Dishing The Dirt On Diva Diana And The Original Dreamgirls
Book Review: The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal by Mark Ribowsky

Outside of the Beatles, the most successful pop-music act of the sixties was the Supremes. They sold more records than a number of their contemporaries at the time — including the Beach Boys and the Rolling Stones — and had more number one records charted on Billboard than anyone outside of Elvis and the Beatles at the time (Mariah Carey has since joined this elite group).

In doing so, the Supremes also largely built the house that eventually became Berry Gordy's Motown Records empire.

Surprisingly, although the general story of how these three young women vaulted from the projects of Detroit to fame and fortune is fairly well known, there has never really been an official biography about them. At least not one written by an outside, presumably unbiased source.

Individual memoirs by group members Mary Wilson and Diana Ross, while certainly eye-opening, are also too colored by their own biases — and in Wilson's case, an obviously lingering sense of hurt and even betrayal. The hit musical and eventual motion picture Dreamgirls rectifies this somewhat, but as a work of fiction, is still somewhat flawed in terms of it representing a definitive account.

Phil Spector biographer Mark Ribowsky (He's A Rebel) does a terrific job of mostly correcting this oversight — and setting the record straight with The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal.

While this Supremes bio can hardly be called 100% objective — Diana Ross and Berry Gordy are often painted as villains, while Florence Ballard comes off as something just short of a candidate for sainthood — Ribowsky still treats his subjects in a mostly fair and even-handed way. He also spares little in the way of dishing the often dirty details, which makes this book a real page turner.

The rivalry between Ross and Ballard alone makes for some very fascinating reading. When the initially shy "Diane" begins to come into her own, gradually taking over Ballard's spot as the group's lead singer, Ballard initially sees it as a challenge which she is all too willing to rise to.

However, as Ross continues to gain confidence — and as Ballard battles her own significant inner-demons — she also becomes a quick student of the music game. With her own ambitions now beginning to eclipse those of the group, Ross wastes little time in setting about to realizing them. Knowing exactly who to suck up to — and who to sleep with if need be — to get ahead, Ross soon sets her sights squarely on Motown top dogs like Smokey Robinson, and especially Berry Gordy.

As shy Diane further evolves into Diva Diana, what was initially a rivalry amongst the girls ends up turning tragic for Florence Ballard, who descends into alcoholism and is eventually sacked from the group. To say that Ross is portrayed here as something of an ego-maniacal bitch would be to understate things considerably.

Among the more famous accounts of Diana's over-the-top ego retold here is the famous story of "Miss Ross" nearly elbowing Mary Wilson clean off the stage during the Motown 25 television special. In fairness, Ribowsky balances such tales with several accounts of Ross' generosity, including how she helped pay off some of Ballard's debts.

Aside from dishing the dirt however, Ribowsky also provides an inside look into the creation of all those great Supremes records, and how the involvement of the Holland-Dozier-Holland songwriting and production team, and the musical backing of the Funk Brothers played such a crucial role in the group's biggest hits. To get his story, Ribowsky conducted interviews with many of the players involved, including the Temptations' Otis Williams, Florence Ballard's cousin, and Eddie and Brian Holland.

As a no-holds-barred, insiders look into the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of one of the biggest acts in pop music history, The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal is a fascinating read. It is also an essential one for any student of pop music history.

The Rockologist: Rock And Roll And Religion

Rock music and religion have always made for the strangest of bedfellows, yet the two of them are inextricably linked — both historically and, as odd as it may seem, even artistically.

Despite being often referred to as the "devil's music" by some of the more fringe elements of the Christian right for example, rock and roll has a rather long and storied tradition of having roots in the church. It's fairly common knowledge for example, that early rock and roll pioneers like Elvis were as influenced by what they heard in southern churches, as they were by the "race records" they heard on the radio.

Jerry Lee Lewis and Jimmy Swaggart were cousins for Chrissakes (and my apologies to the Almighty there).

The tradition goes even deeper when you get into the history of rhythm and blues though. From Aretha Franklin to Marvin Gaye, you can pretty much pick any random R&B singer who came up in the fifties and sixties, and you won't find a background in gospel music too far behind. In many cases, you will also find that these same artists have spent lifetimes waging their own personal battles between the desires of the flesh and the joys of the spirit.

Marvin Gaye for example may have famously died for it at the hands of his preacher father. The Reverend Al Green is another example of an artist who has spent the latter part of his career walking a tightrope between his gospel recordings, and the more earthly come-ons of his sexier R&B records.

Little Richard may be the most famous example of a rock and roller fighting this inner-battle though. He has famously denounced the rock and roll lifestyle several times, citing how Jesus saved him from homosexuality. Yet, he has always drifted back to playing the likes of "Tutti Fruiti" and to singing about how that Miss Molly sure likes to ball in concert on the oldies circuit. From what I hear, Little Richard hands out bibles at his concerts these days though.

Not that the influence of religion on rock is limited to Christianity though. In the sixties and seventies especially, rock artists looked for higher inspiration in any number of places. Cat Stevens went back and forth on this for several years, before finally dropping out of sight altogether to reinvent himself as devout Muslim Yusef Islam. He has only just recently come back to getting his feet wet again playing music.

Others sought out eastern gurus and sages. Transcendental meditation as taught by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was particularly big for awhile, briefly claiming converts like the Beatles and the Beach Boys in the sixties. For awhile there in fact, it seemed every dime store eastern guru had his own personal rock and roll spokesperson. Sri Chimnoy had Santana, Meher Baba had Townshend, and so forth.

But perhaps the most famous rock to religion conversion of all time occurred when Bob Dylan released the album Slow Train Coming in 1979. For the next few years after Dylan first stunned his fans by boldly and publically embracing Jesus on that album, Dylan released two more Christian themed albums (Saved and Shot Of Love), and further confounded fans by refusing to play his old material at his concerts — which by this time more closely resembled tent revival meetings.

In fairness to Dylan, I always felt he got a bit of a raw shake during his "born again" years. The albums themselves hold up pretty well (with the possible exception of Saved). And although they are largely somewhat uneven, they also produced some of his better work in songs like "Gotta Serve Somebody" and "Every Grain Of Sand."

And as far as some of the more pointed, or even preachy lyrics he got dissed by critics for back then? Well, I guess it all depends on your point of view. But for me, it was never that big of a stretch between "something's happening here and you don't what it is...do you, Mr. Jones" and asking the non-believers "when you gonna' wake up?" on Slow Train. Again, the message may have changed, but the delivery certainly did not.

Dylan is of course not the only famous rock and roll Christian. Bono's been one for years, although these days he lets his faith speak more through his altruistic efforts on world hunger and the like than he does though his lyrics. The only advice I'd offer Bono in that department, is maybe to remember who the Christian messiah actually is (hint: it aint you).

Likewise, Alice Cooper converted not too long ago. The thing I love about Alice's story is that here is a guy who has basically been to hell and back — surviving a booze habit that damn near killed him. And he is still out there doing the same shock-rock act that made him famous in the first place. It's just a bit more PG these days. The late, great Johnny Cash — God rest his soul — is another guy I respect a lot that way.

Of course, there are also the inevitable examples where the connection of rock and religion has both been exploited, or otherwise taken to extremes bordering on the ridiculous. Can you say Stryper anyone? For those not old enough to remember, they were an eighties glam-metal band — complete with every Spinal Tap stereotype of teased hair and tight spandex pants you could possibly imagine — who just happened to be banging their heads for Jesus. I wonder what their groupies were like?

I've also always had problems with the whole "Contemporary Christian Music (CCM)" thing. Not because Christians shouldn't be allowed to rock the same way the heathens do. But because it's a multi-million dollar industry built largely on the guilt of good Christian kids who'd much rather be listening to secular bands, but can't because their parents won't allow them to. Something about that whole "devil's music" thing again.

Some of these artists are in fact quite talented, but many more of them are simply paler versions of their secular counterparts, often lacking the production values of the same. It sort of goes back to that old saying "why should the devil have all the good music?"

Well, quite frankly because he doesn't and he never has.

In fact, if one does his due-diligence and researches the whole notion of where the whole idea that rock is the devil's music comes from, you always arrive at exactly the same place. That would be the same segregated southern churches whose biggest fear about rock music wasn't the devil at all, but rather its origins in rhythm and blues and so-called race music. Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Slayer, and Marilyn Manson notwithstanding, the darker roots of rock and roll are more about color than about some imagined allegiance to a horn-rimmed, cloven hooved god. Sadly, this same attitude still exists in some of the more sequestered corners of the fundamentalist Christian fringe.

The thing is, when rock and roll is really doing its job the way that its supposed to, there shouldn't be a whole lot of difference between a concert and a revival meeting. The greatest performers — like Bono and Bruce Springsteen — have always understood this.

Whether the connection being made is to your inner-spirit, or to a higher power, it's all about making that joyous noise.

Black Crowes Greeezy New Live Album Sounds Even Better On DVD

Music DVD Review: Black Crowes - Warpaint Live

Earlier this year, I wrote a review of this concert, which I have now to come to question. Allow me to explain...

Recorded last year at Los Angeles' Wiltern Theatre, Warpaint Live comes exactly as advertised. It's the Black Crowes performing their latest album Warpaint live from start to finish, along with a few choice covers of songs by the Stones, Eric Clapton, and Delaney and Bonnie.

So anyway, at the time I wrote the review, this concert was only available in CD form. And although the review was a positive one, I'm now not at all sure I really gave this performance the justice it really deserves.

Having now seen, as well as heard this great show on DVD in glorious DTS surround sound (there's also a Dolby 5.1 mix), what I can tell you for sure is that hearing it on DVD is like hearing it for the first time. The sound on this DVD — particularly the DTS surround mix — brings out everything in a way the CD only hinted at. So the DVD wins that battle, hands down.

The mix of Rich Robinson and Luther Dickinson's guitars is crisp and sharp. Steve Gorman's drums crack like gunshots. And since Chris Robinson can still shout his pot-filled lungs out, the vocals come through loud and clear as well.

But Adam MacDougall's keyboards are a particular revelation. On songs like "Goodbye Daughters Of The Revolution," MacDougall summons up the spirit of the great Nicky Hopkins on piano in a way I thought was no longer possible. Not in the year 2009 anyway. At other times, like on the positively greeezy sounding "Walk Believer Walk," his organ adds the sort of thick dimension that's like pouring syrup on an already smoldering griddle.

What also becomes clear, though, is just how formidable a live band the Black Crowes have become. In my original review of the CD, I said that there was a quality to the performance that suggested sort of a looosey-goosey groove. True enough to a point. But don't let that fool you. Hearing the mix here, these guys sound as tight as a well-oiled, fully fuel-injected machine. Like I said, hearing the performance with this mix is like hearing it for the first time.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't say that Luther Dickinson is one hell of a guitar player. His slide work in particular is just jaw-droppingly good — and there is plenty of it here. From the fluid touches he adds to the gospel driven "God's Got It," to the hard riffing heard on "Wee Who See The Deep."

Basically, I already knew this was a pretty good performance — I just had no idea it was this good. After years of struggling to find a musical identity — from the early days as kind of a Faces knockoff, to their mid-period as something of a modern day Allmans or Dead — the Robinson Brothers have settled into a real nice place that really suits them well.

Call it kind of a funky, southern-fried stew that mixes the best elements of blues and gospel with the greasy southern rock of Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett and Duane-era Allmans. Whatever you choose to call it, the bottom line is it's finger-lickin' good.

I haven't talked much about the video aspect of this release because, quite frankly, while there's absolutely nothing wrong with it, there's nothing particularly special about it either. The camera work is fine, and you do get to see pretty much everyone doing their thing here. But the colors are also a bit dark and washed out looking in places — at least during the early parts of the DVD. In fairness though, this does improve as the show goes on. The shots of Chris Robinson from behind, facing the crowd with the house lights up during the encores are pretty cool looking too.

Anyway, maybe I just need to see this on one of those Blu-ray thingies.

But the sound is amazing. If you are looking to hear the Black Crowes do their album Warpaint live, and have a decent home theater set-up, skip the CD and get this. If nothing else, you don't even need to watch it. Just turn the sound up. Loud.

The Rockologist: Ian Hunter's Journey From Rock Star To All-Starr

Ian Hunter has a new solo album coming out next week, and I couldn't be more delighted.

Chances are you don't know Ian Hunter by name, but you do know his songs. Although he never sold quite as many records as his most obvious influences—Dylan, the Stones, and David Bowie—or for that matter, even as his one-time Mott The Hoople bandmate Mick Ralphs did with Bad Company—Hunter's songs occupy a unique and permanent place in rock history.

The group Great White for example, made a career out of covering Hunter tunes like "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" in the eighties (much the same way as their metal comrades Quiet Riot did with Slade songs like "Cum On Feel The Noize"). Even Barry Manilow hopped on the Ian Hunter bandwagon at one point, when he had a hit with a cover of the rare Hunter ballad "Ships." Latter-day fans like Joe Strummer and Mick Jones have also cited Mott the Hoople as a primary influence on the Clash.

But for those of us who love the man behind the curls and the shades, Ian Hunter's greatest days remain those he spent as frontman and primary songwriter for the great unsung seventies rock band Mott The Hoople. I once wrote a review of their great album Mott, where I described them as how Dylan might sound if he were backed by the Rolling Stones. The review so inspired a few members of my Journalism 101 class, that they formed an ad hoc fanclub called "Friends Of Mott The Hoople." Funny shit.

Later, when I was writing for another school paper in college, I got a chance to meet Hunter when I heard that area DJ Norm Gregory would be interviewing him for the afternoon show on local rock station KZOK. I immediately phoned Gregory and asked if I could come down and hang out, to which he agreed.

When Gregory was done with him, I sat Ian Hunter down in the lobby at the station and did my own interview. My greatest recollection of this was the way that Hunter chain-smoked throughout our conversation, and stacked his butts up end to end on the table (there was no ashtray). He also never once removed those trademark shades of his.

I also saw Ian Hunter play live twice, once with Mott The Hoople, and another time on a solo tour fronting the Hunter/Ronson Band with former David Bowie guitarist, the late, great Mick Ronson.

Due to their association with Bowie on the album (and hit single) All The Young Dudes, Mott were at the time being pegged as part of the seventies glitter-rock movement. And although the label wasn't necessarily an accurate one — as I said their sound was equal parts Stones swagger and Dylanesque poetry in motion (thanks to Hunter's voice and lyrics) — they definitely relished the role of glam boys in concert.

Bassist Overend "Pete" Watts was known as much for the knee-high platform boots he wore onstage, as he was for his bass playing. As for Hunter, he played a variety of really cool looking guitars, including one that was shaped like a giant "H" and another that looked like a maltese cross.

When I saw Mott the Hoople in concert, Hunter wasn't afraid to run head first into the crowd either. At one point at the show I saw, he even ran up the middle aisle with that maltese cross guitar of his, plunked himself into a seat next to some poor unfortunate female, and barked "move over you fucking slut" into the mike. This was all in good fun of course, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if the female fan left with the band after the show.

Most importantly though, Mott the Hoople made some really great records, and Ian Hunter's introspective song lyrics pondering life as a rock star were often the centerpiece of them. Case in point would be "The Ballad Of Mott The Hoople" from the classic album Mott. "All The Way From Memphis" may have been the hit single from that record, but "Ballad" was its heart and soul. Hunter's lyrics lamented the life of the rock star, while at the same time poking some good natured, self-deprecating fun both at his band and at himself.

Much of Hunter's best work, both then and now, has that unique sort of autobiographical sense to it. In his book Diary Of A Rock Star, Hunter takes this even further as he spares no details in telling the wild story of his life on the road with a Mott The Hoople tour in the seventies. The book has been called by some the best self-written account of both the glamour and the drudgery of the rock and roll life ever.

Although Ian Hunter keeps a bit of a lower profile these days, he still gets out for the occasional solo tour. Hunter is also a regular fixture on Ringo Starr's annual All-Starr Band shows. Still wearing those ever-present shades, Hunter is always good for a version of "All The Young Dudes" or "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" at those shows, right alongside the likes of people like Joe Walsh, Grand Funk's Mark Farner, or Men At Work's Colin Hay.

Ian Hunter also still makes records though, and on his new one Man Overboard, he sounds as sharp as he ever has. Hunter's voice, which has always had that Dylan sort of rasp to it, has become even raspier with age. But, as with Dylan's most recent work, it suits him very well and there are still few singers who can match his way with a phrase.

As for the songs themselves? From what I can tell here, the man hasn't lost a single step in that department either. As he did with Mott The Hoople and on his early solo albums, Ian Hunter's lyrics ride a delicate balance between introspection, the occasional touch of melancholy, and an always self-deprecating sense of humor.

But the eleven songs on Man Overboard are a different bag than Hunter's early solo work or with Mott The Hoople to be sure. The guy's gotten a bit older, and it shows. The thing is, where those albums he made with Mott were characterized by their dirty sound and sense of reckless abandon, the sound here is cleaner and a bit more refined. That sort of thing comes with age and experience I guess.

Still, Hunter has lost of none of his edge, nor his gift for a phrase or sense of sardonic wit in the lyric department. The music here runs the gamut from the Stonesy blues-based stomp of "Babylon Blues" to "The Great Escape," which recalls the sort of mandolin-heavy funk of Pete Townshend and Ronnie Laine's sadly overlooked classic Rough Mix.

But more than anything else, Ian Hunter remains that rare songwriter who has a gift both for weaving a great story, while adding just enough touches of both humor and — when called upon — sadness, to make you know these are songs that probably come from personal experience. On "The Great Escape," Hunter recalls playing in a pub on his 21st birthday and narrowly escaping a bar fight because "you gotta' get away, especially if the guy is bigger than you."

On "Girl From The Office," Hunter puts himself in the shoes of every working stiff who ever wanted to nail the stand-offish office girl friday. He imagines both "what a hero I would be, if the girl from the office went out with me" and in the chorus considers how his co-workers would ask "what's she like, what's she like, what's she like in bed." Stuff most of us working class folk can relate to, right guys?

On the title track, a ballad which considers the flip side of his romantic ballad "Ships," Hunter is a "man overboard, waves washing over me, hard times in a perilous sea" who finds his ultimate comfort in drink. "The twelve steps to heaven never worked for me," Hunter sings, while declaring he'd rather be "drunk and disorderly."

But perhaps the best line on the album comes during "Babylon Blues" where Hunter declares "when I'm gone, remember that you can't take the alley outta' these cats."

Yup, dude's still got it.

Ian Hunter's Man Overboard will be in stores this Tuesday July 21 from New West Records.

Coldplay At The Gorge: We Need To Stop Dissing Them

Say whatever you will about Coldplay. Plenty of folks already have, both on Blogcritics and elsewhere. But rarely have I ever seen a band who works so hard to please an audience, and who obviously has such a great time doing it.

At one point during Coldplay's stop at the beautiful Gorge Ampitheater near the Columbia River in Eastern Washington this past Saturday, Chris Martin thanked the sold-out crowd for "giving us the best job in the world." Sure, it sounds like the sort of thing performers like Martin say to their audiences every night, but you really got the impression that he meant it.

Martin wore a shit eating, schoolgirl's ear to ear grin for much of the night, and he also made several remarks about the natural beauty of the Gorge. He even ad-libbed a lyric at one point with the words "If you want to play the place that's the best, come to the Gorge Ampitheater in the Pacific Northwest."

Of course here in Seattle, we already knew that. Nestled high in a beautiful mountain desert surrounded by steep slopes overlooking the Columbia River, the Gorge has been Washington's worst kept secret as a favorite stop for touring musicians from Dave Matthews to Steely Dan for years now.

On this particular hot desert night, Coldplay responded to the picturesque setting—as well as a red hot crowd that seemed to know the words to every song they played, often breaking into impromptu sing-a-longs—with a powerful two hour set that was both energetic (and yes, I am talking about Coldplay here) and at least as far as these sorts of big rock shows go, very interactive.

About midway through, the band briefly disappeared from the stage, only to reappear on a platform, that as luck would have it, was literally five feet away from my seat in about Row 30. Seriously, these guys were so close during a mini-set that included "God Put A Smile On My Face" and "The Hardest Part" that I could actually see that guitarist Jon Buckland was very likely stoned (or at least that his eyes looked awful glassy).

Chris Martin was also in great humor during this portion of the show, introducing "The Hardest Part" as the "Phil Collins portion of the show...and this is called "Another Day In Paradise."

The band returned to the main stage for a powerful version of "Lost!" from the Viva La Vida album, with drummer Will Champion in particular earning his paycheck here. At this point, the band once again left the stage, reappearing on another small stage—only this time it was high up in the nosebleed section. An acoustic set there was highlighted by a tribute to Michael Jackson in the form of a cover of "Billie Jean." The crowd responded to this by singing the words right along with the band (as they did several times throughout the night).

There was also a part here where Chris Martin led the audience in one of those crowd waves you see at sports stadiums, only this time done with cellphones. Whether the "cell wave" was successful or not is debatable, but all those cellphones against the desert sky was still a striking visual.

Although a fair chunk of Coldplay's set was devoted to songs from Viva La Vida (and its companion E.P. Prospekts March), many of Coldplay's biggest hits were played very early in the set. Of these, "In My Place" and "Yellow" were textbook (the latter played with the prerequisite yellow balloons filling the air). Personally, I was quite pleasantly surprised by the band's inspired showing on "Clocks" though. This is a song that Coldplay have to be somewhat tired of playing every night, yet here they made it sound fresh as new by adding some new vocal nuances and a nice additional keyboard part near the end.

Over all, Coldplay really impressed me on this night.

They played their tails off, sounding so tight to my ears that I'm ready to go out on a limb here and say this is a band that could be right on the edge of becoming one of the truly great ones—if they haven't already done so. From the differing vantage points where they performed not one, but two mini-sets, to the free live CD they handed out to everyone at the end, Coldplay also seem to genuinely care about their fans.

I'm not afraid to admit that I was already a fan anyway. But you know what? These guys deserve a lot more respect than they get in some quarters.

It's time to stop dissing Coldplay.

Setlist:
Life In Technicolor
Violet Hill
Clocks
In My Place
Yellow
Glass Of Water
Cemeteries Of London
42
Fix You
Strawberry Swing
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face (techno version)
Talk (techno version)
The Hardest Part (Chris piano)
Postcards From Far Away (piano instrumental)
Viva La Vida
Lost!
Green Eyes (acoustic)
Death Will Never Conquer (acoustic - Will vocals)
Billie Jean
Viva La Vida (remix interlude)
------
Politik
Lovers In Japan
Death And All His Friends
-------
The Scientist
Life in Technicolor ii
The Escapist (outro)

Fire Up a Nice Big Fatty For the Band Who Invented Heavy Metal

Music DVD Review: Blue Cheer- Rocks Europe

First of all, let's get one thing straight. Blue Cheer invented heavy metal. Period. End of discussion.

Before there was Led Zeppelin, before there was Black Sabbath, or even the mighty Spinal Tap, Blue Cheer had their amps cranked to eleven as far back as 1967.

Long before Deep Purple were declared the loudest band in the world by the Guinness Book Of World Records, Blue Cheer earned that same distinction way back in the sixties. Hell, to this day, I can remember the first time I saw these three guys in Hawaii. It was nuts. There were so many freaking amps, I couldn't even see the guitarist.

And it was also really, really loud.

Steppenwolf may have coined the term "heavy metal" in that lyric from "Born To Be Wild," and Lester Bangs may have brought it into the modern vernacular of rock criticism in his articles for Creem Magazine.

But every heavy metal band that has come since—from Metallica to Pantera and beyond—knows in their blackest of hearts who really is responsible for first introducing the world to the really big noise that was actually—amazingly—briefly heard back in 1967 on Top Forty radio in the form of Blue Cheer's cover of "Summertime Blues."

And as evidenced here by Seattle grunge producer Jack Endino's liner notes, many of them will also readily admit it.

Blue Cheer is absolutely, without question, the band that first pioneered the concept of cranking the shit up as high as it could possibly go, letting the rest sort itself out later, and understanding the concept of feedback as a friend rather than an enemy.

But don't take my word for it, just ask Mudhoney, Monster Magnet, or any of the other dozens of bands who have long since co-opted the style Blue Cheer first put to vinyl on the classic album Vincebus Eruptum way back in 1967.

On that album—with it's total of like six cuts, including their fuzzed out assault on Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues"—Blue Cheer immortalized themselves as the loudest, most fuzzed out band of all time. Remember that overly fuzzed out bass on Grand Funk's Live Album? Look no further than Blue Cheer's Dickie Peterson to see just where that came from.

I was personally amazed to find that Blue Cheer are still doing their thing all these years later—or for that matter, that they are even still alive. But, God Bless em', they are still at it on this great DVD recorded last year for Germany's Rockpalast show.

Original guitarist Leigh Stephens is apparently long gone—although original members Dickie Peterson on bass and vocals, and drummer Paul Whaley remain from the bands original power trio lineup.

And damned if they aren't as blissfully loud as ever on this DVD. The new guy on the block, isn't exactly new either. Guitarist Andrew "Duck" MacDonald has been with these guys for nearly two decades now, and he fills the shoes of Leigh Stephens quite nicely. The guitar parts are as loud and over the top as ever here.

So with the rhythm section pushing what has to be sixty (at least), can these guys still cut it?

Absolutely.

As might be expected, Peterson has taken on both the appearance and the gravelly voice of a grizzled old biker who has smoked one hell of a lot of cigarettes (among other things), and guzzled more than his fair share of grain alcohol. But damned if he can't still play his ass off.

In the guitar department, the "Duck" tends to be a bit cleaner than Leigh Stephens was back in the day. But for the most part, this is still some dirty, greasy, loud as hell grimey-ass shit.

Which, is as it should be. These guys invented it. I defy any self respecting student of rock history to prove me wrong on that. The fact that Blue Cheer are still out there making ears bleed is something that truly makes me smile too.

Get this now. And make sure to fire up a nice big fatty once you push play.

The Rockologist: Afterthoughts On Michael Jackson

So I guess now that Michael Jackson is dead and buried, it's okay to talk about this.

Oh wait, he's not buried yet? Well I guess that's okay too. The bottom line is that Michael is gone, and with him is an era that like so many others which have passed before it, we will never get back.

I held off on writing down my thoughts about Michael Jackson for a specific reason. I wrote the original news story for Blogcritics, updating it from the original reports of a heart attack, to the eventual reality pretty much by the minute as it happened—which during at that first hour or so was occuring by the minute.

I also knew this was going to be one of those huge events where you remember exactly where you were years after the fact. This wasn't Kurt Cobain or 2Pac. I also remember exactly where I was when they died too, though I doubt my parents do. This was Elvis, John Lennon, and Princess Di big. Mom and Dad remember those.

Michael Jackson may not have had a legitimate hit record in twenty years, but his impact on a generation who came of age in the eighties was in many ways similar to that of those of us who grew up with the Beatles in the sixties felt.

There's just no denying it.

So anyway, I wanted to wait until the dust died down a bit—or at least until the memorial was over—before writing about him.

Speaking of the memorial, like many of you reading this I watched most of it on television. I've read one report stating that as many as one in ten Americans did. This is an absolutely astonishing number, if true.

My thoughts on the service, to be honest, are however really mixed.

It was in a lot of ways, both beautiful and touching, as it should have been. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find myself reaching for my hanky when Brooke Shields talked about the two of them growing up together as childhood stars, or when Jermaine Jackson sang his undeniably emotional reading of Michael's favorite song, Charlie Chaplin's "Smile."

And if the part where Michael's daughter talked about her dad didn't get you the way it did me—well, maybe you oughtta' check yourself to make sure there's a pulse there.

On the other hand, there were some things about the service that bothered me a little.

For one, there is the fact that this amounted to a state funeral in a state which can scarcely afford one. Already, the state of California is appealing for donations to offset the enormous cost of security, redirecting traffic, etc.

What about all of those people who remain out of work?

Secondly—and although it should be expected in these sorts of bigger than life situations I guess—is the fact that even in death Michael Jackson continues to be a magnet to the self-serving sorts of people he so tragically attracted in life. The Reverend Al Sharpton, for example, cracks me up when he makes fun of himself on Saturday Night Live. He did not crack me up, or make me reach for the handkerchief with his remarks at the Jackson memorial.

But most of all, for me at least, was the whole underlying tone of deification about the whole thing. It just didn't sit well. The thing that always bothered me most about Michael Jackson during his life wasn't so much the weird behavior, the way his appearance changed over the years, or even the charges of child abuse.

Rather, it was his at times unbelievable, over the top ego.

This was a guy who erected enormous, Caesar-esque statues of himself in life—and in death seeing Lionel Ritchie sing about Jesus, while watching Michael's image with arms outstretched and beams of light shining down just didn't sit well with me at all. Somewhere my Sunday School lessons as a kid kicked in pretty hard there I guess.

Jackson's contributions to modern culture are undeniable, even if very few of them were recent ones. The way he kicked down the doors which once separated music purely on the basis of race is something we all owe him a very great debt for.

But he was not a God. Not anymore than Elvis or John Lennon were—much as love them both. So yeah, even as I was holding back some tears watching all of this, that part of the ceremony bothered me a little.

What I actually found myself mourning more than the passing of Michael Jackson himself though, was the passing of the eighties.

In that respect, the memorial brought to mind when John Lennon died. Lennon, represented everything that made me both love and essentially devote my life to music in the first place as a kid growing up with the Beatles in the sixties. When Lennon was cut down on December 8, 1980, so too was the last gasp of that sort of perhaps misguided sense that music could change the world.

When Michael Jackson was at the peak of his popularity around the time of Thriller in 1983 though, he proved it still could be done. He just did it sort of differently than John Lennon and the Beatles did.

But there were a lot of other factors involved besides Thriller—not the least of which were the then emerging perfect storm of MTV, Hip-hop, and the whole British new wave thing.

At the time, I wasn't really listening to Micheal Jackson at all. My tastes ran more toward Echo & The Bunnymen, U2, and to a lesser extent the syntho-pop of bands like Human League and Soft Cell.

But what I do remember back then was going out to clubs and dancing to Rick James and the SOS Band right alongside those aforementioned new wave bands. It was both a genre neutral and a color blind scene. Michael made that possible, and to really understand how monumental a task that was at the time—well, you had to be there.

Michael wasn't a God. And whether you are a religious person or not, the idea that he was anything more than a very gifted human being is one you'd be forgiven for being offended by. That said however, he did more to break down the racial barriers separating music at the time than anyone else.

I'll give Prince credit for the assist. But it wasn't that long before that records were being burned in "disco sucks" rallies at baseball stadiums.

But for a brief time, he did change the world. And there hasn't been anything like it since. I'm not sure there ever will be, but I hope that one day that there is.

Jayhawks: A Case Of Coulda' Been, Woulda' Been, Shoulda' Been

Music Review: The Jayhawks - Music from The North Country - The Jayhawks Anthology (Deluxe 2CD/1 DVD Edition)

The Jayhawks are one of those classic cases of coulda' been, woulda' been, and shoulda' been.

Based out of Minneapolis, and around the vocal and songwriting team of Mark Olson and Gary Louris, Jayhawks albums like Hollywood Town Hall and Tomorrow The Green Grass not only sold respectably well, but also earned them near universal critical raves from the nineties forward. They just were never quite able to grab the big, brass ring.

Other than that, the Jayhawks were a band that seemed to have nearly everything else going for them. They wrote picture perfect, more often than not quite hooky songs that cradled a fine line between pop songcraft and country twang. The songs got modest airplay -- mainly on americana and adult-alternative stations -- and the concerts, held mainly in theatre-sized venues, nearly always sold out.

When Mark Olson eventually left to follow his wife Victoria Williams in making a more folk-oriented noise, Louris carried on with the Jayhawks name for a few more years on albums like Smile and Rainy Day Music, before finally calling it a day. The thing is, when you look back on all of the great music the Jayhawks made -- on songs like "Settled Down Like Rain," "I'd Run Away," "Blue," "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me" and the rest -- it's just amazing these guys weren't a lot bigger name than they were.

Hopefully Music from The North Country, an ambitious new career retrospective on the Jayhawks will change that. Overseen by Gary Louris, this 2 CD, 1 DVD set was obviously assembled with loving care. You'd also be surprised at how many of these songs you might recognize, even if you don't necessarily know the Jayhawks by name.

Disc One plays like the proverbial greatest hits set by a band that never really had any. It opens with "Two Angels" and "Aint No End," two tracks from Blue Earth, the Jayhawks lone 1989 album for indie label Twin Tone. "Aint No End" in particular still sounds like the opening shot by a band destined for future greatness. Olson and Louris trade off on some of the sweetest harmonies this side of the Flying Burrito Brothers, as the guitars crackle with all the warmth of a bristling campfire.

Four tracks from Hollywood Town Hall, the Jayhawks critically acclaimed 1992 debut for Rick Rubin's American Recordings follow, including the modest hits "Waiting For The Sun" and "Settled Down Like Rain." The latter focuses on the same mix of twangy guitars and gorgeous harmonies, while the former is buttressed by carnival like keyboards that summon the spirit of sixties-era Dylan -- an expansion of the Jayhawks sound that would continue on for several more albums.

1995's Tomorrow The Green Grass -- an album many will tell you was the Jayhawks best -- is wisely also represented by no less than four tracks. These include "I'd Run Away," which is one of those Jayhawks songs that should have been huge, with it's great piano anchored hook, and "Blue," which featured some of the band's most wistful harmonizing yet. These two albums -- the last to feature the combination of Olson and Louris -- arguably represent the Jayhawks at their creative peak.

The albums recorded following Olson's departure also featured their fair share of gems though, many of which are included on this set. These include "Big Star," a great little rock and roll tune that depending on who you talk to is either Louris' tribute to the band of the same name, or a wry commentary on the lack of success of his own. From the Smile album you get another of those near hits in "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me," as well as the title track. From the Rainy Day Music album, "Save It For A Rainy Day" might be recognized by some from the television commercials which used the song.

The second disc features outtakes and rarities from the Jayhawks career, including tracks from their mythical first recording, the "Bunkhouse Album." Demos and outtake versions include "Stone Cold Mess," an outtake from the Hollywood Town Hall sessions, as well as other rare B-sides, radio sessions, and several raw demo recordings recorded at the Jayhawks rehearsal space.

The DVD also yields some real gold for fans. There are the original music videos for "Settled Down Like Rain," "Take Me With You (When You Go)," "Blue," "Big Star," and "Save It For A Rainy Day." Also included is some great live footage from a 1993 Hollywood Town Hall era concert in Chicago, including live versions of "Settled Down Like Rain," "Reason To Believe," and "Take Me With You (When You Go)."

Jayhawks fans whose hopes were raised by the Louris and Olson reunion album Ready For The Flood earlier this year, will be interested to know that the complete band has signed on for a short series of European dates, as well as a hometown reunion show this Friday in Minneapolis.

Whether or not this translates into something more long term or not, Music from The North Country - The Jayhawks Anthology is a great career retrospective that nicely sums up a band who coulda' been, woulda' been, and shoulda' been.

In addition to the deluxe edition, disc one is also available as a stand-alone hits compilation.

Seven Months And Counting Of Future Endeavors


Welcome to my latest experience being "future endeavored" into the poor house. Not that it isn't a place I've long since become accustomed to.

Whether due to bad economic times, corporate politics, or other factors, most of us in the workplace have either been, or will be at some point, on the receiving end of the dreaded future endeavors letter.

Conceived as a somewhat kinder, gentler way of saying you've just been canned, a future endeavors letter is usually worded with something along the lines of "we wish you well on your future endeavors".

In other words its a nicer way of saying "there's the door, and don't let it hit you in the ass on your way out." Getting "future endeavored" most often will occur during one of those exit interviews where your signature is required on a stack of paperwork designed to avert lawsuits. For the future endeavoree, this is often a necessary evil in order to collect a severance package.

I have lots of experience of having to swallow my pride in these matters just in order to ensure I could eat during the uncertain times which lied ahead. I signed the damn papers, both when I knew I'd fucked up, and when I knew I'd done nothing wrong at all. There was even one time where my deal included a one way, all expenses paid deal to move both me and my stuff out of the state and back to Seattle as long as I kept my mouth shut. Those guys apparently wanted me as far away from them as they could pay me to get.

Long story short, Legalise can be a tricky thing, especially when your main concern is how you are going to pay the rent. Just don't ever believe any of that free will bullshit. The fact is, more often than not they've got you by the balls and they know it. Thank you, Mr. Bush.

Most of the time, I've been able to figure a way out of being future endeavored fairly quickly, although with each and every single one of them I said goodbye to a little bit of myself. The career I once loved and cherished became history long ago for one thing. To say nothing of my dignity and self-respect.

This time has been different. While my neighbors, my friends, and even my parents continue to wonder just when this fifty year old guy is going to shake it off, and get back on his feet again, I'm really starting to worry a little bit. It's never gone this long before.

As everybody knows, the economy sucks balls right now. But for me, the situation is compounded by my particular skill-set, or more specifically my lack of one. Since both my age, the changing nature of the industry, and to be honest, my own mistakes, effectively ended my once promising career in the music business, I've had to rely on the two marketable skills where I have experience.

In sales -- something I did very well in the music game -- the bottom line is that it's a young mans game. I'm simply too old, and quite frankly, I like people too much to be knocking myself dead trying to "close" whatever poor sap I can scam out of his money. I've never been good at lying to people's faces, and sales is a lying mans game.

My other skill is writing, and I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it. The problem there is, in over thirty years of my adult experience doing it, the one thing I've learned is that nobody wants to pay you. My stuff at Blogcritics gets me a fair amount of attention. I've gotten comments from famous musicians like Roger McGuinn, I've been interviewed by Charles Gibson on ABC -- I've even had Howard Stern read an article of mine on the air.

But nobody wants to hire me to do what I do best.

And if someone out there would like to prove me wrong on that, please, please get in touch with me. I'm dying to hear from you.

So I'm seven months and counting of being "future endeavored" into the poorhouse. The unemployment (and thank you Mr. Obama for both the extension and the stimulus raise) will be gone in about three months. My bank account is already dangerously close to running dry.

I love my parents, but that's just not an option.

In the meantime, I just want to work.

Happy 4th Of July.

And remember, we wish you well on your future endeavors.