You're Probably Wondering Why I'm Here Dept.

 

HOW MUCH DO WE MISS THIS GUY?

See comments to Hodgers & Rammstein piece ...

Nothing Guilty About These Pleasures Dept. - Rodgers n' Hammerstein

Dames, yesterday. There ain't nuthin' like them.

The term "guilty pleasure" is usually invoked when that pleasure doesn't coincide with accepted norms of hipness. A guilty pleasure tactically reveals your sentimental side, adding warmth and likability to your persona. Musical pleasure (and that's what we're talking about - restrict your confessions to this area please as th' IoF© is monitored by various government agencies for your own security) is just that; we add the guilt or hipness as a cultural complication. Pleasure is mostly instinctive, untutored, and we like what we like. And I like this.

Your mom, yesterday, with your real father

Rodgers & Hammerstein famously met at a yard sale in Poughkeepsie, where they wrassled goodnaturedly over an unused electrical spat whitener in its original box. They were soon writing the most successful stage and motion picture musicals of all time, and that success carried over into album sales. South Pacific was not only the first stereo long-playing LP, years before domestic players were available, but in the album charts for thirty-one years [can this be right? - Ed.]. It was estimated that every household in the Western hemisphere owned at least two copies, one kept for display purposes draped in a lei [mystic straight line connecting holy sites in UK - Ed.]. You might have been conceived at a South Pacific-themed party, or more likely in a stage door alley during the record-breaking theatrical run of Oklahoma, but that's not something you want to think deeply about. Enough facts.

Horse's ass just out of shot

These are tunes. Songs that seem like old friends welcoming you home. Sentimental without being camp. Smart lyrics, lush arrangements that never sink into easy listening cheese. Superior in every way to opera, which were just shows for the rich to talk through. The true Golden Age of the musical, art for the masses, before the form fell to the brittle cleverness of Stephen Sondheim, who couldn't find a tune if it was up his ass on a fork, or the Happy Meal leftovers of Andrew Lloyd-Webber, who was smart enough to use tunes written for him by a bunch of dead guys.

'Fess up in the comments. It's not like anyone cares.

This post funded in part by Sven Olaf Smörgasbörd MD, author of "How To Not Visualise Your Parents In The Act Of Conceiving You"

Randy Randomguy Desires Device Intimacy With YOU! Dept.

Vintage legacy Foam-O-Graph© - author's own collection

Older readers [running joke - Ed.] may remember, in brief flashes of heartbreaking lucidity, iconic IoF© icon Randy Randomguy's Randomness features, wherein he solicits your top five random shuffle play picks! Well, in the absence of a New Dylan to talk about, here he is again! How to play? Simply set your playback device of choice to shuffle and list the first five tunes it picks! Oboy! Swell fun, huh, gang!

WARNING: random choice reveals inner personality conflicts, search history, meds usage. Participation authorises contact from third parties to whom your data has been sold.

Sitarswami Dept. - Fairytale 50th Anniversary

Artwork by Sitarswami

Has it really been fifty years? [MUSES SITARSWAMI, WHAT WROTE THIS SCREED - ED.] The 30 June 1973 issue of Melody Maker sits in front of me now. In its page one story, “Broken Wheel,” departing Stealers Wheel mainman Gerry Rafferty deflected the inevitable “What’s next?” with an old Scottish oath before acknowledging a long gestating project he and a few old chums had planned but subsequently abandoned. Asked if an album might one day see release he replied with a wink and a nod, “Write a few songs, things happen. Might call it Fairytale on Baker Street.” Baker Street, he explained, was the location of the flat where he was crashing temporarily.

Rumors surrounding Fairytale, and its personnel, pre-date the Melody Maker interview. Over the years any presumed conspirators, alive or dead, have declined comment or denied culpability – which makes Mr. Rafferty’s lone allusion noteworthy. Although, record buyers of a certain age may remember singing along with his first single’s chorus “Strange things for sale from our fairytale.”

If an album had been released, if the songs had been written or recorded, we’d surely have that 50^th anniversary Steven Wilson remixed & remastered 5.1 edition in our hands right now. And, as much as I enjoy blogs who create “Albums that should exist,” they do so with recordings that do already exist. Unfortunately, all we have of Fairytale are blank master tapes holding enough material to fill one blank cd (two, actually – see footnote below) and the promise of things which didn’t come to pass. But, five decades on, Fairytale’s sweetly unsung harmonies continue to swirl like half-forgotten melodies through the leaves of UK music journals. 

The Fairytale myth may have originated late one March night in 1970, in a pub somewhere near Stoke-on-Trent, British Isles. Two members of Liverpool Scene, Andy Roberts and Adrian Henri, crossed paths with Sandy Denny and a pair of Humblebums, Billy Connolly and Gerry Rafferty. The ‘ot & ‘eavy ‘Umbles were on a small tour opening for Fotheringay and Sandy, holding court and a near-empty pint glass, stood unsteadily to address the assemblage. Teetering off-balance, she bumped Connolly whose beer spilled onto Henri who knocked over the table upsetting everyone’s ale and porter. Dancing and sparring like an old couple in a well-rehearsed pantomime, the entertainer and the poet nimbly exchanged verbal blows. Once the bickering and the next round’s heady froth had settled, they adjourned to a far corner to debate the merits of an unpublished text tentatively titled “Rawlinson’s End.” Meanwhile, Sandy, Andy and Rafferty engaged in an addled assessment of the music scene. 

The trio lamented the failure of Blind Faith to keep it together. Their biggest mistake had been enlisting two of its members from a band which had already collapsed under its own weight. Crosby, Stills & Nash had 1) wisely avoided that issue, and 2) added gravitas by relying on their surnames and not a fanciful sobriquet. What had begun as a whimsical drinking game turned sober: prospective members of a pedigreed supergroup were proposed and summarily rejected: Dave Cousins, Donovan, Nicky Hopkins, Neil Innes, George Harrison, Georgie Fame, Alan Price, and dozens more. In the wee hours of morning, with daylight increasingly and inebriatingly approaching, it dawned on all that three-quarters of the answer lay right in front of them: Denny, Rafferty & Roberts & ??? 

After a moment’s quiet reflection in the bottom of her glass, Denny demurred, unable to desert her new boyfriend (and future husband, Trevor Lucas, curiously absent from this narrative) prior to finishing their album. In her stead she nominated an old bandmate, Ian Matthews McDonald. Andy assumed, incorrectly, that Sandy’s Ian was the similarly named ex-King Crimson multi-instrumentalist whom he had befriended the previous July (ed. note: Two weeks after their well-received Hyde Park appearance the Crimsos had opened for the Scene). Rafferty, deep in his cups, murmured “softly, softly” and fell asleep. Closing time found Andy and Sandy musing upon Rafferty’s cryptic mumbling. Stumbling out the door they ran into Conway, Donaldson & Donahue, Fotheringay’s rhythm section & and lead guitar. CD&D were in a celebratory mood and related tall tales of signed contracts providing studio support for folk-blues provocateur Mick Softley, who had a new three-album deal with CBS. The design behind Rafferty’s Delphic muttering crystallized: Softley, indeed.

Who knows where the time goes, and the night’s drunken ramblings, quickly forgotten by those involved, became the stuff of legend. Andy Roberts joined the Bonzo Dog Band in time to record Let’s Make Up & Be Friendly and from there it was a short jump to Grimms and solo albums. Ian Matthews (McDonald) formed Matthews’ Southern Comfort until carrying on with Andy in Plainsong. Gerry Rafferty hooked up with his ex-Fifth Column partner, Joe Egan, renaming themselves Stealers Wheel. As for the elder statesman, who later disappeared in mysterious circumstances while riding his bicycle, I defer to Record Collector who chronicled “Mick Softley … enigmatic hipster … beardedly optimistic … erratic and be-spectacled.” Sadly, while rehearsing their new group, ex-King Crimsonite Ian McDonald and his musical partner Mick Jones (former gov’nor of the great State of Micky & Tommy) were captured on tape inhaling a Gramm of hard rock. Their arrest and resulting trial, on television’s Christgau’s Court, was well publicized with the musicians sentenced to commercial success, exiled to a foreign land. I Ching and tarot card readings prophesied Sandy Denny’s transcendence of time and space following a one-night stand with Led Zeppelin.

By the summer of ‘73, unbeknownst to the principals, the machinery behind popular song had primed Matthews, Softley, Roberts & Rafferty for overexposure. But nothing happened, or did it? Facts prove elusive, if not completely fabricated, and memories are scattered like lost guitar picks. Supergroup theorists, with unlimited access to hidden clues, bake their bread and follow the crumbs.

One agitated listener, writing to Kerrang!, claims to have deciphered a backwards snippet of dialogue imbedded into the fadeout of Sabbath, Bloody Sabbath’s “Spiral Architect.” Reversed, the fragment reveals not a devil’s minion, but a blonde seven-year-old girl reciting: “When I used to read fairy tales (italics ours), I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one.” 

In The Wire’s “Invisible Jukebox” column, an avid 8-track collector has asserted that his recently acquired boot-sale Fleetwood Mac Mystery to Me quadrophonic tape sounds suspiciously like the fabled Fairytale. Members of an internet music group who have heard the up&downloaded file only confirm an abundance of highly compressed hiss. 

Then, shockingly, in its February 2023 issue, Mojo printed a blurry image of a long-haired foursome clad in beards and blue jeans smoking a joint offstage during Terry Reid’s 27 August 1970 Isle of Wight set. The photo’s caption, intended for an upcoming Michael Lindsay-Hogg exposé, read: “John, Paul, George & Ringo – is the fairytale over?” (Sharp-eyed readers quickly identified the four as Andy Roberts’ Everyone, third billed on that day’s schedule). Citing an editorial mix up, several Mojo staff members nevertheless faced dismissal when an enraged Mrs. Lennon threatened legal action. In response, the magazine hastily prepared a Mojo Presents Histrionic Yelping: Ono A Tribute to Yoko collector’s fanzine and flexi-single. Since the photo’s publication, Mojo’s letters-to-the-editor column has reported an uptick in septuagenarian festival goers’ eyewitness accounts of Mr. Reid refusing the proffered lead vocalist role in both The Beatles and on Fairytale. Possibly unrelated, the producers of the UK’s #1 rated television program, The Great British Half-Baked Lyricist Show have announced a new episode featuring Keith Reid vs. Peter Sinfield. 

But what of those promising early sides the boys cut leading up to that magical year, 1973? History owes a debt of gratitude to an unnamed crate-digger at the Shoreditch Underground record fair who, while surreptitiously fondling a VG++ import gatefold album jacket (with Obi strip attached), dislodged a small slip of silk paper. Discreetly covering the fallen scrap with his sandaled toe, he was able to recover it unnoticed when the dealer’s attention focused on two young women contemplating a US mono pressing of Songs of Leonard Cohen [artist's impression at left - Ed.]. The paper contained only a typed www. Address/link, and a scribbled handwritten note: “フェアリーテールの序章” Loosely translated as “Preface to Fairytale,” pop musicologists hypothesize the contents to be the individual members’ long unheard single and album tracks, misplaced for decades, compiled and presumably intended as a bonus material mp3 download link which would accompany the planned 47^th anniversary Japanese limited-edition vinyl pressing of Fairytale.  

Presented now for your benefit:

Preface to Fairytale

The Early Works of Matthews, Softley, Roberts & Rafferty (selected recordings, 1965 – 1972), featuring The Fifth Column, Mick Softley, The Scaffold, The Pyramid, Liverpool Scene, Fairport Convention, The Humblebums, Soft Cloud, Ian/Iain Matthews, Andy Roberts, Gerry Rafferty, Matthews Southern Comfort, Plainsong, and Stealers Wheel.

The first one hundred commenters will also receive Peripheral to Fairytale – bonus tracks by The Humblebums, Fotheringay, McDonald & Giles, and Mark-Almond.

(1) Fairytale – the 50^th Anniversary Edition: (link removed due to copyright violation)

-- disc 1 would include a newly remastered version of the original 1973 George Martin-produced record, plus outtakes, alternate takes, demos, and a lengthy unlistenable studio jam.

-- disc 2 should contain the 2023 Steven Wilson 5.1 remix; a previously unavailable pre-lp 45 b-side co-written by Nick Drake & Syd Barrett and produced by Joe Boyd; the abortive Todd Rundgren-produced reunion sessions; and other stuff no one will hear ‘cause no one owns a 5.1 player.

(2) – Third on the bill, on his first and only tour, was Nick Drake. One of Fotheringay’s roadies, in a vitriolic 2001 interview, recalled that after each show Mr. Drake would lock himself in his hotel room and re-enact the scene drawn on the Robert Johnson King of the Delta Blues Singers, vol. 2 album jacket. “We was all listenin’ to it all the time. Every night he’d be hunched over a mike stand playin’ some 12-bar shit. And (his producer Joe) Boyd’d be in the loo mannin’ the portable (tape recorder).” In his/their second memoir, Ride A White Bicycle, co-authored with fellow ex-patriot producer Tony Visconti, the erudite Mr. Boyd dismissed the bitter anecdote as “balderdash, pure poppycock.”

(3) – Available in one of four colors (lavender, mint, tangerine, or black & white ) the vinyl was only a part of the massive, unrealized (47^th Anniversary) 2020 Immersion boxset. 

(4) – Although a musical nonparticipant, Jon Mark was a conscripted stand-in for an unaccountably absent Mick during the Hipgnosis cover photo shoot.

(5) – On the Steve Hoffman Music Forum, a “one of a kind” multi-color splatter vinyl copy was briefly offered for sale in a classified ad placed by the estate of a European record pressing plant employee. 

TL-DR Dept. - "Why Dead Heads Are Full Of Shit"

Dead Heads™, yestiddy

Today, Dead Heads™ fall into three basic species, as shown above [above - Ed.]. From left, the Old Hippie, Mr. Hip Businessman, and Tucker Carlson. The Old Hippie lives in a Malibu beach house which boasts a climate-controlled Dead Vault containing digitised copies of every known live recording. Mr. Hip Businessman lives in an Alpine chalet designed by Le Corbusier and keeps his extensive collection of Dead memorabilia in a Swiss bank. Tucker Carlson? Yup. He's a Dead Head™, can list his top five live versions of Althea. The Dead's broad church includes an army of shitferbrains gun-humping nutbars. Good people on both sides, right? Uh ...

They all share a belief in the core Dead Head scriptures, and the First Commandment is, Thou Hast To Have Been There. That many of them weren't, or were barely on the periphery, doesn't matter. The second, and the one that concerns us today, is Yea, The Studio Albums Kinda Suck. They're for us Walmart shoppers out here. Why? Because they don't capture their live magic, and hey! - the band hated being in the studio! And yadda yadda. It's achieved critical opinion mass - the studio albums (except for the two obvious exceptions that even twenty-somethings might have heard of) are regularly dismissed by *cough* "rock critics" and there's always some internet pencil-neck regurgitating the same old crap, etching it deeper into the public psyche as a "rock fact". They can't mention a studio album with shoe-horning in the old trope [you said trope huhuhrr - Ed.] about it not being as good as the live experience. These people are full of shit, and I'm here to tell you why.

Of course the Dead were a live band first - they lived for the stage, not the studio. That doesn't mean the albums are garbage, or even sub par. They didn't approach recording cynically or lazily, they gave it their considerable best. The studio was where they had to stop fucking about, and for a band whose holy mission was to fuck about, it was a stretch. But it was where they created their core repertoire, flexed their experimental muscle, and did their best singing - although they're never going to be thought of as a vocals band, they could sing a whole lot better than the impression given by their live performances. Nope, endless takes and retakes in a windowless room with just mics and chairs and headachy lighting was as close to back-breaking labor as these guys got, but when they finished their assignment they got to go outside and play, like good boys. And the albums reached a global audience that spread even further than their tour itineraries. The majority of Grateful Dead fans - us Walmart shoppers - never saw them in concert, and became fans through the studio recordings. To dismiss them en masse [Fr. - en bloc - Ed.] because it's not the live experience is just dumb. And lazy. And dumb. But mostly dumb.

Swell album. Bite me.

The studio albums are disconcertingly varied, reflecting the wide individual skills and tastes of the band. From the avant garde (avant everyone) cut-ups of Aoxomoxoa through the radio-friendly Go To Heaven, they're all way better than the Dead Heads™want you to know, because they believe they own the idea of the Grateful Dead. They're theirs, unnerstan'? And the fact that the Dead mostly are dead these days and therefore unavailable for concert performance doesn't seem to register. The Dead's live recordings can be fantastic, but let's face it, Dead Heads™, you're just squaring those Dave's Picks up on your custom-built Deadshelf, occasionally sampling a disc through iPods with a bag of Werthers on the couch and trying to get the rug in focus. That ain't exactly the live experience, pally - it's a near death experience. Nobody sane has the time or willpower to sit through even one multi-disc box set, leave alone dozens. The container ship volume of live recordings is too daunting for just plain folks to approach, and every year we get another essential set from the golden year of whenever to file alongside all the others. Enough awready! This is not healthy!

Not seen in studio

No one studio album defines Grateful Deadness in the public mind, acts as their Dark Side Of The Moon, or Kind Of Blue. American Beauty probably gets close, but it's a unique snapshot of them at that time, like all the others, and as soon as you say American Beauty somebody leaps down your throat with Workingman's Dead. There's no consensus as to their "best" album. There's always a shift, sometimes sideways, sometimes back, from one album to the next. A blurred zig and zag rather than a consumer-friendly straight line. So the overall narrative of the studio albums is hard to follow, because it ain't there - the chronology is irrelevant. Look at it this way - none of their albums is transitional, you can start anywhere. They never made a classic iconic rock album in the sense that, say, Led Zeppelin or The Eagles did because they were never really a "rock band" at all, in spite of appearances. A good friend of mine (hi, Stuart!) could never get over his disappointment with the music after the hard rock promise of those great psychedelic covers. He's not alone in expecting something the Dead never delivered, and unless you can take them (and the albums) on their own terms rather than yours, you'll be scratching your noggin at all those bozos on the bus letting the air out of their shoes. That's groovy, too. It's your trip, man.

Given that there is no majority-voted and definitively representative studio album, any interested music fan (as opposed to Dead Head™) has to discover their own gateway disc that will suddenly click for them. From The Mars Hotel has always been Top Five Dead for me. From the gorgeous two-for-the-price-of-one cover [above - Ed.] to the filler-free thirty-eight minutes or so of swell tunes, it delivers on every level. What other band could have made this album? None. None other band. It not only sounds like none other band, it doesn't sound much like any other Grateful Dead album. Like all the others don't. Let's take a detailed look at each track to see how the whole thing comes together! [let's not - Ed.]

Note how Ugly Rumors appear mirrored and upside down in the great tradition of oh wow man, and is a play on the "ugly roomers" at the Mars Hotel depicted on the back cover. It's this kind of attention to detail that [remaining text lost in freak internet storm - Ed.]

ADDEADUM

A small discussion in the comments about the cover to Go To Heaven cover prompted me to get my crayons out and come up with an alternative:

This post homologated by AAAAAAAAAA(AAAAAA) - Affiliated American Amalgamated Accurate Album Awareness, Assessment And Appreciation Association (Anaheim And Azusa, And Also Albuquerque) 

Frank Zappa Invites You Into His Lovely Home! Dept.

And what could provide more delightful aural accompaniment to your visit than this scented nosegay of Mr. Zappa's most listener-friendly interludes! (that ain't a question).

Yes, dear friends, this, the latest in the critically lauded Thirty Minutes series what's taking the internet by storm, is probably all you need to have in the way of Zappa music if you don't much like his work. It's all instrumental, melodic, and offers nothing traumatising, challenging, or *cough* sexually problematic. Certified safe for work environments, family car trips, and Anaheim, Azusa & Cucamonga Sewing Circle, Book Review & Timing Association picnics!

You'll thrill to new sounds and old melodies, subtly interwoven in this sparkling aural tapestry o' delights!

This post sponsored by Hazy Dave's Shave-n'-Save, "Pismo Beach's Only Bargain Barber! We cut prices and hair!"

Neil Young Prepping "Landfill" Archival Set - To Include Lost Christmas Album!

Neil joins in the fun, yestiddy! Your genial host tenses dynamically, left. Note classical-style decor. ©Foam-O-Graph

Neil Young fans are tumescent with excitement at news of mammoth "Landfill" archival release dropping late summer! On worldwide promotional tour, Mr. Young was kind enough to grant exclusive interview, mooring kelp-powered Lincoln Continental at IoF© dock !

"Ol' Shakey" and your genial host relaxed poolside as Kreemé [18 my ass - Ed.] served her signature Vegemite™ n' fish head smoothies.

FT3 Th' Youngster! Hey now! Lookin' good! [whispered, to camera] For a homeless bum, I guess. Ye-euch.

NY Holy crap lookit th' ass on that gal!

FT3 Ri-ight ... so tell us about the Landfill project!

NY [laughs] It rocks out! There's eight hundred hours of material that basically David Briggs didn't want released. What an asshole! He really held me back!

FT3 So it's all unreleased?

NY Yeah! Well, most of it, except the stuff which has been released before. Which is most of it. But it's all been remixed and remastered for Pono! It rocks out, man! There's some awesome live material I did with with my gardener, Pancho, at RutabagaAid™. It rocks out!

FT3 And we'll be hearing the mythical Christmas Album at last?

NY It rocks out! There's like, a forty-five minute live feedback version of The Man With All The Toys where I just leave Old Black on stage while I distribute gifts to a bunch of orphans they bussed in. And there's an a cappella [Italian, outside - Ed.] version of Little Saint Nick, just me and Peggy, and you can hear her crying, it'll break your fuckin' heart it's so beautiful. That's gonna be the single. 

FT3 Well, I have to go wait in the lobby, Neil, so thanks for dropping by! Uh ... rock out, man!

This post funded in part by Anus-Eze©, the multi-purpose hemorrhoid spray and room freshener.

Oh My Gawd This Is Just So Freaking Cool Dept.

Originally a Japan-only release, this hard-to-find-even-on-the-internet recording from '70 is one of the nicest discoveries I've made this year. Vitous is accompanied by Joe Zawinul (yay!) and Billy Cobham (double yay!!), with an almost imperceptible (so no yay!) John McLaughlin passing through on one track. Apart from this wasted opportunity, we have a gorgeous, cool, meditative suite that avoids both free jazz atonality and jazz standard cheese (triple yay!!!). If you, like, dig this kinda Davis [Miles - Ed.] kinda Weather Report sound, you'll tap yer sandal to this one. Mucho bowed bass, to which I yam attractivated, and Billy working his way round the kit like only he can. Oh, and a fantastic cover. Perfectamundo!

This post sponsored by Jazz Cheze For Jesus, a non-profit organisation. My thanks to Mibsy Finklegarten!

Thirty Minutes Down The Rabbit Hole Dept.

For those of th' Four Or Five Guys© what downloaded the previous two curations in the series, this is exactly like more of the same only different. The same state-of-the-industry standards and best global practices alchemically combine to deliver excellence in deliverables  - the very best in our style of audial entertainment! You'll enjoy spotting familiar landmarks on this journey into the id, and yet there'll be surprises aplenty for the most experienced psychonaut!

As before, we strongly recommend ingesting catering-quantity hallucinogens - then you can wander off down the rabbit hole and not bother with listening to this. But should you get it together, headphones, eyes closed, and an undisturbed half hour to your bad self will be thirty minutes well spent!

Got Wood? Dept. - Woody Herman

Best result from the dullest photo research I ever did

Sax looks cool. You can curl your body around it, tuck it in, all those brassy curves and big mouth, from a sigh to a scream, breath from the belly. Playing the clarinet looks dumb. Standing up there, sucking a stick. Point it up, point it over there; point that damn thing where you want, it's never a good look. Artie Shaw came close, what with his B-list matinée idol looks. But Woody Herman looked like a car salesman flapping his lapels at a Catskills wedding. Nobody's idea of a leading man, or even a clarinet player, Woodrow gave up the battle against male pattern baldness as a teen and made do with what he had, which was enough talent to refloat the Titanic. Great bandleaders are pretty rare. Plenty of good ones, or good-enough ones. To be great, you have to be as good as the best in the band, both a team player and the boss. Woody saw the legends pass through his band over the decades, but the vision - that Thundering Herd of musicians whipping up a storm - was always his.

One to please the jazzbeaux diaspora today - The Complete Capitol Recordings, a rare limited edition set on Mosaic, lo-ong out of print, and the innerezding Thundering Herd from '74 where he covers, among other gems, America Drinks And Goes Home. A little nostalgia for the old folks.

Deliverables initially in flac - no, really - with sensible 192s added later. Scans included.