Giving Up The Ghost: A Guide To Basic Cable's Paranormal TV Shows

Is it just me, or has basic cable been completely taken over by ghosts lately? No, I don't mean those fuzzy double images that show up during a rainstorm for those of you with rabbit ears or satellite.

I'm talking about the real thing here, as in things that go bump in the night. Disembodied spirits. The undead. You know, ghosts...

I'm not sure exactly where the trend of all these geeks running around with thermal cameras and electro-magnetic field measuring devices started, but lately it seems you can't turn on the TV without seeing a bunch of guys sitting in a dark room someplace — usually captured in glorious black and white — checking out such paranormal activity as shadows, creaking floors and headlights outside in the driveway.

Okay, I'll admit I'm not being completely fair here.

Some of what you see and hear on these shows is mildly interesting, and occasionally even somewhat compelling. More often however, you see these "investigators" jumping out of their skins and screaming "paranormal" pretty much whenever their equipment picks up a fly on the window.

The bottom line is reality TV is out, and unreality TV is in. These shows are freaking everywhere these days — it doesn't even have to be Halloween.

But the grandaddy of the bunch has to be the Ghost Hunters franchise on the SyFy channel. Before these guys spawned this lucrative enterprise, head honchos Jason and Grant were a couple of schmoes working for Roto Rooter. These days, the SyFy channel has become home to an empire that in addition to the original Ghost Hunters show, now includes Ghost Hunters International and the soon-to-be-launched Ghost Hunters Academy.

For my money though, Ghost Hunters also rides head and shoulders above the rest of this increasingly crowded paranormal pack on basic cable. As head investigators of T.A.P.S. (The Atlantic Paranormal Society), Jason and Grant largely approach their investigations both scientifically and with an open and even semi-skeptical mind. I like that.

These guys basically know their stuff, and using their nuts and bolts knowledge of things like pipes and drains gained through working their day jobs at Roto Rooter, they are actually able to quickly debunk a lot of the creaking floors and such they encounter while investigating alleged haunted houses.

The other thing that impresses me about these guys is the way their team of investigators painstakingly go through hours of everything their assorted video and audio gadgetry catches on these investigations. If it were me, I'd be bored stiff. So if nothing else, sifting through all of this "evidence" the way these guys do demonstrates both a dedication and a seriousness towards what they do that I have to yet to see from any of the other para-wannabes that have followed in their wake.

Occasionally they catch some pretty wild shit too, such as EVPs (Electronic Voice Phenomena) of voices that aren't supposed to be there, and video of things going beyond the dust in the air so often misindentified as "orbs" by some of the other shows out there. It also doesn't hurt that one of the Ghost Hunters is a pretty hot chick named Kris Williams. That girl can haunt my house anytime.

As always with anything on the tube, success breeds imitation, and the ratings of Ghost Hunters has spawned a whole slew of imitators and paranormal pretenders — some of them are good, some not so much, but none are as good as the original.

The Biography Channel practically turns into a paranormal channel of its own on Saturday nights, running a slate of shows including Ghost Stories, A Haunting, Psychic Investigators, and the inevitable latest entry into the paranormal sweepstakes, Celebrity Ghost Stories.

None of these are particularly compelling — unless your idea of goosebumps involves people like Sammy Hagar and Tom Arnold sitting in a darkened room and talking about the things they thought were under the bed as children.

A&E's Paranormal State is a bit more likable, and easily the best of the lot.

It revolves around a painfully earnest Penn State student named Ryan who investigates hauntings and the like in an effort to make sense of what seems to be some rather fucked up things he experienced as a child. His team includes a spacey chick named Elfie, a Russian guy named Sergey, and a revolving door of various psychics and professional exorcists who mix traditional religion and the occult to root out spirits during something they call "dead time."

Pretty spooky stuff, kiddies.

Over at the Travel Channel, they mix historical travelogues like Haunted History, with yet another team of would-be paranormal investiagtors on their Ghost Adventurers. I'd probably like this show more if the main protagonists acted more like the pros on Ghost Hunters, and less like macho assholes when confronting the spirits at such locations as haunted prisons and graveyards.

Speaking of macho assholes, they seem to be cropping up everywhere on these shows. Of the newer entries into the field, The Discovery Channel's Ghost Lab follows a pair of brothers who travel around the country in a van filled with all of the latest ghost-hunting gadgets in search of the undead.

I really wanted to like this team, except that they lacked both the professionalism and the healthy skepticism of Ghost Hunters vets Jason and Grant. On a recent episode, I admired the way they "phoned a friend" (in the form of a scientist) to get the straight scoop on Electro-Magnetic-Fields. But they lost me just as quick when they wanted to ascribe such fields to paranormal activity, rather than the discomfort that occurs naturally when lots of wires cause high levels of EMFs.

In General Electric terms, these guys were dim bulbs. Jason and Grant would've known better.

Worse yet however are the trio of nerds and jocks comprising the team on the A&E Channel's Extreme Paranormal. These guys actually scare me, but not in a good way. It's not just the way they are willing to label any shadow seen in a supposedly haunted prison as a ghost (and use electric drills to kill the undead bastard again), but also the way they do really dumb shit like diving into haunted lakes during thunder storms.

Led by the sort of big dumb jock you might remember from high school (and who has populated every B-grade horror movie since the dawn of time), these guys strike me as the very definition of people who have no clue of what they are doing, and who I fear will actually one day end up in a premature grave of their own.

But at least the cameras will be rolling, right? Note to the fat nerdy guy here — get out while you still can.

Between shows like these and all of the UFO and Nostradamus stuff on the History Channel, I see no signs of the proliferation of these paranormal TV shows slowing down anytime soon. The good news here is, at least you'll have something to watch when the trick or treaters show up tonight.

Better yet though, just rent that Dawn Of The Dead DVD. Yes, again.

Happy Halloween everybody.

Bookmark The New Bio Bowie Bio

Book Review: Bowie: A Biography By Marc Spitz

Normally, I like to read books front to back much like everyone else, but Marc Spitz's new Bowie: A Biography is something else entirely.

I've found myself going back over it again and again, and placing those kind of little bookmarks all over it for reference the way you normally do with things like Shakespeare, the Bible, or Mad Magazine.

Okay, I was just kidding about the Mad Magazine part...

Like Spitz, I grew up on David Bowie and remain a huge fan to this day. As you might expect, reading and re-reading through Spitz's exhaustively researched book — which is easily the most thorough Bowie bio I have come across to date — has also brought back a ton of memories.

The biggest problem has been absorbing it all.

In his research for the book, Spitz conducted hundreds of interviews with those closest to Bowie — ranging from ex-wife Angie, to one-time sideman Peter Frampton, to Dick Cavett of all people. Spitz doesn't miss a trick here.

In the book, Spitz meticulously traces the history of the ever-mercurial chameleon Bowie through all of his various career phases. We follow the former David Jones from his evolution from young R&B loving mod and later beat-influenced hippie, all the way through his career periods and artistic incarnations as Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke, to the Plastic Soul Review, the Berlin trilogy, and beyond.

In doing so, Spitz makes the most effective case yet as to just how major an influence Bowie has been over the years. Particularly in the post-modern era which began in the late eighties with bands like Nine Inch Nails — but which can really be traced back further to the kraut-rock of Kraftwerk, and of course, finally to Bowie himself.

Reading through this amazing book, we also discover just how much Bowie's influence lives on today through bands ranging from Arcade Fire to the Killers (yes, the Killers).

Along the way, we follow Bowie's amazing journey as he moved through labels, managers (Tony DeFries), sidemen (the late, great guitarist Mick Ronson), rivals (most notably Marc Bolan), and addictions and identities (Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke), to become the icon and legend he is recognized as today.

The funnest part about reading this for me was going back to Bowie records I haven't listened to in years, and reliving my own memories as a teenaged fan.

From my earliest exposure to Bowie on the song "Moonage Daydream" (which I first heard on a promotional 4-song E.P. I got as a sixteen year old intern at Seattle rock station KOL), to witnessing Bowie's sparsely attended 1972 Ziggy Stardust show in the orchestra pit at Seattle's Paramount with my high school buddy Kim Murrell, the memories came flooding back.

Bowie and Kim had a rather spirited exchange back then, when, in a rare moment of getting up close and personal with his audience, "Ziggy" offered my fifteen year old friend the microphone. Remind me to tell you about it one of these days...because it's a great story.

I don't necessarily agree with all of of Spitz's critical assessments of Bowie's work here — I would definitely call comparing latter-day Bowie albums like Outside to the Berlin trilogy (reunion with Eno aside), somewhat misguided.

But for the most part Spitz gets it right here like no Bowie biography has to date.

Most importantly, he reveals just how much David Bowie is truly missed. I suspect I'll be re-reading and discovering new things here for weeks and months to come.

Come back David. All is forgiven.

On Cornflakes, Critics, And The Personal Memoirs Of Robert Hilburn

Book Review: Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life by Robert Hilburn

One of the things you hear most often from guys my age is our pissing and moaning about the death of rock and roll.

Truth be told, a pretty good case can be made for it too. Certainly the most common complaints — the lack of any true megabands since U2, the decline of record sales, and the increasingly disposable pop of the Disney teen acts and American Idol — ring true enough.

The fact is, in today's musical landscape, the chances of a true game-changing phenomenon — one that affects not just the musical, but also the cultural landscape of America and the world in ways that the Beatles, Dylan, or even Nirvana did — just isn't that likely to happen. This probably has as much to do with how music is distributed to the masses these days as anything else. But that's another subject...

What I miss nearly as much as rock's golden age of the sixties, seventies, and eighties, however, is the brand of rock journalism which often went side by side with it — the type of writing I soaked up like a sponge in magazines like Creem and Rolling Stone as a kid, written with a fan's passion by guys like the late, great Lester Bangs.

Since I didn't grow up in Los Angeles (and therefore was unable read the music coverage of the L.A. Times), I was never that familiar with the work of Robert Hilburn, although I certainly knew of his reputation.

Reading his new book, however, it's certainly clear that he was, and still is, cut from that same old-school cloth of rock criticism that I miss so much. In fact, Hilburn's Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life is one of the best books on the subject of rock and roll I have read in a good long while.

Hilburn certainly writes from a perspective that is more informed than most — at times this book reads as much as a history of rock as it does as his own personal memoir.

But more importantly, Hilburn writes about the music he so clearly loves with all the passion of the most hardcore fan. This, more than anything else, is what separates Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life from the rest of the rock books you'll find in the music section at your nearest Borders, and also what makes it such a great read.

Although this is largely a personal memoir of Hilburn's career as pop music critic for the L.A. Times, it is also a fascinating journey through the history of rock and roll itself — dotted with Hilburn's personal memories of rubbing shoulders with such greats as Elvis, Lennon, Dylan, Springsteen and Bono.

Tracing his own history of discovering the music through listening to his uncle's records by artists like Hank Williams, and then later discovering R&B and of course Elvis, Hilburn goes on to describe how he liked the attention he got from the other kids in school through his writing, beginning a journey which finally landed him a gig with the L.A. Times, first as a stringer, then eventually as full-time pop music critic.

That part of Hilburn's story will primarily be of interest to writing geeks like myself. What gives Corn Flakes With John Lennon its more universal appeal, though, are the stories of how Hilburn endeared himself to some of the greatest musical icons of this generation — often to the point of becoming a personal confidant.

The common thread running through nearly all of them is how Hilburn was able to cut through the barriers surrounding musicians who were treated more like Gods — particularly during the sixties when rock was impacting culture like it hasn't at any time before or since. In story after amazing story here, we learn how Hilburn perfected this art mainly by first being honest, and then by connecting with them as fans.

And what stories.

In Corn Flakes With John Lennon, we travel with Hilburn to Folsom Prison on the occasion of Johnny Cash's historic concerts there. We go backstage and discover the shy, insecure person lying beneath the dynamo that was Janis Joplin, and are there on the night of Elton John's career-making shows at L.A.'s Troubadour club.

We meet John Lennon during his infamous alcohol-fueled "lost weekend" in seventies L.A., and later during the "house-husband" period of his album Double Fantasy, where we find Lennon's biggest vice to be the chocolate bars he sneaks when Yoko (who he refers to as "Mother") isn't around.

Sadly, we are also there for the funerals of Elvis, John Lennon, and Kurt Cobain. Hilburn's bedside interview with a grief-stricken Yoko Ono and later with Courtney Love in particular reveal a side of these rock and roll widows which clashes profoundly with their public images.

Most telling though is the way this book reveals the unique relationship between rock critics like Hilburn and the artists they write about.

Hilburn's various conversations with Bob Dylan over the years are particularly revealing — ranging from Dylan's changing his setlists at the writer's suggestion (and how he later chided him about it by asking if he brought a setlist with him), to the way the notoriously interview reluctant Dylan uncharacteristically opened up to Hilburn about subjects ranging from his "born-again" conversion to his songcraft over the years.

Hilburn also takes no less than Bruce Springsteen — an artist he clearly loves — to task for compromising his art by playing his old hits on the early nineties tour just after "The Boss" enraged many fans by disbanding the E Street Band. At another point in the book, Hilburn urges a young Bono, then known for scaling 30-foot high scaffolds and throwing himself into audiences, to scale down the "antics" and let the music do the talking. Bono, who was said to be haunted by Hilburn's stern lecture for years, nonetheless took the critic's advice to heart. It's no coincidence he wrote the intro to this book.

Corn Flakes With John Lennon ends on a somewhat depressing note however.

Although Hilburn tries his best to cover his glum appraisal of the present and future state of rock and roll with signs of optimism — pinning most of his hopes on people like Jack White and Conor Oberst — it's pretty clear that the wise old critic can see the writing on the wall. There is a tone of resignation in the final chapter here that perhaps rock music's time as a true life altering cultural force has indeed passed.

Corn Flakes With John Lennon is a must read for anyone who loves writing, but especially for anyone who loves rock and roll. It is also one of the best books on rock music I have read in a good long while. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Dylan Croaks And Croons His Christmas In The Heart

Music Review; Bob Dylan - Christmas In The Heart

So it should be stated right upfront that this album isn't gonna' be for everybody. In fact, for most people, the verdict on Bob Dylan's first-ever collection of Christmas tunes is probably going to come down to which side of a central question you are on.

That would be "The Croak."

"The Croak," for those not already in the know, is the ragged, Tom Waits-like tone and quality Dylan's voice has taken on with all of his albums this decade dating back to at least Time Out Of Mind. Some people love it, while it makes others cringe.



As for me? I love "The Croak."

So the only real question for me going into this album was, will the harsh, sandpaper on cigarettes quality of Dylan's voice that works so well on a song, like say, "Thunder On The Mountain" sound appropriate on something like say, "Hark The Herald Angels Sing"?

And on that particular song, the answer is no, it really doesn't. The reason has more to do with the arrangement than it does with anything else though.

One of the reasons Dylan's voice works so well with his own recent songs, is because when he sings something with the fire and brimstone lyrical imagery of "Thunder On The Mountain," "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'," or even "Aint Talkin'," the apocalyptic world-weariness in his voice is a perfect match to the subject matter. Dylan also is a master of phrasing, so in his own songs every double-phrased or twisted syllable adds just that much more dramatic emphasis to the words.

On "Hark The Herald Angels Sing," as with the other songs on Christmas In The Heart, Dylan however plays it completely straight. The arrangements are as traditional as a holiday card from Hallmark, and likewise there are no twists of phrase in the vocal delivery. So, in the case of "Hark," this only serves to illustrate the fact that he just can't hit the notes.

Even so, and putting that little bump on the road to grandma's house aside (strictly in the interest of fairness of course), on much of the rest of this album Dylan does just fine.

Christmas In The Heart begins with sleigh bells — Sleigh Bells, for crying out loud! But by the time you hear Dylan, in all of his croaking glory sing "Here comes Santa Claus! Here comes Santa Claus!," you really can't help yourself from cracking up. Or, at least I couldn't.

Elsewhere, on songs like "I'll Be Home For Christmas" and "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" (complete with the most syrupy sounding female backup vocals you're likely to hear this side of the Lennon Sisters on the old Lawrence Welk Show), Dylan's croak substitutes for Crosby-esque croon surprisingly well.

And for the record, no, he doesn't tackle "White Christmas." Dylan always was a smart sumbitch'. Elsewhere, Dylan's take on "Must be Santa" borders on beer-barrel polka, while he offers up surprisingly credible versions of such traditional fare as "Little Drummer Boy" and "Silver Bells."

So it's an acquired taste to be sure. But since Dylan's doing this album for charity — all present and future royalties from the CD will go to the hunger fighting folks at Feeding America — I'm willing to cut him a break here. Besides, the CD actually isn't that bad, and in some cases ("Here Comes Santa Claus" for example) is actually pretty damn hilarious.

Just make sure that you dig "the croak."

Sing A Song, Play Guitar, Make It Snappy

Book Review: Book Review: From Zero To Rock Hero: A Crash Course In Playing Rock Guitar by Owen Edwards

A year or so ago, I took it upon myself to try to learn to play guitar, after winning a shiny new black Fender Stratocaster and a Marshall practice amp in a contest.

After all, as everyone knows, those of us who write about rock music are in fact frustrated rock stars ourselves, right? Or so the myth goes...

Anyway, things went pretty well for awhile. I bought myself one of those Guitar For Dummies instruction books, and dutifully set about the task of learning the few basic chords of songs like "Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore" taught in the book. I figured I'd be playing like Hendrix or Clapton in no time.

But then something happened — well, two things actually.

The first thing that happened was the dreaded F chord, which was something that I just couldn't quite wrap my stubby little writers fingers around. You had to be one of those ambidextrous human rubber bands to master that damned F chord as far as I was concerned.

The second thing however, to be quite honest, was my own lack of discipline and a creeping sense of boredom with the whole thing. My first novel has been on perpetual hold for much the same reason.

So, like my favorite American president Richard Nixon, I gave up. Go ahead, call me "The Quitter." I dare ya'...

The truth is, endlessly practicing songs like "Home On The Range" will only take you so far for so long. The guitar has been gathering dust in my living room ever since.

I could have used a book like this one back then.

When Owen Edwards' From Zero To Rock Hero: A Crash Course In Playing Rock Guitar showed up unexpectedly in my mailbox earlier this week, I had to take notice. Here was a book which made the bold claim that in a mere six weeks, I could be rattling windows and pissing off my neighbors like the guitar hero I always knew I was born to be. Like that song by Traffic says, here was a book that promised I could "sing a song, play guitar, make it snappy."

I had to give it a try.

So the good news is, Edwards' book lives up to its lofty promise on at least one level. This isn't your average how-to guitar book. There's no easing you in with simple folk ballads and the like. Instead, Edwards cuts right to the chase. Following a day by day lesson plan, this is a crash course designed to unleash your inner Jimmy Page in the quickest amount of time possible.

Edwards wastes no time in delving into such basic rock guitar essentials as power chords, riffs, and even some very cool lead guitar tricks. Before long — assuming you follow the plan here — Edwards even teaches the would-be guitar hero such things as the "tapping" technique made famous by Eddie Van Halen. The book also comes with a CD to allow you to track your progress against the real thing.

Best of all, Edwards takes you through the necessary steps with an engaging narrative and plenty of great songs to get your feet — or rather your fingers — wet with. As you learn everything from Zeppelin to Sabbath to Metallica and AC/DC on your way towards becoming a rock star, there are also plenty of great stories and pictures here to inspire your quest towards future world domination.

This is the book I wish I had when I first won that damn Strat. With any luck, it is also the one that will finally inspire me to pick it up again. I'll keep you posted.

Bruce Fans Remember 'The Light In Darkness'

Book Review: The Light In Darkness by Lawrence Kirsch

Like its predecessor For You, Lawrence Kirsch's The Light In Darkness is a beautifully put-together, limited edition coffee-table sized collection of reminisces from Bruce Springsteen fans.

What makes this a must-have for the Springsteen fan on your holiday shopping list, are the hundreds of photographs here — many of which were shot by fans as well, and thus are seen here for the very first time.

The difference with The Light In Darkness is the fact that this volume focuses specifically on the 1978 tour behind the album Darkness On The Edge Of Town. As most longtime Boss fans will tell you, this was the tour where Springsteen and the E Street Band largely solidified their reputation as one of the greatest live attractions in rock.

On this tour, Springsteen shows rarely ran under 3 1/2 hours, and when multiple encores were factored in, would often push closer to the five hour mark.

These were the days so fondly remembered by the fans who were there, when songs like "Prove It All Night" began with a blistering guitar intro that was longer than the song itself, and where "Backstreets" included a lengthy mid-song rap (then called "Sad Eyes") which eventually formed the foundation for the song "Drive All Night" on the 1980 album The River.

Here, on page after lovingly assembled page, these same fans recall their memories of seeing such legendary performances as the oft-bootlegged December 15, 1978 show at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom — one of the very final rock concerts to take place at the legendary venue. In the case of this particular show, several stories are recounted, including a beautiful photo essay of the show from Backstreets photographer P. Jay Plutzer, that includes many never before seen photos.
In addition to the hundreds of images and personal anecdotes from fans, there is a list of every show, and every song played during the Darkness tour. In another section, writer Roy Opichinski examines the songs left over from the original sessions for the Darkness album that failed to make the final cut — including both the ones Springsteen gave away to other artists like Patti Smith ("Because The Night"), and such lost masterpieces as "The Promise" and "Iceman."

The release of The Light In Darkness comes at a time where there is a renewed interest in the 1978 Bruce Springsteen album which forms its central theme.

Springsteen and the E Street Band have been recently featuring the album played in its entirety — most recently at the Spectrum in Philadelphia and at Giants Stadium in New Jersey — as part of the theme nights closing their current tour, where a classic album is performed from start to stop. It is also widely expected that a deluxe, remastered edition of Darkness will see the light of day sometime next year.

In the meantime, this beautifully done new volume from Lawrence Kirsch serves as the next best thing. For those who were there, it serves as a reminder of a time where great rock and roll seemed to make anything possible. For those who weren't, it does a nice job of telling the story of just why Springsteen and the E Street Band are so revered by the fans who were.

As a postscript here, a few Blogcritics have stories of their own that made the cut in the book. Look for Mark Saleski on page 96, and yours truly on page 52. The Light In Darkness can be ordered at the author's website (you'll also find a link at the bottom of this page).

Daltrey + Vedder = Killer

Concert Review: Roger Daltrey At The Showbox Sodo, Seattle, WA, 10/12/09

I wish I could say I had the setlist handy for the Seattle stop on Roger Daltrey's current Use It Or Lose It solo tour, but I don't.

Which is unfortunate, because this was truly a case of a great show sandwiched within the middle of an otherwise merely good one.

The Who's Roger Daltrey is currently on his first concert tour as a solo act since the mid-eighties. He has no present solo album to support, but is rather playing these dates reportedly to get the vocal pipes into working shape for an upcoming Who album and tour in 2010.

That being said, Daltrey's Seattle stop at the uncharacteristically club-like setting of the thousand seat Showbox Sodo — his second date on this tour, and his first in the U.S. proper (the tour kicked off the previous night in Vancouver B.C.) — was truly a tale of two completely different performers.

For the faithful 1000 or so concert-goers who turned out to see a rare performance from sixties/seventies rock-royalty performing within the intimate club confines of Seattle's Showbox Sodo (Daltrey himself remarked at one point how he wasn't used to playing something other than an arena), there were really only two questions:

How much vintage Who material would Daltrey do, and was his voice in anything resembling working shape?

The former question was answered fairly quickly as Daltrey — backed by a capable band which included Pete Townshend's younger brother Simon — opened with a semi-acoustic version of "Who Are You?," which soon gave way to a slightly less familiar, but nonetheless welcome rendering of the more obscure Who single "Pictures Of Lily."

For the Who fans in attendance, seeing an icon like Daltrey performing such arena-rock standards in this setting had to represent something close to nirvana. Daltrey, for his part, also sounded great here.

Unfortunately, the latter part of this question was likewise answered midway through the set when Daltrey led the band through one of the Who's earliest singles, "I Can See For Miles." Daltrey's voice was strong here, but the song was also played in a much lower key than the more familiar original version, and by this time, it was all but obvious there would be none of Daltrey's signature screams forthcoming on this night.

A side trip into Daltrey's solo material from the seventies and eighties served mainly as an excuse for a much needed trip to the bathroom, or for a trip to the bar, or outside for a smoke.

From there, Daltrey's stories of how songwriter Leo Sayer provided many of the songs for solo releases like Ride A Rock Horse were certainly informative enough — but for those of us who were actually around back then, we remember Sayer mainly as the guy who wore clown makeup on one album cover, and had a few Bee Gees-era disco hits like "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing."

In other words, stuff we are better not reminded of.

But then, something great happened.

Daltrey's band began the chords to the Pearl Jam hit "Better Man," and sure enough, there was PJ's Eddie Vedder out there on stage with Roger. The two of them sounded great together, continuing on through a great version of "The Real Me" from Quadrophenia.

From this point on, Daltrey seemed to get a bit more of a fire under his belly as he powered the band through inspired versions of "Baba O'Reilly," and especially a very sweet sounding coda of the Live At Leeds staples "Young Man Blues" and "Shakin' All Over."

Now, this was what we came for.

Daltrey then brought Vedder back out onstage and said, "if I can't hit the high notes here, I've brought someone who maybe can." On a killer version of "Bargain," Vedder did exactly that, and then some.

By this point, Roger Daltrey's Seattle concert was transformed from a rather routine appearance of rock royalty going through the motions in a small venue, into something truly special. I can't imagine anyone leaving the Showbox Sodo feeling like they had seen anything less than real greatness.

Obviously, Daltrey won't be bringing Eddie Vedder along for the entire tour. It's also fairly obvious that on this very early end of the tour, the kinks in the set are still being worked out.

But for all you Who fans out there, I wouldn't miss this. Daltrey may not be able to quite hit the screams that he used to, but his voice is still surprisingly strong.

What I can say for sure, judging by this show, is that Roger Daltrey is nowhere near ready to be put out to pasture just yet. On this night, with help from Eddie Vedder, he turned a potentially good show into a great one.

For Marillion, Less Is More Indeed

Music Review: Marillion - Less Is More

Less Is More, the 16th studio album from British progressive rock veterans Marillion may just go down as my favorite album from the band since their acknowledged masterpiece, 2004's Marbles — although not for the reasons you might expect.

As its title indicates, Less Is More is a stripped down effort — call it Marillion's Unplugged — in which the band take eleven songs from their back catalog, and basically perform them in mostly acoustic arrangements. But here is where I have a confession to make.

There is a huge, twenty something year long gap in my knowledge of this band. I was a big fan of Marillion's first incarnation with original lead vocalist Fish back in the eighties as a sort of baby Peter Gabriel-era Genesis. But then — like so many American fans — I lost track of them, up until about three years ago.

So as far as the remade songs on Less Is More go — which I assume have to come mostly from their pre-Marbles albums — I really have no point of reference to compare this music with. For me, these are essentially brand new songs. The thing is, I really like what I'm hearing here.

The most notable thing about Less Is More is Steve Hogarth's voice. Stripped of the full-on electric arrangements of Marillion's usual sound, it quickly becomes apparent just how crucial of an instrument Hogarth's voice is to Marillion.

On songs like "If My Heart Were A Ball," Hogarth's vocal sounds like part scream and part aching plea, and is the one thing separating this song from what otherwise sounds like a slower take on the Doors "Break On Through (To The Other Side)." Not that this is a bad thing...

For the most part, the mood of this album is very quiet, and to my ears at least, very late night.

Songs like "Wrapped Up In Time" and especially "The Space" provoke the sort of color and shade you might hear in a smoky jazz lounge around closing time. At least until Steve Rothery's guitar and Mark Kelly's keyboards kick in. On the former, Rothery's guitar adds just the right amount of flourish, while on the latter it is Kelly's haunting piano that does the trick.

On "Interior Lulu," the band probably come closest to the proggy sound of their other recordings, but even here the mood is a decidedly late night and laid back one. Set against an oriental sounding backdrop of strings and percussion instruments I couldn't identify if you paid me, Hogarth's dramatic, off-color falsetto vocal gives the song all the lift-off it needs.

Less Is More is a bit of a departure for these guys, but it is also a destination I wouldn't be at all disappointed to see them visit more often. At the very least, it's great to see a band like Marillion continuing to musically stretch itself this far into their careers.

Less Is More indeed.

Will Blog For Promos: Making Sense Of The New Blogola

Whether you are a person who frequents blog sites on the internet, you own a personal blog, or you even write articles on websites like this one, you've probably heard about the FTC's intention to more closely regulate such things by now.

Established in 1914 by the Federal Trade Commission Act to promote consumer protection and combat anti-competitive practices, the Federal Trade Commission is the government agency charged with making sure all is fair in love and trade as relates to the American consumer.

More recently however, the FTC has represented three letters striking fear into the hearts and minds of bloggers everywhere, as the agency has begun to take steps towards regulating the wild, wild west world of the blogosphere.

Specifically, as of December 2009, the FTC will begin requiring full disclosure of any payments made to bloggers in exchange for product endorsements.

Such payments would include not only monetary compensation, but also the products bloggers often receive for review purposes — which in theory could mean anything from cars, trips, and the like, to the CDs, DVDs, and books thousands of bloggers routinely write about every day at sites such as Blogcritics Magazine.

So what does this mean for people who review music CDs and such on the internet? Perhaps a brief history lesson will help put this into the proper perspective.

Promotional albums — or "promos" in the industry vernacular — have in fact been part of the way business is done by the music industry for a very long time now. In addition to the thousands of writers and bloggers who receive them for review purposes, they are routinely sent out to radio programmers and DJs as well as what is left of the music retail community.

They are not only used to help determine which new releases get written about, but also what gets played on the radio, and what gets pushed in record shops through things like instore play.

They have also from time to time been used as an accepted form of currency in the record business, which has produced its own fair share of scandals over the years.

Although I wasn't actually around to witness it first hand at the time, I am old enough to remember the original payola scandals of the fifties and sixties as a student of music history.

The "pay for play" scheme was a big enough deal back then to prompt congressional investigations, and bring down a number of key figures, including no less than Alan Freed, the radio pioneer generally credited with coining the term rock and roll. Some of the scarier stories from this period also included rumors of organized crime types shaking down radio programmers who refused to play along.

By the time I was actually working within the record industry myself (in the eighties and nineties), the practice of payola had been supposedly cleaned up. In truth, it actually just shifted itself around a bit. This is where the idea of promos as an acceptable form of currency largely came into play.

On the surface, promo albums as a movable form of something with an actual tangible monetary value are essentially worthless because they are clearly marked as such. In the days of vinyl albums, they were marked with big white labels stating they were not for sale and were intended solely for promotional use, and the jackets also usually had some sort of hole punched in them.

These days, promo CDs go a step further through things like the practice of watermarking, and even more detailed labels stating that the recipient agrees to return the item to the sender — meaning the record label or PR firm — at any time upon request.

Still, this has not entirely stopped the underground promo trade, as any routine visit to sites like ebay will demonstrate. Back in the nineties, it was also not at all uncommon to see new releases being sold at used record shops a few days before the street date.

I have very specific memories of going to such shops when I lived and worked in the record business in L.A. back in the nineties. If you knew where to go back then, you could easily pick up something like the new Snoop Dogg release (to cite a specific memory) on the Thursday before it came out — because promo copies usually were sent out on that day. In the case of the aforementioned Snoop Dogg release, I can actually remember running into a low-level record executive I knew at the time unloading the cargo at one such shop.

What was even more common than underpaid industry types pocketing a few extra bucks by selling promos however, was the use of free-goods or "cleans."

Back in those days (before the creation of the industry reporting system system Soundscan), chart positions were reported to trade publications like Billboard using an honor system. The trades would call selected music retailers and ask them to report their sales figures for the week, which in turn would help determine chart positions as they appeared in the following week's magazine.

Since chart position — in theory anyway — influences both radio airplay and record sales, the practice of sending out unmarked "clean" product to retailers to put on sale (usually at a ridiculously low price) soon became a fairly common one. The idea here was that putting these items on sale would help influence chart position and thus, boost sales and airplay.

Although the practice began with independent labels and promoters, before long most, if not all of the majors, were also willing to play along. For the music retailers who reported sales figures, this was a "win-win" situation as it boosted their low profit margins, and in a few cases also provided underpaid employees a source of extra income.

In a rare case of the record industry policing itself, the practice of using "cleans" as a form of usable currency was halted (or at least, drastically curtailed) by the introduction of the Soundscan reporting system in the early nineties.

This system of scanning actual record sales was universally adopted by both the trades and music retailers, and the old school way of relying on word-of-mouth sales reporting was eliminated virtually overnight. Although some retailers probably found ways around the new way of reporting sales by actual scans, chart positions were now made largely far more accurate, and reflective of the actual marketplace. In doing so, another congressional payola investigation of the record industry was most likely averted.

The most immediate effect of all this back then, was how it changed the complexion of the record charts themselves. Country and hip-hop — both of which were always under-reported genres anyway — went overnight from being the industry's best kept secrets, to coming out of the closet as being the big-sellers they in fact had always been. In that respect, you could probably call Garth Brooks the first superstar who was essentially made by Soundscan.

So how does all of this relate to the present FTC ruling? In all honesty, outside of providing a history lesson, it probably doesn't. There is a big difference between what are traditionally referred to as promos, and the clean copies which were once used to manipulate chart positions and sales figures.

In today's world, a CD used for promotional purposes has been rendered virtually useless in terms of it having any monetary value. The CDs are in most cases clearly stamped with things like "not for sale" and "must be returned upon demand" which gives them a value of exactly nil. In other words, there is no widespread "blogola" here to speak of.

The practice of watermarking on many of these items also makes them something undesirable for most music fans to want to actually add to their collections. When you factor in the fact that many music companies are now delivering their promotional music to writers and bloggers through digital means, their value as a tangible, sellable item is likewise reduced.

That a collectors market for rare, promotional material continues to exist and probably always will, is however an undeniable fact. Any routine ebay search for something like "Beatles remasters" for example proves this to be true

Still, my best guess is that the intent of the FTC is more targeted towards those who still receive big-ticket items like cars, trips, and flat-screen high-definition TVs, than it is towards the lowly minions who blog about the CDs they receive on sites like this one. Even in this case, my understanding of the new FTC regulatory practices is that they are intended mainly to go after the big companies sending out the goods, rather than the bloggers who write about them.

Although there are exceptions, bloggers are for the most part unemployed or underpaid folks who do what they do largely for the love of doing it.

Speaking of which, if anyone out there reading this would like to employ my own services, I'm currently in the market seeking opportunities. My new sign reads "Will Blog For Money."

Christmas Comes A Day Early For Seattle Dylan Fans

Concert Review: Bob Dylan And His Band At The Moore Theatre, Seattle WA, 10/04/09

Bob Dylan's fall American tour doesn't officially get underway until this Monday at Seattle's WAMU Theatre. But for a few Seattle fans lucky enough to get tickets, Christmas came a day early as Dylan and his band performed an intimate warm-up show at the 1300 seat Moore Theatre on Sunday night, October 4.

As someone who has seen Dylan live numerous times over the years, I can tell you from experience that his shows can be hit or miss affairs — sometimes wildly so.

The last time I saw him play with his current band for example — back in 2006 at Seattle's much larger Key Arena — the show felt rushed, and Dylan only played one song, "Thunder On The Mountain," from his then current (and still brilliant) album Modern Times.

Tonight however was a completely different story. Playing in the much more intimate confines of the Moore Theatre, Dylan was about as loose as I think I've ever seen him. Rather than stay behind his keyboard as he has on recent tours, Dylan prowled the stage, singing several songs without playing any accompanying instrument other than his mic.

He was also uncharacteristically animated, waving his arms about as he sang, and giving cues to the rest of the band by pointing his fingers at them. Dressed from head to toe in black, this was a much showier Dylan than you'd normally expect. On several songs, he also played his signature harmonica, which made for a nice touch on songs like "Shooting Star," "Ballad Of A Thin Man," and "Not Dark Yet."

Speaking of the band, they sounded simply amazing playing in such an acoustically perfect theater as the Moore. Returning lead guitarist Charlie Sexton in particular was a house of fire — he literally tore the joint down on rockers like "Highway 61 Revisited" and "Thunder On The Mountain."

Bassist Tony Garnier and drummer George Recile made for a rock solid rhythm section, although Garnier seemed to be having some sound problems during the early going (which were eventually ironed out). Rounding out Dylan's band were second guitarist Stu Kimball and multi-instrumentalist Donnie Herron (banjo, electric mandolin, pedal steel, lap steel, trumpet).

Dylan himself was in great form, reinventing his songs as he so often does in his concerts, but this time doing so more through his vocal inflections than with the actual arrangements.

On a stunning version of "Nettie Moore" from the Modern Times album for example, Dylan's voice went from a deep low register to a high pitched wail. He bit off the lyrics with rapid fire delivery, sometimes going from single to double phrases within a single line. The way Dylan emphasized the word "black" in particular -- from the line "the world has gone BLACK before my eyes" -- gave this song a much darker feel than the recorded version. If there are any bootlegs out there of this, I would love to get my hands on one. It was a standout even on a night where there were so many of them.

Even such Dylan standards as "Ballad Of A Thin Man" and the warhorse that is "Like A Rolling Stone" took on new urgency as Dylan's phrasing breathed new fire into them. When Dylan sang the familiar line "something is happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones" he once again double-phrased the lyrics, giving the song even more of an angry feel than the original. Anyone who says Dylan is a lousy singer, obviously knows very little about vocal phrasing — an art Dylan has mastered like very few singers around, outside of maybe the likes of Sinatra himself.

Dylan also did something he hasn't done in awhile on this night — he picked up the guitar for a few songs. Although you could see he was clearly struggling with it somewhat (Dylan rarely plays guitar live anymore, reportedly due to an arthitis condition), he sounded just fine trading licks with Sexton on "Don't Think Twice, Its Alright" and "High Water (For Charley Patton)."

Other highlights included a letter perfect "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'" from this year's Together Through Life album, and a fierce sounding "Gonna Change My Way Of Thinking," a song from Dylan's Born-again period which made for a very surprising choice to open the show.

Dylan and his band played a solid two hours — which is a little long by his usual standards, and seemed to have a great time for the duration. Dylan even smiled a few times.

Here is the complete setlist courtesy of Boblinks.com:

1. Gonna Change My Way Of Thinking
2. Shooting Star
3. Beyond Here Lies Nothin'
4. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right (Bob on guitar)
5. Lonesome Day Blues
6. I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)
7. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum
8. Not Dark Yet
9. High Water (For Charley Patton) (Bob on guitar)
10. When The Deal Goes Down
11. Highway 61 Revisited
12. Nettie Moore
13. Thunder On The Mountain
14. Ballad Of A Thin Man

Encore:
15. Like A Rolling Stone
16. Jolene

Anvil: The Cautionary Story Of The Real Life Spinal Tap

Music DVD Review: Anvil: The Story of Anvil

If ever there was a story that needs to be told about how the music industry eats its own, The Story of Anvil is that story. As funny as much of this film is, it is also in many ways a cautionary tale.

In its limited theatrical release, this story of the real life Spinal Tap got considerable attention, and to be flat-out honest, that is exactly what initially drew me to it.

The joke factor here was obvious. Anvil: The Story of Anvil is the story of an eighties hair-metal band — complete with every possible stereotype you could ever imagine — who had their brief moment in the sun, sharing concert bills with the likes of Bon Jovi and the Scorpions, before slipping into obscurity.

And honestly, I've never particularly cared for the brand of hair-metal that bands like Anvil play. But the thing is, watching a film like this one gives you an entirely different perspective on the inner-workings of how the music business actually works, and how quickly they discard their own like yesterday's rubbish.

I signed up to watch this expecting to get a good laugh with lots of music-biz insider jokes — which I got. What I didn't expect, though, was to instead find myself inexplicably not only reaching for my hankie, but ultimately actually rooting for these guys.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil is an undeniable hoot in many ways, but it is also one of the saddest real-life rock-docs I have ever seen. It begins with Anvil's brief moment of glory headlining some sort of eighties Monsters Of Rock type deal with bands like Whitesnake, and then abruptly shifts to the present-day reality of a band whose members work day jobs in factories, and play gigs before maybe 100 people.

The opening credits say it all. Anvil is shown at a mega-concert with bands such as The Scorpions and the like, who all went on to sell millions of records — while one did not. Guess who that was?

Rock stars like Metallica's Lars Ulrich and Guns N' Roses' Slash offer up all their due accolades and respect. But in the end it all feels tragically empty, and you find yourself asking, "So where are these guys now?"

The thing is, even though these guys — especially the main players in Anvil, Robb Reiner (now there's a Spinal Tap connection if ever there was one), and Steve "Lips" Kudlow — may be down, they are never out.



Anvil: The Story of Anvil tells both the story of the enduring friendship of these two principal players, as well as their unwavering dedication to the idea that they still have a shot at the big prize of rock stardom. You see them with their families. You see them playing shitholes in Europe, being hopelessly mismanaged, getting dissed by their rock heroes, nearly coming to fisticuffs, and yet ultimately still refusing to give up their dreams.

And in the end, for all of their misguided dedication to a rock era which has clearly passed them by some twenty years or so — you find yourself rooting for them. I know I sure as hell did.

More than anything, Anvil: The Story of Anvil is a story which reveals how morally bankrupt the music industry actually is — and how they throw away yesterday's hitmakers as though they were trash. Watching that part of this film really sucks, actually.

I went into this DVD expecting to get a good laugh, and instead found myself choking back tears. And although this film has brought Anvil more attention then they have received in decades — they've been on Kimmel, VH1 and the like — I am equally sure that by this time next month they'll be back working their day jobs. That's just the way that this business works.

And it couldn't happen to a bunch of nicer, hard working guys. To any would-be rock stars with bright lights in their eyes, I cannot recommend watching this DVD highly enough. There is some hard reality here. Yes, you'll get some laughs, but you might also learn something.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil comes out this Tuesday, October 6.

Wanna Whole Lotta' Zeppelin? Here's Your Stairway To Heaven...

Book Review: Led Zeppelin: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls by Charles R. Cross

Wow! As rock books go, they simply don't get much more complete than this. The fact that the subject of Charles R. Cross' Shadows Taller Than Our Souls is Led Zeppelin — who arguably stand only just behind the Beatles as the biggest rock band of all time — only strengthens the appeal of this book.

If you think that everything that could possibly be written about Led Zeppelin has already been committed to paper, you are for the most part absolutely correct. What sets this book apart from the rest, is the treasure trove of extras and bonus goodies you'll find thumbing your way through its pages. For Led Zeppelin fanatics, this is not just a must-own — it is in many ways a holy grail of sorts.

Shadows Taller Than Our Souls — its title is taken from one of the lyrics to "Stairway To Heaven" — is the Led Zeppelin fan's ultimate coffee table book. Housed in a beautiful hardbound slipcase, every page of this lovingly assembled book reveals a new surprise.

There are pages that fold out to reveal never before released photographs of the band, as well as things like reproduced ticket stubs and press releases nicely tucked in between nearly every page.

You get things like the original cover of the Atlantic Records promo E.P. for Led Zep's first album, an invite to Zep's first appearance at the 1969 Seattle Pop Festival, and the ticket stubs from Zeppelin concerts in the seventies (priced at the then outrageous price of $12.50 a ticket).

Towards the end of the book, there is even an original pull-out of the press release announcing Led Zeppelin's breakup following the death of drummer John Bonham. There is also an audio CD of a rare Jimmy Page interview with Trouser Press journalist Dave Schulps.

For his own part, Charles R. Cross focuses in on the music, rather than the sort of sordid sex and drugs and rock and roll details of previous Zeppelin bios — most notably Stephen Davis' Hammer Of The Gods. A wise move considering the fact that Zep's reputation for road excess has pretty much been covered to death in previous tomes.

Instead, the Seattle based music journalist, and New York Times best -selling author (Heavier Than Heaven: The Biography Of Kurt Cobain), takes the reader through an album by album, concert by concert retelling of the musical evolution of Led Zeppelin.

In Shadows Taller Than Our Souls, Cross takes you from how Led Zeppelin rose from Jimmy Page's original vision of a "very loud band" that would emphasize shades of both dark and light — did you know for instance that Joan Baez was one of their earliest influences? — to become the biggest band in the world.

In his very easy to read narrative — I read through it in a single sitting — Cross takes you into the recording studio during the creation of Zep's landmark debut album, through "Stairway To Heaven," Physical Graffiti and all of the rest, right on up through the band's final days and such post-mortem releases as Coda.

Cross also recalls Zeppelin's greatest concerts, as well as their biggest disappointments (those early Rolling Stone reviews), through the eyes of both of the seasoned critic that he is, as well as with the enthusiasm of an obvious fan. The excesses and the controversies are likewise documented, but the emphasis is always on the music — as it should be.

For Led Zeppelin fans, Charles R. Cross' Shadows Taller Than Our Souls is a must. Wanna' Whole Lotta Zeppelin? Here's your Stairway To Heaven.

Charles R. Cross' Led Zeppelin: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls arrives in bookstores this Tuesday October 6, which should make for many a merry metal ho-ho-ho come Christmas time.