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Jaco Pastorius is the Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain of bass players, and I defy anyone to argue that point. He completely revolutionized the electric bass, without the slightest homage to history or tradition. At the age of 20, this set shows he was already far ahead of his time, as he perfected a creamy, supple sound that bassists worldwide still emulate.
Joe Zawinul hired Jaco to join jazz fusion pioneers Weather Report
in 1976 and the rest is history. Pastorius was the missing piece the WR
brain trust needed to become hit makers, and he became a deity to fans and musicians alike.
But, as with Hendrix and Cobain, Pastorius was slowly
unraveling inside due to bi-polar depression aggravated by his copious drinking. The final six years of his life were a nightmare as he went in and out of mental hospitals, homeless shelters and detox centers. His bizarre behavior and violent
outbursts ended two marriages, sacrificed his recording career and made him anathema to his fellow musicians. In the midst of a manic episode, he died a cruel and sickening death in 1987 at the hands of a bouncer outside a sleazy nightclub in South Florida.
After years of posthumous squabbling among his family, record labels and his former band mates, childhood friend Bob Bobbing pulled together this highly controversial two disc set. It shows in crisp, passionate detail the extraordinary human being that was Jaco Pastorius. From a home recording made in 1972 to his last sessions for the aborted Holiday For Pans project, Pastorius makes mockery of the word " genius". He was and still is far ahead of his time and his music is dripping with soul, heart, violence, sweetness and sadness. He was a beautiful, transcendent soul who, in Zawinul's
words " would have been and exceptional composer and player on any
instrument, he just happened to play the bass. " My only complaint is that
Bobbing chose the ubiquitous Birdland as a sample of WR's hit album
Heavy Weather, when A Remark You Made is the most achingly beautiful thing Jaco ever recorded.
Many of Pastorius' fans and former players are angry at Bobbing for inserting himself into the process of assembling this set, and have refused to acknowledge it. One is even suing to get Punk Jazz taken off the market. But Jaco's family has certified they are very pleased with Bobbing's work, and you can add me to that list. I play this regularly and often and it has a sacred place in an elite class of recordings that includes
Electric Ladyland, The Doors, Songs In
The Key Of Life, Abbey Road, Pet Sounds,
A Love Supreme and Nevermind. Jacophiles will also want Bobbing's lovingly produced set
Jaco: The Early Years which lacks the jaw drops of the much more refined Punk Jazz, but shows seminal genius accelerating into musical majesty. You should know that Pastorius' remorseless killer served a grand total of four months in jail for repeatedly smashing Jaco's
head into the pavement long after he was unconscious.
How's that for a "punk" legacy ?
A recent London newspaper poll listed Thin Lizzy as the most underrated band of the 70's. While I write off most polls as pointless mirror
gazing, this does prove how good this ill fated band was. Johnny The Fox had the misfortune to come out a year after
Jailbreak launched
the band's career into the stratosphere with the hits The Boys Are Back In Town and
Cowboy Song.
Fox, while it lacked a hot single,
actually perfected the rowdy but smart pub band rock these guys
specialized in. It's a glowing, angry , witty slice of urban
disillusionment set to some snappy blues driven rock. I played this on
vinyl before I re-bought it on CD and damned if it doesn't sound even
better than I remember it.
If you liked Lizzy, Johnny The Fox and
1979's Live And Dangerous are as good as Irish rock n' roll
got in the late 70's. Then came U2 and the rules changed overnight.
But Lizzy easily survives the sonic dating so many other period rock bands
fell victim to. Like Boston, Foreigner or .....
Finally, a decent career encompassing best-of set from The Boss. His early records desperately need remastering, and a few cuts from
them get it here. Simply put, you ought to own everything Springsteen has ever done, because he doesn't make bad records and he's the
single most important figure in rock n' roll in the past 30 years. I have it for the handful of unreleased cuts on here (including one that I, myself, have covered; the extremely rare
Hungry Heart b-side Held Up Without A Gun) I won't try to sell
"Brooooooce" to the few muttonheads who still don't get it
- but only a real dope would pass on the albums these songs came from, so
I guess that is who this set appeals to first.
Thanks to CBS for doing it right, and
capitalizing on the latest resurgence in the last rock hero's thriving,
reviving career. In this cultural wasteland of hookless, heinous rap,
pureed pablum from girl toys and bland country pop, I don't know what I'd
do without Springsteen's fad-free foundation of the real stuff.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is what rock is really all about.
- In Time-The Best Of R.E.M 1988-2003
The pride of Athens, Georgia has been in a slump since drummer
Bill Berry cheerfully retired in 1996. While Reveal was a nice return
to form, there's no question that Stipe and Co. need a new coat of paint. This remastered collection of addictive alt-pop nuggets is just
what their career needs.
While it's unlikely that R.E.M. will sell the butt
loads of discs they did in the early 90's, this is a band that retains
it's own quirky identity without jumping on the fads that have come and gone in the 20 plus years since the original Hibtone single of
Radio Free Europe. Berry recently confirmed that while he remains good friends with his old
band mates, he is gone for good
from the performing stage and recording studio. Pity that, but this collection should jump start their sagging commercial fortunes
by reminding the disposable "alternative" rock flavors of the week what "alternative" really means and how to do it so it sounds just
as good in a quarter century as it does now.
- Rolling Stones ABKCO Catalog
This second remastering of the Stones pre-1971 treasure chest isn't really a major improvement over the 1989 version.
When we
argue about 16 bit vs. 24 bit (a CD player can only read 16bit, no matter what the disc is written as) we're splitting
mouse hairs.
However, two things make this the most important catalog upgrade of 2003. First, the cheap packaging has been properly
restored
(as best a CD size package can do so) and a few discs that were left out the first time (December's Children in it's
original American version and the outtake compilation Metamorphosis) are now available.
Secondly, the upgrade is drawing
new attention from younger fans who are realizing how vital Between The Buttons,
Rolling Stones Now and Let It Bleed really are.
Now, here's where I throw my final
conniption fit of 2003: The shameless greed of the slowly sinking
record industry never ceases to amaze me. These records have been around
for at least 30 years. To sell a three decade old CD that is barely 30
minutes long for $18.99 ought to be classified as terrorism. Now that the
band can casually burn stacks of hundred dollar bills daily for the rest
of their lives, and record companies are rapidly becoming obsolete, the
short early albums should have been made into $15 two-fers, and those that didn't fit should be no more than
11 bucks.
That way, this classic music would fly off the shelves, and new fans would drive increased airplay and the sales of few more
concert seats
and t-shirts!
For those who think that ABB's Fillmore East recordings are the nearest thing
to blues nirvana (blues --- hell...nirvana period!) that there is, this
stunning release simply gilds the band's reputation.
Recorded a year and a half before those world class Fillmore sets, this is an equally
muscular band with a more freewheeling Duane Allman sending glassy eyed fans home with spinning heads
(and not just from the god-knows-what they'd popped down their gullets) with his ambitious licks and fearless stage presence.
(Oh, that we had a guitarist with his stainless steel cajones and his vicious tone on FM radio now.
Oy!)
Gregg's young voice is still
looking for it's niche' here, but it's a marvelously expressive instrument and
while he lacks his older sibling's confidence, he doesn't hide behind his B-3
as he would in later years. Dickie Betts is also stepping up to counter
Duane's six string mad scientist with his sweet, crisp Les Paul licks.
If there is or was a better guitar tandem in the 70's than Duane and Dickie, I'd like a press release
from their management, because I totally missed 'em. Further, if there is a rhythm section tighter and yet more kinetic
than Jaimoe, Butch Trucks and the late Berry Oakley, I'm not on that mailing list either. (All deliveries from Deadheads
will be returned to sender; The Allman Brothers road crew wasted more talent than
Garcia and Weir could even imagine.) |
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In 1969,
ABB was just a sprawling blues orchestra ( most blues bands then were trios or maybe quartets ;
Cream, Hendrix, Ten Years After, Rory Gallagher, Free, etc. ) Two fine studio records
had been all but ignored, and their reputation as a live act had not yet been established. Among the other acts on the bill
were
Johnny Winter, Jimi Hendrix, The Band, Blues Project,
It's A Beautiful Day and Quicksilver Messenger Service; all acts that had proven themselves either live or
in the studio or both. The ABB had done neither and their six man lineup and massive stage set were already perplexing the
zoned out, summer baked crowd of 100,000. Hippies, housewives, acidheads and entrepreneurs of various and sundry types
faded in and out of consciousness, but those cogent enough to pay attention for even a few minutes were treated to the
birth of the modern blues. This six man monstrosity ran as smoothly as a Porsche 911 even before the bugs were worked
out from the 120 dates they played in 1970. The result is a bracing set by a wonderfully fresh, stunningly bold blues
ensemble that has never had serious competition.
The Allman Brothers are still a force to be reckoned with, but in this
1969 show, they swallowed up the horizon with road hardened pure fatback blues softened by a quiet reverence for
Django Reinhardt and
John Coltrane and inflammed by Duane's incomparable slide guitar fury.
Duane is the star of this set, but no one is lagging behind. The years of both
unparalleled success and unspeakable sorrow that were to all but destroy ABB
were years away. The joy of this hungry young electric blues band demanding
attention would not be compromised. How this set has managed to stay under
wraps for 35 years is beyond me. Wow !
A patchwork of various recordings from Cream's BBC' appearances from 1966-68, interspersed with snippets of
Eric Clapton interviews. Nothing radical or earthshaking here, but who cares ? Maybe I'm mythologizing the times more than I ought to, but the mere ordinary from
that time seems monumental now, and Cream was anything but ordinary. The band was slowly sinking from the day it was born. Three
massive egos were all stretching the ensemble in various directions with superb results, most of the time. It's surprising Cream hung in there
for almost three years, with Clapton's often frumpy blues purism, Jack Bruce's psychedelic pop revisionism and
Ginger Baker's chronic
(but legitimate) bitching about the eardrum shredding volumes his band mates played at. (Drums were not miked on the concert stage
then. Baker thrashed his hands into bloody stumps trying to stay in the mix.)
It's a wonder these three huge talents were able to live in the same city, much
less the same band.
The band's initial single Wrapping Paper
was a bit homely, but here it seems charming in a homeless waif sort of way;
the band never liked it and it had zero chart impact. But now it's playful tune
and silly lyrics are a clever poke at the overly reverential blues approach
that they would soon be hailed for.
Cream never could decide what they were doing musically; this set reveals the extremes they were driven by and somehow it all works. For awhile. Bruce's
Swlabr (These initials stand for a stoner inspired title so dumb that I'm just not gonna bother) is a rambunctious and wah-wah driven slab of pop that Clapton hated. But damned if he doesn't make it sound like he's nuts about it. On the same disc are a fine versions of
Outside Woman Blues and Born Under A Bad Sign, both sturdy blues favorites that reveal where Clapton's musical heart was.
In the end, Cream was a fabulous idea that couldn't support it's own
weight for very long. Too much, too soon, I suppose. But that was the magic of the time, and the power of the synthesis this testy alliance had:
passion for any music, all music, cannot be doused by a mere difference of opinion when everyone sees the big picture. When that picture
fell to the floor and shattered in 1969, Cream had seared a reputation that would never be
equaled and has long been deified as a classic
"what if.." story.
I'll tell you " what if". Get BBC Sessions and fill in some gaps left by Cream's Atco catalog (and the fabulous
Those Were The Days box set). It shows the dynamism and artistic tension producing some of the best music, of any description, to come out of the
storied Sixties.
Not much to say here: major upgrade in sound quality to the album that turned folk music inside out and royally pissed
Pete Seeger off. I have the previous issue and it's always sounded like it was recorded inside a cardboard box. That doesn't diminish the significance of
Bob's legendary status, but it sure made for a frustrating listening experience. Upgrade yours (I've already weighed in about the absurd price tags big shot reissues cost. No one would blame you if you did burn a copy your cube mate's new
Bob) or, if you weren't around then, give this Zimmerman kid a chance. He's probably got a couple more decent albums in him.
- Deep Purple - Just Might Take Your Life
This third and final version of Purple's infamous 1974 California Jam performance marks the end of an era, not just for Purple, but for
grandiose rock festivals and for large scale rock star misadventures. This show has been released, first from the ABC-TV broadcast soundtrack which was awful, then from a monitor mix which was an improvement and now from the long lost 12 track
master tapes which are quite satisfying.
This is the crown jewel of that dubious event, and it shows the band's troubled
Mark III lineup at it's peak. Ritchie Blackmore almost refused to play the gig, even offering to forego the band's largest single payday, because he was unhappy with a one hour bump in the band's
show time. David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes were stepping on each other's vocals as they raced to squeeze some exposure and cash out of DP, so they could get on with their solo careers. DP was overstuffed with
ego, ambition, volume, energy and self gratification. There were too many cooks in the kitchen, as
B.B. King once said. But, the mid 70's were about to be tossed headlong into the interminably shallow and self absorbed disco years and DP's following was fading fast.
Two years later the band couldn't give records away and their legacy was wrecked by the woefully misguided hire of
Tommy Bolin to replace Blackmore. Bolin was a brilliant player with a mountain of personal problems and addictions. Mark III only had a few great shows in them; nights when the indulgences of it's various members somehow dovetailed into something coherent and powerful. This show was one of them; not without it's excesses and fuck-ups,
but still seething with industrial strength machismo and platform shoed
bombast.
Criticize DP all you like, but they knew exactly what
they were doing and at this moment in time, with Sabbath too stoned to
care and Zeppelin already descending into a lethargic parody, Purple had
no equal on the concert stage.
This Heads box set reissue does all the talking, if you will. An
unsatisfying previous attempt at a catch all box, Sand In The Vaseline has been deep-sixed for this expanded replacement.
I wasn't a raving fan of TH, and I'm no completist by any means, but
Life During Wartime Crosseyed And Painless, Psycho Killer and their bad assed cover of Al Green's
Take Me To The River have earned them a place
in music history by themselves.
What compromised them, in my humble opinion, was that their musical vision was too scattered. TH's final
album Naked was just plain junk and it was the result of the band's aimlessness. The fact that none of them has made much of an impact
outside TH (Genius Of Love? Are you shitting me???) is proof that, much like
The Who, the whole was far greater than the sum of it's parts.
This set turns out to be more interesting than most of their studio albums, primarily because it skips the flab and gets to the meat. The elastic funk of
Remain In Light was a real surprise coming from this band of stiff, white art school geeks. But
OIAL shows the clever and subtle
development of these punk poseurs into a flesh and blood (though the blood
might not be red...) party band.
For my taste, you can keep Talking Heads '77
and I'll stick with the More Songs About Buildings And Food and
Remain In Light incarnations, which this set focuses on and adds
some new insights to. Now, will someone tell David Byrne he's not funny,
he's really obnoxious and he can go back to selling whatever space alien
devices he was hawking before he started TH in 1975? I'm really sick of him.
But Tina Weymouth is another story. She's a
fabulous bassist; terribly underrated (that Genius Of Love crap
is probably why..) and dare I say, one hot extra terrestrial babe! |
BEST REISSUES OF 2003