me Down Again", and "Personal Jesus", a combined 113 years old between the three -- continue to sound timeless.     

John Gay, "The Beggar's Opera", realized by Benjamin Britten

Fourteen months after the last post in the series, finally, it's the ninth in a series of albums that I haven't heard in over twenty years, since the start of this blog in January 2020.  

I had read the text of the play but I knew that the phenomenon that was "The Beggar's Opera" is somewhat lost without the music to accompany the words, so I bought these discs to experience it in full.  I had the slightest clue about who Britten was, his importance to post-WWII British music, or his reputation as an opera composer.  I bought the only version of the piece that I could find.  

To tell the truth, I hadn't cared much for the play.  Compared to the Restoration comedies that I loved from the previous generation of British writers, the text is lacking in wit, the characters are simplistic, the plot is drearily straightforward and bereft of true twists and surprises, with a clumsy deus ex machina ending that confuses and frustrates rather than providing a cause for celebration. If I had heard a musical arrangement that was close in spirit to the light, baroque airs that the original text stipulates, perhaps I could have gained more of an appreciation for the work.  Britten's realization is none of those things.  I was looking to flip my opinion of "The Beggar's Opera", and Britten was just about the worst possible composer to help me along.  

The music is characteristically Britten.  The orchestra is rather small (just fourteen players credited) but rich with unusual sonorities, and upfront and jarring percussion.  The overall effect is one of a much larger ensemble, as such, the musical arrangements take on more of a starring role than in the more "literal" adaptations.  A key element of "The Beggar's Opera" was its satirical interpretation of early 18th century Italian opera.  With larger than life divas supplanted by lowly thieves and miscreants, and the high drama of opera composition replaced by innocent English ballads that Gay's audience would have been completely familiar with, the irony in the presentation would have been impossible to ignore.   Britten's re-interpretation removes those chaste, innocent qualities from the music and presents something far more sinister.  One cannot forget for a moment that these are low-lifes singing along to a soundtrack meant for thieves.   Many musical phrases have uncomfortable resolutions, and unflinchingly displeasing conclusions.  

The pacing of the opera is still not much to my taste.  The vacillation between text and brief musical airs is dizzying.  What passes for action in the text is given little room to develop or breath through such short snippets of dialogue, and the same can be said for the short ballad airs (fifty five of them in all).  But Britten is a composer whose work rewards repeat listens, the music is dense and fascinating.   

Professor of Rock: Top Ten from February 7, 1984

If you were a music fan in the 80's, there's something for you on Professor of Rock's (Adam Reader) channel.   His  unapologetic championing of the era's music is admirable, albeit repetitive.  If never watched another music related channel, you'd think that no good music was made after 1987 or so.  You have to admire someone so devoted to his craft, even though his concept of "classic" music is so narrow in time and scope.     

One of the recurring segments on his channel is a countdown of the top ten songs in the US on that date in music history.  He also "re-ranks" the top ten in terms of total streams/views since they were released, to come up with a revised chart that reflects those song's long term impact. I'm not certain of his methods (streams and views on which platform?   During which years?  And if the goal is to gauge impact why don't sales count for anything?) but it makes for interesting debate material.  

Recently, he covered the top ten from 39 years ago, the week of February 7, 1984.  This is right up my alley.  He claims that 1984 was the best ever year for music, and he may well be right.  This was the first year that I followed the pop charts religiously, each week, for an entire calendar year.  Looking over Billboard's list of the Top 100 Singles of 1984, I know nearly every one of those one hundred songs with the possible exception of two or three, and can sing or hum excerpts from each of them from memory from the place I'm sitting in now.  It was a formative time in my beginnings as a music fan, so of course my memories will be hopelessly subjective, but that's OK.  Some people claim that the best music ever made is the music you listened to when you were sixteen.  That age might vary by a few years depending on who is making the claim, but I can't recall the number going as young as ten.  The rational, I believe, is that high schoolers rely on music to shape their identity and personality, but once you hit your 20's and have matured into your (mostly) fully formed adult self, music as a consequence starts losing its ability to make a lasting impression.   

There's a good argument to be made there, but my experiences fall well outside those parameters.  In 1984, I followed the charts like they were sports.  I clipped the CHUM charts from the newspaper each week as if they were the boxscores of games, I made a point of studying them and memorizing them, knowing the stats behind the songs (how many weeks at #1, in the top ten, etc.).  I wrote about this at some length in a post from over twenty years ago.  I had no money to buy records or tapes, the nearest music shop was a twenty minute walk from our house (too far for me to venture on my own).  We didn't get MTV in Canada, and in February 1984, Much Music was about six months away from its initial launch.  I learned the music by listening to the radio constantly, devouring nightly broadcasts and especially the countdown shows.  I knew the top 40 each week but that's all I knew at the time.  There was no "alternative", no niche genres to discover, but it was nevertheless my first attempt at a musical identity that was independent of the music my parents owned and listened to.  And that's how a ten year old became more deeply versed in the minutiae of the pop charts than at any point in my life since.   

Here is that top ten from thirty nine years ago: 

10.  Elton John, "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues"  

9.  Christopher Cross, "Think of Laura"

8.  John Cougar Mellencamp, "Pink Houses"

7.  Lionel Richie, "Running With the Night"

6.  Genesis, "That's All"

5.  Van Halen, "Jump"

4.  Yes, "Owner of a Lonely Heart"

3.  The Romantics, "Talking In Your Sleep"

2.  Kool and the Gang, "Joanna"

1.  Culture Club, "Karma Chameleon"

It's the fifth year of the decade, and the top ten is dominated by ... notable acts of the 70's, in various stages of adjusting to the challenges of being pop stars at the dawn of the music video era.  We have prog rock bands figuring out how to write four minute manifestos for mainstream radio (Yes, Genesis), and 70's megastars reinventing themselves for a newer, younger audience that might not have known their earlier hits (Elton John, Kool and the Gang, Van Halen, Lionel Richie).  Regarding that latter point, "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" was my first memory of Elton John as a contemporary pop star, "I'm Still Standing" was my favourite song of his (mainly thanks to its memorable video), and I didn't become familiar with his 70's megastardom hits until years later.  Similarly, "Jump", "Joanna", and "Owner of a Lonely Heart" were my introduction to each of those acts.

These days, I think The Romantics are remembered for the sound of their debut album, but "Talking In Your Sleep" was their most successful song by far. Christopher Cross debuted in 79 and was a force at the top of the charts in the early 80's, but his music was a holdover from the mellower FM soft rock of the 70's.  John Cougar Mellencamp also began his career in the 70's and found considerable success in the 80's, but his brand of heartland rock isn't characteristic of that decade.  More than any other song on this list, "Pink Houses" could have been released as-is and found a willing audience in just about any decade since the 70's. That leaves us with just one absolutely no doubt quintessential unmistakably 80's act -- Culture Club.  It should come as no surprise that they are #1 on the revised chart too unsurprisingly the retroactive #1 too (from least to most streams/views: Lionel Richie, Christopher Cross, Kool and the Gang, Mellencamp, Genesis, Romantics, Elton John, Yes, Van Halen, Culture Club).   

Where were all the 80's giants?  Michael Jackson was between "Thriller" singles.  Hits from albums by Duran Duran and Cyndi Lauper were several weeks away from peaking.  Tina Turner's triumphant comeback was a few months away.  Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, and Prince would release decade defining albums only later in the year.  With these unusual set of circumstances, the odds and sods 70's continuation acts were able to sneak in and take over the top of the pop charts.