Antecedently, ambient music has been buzzkill at Th' House O'Foam©, getting pageviews in the minus numbers, which shouldn't theoretically be possible. But that's what you're getting today, except it ain't really ambient. That's the closest I can get as a label. It's thoughtful, calm, harmonious, wordless music. Sometimes a little ethereal, spooky. British dude David Firth is, apparently, as much filmmaker as musician, and there's that soundtrack feel to many of these fifteen tracks he recorded as Locust Toybox.
I wouldn't call Drownscapes pure ambient because there's too much going on for it to be relegated to aural wallpaper. There's enough development and dynamics to repay quiet attention - each "song" has its own mood and - *ulp* - narrative. Some of it is indescribably lovely - if I had any acid this would make brilliant rabbit-hole accompaniment.
Caution: air guitar inappropriate.
Notorious for performing in a skin-tight pink satin jump-suit, Bill Evans led the house band at Th' Boho Au-Go-Go here in Vegas during the early sixties. His outrageous act was eventually responsible for getting the club closed - many years later it became Th' House O' Foam, an executive massage and wellness facility which in turn became the headquarters of False Memory Foam© so familiar from the iconic image used as our masthead. There's a swell photo of him in the lobby, writhing on his signature neon-lit plexiglass piano. How quickly we forget!
Today, Bill is only remembered for his jazz albums ("I made them for the money," he says. "I'm not proud of that but I had a crack habit like you wouldn't believe.") and among the best of them are today's Jazzbo Jamboree.
You Must Believe In Spring is a late offering from '77, when Evans worked the picturesque Dutch cruise boat lines. "Try the fuckin' herring, ya bums. I'm here til' Tuesday, an' If I ever see another fuckin' windmill I swear I'll puke."
Undercurrent, recorded as a duo with Jim Hall in '62, was produced by Alan Douglas, who also art directed the cover. There is no better album cover in the history of anything. No better album, really.
This makes for a swell Yuletide package to gift yourself! Simply pretend it's from someone else - perhaps the hot Latina at the nailtician, or Mamie Van Doren contacting you from the afterlife. Or if you're a dame, some dreamy guy, maybe Jerry Van Dyke or that barechested guy at the carwash with the do-rag and biker belt. Maybe not him. Point is, here's an opportunity to boost your self-esteem, which if it's like mine, is eminently boostable at this point in time, having been deflated by cruel circumstance and the whims of Dame Fate.
It's ninety - count 'em - tracks of the Doors on stage, real-time and prime. These are the performances that were milked for various releases over the years before being issued as the complete cow in a limited edition box upholstered in vealskin. A small phial of backstage body fluids, authenticated by Ray Manzarek, was included in the initial run.
This has been tagged from track one to track ninety, as one improbable disc, so if you're into the tangible permanence of the physical doodad, you're on your own.
A quick one while I'm away today at my parole board hearing. Damn ankle bracelet slipped off onto a passing train, and they say it's my fault? Excuse me? Anyway, first up is this surprisingly high quality recording of Spirit at Ash Grove in '67. I believe this is both sets. Even if yez gots awready, dis cover will be a improvemink to what yez gots in dat line. Ain't it swell?
Next is the original nine-track vinyl release of Spirit Live from '78, always one of my favorite finger-waggle "live" albums. Randy California sweetened the tapes with overdubs, creating a high-gloss studio album from an assemblage of raw live recordings from different venues, much like Zappa. The difference between this and the sonic mess of the "newly remastered" version recently released is astonishing. This is just so much better. Night and day.
First there was his rock n' roll period, then brief flings with Bakersfield country and pop-psych, then a decent run of more or less successful country rock albums from '70 to '74, peaking with the hit Garden Party, then a brief hiatus.
Could have been his personal life, or diminishing returns, but Intakes in '77 tried a different image in the hopes of a comeback, but it never happened. The album stiffed, and the follow-up, already recorded, was shelved. This version has the outtakes, plus also.
The Memphis Sessions have (has?) over the years limped out in various forms, but this is, I hope, the "compleat" version. A return to his rockabilly roots (the album was going to be called Rockabilly Renaissance), it was recorded by a shit-hot band in a funky little Memphis studio, and it's as great as you'd expect. Hard to say if it would have been the shot in the arm his career needed in '78, but I doubt it.
But the music stayed real. He always had a quietly genius band behind him, and his taste in songs never failed. The Al Kooper-produced Return To Vienna was never, as far as I know, officially released, but its slightly harder rock band edge is nicely judged. Its non-release, after the aborted Rockabilly Renaissance, must have come as a crushing blow. A split with his label, Epic, was inevitable.
He was struggling with the musical changes of the time, as were all
veteran performers, but he never quite got the image right. The skinny
ties, gold bomber jackets, and coiffed hair were hopelessly
dated and un-hip. But he found a home at Capitol for what was to be the last album issued in his lifetime.
See what I mean? In 1981, this was never going to fly. His Ricky fanbase remained loyal, but heartland rock fans, the Bruce Springsteen and Bob Seeger audience he needed to win over, were never going to be seen dead grabbing this from the racks. Dude needed a beard and a plaid shirt. And a smile wouldn't have hurt.
Their loss, Rick's loss, our loss. There's not a track on any of these albums that's not, in the man's quiet way, beautiful. We can ignore the crossover market forces so important at the time, we can forget about the wardrobe wreckage. The thing is, you only have to cue up the first track of any of these albums to get hooked. They play themselves. So many artists and albums I click out of a few songs in, but these ... I want to hear them all the way through. Often ignored or sidelined, they're as good as anything he cut. Late Rick is great Rick.
