Showing posts with label debut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label debut. Show all posts

Friday, May 12, 2017

Jimi Hendrix's 'Soul Music for Inner Space'



"I've been imitated so well I've heard people copy my mistakes."

Jimi Hendrix

In the history of recorded music, there may have been a debut album that was more influential and more dazzling than Jimi Hendrix's "Are You Experienced" — but I don't know what it was.

And from that relatively limited subset, fewer still could be said to have altered the popular music landscape, but "Are You Experienced" did.

"Are You Experienced" hit music stores 50 years ago today. Its most recognizable track, by far, has to be "Purple Haze," which Rolling Stone said possessed "one of the unforgettable opening riffs in rock: a ferocious, stomping guitar march, scarred with fuzz and built around the dissonant 'devil's interval' of the tritone. And it launched not one but two revolutions: late–'60s psychedelia and the unprecedented genius of Jimi Hendrix."

But the influence of "Are You Experienced" went far beyond a single song and continues today. In addition to "Purple Haze," three other songs from the album — "Foxey Lady," "Hey Joe" and "The Wind Cries Mary" — made Rolling Stone's list of the top 500 songs of all time.

In rating "Are You Experienced" No. 15 in its Top 500 albums of all time, Rolling Stone wrote that "Hendrix made soul music for inner space."

"Are You Experienced" was one of the earliest albums in my collection, and I still listen to it from time to time. Lately, in anticipation of this milestone anniversary, I've been listening to it a lot more, and a question keeps popping into my head:

How can an album that is now half a century old still sound as cutting edge, as visionary as "Are You Experienced" does?

I guess that was the special genius of Jimi Hendrix.

And by the way, unlike some modern artists (i.e., Kanye West) Hendrix never would have called himself a genius.

"I don't consider myself to be the best," he said, "and I don't like compliments. They distract me."

Thursday, August 25, 2016

It Was More Than a Feeling



Boston's eight–song self–titled debut album, "Boston," which was released on this day in 1976, was one of the most successful debut albums in American history, selling 17 million copies.

It produced three singles, each of which sold quite well.

"More Than A Feeling," the first single from the album, was arguably the most successful. It's been described as an ode to daydreaming, and it featured a reference to a mysterious Marianne, who, it turned out, was a real person. Band leader Tom Scholz said she was his older cousin, whom he regarded as the most beautiful girl he had ever seen when he was the tender age of 8 or 9 and she must have been in her teens. The song soared to #5 on Billboard's Hot 100 — and even sparked a bit of controversy during the 2008 presidential primary campaign.

Republican Mike Huckabee used the song for campaign promotion, and a former band member made appearances with Huckabee, giving the joint impression that the band had given Huckabee permission to use the song and had endorsed Huckabee's campaign, neither of which was true, Scholz observed in his written request to Huckabee to stop using the song.

Huckabee complied with the request.

It was indeed a popular tune. It showed up in several movies around that time, and many musicians made covers of it. Forty years later, it is still a staple on FM radio.

Actually, as popular as "More Than A Feeling" was, the flip side on that single, "Smokin'," probably enjoyed more popularity than it deserved simply because it was the flip side to "More Than A Feeling."

Boston released "More Than A Feeling" as a single about the same time as it released the album.

The next single, "Foreplay/Long Time," was released after the start of the new year.

"Foreplay" was an instrumental tune that Scholz wrote around 1969 while a student at MIT. The merging of that tune with "Long Time," another Scholz composition, was described by Rolling Stone as the "marriage of Led Zeppelin and Yes."

Pretty good description.

Like its predecessor, "Foreplay/Long Time" was a big hit, reaching #22 on Billboard's Hot 100. And, once again, the B side profited from being paired with a Boston hit. In this case, the flip side was "Let Me Take You Home Tonight," the only piece on the album that was not composed by Scholz.

"Let Me Take You Home Tonight" was penned by guitarist and lead vocalist Brad Delp.

The album's third single, "Peace of Mind," was released eight months after the album. I've heard that it was written about Scholz's work colleagues before he found success in the music industry. That certainly makes sense.

"Peace of Mind," like the other two singles, performed well on the charts, climbing to #38 on Billboard's Hot 100.

I always kind of liked it better than the other two. Maybe it was the acoustic guitar intro.

Whatever it was, I believed from the start that Boston was kind of a bizarre merging of two styles — at once a kind of familiar sort of band playing familiar sort of music while, at the same time, a garage band with a unique sound all its own.

Sunday, May 01, 2016

The Debut of Mozart's 'The Marriage of Figaro'



If you mention "The Marriage of Figaro" to most people my age or younger, the image that probably comes to mind is of Bugs Bunny conducting a performance of the opera in a Warner Bros. cartoon.

That is an entertaining memory for me — and, probably, for many members of my generation. I grew up watching — and loving — Bugs Bunny cartoons on Saturday mornings. Most Bugs Bunny fans would probably mention the cartoons that included Yosemite Sam or the Tasmanian Devil or that weird interplanetary character as their favorites, but I always liked the takeoffs on the operas, like "The Marriage of Figaro" or "The Barber of Seville."

I owe that to my parents, I suppose. They liked other kinds of music, too, as I have mentioned here before, but they both liked classical music. Most opera was probably not their preference — they tended to like symphonies and such as that — but sometimes the music or the composers they liked overlapped in opera.

As a child I was exposed to it all — and, as a result, I tended to recognize music that was used in cartoons (and, thus, get the humor of some inside jokes that even most adults didn't get).

(When I was in college, I recall that my German professor once tried to trip up the class by asking us classical music trivia questions. I frustrated her by correctly answering all of them — and, in the process, spoiling her punchlines.)

It was as a child that I learned to love the music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose opera based on the play "The Marriage of Figaro" made its debut at Vienna's Burgtheater 230 years ago today. Nearly a quarter of a millennium later, it is still one of his most loved compositions — and that really is saying something.

In keeping with the custom of the time, the composer conducted the first two performances of the opera, then Mozart handed the baton to a 20–year–old Austrian conductor.

It was a glorious achievement, one that was featured in the movie "Amadeus," which is one of my all–time favorite movies. In the movie, Salieri, Mozart's rival composer who has long been suspected of being behind Mozart's untimely death, described how the opera bestowed "perfect absolution" on all who heard it.

Truer words have seldom been spoken.

But the success or failure of a composition in the 18th century depended less upon its quality than the responses of the prominent people who heard it. And, as Salieri observed, the emperor's yawn during the premiere 230 years ago today was believed to have been the reason why the opera closed after nine performances.

That seems to be something of an urban legend. The premiere appears to have been a success with a five–number encore. There were seven encores the night of the second performance.

The original story on which the opera was based was regarded as somewhat bawdy for the sensibilities of 18th–century people. Could that have been why it closed after nine performances? Well, the emperor, who had approved the libretto before Mozart began composing any of the music, doesn't appear to have been worried about the content, but he was concerned, it seems, about the length of the performances with all these encores so he issued a directive "that no piece for more than a single voice is to be repeated."

The new policy was in effect for the third performance and was probably behind the rumors that swirled around the opera after its nine–performance run.

"The Marriage of Figaro" was not performed in Vienna in 1787 or 1788, but a revival production ran there from 1789 to 1791. In the interim it enjoyed a successful run in Prague.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

The Birth of Saturday Night Live



[talking into the telephone] "What are you wearing right now? No bathrobe? [notices the audience, hangs up telephone] Good evening. I'm Chevy Chase!"

Chevy Chase, Oct. 11, 1975

American television changed 40 years ago tonight. At least on Saturday nights.

In 1975, CBS ruled primetime on Saturday nights with "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," "The Bob Newhart Show" and "The Carol Burnett Show" running in a two–hour block from 9 to 11 p.m. (Eastern time), but late night was still a vast, unexplored frontier. NBC's affiliates had been running "Best of Carson" compilations from Johnny Carson's Tonight Show on weekends, but Carson announced in 1974 that he wanted the weekend programs pulled and archived so they could be used during the week when he wanted to take time off.

My memory is that Carson always invited a guest to substitute for him when he took time off, though, right up until his retirement in 1992, and I'm not sure how extensively "Best of Carson" was used, if at all, in some markets. Its weekend schedule was very flexible. Affiliates were allowed to show episodes either on Saturday or Sunday, at their discretion.

In the days leading up to that first show, inaugural host George Carlin appeared on primetime promotional ads in which he was depicted as a participant in a stage construction project. NBC was putting the finishing touches on a new show, he told the TV audience, and he invited everyone to tune in on Saturday night.

If you were a George Carlin fan, you were already familiar with the material he used in the first–ever Saturday Night Live monologues. He didn't deliver an original and topical monologue, as hosts do now. He basically lifted jokes from several albums that had been in circulation for years and compiled them into a monologue.

But it was still a treat to see him doing those routines. And he commanded enough star power to draw audiences. So, too, I suppose did the first show's musical guests, Janis Ian and Billy Preston, both of whom had enjoyed some popularity in the early to mid–'70s.

And that is the primary objective of a new TV program — attract an audience. There certainly was a late night audience waiting to be tapped. In 1975, most of America still had only the three networks, a public broadcasting network in many (but not all) areas and maybe an independent station or two. Cable TV was a presence in only a few areas — and wasn't nearly as extensive as it is today.

Everything about the show was new and evolving. Even the name was different. It started out as just Saturday Night. When the program debuted, there already was a program called Saturday Night Live starring Howard Cosell on ABC, and it remained on the air for the first months of SNL's existence. More than a year after Cosell's program was canceled, the show now known as Saturday Night Live took that name — in March 1977.

What we now know as Saturday Night Live began simply as NBC's Saturday Night. The "live" was a description. Go back and watch Chevy Chase's intros of those early programs. "Live from New York," he always said, "it's 'Saturday Night.'"

If you remember those days, you can probably hear Chevy saying that in your head without having to look up a clip at YouTube or anyplace else. Of course, SNL has been using that inroduce each episode for 40 years now so you don't really have to search your memory bank for an audio file of Chase saying that phrase.

Chase said it that way from the first. Then, as now, the show opened with a skit. That first skit showed two people sitting in chairs facing each other. One was writer Michael O'Donoghue who played a professor giving a European immigrant (John Belushi) English lessons. That skit is remembered as the "Wolverine" sketch because the professor was always giving the immigrant sentences to say that included that word. For example ...
Professor: Let us begin. Repeat after me. I would like ...

Immigrant: [in a thick accent] I would like ...

Professor: ... to feed your fingertips ...

Immigrant: ...to feed yur fingerteeps ...

Professor: ... to the wolverines.

Immigrant: ... to de wolver–eenes.

The English lesson was cut short when the professor clutched his chest and collapsed on the floor.

From off–camera, Chase emerged to announce that it was Saturday Night. Ever since that time it has been a staple of the show to have someone — sometimes several people — break character to utter that familiar phrase.

The show, as I say, was evolving. My memory is that Carlin didn't participate in any skits other than his opening monologue. Today, of course, guest hosts are full participants in that week's show. I don't know when that changed. It probably developed over time. SNL always has been a work in progress.

The skits were handled by the Not–Ready–For–Prime–Time Players, which introduced America to people who became quite familiar in short order — Chase, Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman and Garrett Morris.

Often, SNL has created cultural catchphrases, reaffirming its social relevance after four decades on the air. It has been resilient. In the late '70s, few people thought SNL could survive the departure of Chevy Chase, but it did. It has become a training ground and career launching pad for the stars of tomorrow.

The program's political skits have become so legendary that a compilation program of politically themed skits always airs during a presidential election campaign, and Chevy Chase's early portrayals of a clumsy Gerald Ford are sure to be included.

In countless unexpected ways, SNL has influenced the culture. Who would have thought on this night in 1975 that it would still be on the air in the 21st century?

Friday, October 02, 2015

'A Sweet Little Story' About Rape and Revenge



As I have observed here several times, my mother was a fan of Alfred Hitchcock's work, and it was through her that I was introduced to many of his movies; they remain among my favorites today as do Hitchcock movies I discovered on my own. That's the thing about awakening someone's interest in something. Once that genie is out of the bottle, you can't control it.

I also discovered the Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV series, which made its debut on this date in 1955, through her — which is rather odd, I suppose, since, as I have also mentioned here before, my family didn't have a TV until I was in elementary school — and that was many years after this date in 1955!

And it was actually several years after we got our first TV — when we were visiting my grandparents in Dallas — that my mother noticed in the paper that reruns of episodes from that series were being shown on one of the local channels after the late news. She suggested that we watch, and I have vivid memories of popping some popcorn and sitting on the couch with Mom to watch Alfred Hitchcock Presents every evening while we were in Dallas. It became a regular ritual every time we were in town — until the channel stopped showing the reruns, for whatever reason.

I have watched the series since that time, of course — sometimes with Mom, most of the time not — and I know I saw the debut episode, "Revenge," but I can't recall if it was one I saw with Mom or not. One of the things I miss the most about Mom is how we would discuss movies and TV episodes that we had seen; if we watched "Revenge" together, I'm sure we would have discussed it, if only because its theme was so unusual for the mid–1950s.

The story was about a man who sought revenge for the rape of his emotionally fragile wife, played by 26–year–old Vera Miles. Miles went on to appear in some Hitchcock movies, most notably "Psycho," and was often said to be Hitchcock's next Grace Kelly, but I'm not sure that ever happened.

Anyway, in his droll manner, Hitchcock appeared at the beginning of each TV episode to briefly give the viewer an idea — albeit a sarcastic one — what to expect. In his intro to his new series, Hitchcock called the episode a "sweet little story." I'm sure that would be regarded as terribly politically incorrect today because it suggests an insensitivity to women even though that was just Hitchcock's manner — to treat violent subject matter as a "sweet little story."

Was Hitchcock a sexist? I don't know. I do know that he always managed to have beautiful women in his movies, and his movies sometimes featured sexual overtones. When you get right down to it, I think you have to take the things he said as tongue in cheek — inside jokes, if you will. I don't think he intended to be flippant about violent acts like rape.

Frances Bavier, in her pre–Andy Griffith Show days, played a neighbor in the trailer park where the newlyweds lived who promised to look in on Miles while her young husband was at work — and she did. Miles had suffered a breakdown, and the couple had moved to California for her health. When Bavier left her, she was about to do some sun bathing.

When the husband returned with bags of groceries, he found their trailer filled with smoke from a cake in the oven that had burned, then he found his wife virtually catatonic on the bedroom floor. Haltingly, she told her story. A man had come to the door and demanded money. When she refused, he overpowered her and choked her. "And then he killed me," she said. She never said she was raped. I suppose that was too graphic for network TV in the '50s.

And her husband only ever said she had been beaten.

But it was about rape. And as time passed and the investigators took no one into custody, the husband persuaded his wife to help him find the man who had assaulted her, never telling her what he intended to do — and she never asked. But she went along with him and pointed out a man to her husband. "It's him," she insisted.

So the husband bludgeoned the man with a wrench. The audience never actually saw the assault, only the shadow of the husband raising his arm, truly a Hitchcockian technique, but it struck me as odd when I saw the episode for the first time that, even though the husband had to be up close to the man when he hit him with the wrench, and blood must surely have been flowing from the repeated blows, the husband's clothes showed no traces of blood, not even the spatter you would expect to see from being close to such a wound when it happened.

The husband returned to the car and suggested they drive to a nearby town along the coast. When they did, as they were driving along, Miles suddenly saw someone on the sidewalk and exclaimed, "That's him!"

It was the kind of twist ending that Hitchcock loved — although it seemed to me at the time and still seems to me that it's a rather obvious one that needs the buildup only a movie can provide. In the shorter space of half an hour, a twist ending has to really be a gut punch to be effective. I didn't think the ending was a gut punch. I thought it was predictable, given what the audience had seen.

But I thought the performances were good, and, as always, a Hitchcock tale delivered for the viewer. Sometimes, though, the viewer had to be a truly devoted Hitchcock fan — like my mother — to appreciate what was delivered.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Simon & Garfunkel's First Album



It should come as no surprise that the Beatles were the most popular recording artists in the 1960s, but Simon & Garfunkel's popularity easily rivaled the Beatles' by the time the decade ended.

Simon & Garfunkel made their debut on this day in 1964 with the release of their "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM" album — but widespread acclaim did not come until after they released their second album, "Sounds of Silence," a year and a half later.

Recorded over three daytime sessions in the spring of 1964, "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM" offered five original songs and several traditional folk songs, much like the composition of Bob Dylan's debut album.

And, again, like Dylan's album, it offered a glimpse into the future.

It was my mother who introduced me to Simon & Garfunkel when I was just a little boy. Mostly it was the music from the "Sounds of Silence" album, which Mom played frequently — and loudly — on our old stereo. I have no memory of hearing "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM" until I was much older, maybe when I was in college.

I don't think there were any hits on the album, nothing that would be recognizable to anyone except the really hard–core Simon & Garfunkel fans.

And Mom was a pretty devoted fan. She probably heard some of the tracks from "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM," which led her to purchase Simon & Garfunkel's second album. I have many memories of her humming along with songs from "Sounds of Silence" and "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme." Sometimes, when the spirit really moved her, she would belt out the songs with the gusto of Ethel Merman. My brother and I were her audience. We were little, but we would cheer and applaud when she sang Simon & Garfunkel.

I don't recall hearing her sing most of the songs from "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM," though, which is a shame. There were some good songs on that album. Not great songs, but good songs — and, as I say, they gave people a taste of what to expect.

The original Paul Simon songs on the album clearly indicated a folk direction to Simon & Garfunkel's music at the time. I guess the folk genre was always appropriate for Simon & Garfunkel's music, but it was probably most pronounced on "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM" with its acoustic guitar presence, but it also had an element the duo's other four studio albums lacked — a banjo.

Of course, there were glimpses of the hit machine Simon & Garfunkel would become — like the original "The Sound of Silence," which it seems to me was the first Simon & Garfunkel song my mother brought home — in the form of a 45 rpm single.

That wasn't necessarily the version that was on the album that was released 50 years ago today. It might have been the revised (and, in my opinion, inferior) version that was included on the duo's next album — the one that brought them wide recognition.

So perhaps she heard "Wednesday Morning, 3 AM" after all. That song was featured more prominently in the album that shared that name.

I liked other original Paul Simon songs on the album, too. "Bleecker Street" was probably my favorite, but the historian in me appreciated "He Was My Brother," a song that was inspired by the murders of three civil rights workers in Mississippi in the summer of 1964. One of those workers, Andrew Goodman, had been a classmate of Simon's. The song took certain liberties — for example, it said that the unnamed brother was five years older, when, in fact, Simon was about two years older than Goodman.

It was still a good song — and it was, I believe, Simon & Garfunkel's first foray into topical songwriting. It was also the song that first attracted the attention of Columbia Records.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Peeking Behind the Scenes at the 'West Wing'



Laurie (Lisa Edelstein): Tell your friend POTUS he's got a funny name, and he should learn how to ride a bicycle.

Sam (Rob Lowe): I would, but he's not my friend; he's my boss. It's not his name; it's his title.

Laurie: POTUS?

Sam: President of the United States. I'll call ya.

Fifteen years ago tonight, one of my favorite TV programs of all time, The West Wing, made its first appearance on America's TV screens. (Of course, I am a political junkie, anyway, so I suppose it isn't really surprising that the show appealed to me.)

That first episode was a mangled, dangling mass of loose strings — or so it must have seemed to many viewers. Some of those loose ends took seven years to tie together. It was a very literate script, written by very savvy writers. Frankly, there were times when I thought that, in spite of the elementary nature of that first episode, parts of it might be over some viewers' heads. I suppose that is a risk you run with just about anything on TV.

That very basic first story dealt with how the president got hurt riding a bicycle. As the episode unfolded, viewers became acquainted with the characters — and learned that there was much more to the story than met the eye. The West Wing was like that; it tended to set up its viewers — and usually delivered a gentle knockout punch in the last five minutes — gentle in the sense that viewers almost never saw it coming.

In some ways, the cast of that first episode did not really resemble the cast of the final episode seven years later. There was a core of characters who remained with the show from start to finish, but others came and went, as they do in the real West Wing. I felt that angle added a touch of realism to the stories, kind of like the ever–changing nature of the ensemble cast of "M*A*S*H."

Some of those characters, like Allison Janney who played C.J. the press secretary, became very well known through their work on the series — even if some weren't originally intended to be regulars. Others, who may have been expected to be long–term characters, were there briefly, then left and were never heard from again.

Martin Sheen, who played the president, wasn't supposed to be a major presence on the show. The series was really supposed to be about the president's staff. But he quickly became a regular, as did the first lady (Stockard Channing), who wasn't even seen 15 years ago tonight. I think the only time she was mentioned was during Sheen's monologue near the end of the episode.

I believe Janel Moloney, who played Donna, the aide to Josh (Bradley Whitford), was only intended to be an occasional character, but she wound up staying with the series to the last episode — and became a much more significant (and popular) character in the process.

Ironically, viewers weren't sure just how attached they should get to Whitford's character that first night. He was, in the words of the first President Bush, in deep doo–doo after insulting a pundit from the Christian right on the air; as a result, the as–yet unseen president was said to be ready to fire Josh — but had not, primarily because of intervention on his behalf by others, especially Leo, the chief of staff (John Spencer).

For that matter, I wasn't sure about Lisa Edelstein's character, a "high–priced call girl" who appeared destined to be the significant other for Sam the speech writer (Rob Lowe). There was something noble about Edelstein. Her character was using the proceeds from her prostitution to pay for her education so she wasn't your run–of–the–mill call girl. She was in a few other episodes in that first season, and her relationship with Sam seemed to be blooming, but she did not remain with the series. I recall no explanation being given.

Sam had kind of a shaky start that night. He didn't know Edelstein was a call girl when he slept with her — and, unfortunately, when he tried to explain to the communications director, Toby (Richard Schiff), what had happened, he neglected to elaborate after he said, "I accidentally slept with a prostitute." Toby was, understandably, bewildered. "Accidentally? I don't understand. Did you trip over something?"

Likewise, Moira Kelly played a political consultant and Josh's former girlfriend. She seemed to be destined for a long–term role on the show but left after the first season (actually, her involvement was less and less each week until it apparently dwindled to nothing before the end of the season) and was never mentioned again.

The reason for Sheen's bicycle accident was mostly a mystery that first night — until Sheen showed up near the end of the episode and clarified things considerably. That, as I understand it, was kind of how the series was originally designed. The focus would be on the staff, the president would pop in from time to time to sort of tie together the loose ends.

On this occasion, though, it seems more appropriate to reflect on the series, which ran for seven years, than to obsess over the meat of that first episode. The show was pigeonholed by some as a liberal's fantasy of how things ought to work — and it was that, to be sure. It was a product of its times, patterned to a great extent after the Clinton administration, a clearly Democrat president contending with a Congress that just as clearly was dominated by Republicans.

Many of the show's advisers came from the Clinton administration, and sometimes episodes were almost wistful reflections on how the writers apparently wished things could have been in the late 1990s.

The great thing about the West Wing, though, was how it appealed to people across the political spectrum. I knew people who were Democrats, Republicans, even independents who watched the show faithfully and wished for a president like Jed Bartlet.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If they can agree on a TV show about a president and a Congress held by opposing parties ...

Sunday, June 15, 2014

The Debut of Nirvana



Twenty–five years ago today, Nirvana's debut album, "Bleach," hit the music stores.

Nirvana was part of the early grunge scene in Seattle — in fact, it can be said (and has) that Nirvana gave birth to grunge — and the band's second album, "Nevermind," was a major influence on the grunge style when it was released in 1991.

Considering what was to come, it may be surprising to realize that "Bleach" didn't even register on the charts — although it was pretty well received by critics. The absence of recognition was understandable. Nirvana was a new band to most people. There was no fanfare when "Bleach" was released; heck, the album was recorded on a shoestring budget — for about 600 bucks.

In fact, "Bleach" didn't even make much of a ripple with the public until "Nevermind" was a hit — although "Bleach" did sell 1.6 million copies. When "Nevermind" was a hit, then people really began to listen to "Bleach."

Probably the most well–received song on the album was "About a Girl," which band founder Kurt Cobain wrote about the girl he was dating at the time. It had a catchy sound that was good for radio and more mainstream listeners, but I don't remember hearing it on the radio much until after "Nevermind" was released — and "Bleach" was re–released to capitalize on the band's popularity.

In general, Cobain had a disdain for the lyrics of most of the songs on the album. He claimed to have been under pressure from the record label to produce grunge songs that were like the ones in the band's existing catalog, and he said he wrote most of the song lyrics on "Bleach" the night before recording them.

Critics spoke of the influences on Nirvana's music — Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, the Smithereens — in their articles about the album, and that influence isn't hard to find. Indeed, at times it practically leaps out of the CD, grabs the listener by the collar and slaps him a couple of times.

But mostly what jumped out was Nirvana's emerging sound — uniquely its own, even with the influences of those who came before.

"School," for instance, had a very late '60s, early '70s quality — an almost Black Sabbath sound — to it.

"Love Buzz," too, had the sound of that era.

It had all the trademarks of a psychedelic song, but then, at the end, things went in — shall we say? — a different direction.

Actually, I thought it had kind of an ominous, perilous sound to it. The fact that it was the only song on the album that was not written by Cobain may or may not have had anything to do with that.

"Negative Creep" was probably the most blatantly grunge song on the album — a song Cobain admittedly wrote about himself. In hindsight, it was courageous of him to write a song about himself that was so honest.

Still, for all its rebellious attitude, grunge music hasn't been immune to hype. I've heard some people call "About a Girl" and "Negative Creep" grunge classics.

The word classic is, it seems to me, overused. There should be a generally agreed upon standard for how old something should be before it is regarded a classic. Perhaps having the word grunge as a modifier makes it acceptable — although I still wonder how any art style can have a classic form if the style itself is only 25 years old.

(In one of my classes, I heard two students discussing rap classics. Aren't those two words mutually exclusive?)

Throughout "Bleach," one could hear the roots of grunge in Nirvana's music. As songwriters, the members of the group, especially Cobain, were trying to find themselves — which ultimately led Nirvana to its own particular style.

They were nearly there when "Bleach" hit the shelves.

There was plenty of original material on "Bleach," but mostly what it did was whet the listener's appetite for what was to come.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

The Debut of Led Zeppelin



Today, Led Zeppelin is regarded as a classic rock band, a cultural icon, but 45 years ago today, the world was really getting its first taste when Led Zeppelin released its debut album.

As I understand it, the initial reviews were negative, and I guess that is understandable, really. No other band, no matter how rebellious its music sounded, could compete with Led Zeppelin. Their sound was a unique blend of blues, heavy metal and hard rock, and it was just about guaranteed to annoy the older generation.

What more could a young person, determined to challenge authority, want from a band?

But anyone who listened to Led Zeppelin in those days quickly discovered there was more to Led Zeppelin's sound than noise. It was a radically different kind of sound, and a lot of people didn't know what to make of it.

In hindsight, it can be said that Led Zeppelin was more than a means to annoy the older generation. Led Zeppelin made really good music.

I discovered Led Zeppelin several years after that debut album, but "Dazed and Confused," one of the tracks on that original record, has long been one of my absolute favorites.

The record itself reached #10 on Billboard's chart following its initial release. Today, Rolling Stone ranks it #29 on its list of the 500 greatest albums of all time (higher than any other Led Zeppelin album). Ten years ago, it was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.

That debut album has had a lasting influence on the cultural landscape. Other albums contained songs that are more recognizable to mainstream audiences, but Zeppelin's fans have a fondness for many of the tracks that easily matches songs like "Rock and Roll" and "Stairway to Heaven."

There were those in America who had heard of Led Zeppelin before the album hit the store shelves but not many. The band launched an American tour to introduce themselves to U.S. audiences in late 1968, starting the day after Christmas in Denver.

The material on that first album had been recorded a couple of months earlier, so, when the band began its tour, it was way ahead of other groups at that stage of their chronological development. The Led Zeppelin sound was well developed, and the tracks on the first album bear witness to its uniqueness.

Led Zeppelin took what folks like Jimi Hendrix and Jeff Beck were doing and made it their own. Songs like "Dazed and Confused" get most of the attention with their obvious blues influences, but songs like "Communication Breakdown" were — in hindsight — much more representative of what fans could expect.

It is worth noting that the record came out at a time when an album's cover art was almost as important as the music, and Led Zeppelin did not disappoint. The album's artwork was based on the famous photo of the Hindenburg ablaze in May 1937. It was a reference to the origin of the group's name, which, supposedly went something like this: Jimmy Page was discussing forming a band with Jeff Beck, Keith Moon and John Entwistle. Moon said that would "probably go over like a lead balloon," and Entwistle said, "[A] lead zeppelin." The four didn't form a band, but a name for a band had been born.

This is really an important date in the development of hard rock (and, for that matter, heavy metal) as a musical genre. Led Zeppelin was a pioneer, a band with a harder edge than anything that had come before — and a harbinger of things to come.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

A Beethoven Bicentennial

Today is the 200th anniversary of the premiere of one of the most popular and most recognizable compositions in classical music — Ludwig van Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

The symphony made its debut at a marathon, four-hour concert of Beethoven's compositions at the Theater an der Wien in Vienna. Although his hearing was getting worse, Beethoven directed the concert, which included his Fifth and Sixth symphonies (performed in reverse order) and a couple of piano performances by Beethoven himself.

The Fifth Symphony has already earned an important spot in world history. It has a distinctive four-note opening motif that was used during World War II as the intro for the BBC's radio newscasts because it suggests Morse code for the letter "V" — for victory.