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Tammy Wynette: "She's Just Unrelenting" (painted up & powdered up and ready to go bad)
If you are a fan of country music...real country music...you most surely will be interested in this book about a true queen of the country music scene: Tammy Wynette: Tragic Country Queen.
I'm not a huge Tammy fan if for no other reason than that I am a causal listener...for now). That being said, I've never left the room or hit the skip button when her pipes are working their magic. I found this interview with the book's author, Jimmy McDonough, on NPR. Says, McDonough: "I have a theory that great artists learn how to do one thing great. And that's Tammy," McDonough says. "In terms of a slow, sad song, nobody could rip it up like Tammy. She is just unrelenting."
When she gets to the chorus, Wynette belts out the words with the force of an air-raid siren, yet barely bats an eyelash. There's zero body language—the drama's all in the voice. She doesn't act out the song or punch her fist in the air; in fact, she barely moves an inch. Tammy the statue. Until a Tinseltown choreographer teaches her some questionable dance steps in the mid-eighties, Wynette will remain frozen onstage. The anti-style of Tammy's wax-figure performances absolutely mystified Dolly Parton. "I could not believe that all of that voice and all that sound was comin' out of a person standin' totally still. I'd think, 'How is she doin' that?' It seems like you'd have to lean into your body or bow down into it or somethin' to get all of that out. I've never seen anything like it to this day. I was in awe of her. I thought she had one of the greatest voices of all time."
The KIngfish checks in with new nuggets from Mojo Music down in Australia
It is said that the only two things in life you can count on are death and taxes. Well, that may be true, but I have one more for you: killer blues recommendations from The Kingfish. That's right...the Kingfish is like the "Axis": he knows everything.
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land calling...
"Los angeles give me norfolk virginia,
Tidewater four ten o nine
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land callin'
And the poor boy's on the line"
"The Mathematics of a Good Album": Kip comes a calling from Oz with a guest post on Peter Parcek
The Peter Parcek 3 have just released a new album, The Mathematics Of Love, and it's an absolute top-shelf cracker. The paradoxical title announces the album's intentions immediately: a patchwork quilt of carefully measured pieces that ultimately creates a unique whole that is far greater than the sum of its impressive parts. The set is a beautifully integrated production with each musician sharing the honours and each playing a vital role. A classic, tight, three piece led by an out-and-out geetar maestro. The PP3 have sown their seed in fertile blues/roots territory but they also show a masterly touch at driving a toe-tapping, funk/jazz groove. The band's obvious infatuation with three-piece grooves provides a welcome relief from the radio-ready synthesizers and compressors often found in contemporary blues projects. The overall feel of the set is helped enormously by Parcek's clever choice of covers. From ballsy alt-country darlings, Lucinda Williams and Jessie Mae Hemphill, through blues thoroughbreds Peter Green, Harlan Howard, Cousin Joe Pleasant and Mississippi Fred McDowell, Parcek approaches each cover as if they were a semi-blank canvas. The resulting musical whole is often-times spellbinding; allowing you to luxuriate in the idiosyncrasies of these monolithic tunes. Unlike its bastard child Rock 'n' Roll, the Blues is filled with rules, but it has a logic that allows remarkable freedom within the well worn grid of notes and chord sequences. If, like Parcek, you submit and are in total control of your 'canvas' and are willing to go where the music takes you, old songs are just waiting to be had and new songs, for the gifted, are there to be written. And rest assured, the four originals here are well chosen, beautifully written and provide the rock solid foundations that this record is built upon. Parcek is an axeman who teenage boys should be dreaming of while doing their best SRV/Hendrix impersonations in bedrooms and garages across middle America. He taps those same well-worn resources but does so with taste and a healthy dollop of soulful grooves and jazz inflections. Indeed, the upright bass and drumming on Kokomo Me Baby and Rollin' With Zah is straight out of a late-night gig at The Blue Note. Or, a road-side rockabilly joint in Kentucky, for that matter. Parcek drops in some jaw-dropping technical wizardry, but he does it in a timely and measured way that avoids blatant wankery. Indeed, his mastery allows his guitars to achieve heights never reached by even the most accomplished speed freak heavy metal guitarists. But whether full throttle or in after-hours mode, Parcek makes it all immediately indelible. And his vocal – often a counterpunch – is just as warm and indelible as his incendiary rapid-fire fretwork. His cool voice has a range, versatility and timing that is essential in carrying this collection of tracks to their respective peaks. The gut-wrenching vocal by-play on the slow burning Tears Like Diamonds is positively gorgeous and one of the many vocal highlights. Every year or two, if you listen to enough music you finally get to hear something exceptional – but The Mathematics Of Love goes beyond that lofty designation. Whether it's the semi-angry lament that runs through the title track, the rollicking bar-room groove of Busted, or the ‘everything old is new again’ feel of Williams’ Get Right With God, Parcek’s evocations of urban grooves are always engaging and seriously entertaining. Do yourself a favour and get a copy of this gem. Trust me, you will not be disappointed. ----- Peter had an album launch party at the House of Blues in Boston last week. When I say it was a bow-down event...I mean it was a BOW-DOWN event. I will have lay down the full low-down another time; but, have a look at some video one of the guests shot of the Peter Parcek 3 in action. Peter and the guys played a one and a half hour set complete with five crowd inspired (demanded!) encores. Here is the link to check out vids that were crowd captured. http://www.youtube.com/user/spi534 (apologies for the crude link/no imbedded video. I am on a plane flying to Italy as I type this and I can't perform any web wizardry at this moment. Just the same, go check out the link...you'll be glad for it)
Sharing a link about "Cher" & "Link (Wray)": new, old vinyl has arrived...
"Now, the album is the thing": a look at the contents of the Super-Deluxe "Exile on Main St." Re-issue
I don't believe them though, dearest Keef. I am on the album's side...a true Champion, in fact. I love the album...so much so that I have reverted back to the black circle, where the album was born. You would be proud, Keef...I have a rule now. When I buy a new album I have to listen to it straight through, first song to last, at least ten times before I start cherry picking songs.
By dong this, I get the flavour of the set...the way the artist intended it. Plus, I get a better feel for each of the songs as they were sequenced...they were done so for a reason, right? Who's with me? Who will fight he good fight...?
Newcomers, now is your chance. Go out and buy one of Keef's children: The "Exile" re-issue. It doesn't have to be the super-deluxe package, it can just be the CD. The important part is that you get it and listen to it front to back. If you have virgin "Exile" ears, believe me and millions of others, you will be floored at the diversity and dynamism of this collection of sounds, riffs, honks and yelps.
This is an album in the truest sense of the word. It demands to be listed from start to finish in its entirety. You will thank us, the Album Champions, later for it.
Here are some snaps of the super-deluxe "Exile on Main St" re-issue package. It just showed up at my office. I am definitely sneaking out early to get home and devour this tonight...from start to finish.
- Posted from Camden Town, United Kingdom
Buddy Miles just figured out that the express way to my skull went through my office...
This may be the greatest album title of all time: "Expressway to Your Skull".The third pic is a close up of the liner notes from Jimi.
Lightening in a Bottle: One Fan's Story About Catching a Live Peter Parcek Gig
Hello, my name is Judd and I am a friend and fan of Peter’s. I have enjoyed his friendship and his music for close to twenty years. There was a period, when I lived in Boston and New Hampshire, that I would see Peter play at least once every couple of week…if not more. Those were the days.
I live in London, England now. I haven’t heard Peter play live since I left Boston back in 2002. I am crawling walls for some live Peter Parcek. Or at least I was until I heard his new album, "The Mathematics of Love”. As soon as I listened to the opening track, “Showbiz Blues”, I could tell that this album was going to bring me as close to those special live moments we shared…as a musician and fan do…way back when I was clapping and whistling for one more song so many, many times before. Peter and his band mates Steve and Marc, along with his producer Ted Drozdowski and everyone else who had a hand in this masterwork, should be extremely proud of this album. I could wax on with layers of superlatives and adjectives about it, but I think Peter describes it best: "My first album was called Evolution, but this album really is an evolution for me. It’s the most focused, emotionally complex and complete artistic statement I’ve made under my own name.Well said, well played and well done, Peter. I am not a musician. I am a fan. As a fan it is my role to inspire and support the musician to do what they do best…make the music. One way to do this is to attend the gigs. As I said, I have attended many of Peter’s live gigs. There was one in particular that has always rang true for me, and I’d like to share it with you… ---LIGHTENING IN A BOTTLE…I was already exhausted. I didn't play a lick, but I gave that three-plus hour performance everything I had. I cheered at all the right spots. I cajoled the band with standing-o's, foot stomps and fist pumps. I clapped for every searing solo and storming crescendo they played. When the time came for the customary call for the encore...I led the charge. As a fan...a true fan...a heart on his sleeve, lost in the moment, sign on the dotted-line-fan...this...this,...was my end of the bargain. Little did I know, I was about to get more than I bargained for…The band came back up onto the stage floor and the place up and erupted at the first sight of the geetar-man pulling his axe up over his shoulder. Could he actually have more juice left in the tips of those fingers?!? Could he...the band...have any more guts left to spill on the floor? Hell, yes.I was twenty-one, then. That was seventeen years ago. When I think about that exact moment, I still get the chicken skin. Moments like that are never lost. They get bottled up in a time capsule and with every year that passes, that memory, like the finest of reds, gets better with age. Don't get me wrong; my memory of that exact moment has not been diluted by time and hyperbole. What I felt then and what I feel now are as true as tomorrow's sunrise. I am a music fan. I am a fan not just because of the sounds...but, also, because of the stories behind it and the significance that a single note or extended solo can have. As a student of music lore, I have read of many of these stories and moments: Dylan "going electric", Hendrix's Woodstock Star Spangled salute or Keith and Crew closing out the '60's at the Speedway in Altamont. These are all moments that will live on for an eternity...and if you were there, you were lucky enough to catch lightning in a bottle. I have always wanted to be part of a "moment"...to catch my own lightning. Little did I know that my moment would come as close to home and as close to the bone as it did.Rock & Roll Booty Call: 'Dem ol' Pirates, Keith & Mick, dig up buried treasure from Exile on Main St.
Buried treasure usually stays buried for a reason. Someone, a pirate perhaps, buries the treasure so no one can get at it. A massive half-way to China hole is excavated in the Earth-crust. This hole is most often dug deep in a deep woods, or in the middle of an expansive wide open field void of markers. Intricate maps are created on parchment or in glyphs or codes to confuse poachers and crooks and jackpot seekers.
Treasures are usually buried for a reason. In a basement in the south of France, in a mystical castle called Villa Nellcote, a cache of treasure lay buried for nearly forty-years. This treasure is not the booty that you would expect. Once opened one finds a chest not full of rubies, gems and gold bouillons; rather it is filled with relics covered in grime and sweat, funk and mould, a little bit of country and a whole lotta rock and roll.
The treasure in question belongs to those old rock and roll pirates ("Ladies and Gentlemen…") The Rolling Stones. The graybeards of rock and roll are releasing their masterwork, Exile on Main St. and giving it the whiz-bang, full-assed, super-deluxe treatment. The question myself and many others punters with a keyboard across the interworld are asking is, “should we have dug up these old bones?”
Well of course the answer is yes. If you are a natural born Stones freak, you want access to this music (treasure). You want to hear the legendary, long-lost tracks (“Aladdin’s Story”) or hear the early versions of classic riff-monsters (“Good Time Women” cum “Tumblin’ Dice”). You want to hear the nuances in a Keef lick; can you trace back his sound today to way back then; has it matured?; does it still have its youthful kick?; is it knowing or is it naïve?; does he still kick ass? (Fuck yes)
I want to eat these tunes alive…feel a little blood spurt out when I bite in. I can’t get enough. But, there is a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. As reported and confirmed, some of these old ‘70’s tunes have been given the sonic twenty-ten brush-up. Despite Keef’s claims of “not screwing up the bible” and “not painting a smile on the goddamned Mona Lisa”…there is another mule kicking in this stall.
There are ten tracks that were unburied to celebrate this rerelease. The fun (or forced) part of listening to them is to play, Spot the New Mick Vocal Track. Fuck me. Why? Why did they have to do this? The magic and the mystery of ‘Exile’ was represented in those dirty and desperate times. The debauched displacement that was their predicament was embedded in the grooves of this double-disc, dirge and surge, mishmash masterpiece.
Let it Breathe. You don’t uncork a 40 year old scotch whiskey and try to add fresh barley. Let it Breathe, Mick…no matter how foul the smell.
Oh, Mick. You ego-fucking-tistical bastard, you. You never did like the mix of your vox on the first go ‘round. The word was that you were lost in the sound, no one could understand the lyrics and you there you were standing in the shadows, baby. No one had a problem with it…well, except for you. If you ever did have dirt underneath your fingernails, you cleaned your claws before anyone could see you’d been digging in the yard. They say that cleanliness is next to Godliness; mate, you shouldn’t aim so high.
Your very own soul brother, ol’ Mr. Rock & Roll himself, always had dirt under his nails…and made no attempt to clean up for the cameras. The Riff Sorcerer knew then and knows now not to mess with Mother Nature; Exile on Main St. is an organic thing of beauty, not an act of god.
Ok, there is still some soil on these songs. Not all of it has a glossy new coat of paint. All up, I haven’t heard each of them in their new release form (I have most all on bootlegs). The ones I have heard still have me tapping toes and flapping a chicken-wing even though they have some 2010 on them. For instance, take the single, “Plundered My Soul”.
New Mick vox on this. All of his phrasing, nuances and ticks sound like something off of “The Biggest Voodoo Steel Bridge”. Fine. As much as I would have liked the old vox track, I have to say, I think this is one of the best vocal performances Mick has delivered in the last twenty-years. I do. Why? If he didn’t…his past would have caught up with him.
The music track on “Plundered” still has the good grease on it. The sloggy, soggy, riffy-rhythm churns and chugs along in the background. It pulls the cart loaded up with horns and drums and bass behind it at a steady pace. What really makes this track work and makes the New Mick vox work is the original Old Dirty Bastard: Keef Riffhard.
In that sweet spot Stones recording period, “Let It Bleed” through “Exile”, Keith was in his finest vocal form. Now, that may not say a lot considering his cracked croak, but when it comes to singing the harmonies, Keef has no peers. Actually, I like to call it the anti-harmony. It is so fucking wrong that it makes things right.
He did it on the entire of side one of “Exile”. Back then he shadowed Mick and challenged him for alpha-dog on the vocal track. Not on “Plundered”, though. With Mick and Don Was (please, enough with Was) at the buttons and knobs, Mick sits high on top of the Keith anit-harmony. Ugh.
That’s OK…we know better. While the moms and dads and the know-nothings dote on Sir Mick, there is Keith: down by the boiler and shoveling coals into the engine...The Soot Master…Anti-…Dirty.
Keith is nitty, gritty and glorious and he is the owner of the soul and the guts of the legacy of rock and roll. As addled as people think he is, he is lucid and he is chock full of authenticity and integrity (just what these “Exile” outtakes should have been). He is The Man. Game over.
Something old, something new…it’s still the Stones. What all this tells me is that when Mick is spurred on by the good stuff, he delivers. Keith is rusty (he said so himself). Once Keith starts tinkering again, maybe he will reach back for some Nellcote magic and conjure some of that Exile sound. When the Glimmers are on, they deliver. I think the Stones have one more legend-work left in them. I hope all this digging around for their lost, buried treasures sets them on course for new worlds to conquer and crowds to please.
Good pirates always leave at least one last booty grab and land to plunder.
New bow-down material from Tom Petty & The Ass-Kickers: The line forms behind me for the new album...
This is shit-hot. Mike Campbell...meet your new Guitar Hero moniker. Someone put a fucking tiger in his tank.
