“Like A Rolling Stone,” live (with Mike Bloomfield, guitar; Jerome Arnold, bass; Barry Goldberg, piano; Al Kooper, organ; Sam Lay, drums), Newport Folk Festival, July, 1965
“Maggie’s Farm,” live (with Mike Bloomfield, guitar; Jerome Arnold, bass; Barry Goldberg, piano; Al Kooper, organ; Sam Lay, drums), Newport Folk Festival, July, 1965
[T]he greatest rock is birthed from equal parts intelligence and stupidity.—Chris Bohn (The Wire, 2/10)
Jandek
“Real Wild,” live, Glasgow, 2004
*****
Live, Houston, 2009
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lagniappe
Much speculation has been made over the true identity of the mysterious singer/songwriter Jandek, and his equally obscure record label, Corwood Industries. For over 25 years, the artist released album after album of twisted, ghostly, and utterly unique songs that crooned a tale of despair.
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Jandek played his first ever concert on October 17th, 2004 in Glasgow, Scotland as part of the Instal Festival, accompanied by Richard Youngs on bass, and Alexander Neilson on drums. The name Jandek did not appear on any of the promotional material for the festival. Some members of the audience, in disbelief, recognized the man from his album covers and could not mistake the sound for any other. Word quickly spread that Jandek had indeed performed . . . —Raphi Gottesman
Tom Waits, “Make It Rain,” live (TV broadcast), 2004
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More on William Eggleston and Alex Chilton
Yesterday, while at the Art Institute, I stopped again at the William Eggleston exhibit (previously mentioned here and here), which runs through May 23rd. It includes not only the album cover I posted earlier (Big Star’s Radio City), but also this one. Eggleston, an accomplished piano player, once accompanied Chilton on a track—the Nat King Cole classic “Nature Boy,” which appears on Big Star’s Third/Sister Lovers (expanded reissue), produced by Jim Dickinson, as well as Keep an Eye on the Sky (2009 boxed set).
I threw a party, wore a very sharp suit. My wife had out all sorts of hors d’oeuvres, some ordered from long off—little briny peppery seafoods you wouldn’t have thought of as something to eat. We waited for the guests. Some of the food went bad. Hardly anybody came. It was the night of the lunar eclipse, I think. Underwood, the pianist, showed up and maybe twelve other people. Three I never invited were there. We’d planned on sixty-five.
I guess this was the signal we weren’t liked anymore in town.
If I didn’t have kids, would my ears be stuck, forever, on “repeat”?
Here’s something my younger son Luke, who just started college, played for me recently, after first pronouncing it, with quiet but absolute authority, the best thing this guy has done (already Luke’s learned that what’s important isn’t to be right; it’s to seem right).
Lupe Fiasco, “Hip Hop Saved My Life,” live, Los Angeles, 2008
*****
And here’s a track my older son Alex played for me a couple weeks ago, before heading back to school.
Dirty Projectors, “Stillness Is The Move”
*****
Koan for aging parents: What is the sound of a childless house?
How to be both solid and fluid, both fat and delicate. How to make the beat breathe. These are things that, as a child, Philly Joe Jones began to learn while dancing—tap-dancing. Just watch the way Thelonious Monk, listening to this solo, rocks back and forth (1:25-1:50), as if he’s about to break into a little dance himself.
Philly Joe Jones, live (with Thelonious Monk), 1959
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He breathed our history as/his walking beat . . . The Man/So Hip/A City/Took/His/Name.—Amiri Baraka (formerly LeRoi Jones, in Eulogies[1996])
The first time I stood before a judge at Chicago’s Criminal Courts Building at 26th and California—this was back in the ’70s (when I was working at Alligator Records)—it was to speak on behalf of this man, Hound Dog Taylor. The day before, during a drunken argument at his apartment, he’d shot his longtime guitarist Brewer Phillips (who survived). In his own way, Hound Dog was a pretty canny guy. When he told me about this incident over the phone, shortly after it happened, he put it this way: “Richard, they say I shot Phillip.”
(No, don’t touch that dial; these stills are way out of focus—which, for Hound Dog, seems just right.)
*****
Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers, live, Ann Arbor Blues Festival, 1973
Here one of the greatest American artists of the 20th century (composer Morton Feldman [1926-1980]) pays homage to another (painter Mark Rothko [1903-1970]).
Morton Feldman, “Rothko Chapel” (composed in 1971; first performed, at Houston’s Rothko Chapel, in 1972)
I first heard this guy back in the mid-1970s, after reading a review in the New York Times, by the late Robert Palmer, of his first album, The Gospel Saxophone of Vernard Johnson—and I’ve been listening to him ever since.
Vernard Johnson, saxophone
Live, Texas (Roanoke)
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reading table
Music . . . helped me to go deeper inside myself, to find new things there: the variety which I had vainly sought in life and in travel, yet the longing for which was stirred in me by the surge of sound whose sunlit wavelets came to break at my feet.
What a nasty one-two punch for Memphis: first Jim Dickinson, then—seven months later—Alex Chilton.
Alex Chilton, December 28, 1950-March 17, 2010
Big Star, “Thirteen” (1972)
*****
Big Star, “September Gurls” (1974)
*****
Alex Chilton, “Bangkok” (1978)
*****
The Replacements, “Alex Chilton” (1987)
*****
Alex Chilton, “There Will Never Be Another You” (1985?)
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lagniappe
Alex Chilton, the pop hitmaker, cult icon and Memphis rock iconoclast best known as a member of 1960s pop-soul act the Box Tops and the 1970s power-pop act Big Star, died Wednesday at a hospital in New Orleans.
The singer, songwriter and guitarist was 59.
“I’m crushed. We’re all just crushed,” said John Fry, owner of Memphis’ Ardent Studios and a longtime friend of Chilton’s. “This sudden death experience is never something that you’re prepared for. And yet it occurs.”
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The Memphis-born Chilton rose to prominence at age 16 when his gruff vocals powered the massive Box Tops hit “The Letter,” as well as “Cry Like a Baby” and “Neon Rainbow.”
After the Box Tops broke up in 1970, Chilton had a brief solo run in New York before returning to Memphis. He soon joined forces with a group of Anglo-pop-obsessed musicians — fellow songwriter/guitarist Chris Bell, bassist Andy Hummel and drummer Jody Stephens — to form Big Star.
The group became the flagship act for Ardent’s Stax-distributed label. Big Star’s 1972 debut album, #1 Record, met with critical acclaim but poor sales.
The group briefly disbanded, but reunited without Bell to record the album Radio City. Released in 1974, the second album suffered a similar fate, plagued by Stax’s distribution woes.
The group made one more album, Third/Sister Lovers, with just Chilton and Stephens — and it, too, was a minor masterpiece. Darker and more complex than the band’s previous pop-oriented material, it remained unreleased for several years.
In 2003, Rolling Stone magazine named all three Big Star albums to its list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.
“It’s a fork in the road that a lot of different bands stemmed from,” said Jeff Powell, a respected local producer who worked on some of Chilton’s records. “If you’re drawing a family tree of American music, they’re definitely a branch.”
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“When some people pass, you say it was the end of an era. In this case, it’s really true,” said Van Duren, a fellow Memphis musician who knew Chilton for decades. “It puts an end to the Big Star thing, and that’s a very sad thing.”—Jody Callahan, Bob Mehr, Memphis Commericial Appeal (3/17/10)
*****
A day after the death of Memphis music legend Alex Chilton, shock and sadness slowly gave way to fond remembrance by friends, fans and fellow musicians.
Over the course of a remarkably varied 40-plus-year career with the Box Tops, Big Star and as a solo artist, Chilton was a creative chameleon. A teen pop hitmaker, a reluctant cult hero, a champion of Southern roots music, a visionary producer, a punk-rock provocateur and a much underrated guitarist, Chilton had carved his place as one of the most singular figures — both as an artist and as a personality — that Memphis music has ever produced.
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The news of Chilton’s death sent shockwaves through the annual South by Southwest music conference in Austin, Texas. The massive industry gathering kicked off Wednesday night just as word of his passing began to spread.
Chilton had been scheduled to perform with Big Star on Saturday night, part of a headlining set at Antone’s nightclub, and the group was also set to be the subject of a historical panel earlier in the day.
After consulting with Chilton’s wife and festival organizers, surviving Big Star members Jody Stephens, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow confirmed that the panel and performance would go on as scheduled, effectively serving as memorials for Chilton.
“It felt like we had to pay tribute in some form,” said Auer. “In a strange way, it’s amazing that it happened around something like South by Southwest. So many people there are hyper-aware of Chilton and understand what he means musically, so it seems like the perfect place to do something like this.”
The Saturday night Big Star set is shaping up to be an all-star tribute. Though the lineup is still coming together, a variety of artists including X’s John Doe, R.E.M.’s Mike Mills, indie-folk singer M. Ward, the dB’s Chris Stamey, Green on Red veteran Chuck Prophet and Chilton’s longtime New Orleans collaborators Doug Garrison and René Coman are among those expected to appear.
For Coman, the sheer breadth of Chilton’s artistry and the scope of his career remain the true measure of the man. “Alex had such a long career, and all kinds of different stages to it.” said Coman. “The people that stay in it for a really long time and still enjoy it, it seems like they wind up finding different things to keep them interested as the years go by.