Showing posts with label Rolling Stone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rolling Stone. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

'Blood on the Tracks' Was One of the Best Ever Recorded



I guess I am not going out on a limb when I declare Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks," which was released on this day in 1975, one of the greatest albums ever recorded.

Rolling Stone named it the 16th–best album of all time more than a decade ago and described Dylan's songwriting as "lyrically piercing, gingerly majestic." I guess you could say that or something similar about most of the songs he has written — but if it is going to be said about any of Dylan's albums, "Blood on the Tracks" is the one it should be said about.

Initially, though, critical acclaim for "Blood on the Tracks" was slow in coming. Some critics really liked it; others didn't. Personally, I always liked it.

Not that I'm a critic or anything. I just appreciate good music. And this was really good music.

When the album hit the stores, "Tangled Up in Blue" was played rather frequently on the radio. It was really the only single from the album — although, as always, there were songs that were never hits in the conventional sense — but they were hits with Dylan's fans. I guess it is that way with most bands; songs appeal to different people for different reasons. Many of my favorite songs were never commercially popular.

Rolling Stone wrote that the album was "an instant success." That isn't how I remember it. "Tangled Up in Blue" was well received, and perhaps people bought "Blood on the Tracks" in spite of the critics. I don't know. I don't think I ever did know.

I liked "Tangled Up in Blue," but I would probably pick one song, maybe two, from the album that I liked a little better — but just a little. One followed it on Side A — "Simple Twist of Fate."

Or I might pick "Shelter From the Storm" from Side B.

Really, though, it is a masterful album. I have heard it described as "flawless," which is a little absolute for my taste, but I sympathize with the sentiment. "Blood on the Tracks" is one of those rare albums where not a song seems out of place. To omit any would diminish it.

The material is gritty. Some critics have suggested that the songs on "Blood on the Tracks" were inspired by Dylan's problems with his marriage at the time. I don't know if that is true; I do know that the songs are not happy ones and if a song is not unhappy, it is, at least, anxious or has a sense of resignation to the idea that, if everything is good right now, it is only a matter of time before things go south.

I have friends who are more knowledgeable about Dylan than I, and they, I am sure, have different opinions on that subject.

Dylan, to my knowledge, has always denied that the music was inspired by his life, but his son has said that, when he listens to "Blood on the Tracks," he thinks the music is describing scenes from his parents' marriage.

Dylan has introduced "Tangled Up in Blue" in a concert by saying it took 10 years to live and two years to write — which sounds awfully autobiographical to me.

I recall, at the time the album was released, that some people told Dylan how much they enjoyed it. His response was that he couldn't understand how anyone could enjoy that kind of pain.

He was right — to an extent — and, as I see it, Dylan's observation is further proof that at least some of "Blood on the Tracks" was about his marriage. Great pain — and his lyrics do speak of great anguish — is not the sort of thing that people can rightfully say they enjoy, but it is the kind of thing that an artist — a painter, a sculptor, a composer, a writer — is compelled to use for inspiration. It is a catalyst. The artist really has no choice.

Yes, that is what artists do. The act of taking that pain and turning it into something beautiful gives the experience its meaning, its validity.

So my feeling is that there probably was at least an element of Dylan's private life that inspired the music on "Blood on the Tracks." If I am right, then Dylan took what he had experienced and used it to make something truly remarkable.

And when I say remarkable, I mean the songs that weren't publicly recognizable as well the ones that were.

Dylan had some of his most sensitive, delicate guitar work on "Blood on the Tracks" — "You're a Big Girl Now," "Meet Me in the Morning," "If You See Her, Say Hello," "Buckets of Rain."

Friday, January 17, 2014

Joni Mitchell's Masterpiece



"I was a free man in Paris
I felt unfettered and alive
There was nobody calling me up for favors
And no one's future to decide
You know I'd go back there tomorrow
But for the work I've taken on
Stoking the star maker machinery
Behind the popular song"


Joni Mitchell

Imagine if you can what it must be like to be Joni Mitchell.

While she was still in her 20s, she released "Blue," which is ranked #30 on Rolling Stone's list of the top 500 albums of all time.

Then, 40 years ago today, she released "Court and Spark." It, too, made Rolling Stone's list. It wasn't as highly regarded (#113), but, with its fusion of folk and jazz, it was ranked higher than most albums — and deservedly so.

Mitchell was barely 30 years old at that time, but she had already released her most successful (and, arguably, her best) albums. They were really quite difference from each other. "Blue" was mostly what Jason Ankeny of AllMusic.com calls "confessional songwriting," but "Court and Spark" was primarily "evocative character studies."

The music was exquisite, and I believe it ensured Mitchell's place in popular music history.

If you were Joni Mitchell, where would you go from there? Which musical mountains were left to climb?

It would be hard for me to narrow down my favorite Joni Mitchell song, but "Free Man in Paris" certainly would be close to the top of my list. It was pretty popular with the public, too, climbing to #22 on Billboard's Hot 100.

The first single from the album — "Raised on Robbery" — actually was released a couple of months before the album was released, and it gave listeners a taste of what was in store. Robbie Robertson of The Band played electric guitar on a tune that sounded like it would have been right at home on a Manhattan Transfer album.

There was no shortage of talent supporting Mitchell on "Court and Spark." In addition to Robertson, the album had Graham Nash and David Crosby contributing background vocals on "Free Man in Paris" (Jose Feliciano played electric guitar on that one), and comedians Cheech and Chong provided background voices on (appropriately) "Twisted."

I suppose most casual listeners would name "Help Me" as their favorite song from the album, and that would certainly be a safe choice. It was Mitchell's first Top 10 hit, and it was probably the best of the "wary love songs" (as Ankeny put it) that dotted the album.

But "Help Me" got too darn much airplay for me. I liked it, but, if pressed to pick my favorite of the "wary love songs" on "Court and Spark," I probably would choose "People's Parties."

But that's just me.

Whichever song she sang, I always thought Joni Mitchell had a wonderful voice, and Rolling Stone agreed with me. It ranked her #42 on its list of the 100 greatest singers of all time.

Friday, February 24, 2012

A Surrealistic Album



Forty–five years ago, preparation for the so–called "Summer of Love" was in its nascent stages.

In the evolution of California's identification as the Ground Zero of the counterculture movement of the 1960s, the "Summer of Love" was a seminal moment — or, at least, it was a seminal concept.

I'm not sure you could say that the "Summer of Love" really lived up to its hype. There were race riots in major cities, causing death and destruction and leading the season to be informally dubbed "The Long, Hot Summer."

There was a lot of disillusionment in the summer of '67. At times, there didn't seem to be that much love — even of the manufactured variety.

I was in elementary school at the time, and I was blissfully unaware of the subtle nuances of the words that were used by the adults, but I do remember how the counterculture was generally portrayed in popular media. "Hippie" was a synonym for dirty, in both the sanitary sense and as an allusion to the counterculture's negative influence on social standards.

There was a popular notion, for example, that young men who wore their hair long were unclean, that they didn't bathe regularly — that they might be homosexual.

I grew up on a college campus; my father was a religion and philosophy professor. And I knew, from my observations of his students, that the popular stereotypes were wrong — or, at least, that they did not apply to everyone.

The students I saw might have had long hair, but it was clean, and so were their clothes. And most, if not all, seemed to enjoy the company of girls.

Many of my father's students were genuinely concerned about the injustices and inequities of their time, and, in their searches for their own identities and the roles they were to play in this new and frequently frightening world, they often chose to show their solidarity with their alienated brothers and sisters through their language, their hair and their clothes.

And their music.

In January of 1967, I guess, the idea of a "Summer of Love" was born at an event called the Human Be–In in San Francisco. It was, perhaps, an inevitable reflection of the perfect storm of protest that existed at the time — the growing opposition to the war in Vietnam merging with the social movements for racial and sexual advancement.

At this so–called "gathering of the tribes," the music of the emerging "psychedelic" movement was provided by several area bands, among them a group called Jefferson Airplane.

Jefferson Airplane was a pioneer of the psychedelic (or acid rock) genre, along with groups like the Grateful Dead, the Doors, Cream, the Moody Blues and others. The band had formed a couple of years earlier, but most people outside San Francisco probably never heard of Jefferson Airplane before 1967. That changed, and the Be–In almost certainly played a role in the enhanced exposure.

So, too, did the album Jefferson Airplane released in February — "Surrealistic Pillow" — which featured the two songs for which Jefferson Airplane still is best known — "Somebody to Love" and "White Rabbit."

Both songs were written by Grace Slick when she was with a different group, and they were packaged in the first Airplane album on which Slick performed.

When Rolling Stone released its list of the Top 500 songs of all time, those were the only Jefferson Airplane songs on the list — and both were featured prominently in the pre–Summer of Love press.

In fact, I would even go so far as to say that, with the possible exception of Scott McKenzie's "San Francisco," no other popular song summed up the mood of the young of that time quite as well as either of those Jefferson Airplane tunes.

There was an odd kind of dynamic involved in having those songs on the same album.

"Somebody to Love" was the group's greatest commercial success, and its title had an obvious link to the theme of the Summer of Love.

Both songs featured Slick's powerful vocals. "Somebody to Love" was probably the more conventional of the two, but "White Rabbit," with its allusions to psychedelic drugs, did the better job of capturing the spirit of the times.

Every era has its anthems that express the essence of that era, and "White Rabbit" was such a song for that time — but it went even farther. It had a life and a personality all its own, and it still exerts its influence nearly half a century later.

Styles have changed dramatically since the 1960s. But people still want somebody to love, and some people (the more adventurous ones) still chase rabbits.

"Surrealistic Pillow" reaches out across the decades, conjuring images of a unique and long–ago time and its people.