Posts Tagged ‘Beatles’

There, atop the dresser in the photo to the left, is a portion of my record collection circa early 1982, when I was 16; I stored my 45s in a stack beside the turntable as well as in a shoebox on the floor that was situated beside another shoebox filled with cassettes. I also stored some LPs in a small rack near my desk, which was across the room.

After five years of intense music fandom, in other words, my entire music library clocked in at a little less than 100 LPs, about 40 cassettes, and maybe – and I’m likely stretching it – 100 45s. I’d yet to complete my Beatles collection, though – as the posters demonstrate – I was a big Beatles/McCartney fan. I owned the red and blue best-of sets (Christmas gifts both), plus everything from Rubber Soul onward (sans the Hey Jude collection), but it wouldn’t be until late 1987, after graduating college and landing a full-time job, that I owned everything Fab.

Similar situations occurred with other favorite artists. I fell in Mad Love with Linda Ronstadt in 1980 due to “How Do I Make You,” for example, but never picked up her first few LPs until the early 1990s, when they were only available as Japanese import CDs; and in late 1981, I bought my first Neil Young album, re*ac*tor, and then the one that preceded it, Hawks & Doves, but it took me most of the ‘80s to work my way through his backlog. 

It wasn’t that I wanted to wait, but records and cassettes were expensive. By the early ‘80s, new releases generally set consumers back $5.99 (the equivalent to $16 today) – but some were discounted to $4.99 and others priced higher, at $6.99 or even $7.99. Factor in sales tax, which in Pennsylvania was six percent, and buying an album was a major expense for a kid on a budget.

And once you consider other typical teen expenses, such as movie tickets, magazines and fast food, prioritizing a catalog item over a new release was an extravagance (just as hardback books were to paperback editions). That said, as I noted in my piece on Jackson Browne’s Hold Out album, I had a hierarchy of fallbacks whenever I walked into a record store; if A was out of stock, I’d look for B, and then C, and then, often, something totally unrelated would catch my eye and I’d walk out with that, instead. Later that year, I discovered a used record store where $7.41 bought three, four or more LPs instead of one, but the same basic rules applied. Wants waited.

I think of those times often, these days. If the streaming services existed back then, how much money would I have saved through the years? But, hand in hand with that, would I treasure specific artists and their oeuvres the same way I do now? Would the years-long journey that, as I outlined here, took me from the Byrds to Emmylou Harris have ended the same if it had occurred within a few weeks? I doubt it.

Which is to say, I have a love-hate relationship with the streaming services. Artists don’t get their fair share from the proceeds, which is a big concern, but another issue is whether the services actually help or hinder music discovery. As I noted last summer, the algorithms used by Pandora barely scratched the surface when I created a “personalized” station around the Bangles. While the results were fine for background music, they were sad for active listening. This Paisley Underground geek was not impressed.

Apple Music, which I subscribe to for simplicity’s sake – when driving in my car, or even hanging out in my living room, it’s easier to say, “Hey, Siri, play All I Intended to Be by Emmylou Harris” than work my way through the iPhone app – often denigrates the album as an art form, as does Spotify with its emphasis on playlists. I’ve added albums to my library only to discover, at a later date, the songs have been split between various collections or even different editions of the same album or, in the case of Juliana Hatfield, 22 “unknown” albums. (On the flip side, I’ve added specific best-ofs only to find the songs then listed under their original album homes.) It doesn’t impact the listening experience when I ask Siri to play the albums in question, but it does if I select the album through the app – which, if we ever return to our workplaces, is what I do in the office.

Anyway, at its best, music is the currency of the soul, and that soul isn’t as well nourished as it should be. Since 2000 or thereabouts, music artists have seen their revenue streams upended, first through the illegal-downloading craze and now via the streaming services. Live shows and merchandise sales is all they have – and for the young ‘uns, it’s likely all they’ve known. If you watch a live-stream and see a tip jar, and can afford it, send money their way – doesn’t have to be a lot. If an artist you like has set up a Patreon thing, and you can afford it, sign up. 

Don’t, however, feel compelled to blow your budget; and don’t feel guilty if you can’t or don’t contribute. (I’ve been very judicious, myself.) This pandemic’s economic fallout has caused many folks to lose their jobs – and even those of us who aren’t unemployed may well be, at some point, if the global economy continues to deteriorate. In some respects, then, this new reality isn’t all that different than the one many fans experienced during the 1960s, ’70s, ‘80s and ’90s, when every visit to a record or CD store forced us to whittle our wants down from the many to the few or even just one. Me, I always felt guilty heading home with a single LP, but such was life – and is life, again.

Last week, Diane and I began re-watching Season 1 of Joan of Arcadia, about a teen (Amber Tamblyn) who speaks to God – and by “speaks,” I mean has actual conversations and debates with Him. He – and She, as God changes bodies and genders episode to episode and often within episodes – often has what seems to Joan to be a mundane, silly or overwhelming task for her to perform, such as joining the chess club or debate team, or throwing a party. Inevitably, however, it leads to a larger, positive event occurring within Joan’s world.

Interwoven throughout are the stories of Joan’s family – her father (Joe Mantegna), a cop in a big (but not too big) Maryland city; her mother (Mary Steenburgen), who works at her school; older brother Kevin (Jason Ritter), who’s still coming to terms with being a paraplegic following a car accident a year-and-a-half earlier; and younger brother Luke (Michael Welch), a brainiac who should never, ever, drink caffeine.

That summary doesn’t do the series, which lasted a scant two seasons (2003-2005) justice, I should add. 

All in all, it’s good with glimmers of greatness. The cast is excellent. The stories are a mix of sweet and bittersweet, with some surprising grittiness thrown into the mix – and not just when focused on the father, who faces evil – and politics – on the job. The give-and-takes between Joan and God are adroit, funny, smart, and even philosophically deep. And the growing concern of Joan’s folks over her eccentric behavior rings true. (They don’t know about her pipeline to the above, after all.)

Anyway, it’s a series I wanted to watch when it first aired, but in those days we were often out on Friday nights, and OnDemand didn’t include much network fare. We’d unhooked our VHS recorder in favor of a DVD player by then, too, so recording it was out. I did keep an eye on the DVD sets when they became available (and when I remembered to look), but was unwilling to fork over the $45-60 per season retailers originally wanted to charge. I was also shocked by its lack of availability on Netflix, Hulu or Amazon Prime. But, finally, God heard my prayers: Two years back, I stumbled across a sweet deal on Amazon. ($16 per season. Woo hoo!) 

We watched it in about a month, filed the DVDs away, and moved on. As one does.

But, as I said at the outset, we’re watching it again. I love the philosophy behind it. The notion that a good deed, no matter how small, can cause a domino-like run of goodness in the wider world that eventually circles back to you is the essence of karma, which I’ve subscribed to since I first heard “The End” by the Beatles a long, long time ago: “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” What we put out is what we take in. Good begets good.

And Joan of Arcadia begets a smile. It’s a perfect escape from the insanity that has befallen the world, where kindness is too often seen as a vice.

And, with that, here’s today’s Top 5: God, Faith & Joan…of Arcadia.

1) Joan Osborne – “One of Us.” The theme song to Joan of Arcadia is this song, written by Eric Brazilian of the Hooters. It reached No. 4 on the pop charts.

2) Courtney Marie Andrews – “May Your Kindness Remain.” Kindness, goodness, sympathy and empathy all go hand in hand. This clip is from Courtney’s appearance in the Paste Studios earlier this week…

3) The Stone Foundation with Paul Weller – “Your Balloon Is Rising.” The Stone Foundation has a new album in the works, but this one – from their last studio set, Street Rituals – says it all. “May your words go on forever/May your kindness show no measure/Keep on breathing your life into every little thing…”

4) Paul Weller – “Above the Clouds.” And speaking of Weller and clouds…

5) Rumer – “Love Is the Answer.” The British singer-songwriter’s cover of the Todd Rundgren song was a match made in heaven when she recorded it in 2015, and remains so three years later. Love is the answer, indeed.

And in the end… the Beatles – “The End.”

In my Top 5 on Sunday, I mentioned about Weller that “there’s a whole host of covers to be had via the YouTube rabbit hole.” His willingness to share and pay tribute to his inspirations in concert and/or on vinyl is just one of the many cool things about him – and some of those recorded efforts, such as “Stoned out of My Mind” by the Jam, rate among my favorite sides of his.

Anyway, today at work, I began wondering if he’d covered John Lennon’s “Well, Well, Well” – but, if he ever did, it’s not on YouTube. There are tons of Fab-related tunes, however…

1) “Ticket to Ride” –

2) “All You Need Is Love” –

3) “Sexy Sadie” –

4) “Birthday” –

5) “Don’t Let Me Down” (with Stereophonics) –

6) “Come Together” –

And here are his spins on two JL classics…

7) “Instant Karma” –

8) “Love” –

And, just because, here are his takes on two Neil Young songs…

9) “Birds” –

10) “Out on the Weekend” –

And one bonus: Circling back to Sunday’s Top 5, which featured Bob Dylan’s cover of this classic Dion single, here’s Weller’s take…

11) “Abraham, Martin & John” –

In some ways, life is akin to a flag unfurled on a windy day – though you pretty much know what to expect, you’re still surprised by the never-ending eruptions of ripples from the fabric. First one appears, then another, and then two more, each of a different size and in a different spot before they’re replaced, one by one or sometimes en masse, by a new series of ripples. The changes occur not just second to second, but millisecond to millisecond. No two ripples, it seems, ever appear twice.

The future has yet to be written. That’s what we tell ourselves. Fate and destiny are things of fantasy novels, movies and TV, not real life. “Into every generation a slayer is born…,” indeed.

Except that flag rippling in the breeze is not as unpredictable as it appears. Over the course of a day, no, the same two ripples may not appear. But over the course of a week, month or year? A decade? If x equals wind strength and y equals wind direction, and z is the location of the first ripple, then the where and when of every ripple that follows can be calculated. Patterns can be discerned and actions predicted.

It’s not rocket science, just math.

And though my metaphor may not be spot on, this cannot be disputed: the outrages of the present are not as new as we sometimes think. They’re ripples on a flag fluttering in the wind, yes, but at times they overlay on the ripples of yore.

1968, by any and all calculations, was a bad year. The Summer of Love in 1967 gave way to a Winter of Discontent, and was followed by a spring, summer and fall filled with racial strife and political animus. On March 31st, President Lyndon Johnson announced he would not seek, nor would he accept, the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination. On April 4th, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. On June 5th, Bobby Kennedy was killed. And more than a thousand American men died every month that year in the Vietnam War.

The tumult was on full display at that year’s Democratic National Convention in late August. The whole world watched while the Party nominated the establishment’s pick – Vice President Hubert Humphrey – and the Chicago police bashed anti-war protestors.

That fall, Humphrey – a good man, though flawed candidate – squared off against Republican Richard Nixon, who was tied not to any particular philosophy, save one: winning. He claimed to have a “secret” plan to end the war; promised a new emphasis on “law and order”; and, fearful of an October surprise, engaged in treasonous trickery by dispatching an emissary to convince the South Vietnamese to walk away from the Paris Peace Talks. He promised that, if he won, they’d get a better deal. (That “better deal,” it should be noted, failed to materialize after Nixon’s inauguration in January 1969.) Meanwhile, the current commander in chief – who was aware of the chicanery due to the emissary popping up on intelligence intercepts, considered going public with the information, but feared his lack of “absolute” proof would cause more harm than good.

Some will say that the proof still isn’t there, of course, despite H.R. Haldeman’s contemporaneous notes, Tom Charles Huston’s oral history and other well-sourced accounts. (The speculation that it eventually led to the Watergate break-in, however, remains just that.)

Nixon’s first year in office, of course, was accented by protests, paranoia and breaks with orthodoxy; he cared less about details and more about his image, and with getting even with those he believed had wronged him.

Sound familiar?

Anyway, enough of my deep-dive into the parallels between the politics of yesteryear and today, and onward to today’s Top 5: September 17, 1968 (courtesy of the charts over at Weekly Top 40, though the chart in question is actually for the week of Sept. 14th.)

1) The Rascals – “People Got to Be Free.” Clocking in at No. 1 for the fifth week in a row, this upbeat call for peace and lovin’ didn’t sit well with Atlantic’s Jerry Wexler, at least initially. According to The Billboard Book of Number One Hits, he feared its topical message would harm the group’s career. Felix Cavaliere fought him on it and, obviously, won. (And the four million copies the single sold, I’m sure, soothed Wexler’s fears.)

2) Jeannie C. Riley – “Harper Valley P.T.A.” Written by Tom T. Hall, this unlikely hit about narrow-minded hypocrites is the week’s No. 2 song; and it would reach the top spot the following week. It sold more than six million copies and set history, becoming the first song by a female artist to top both the pop and country charts; and earned Riley Grammy and CMA awards.

3) Jose Feliciano – “Light My Fire.” Who would have imagined that a flamenco-easy listening rendition of the Doors song could be a hit? Feliciano and producer Rick Jarrard, that’s who! Although his breakthrough hit in the U.S., by this point Feliciano had established himself in Latin America and Great Britain, where he guested on Dusty Springfield’s TV variety series, and had already earned a reputation as a great guitarist. Or so I’ve read. This week marks its third – and last – week in the No. 3 slot.

4) Steppenwolf – “Born to Be Wild.” Yes, there was a time when this song didn’t sound like a well-worn cliche (and I say that as someone who bought Steppenwolf’s Greatest Hits as a kid and saw Easy Rider – on cable, granted – more times than I can count.) It falls from No. 2 to 4 this week.

5) 1910 Fruitgum Company – “1, 2, 3, Red Light.” This bubblegum concoction, which I’d never heard before just now, clocks in at No. 5, its highest position on the charts.

And two bonuses…

6) Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell – “You’re All I Need to Get By.” The classic love song from Marvin and Tammi rises a spot, from 8 to 7.

7) The Beatles – “Hey Jude.” Making its chart debut at No. 10 is this pop classic from the Fab Four.