Clarksdale

Would you pardon the Cricket for shamelessly plugging his friends’ band in this Chirp? You wouldn’t, would you? Clarksdale is the new blues rock sensation in Beat City The Hague, Holland. Guitarist Sander Kaatee formed Clarksdale late last year with drummer Rob Kramer after they both split from a previous formation. Sander has been playing guitar since he was eleven and from the age of seventeen has been performing with various bands, including Breathtaking Angels. Rob has been marching to the beat of his own drum for over thirty years, playing in various jazz formations and accompanying almost every Dutch artist on record or on stage for television or radio broadcasts. Sander invited Hans Kühbauch to take up bass duty in Clarksdale. Hans was already making waves with his bass at an early age, enjoying local success with The Davies and The Groovy’s in the 70s and 80s. Singer/songwriter Kevin Burns was soon added to Clarksdale, and he brought along his blues harps, and acoustic/electric guitars. As Sander is playing in Boris van der Lek’s Breathtaking Angels, it seemed only natural that Boris would return the favor and join Sander’s band. Boris is a renowned tenor saxophonist in his own right, who was played with greats such as Herman Brood & His Wild Romance, Golden Earring, Hans Dulfer, Frits Kaatee (Sander’s father), and Laura Fygi, and has made sixteen appearances at North Sea Jazz festival.

Currently, Clarksdale are working hard rehearsing for their first performances, with a try-out show this Saturday. In line with the city that inspired their name – Clarksdale, Mississippi, home of the blues – they are influenced by blues legends such as Robert Johnson, Blind Willie McTell, Elmore James and Muddy Waters. They add a deep appreciation for the Allman Brothers, the Rolling Stones, Taj Mahal, the J. Geils Band, the Black Crowes, Lester Butler, Tom Waits and Willy DeVille. Songs on their setlist presently include “Cross Road Blues,” “Got My Mojo Working,” “Not Fade Away,” “Statesboro Blues” and “Cruisin’ for Love.” The other day I was witness to a magical moment when Kevin started playing one of his own three-chord compositions. It sounded like a cross between acoustic country and psychedelic pop. Tentatively the other guys joined in and soon we were on J.J. Cale’s veranda watching the sun go down. Then unexpectedly, miraculously the whole thing turned into a free jazz rocker fusing Coltrane, McLaughlin and – one of Sander’s greatest influences – Derek Trucks. And bear in mind that no one in the band had ever heard Kevin’s song before! That’s the kind of exciting music you may expect from Clarksdale – blues as blues can get, but with a beautiful twist. Check them out, friend-request them on Facebook, visit their website, and come taste the band when they stop by your neck of the woods!

What Katie Did

“Here, listen to this,” she said. We had finally sat down on a little bench with a cup of coffee and a ciggie, after looking for half an hour for this cute little coffee shop off Greenwich Street just south of the Meatpacking District. “What Katie Did,” by the Libertines – not my usual cup o’ tea, and she knew that better than anyone. It was one of the great passions we shared, music. We had broken up half a year ago, but she had agreed to meet up again from time to time. I still loved her. It made me feel connected that she wanted to share this new song she found (well, it was new for us). No matter what the lyrics are really about, I couldn’t help but feel that the song was about us – a guy whose life is falling apart and wondering what his girl will do. “You’re a sweet, sweet girl, but it’s a cruel, cruel world.” A simple yet effective arrangement, fuzzy electric guitar, walking bass, a one-two soft punk beat with a jazz feel. “Shoop-shoop, shoop de-lang a-lang.” It’s a cheerful tune that you’ll whistle along to for weeks – once it’s stuck, you won’t get it out of your head. I told her I would get the album, but she said not to worry, because the rest sounded like a bunch of drunks stumbling in a bar fight.

Being who I am (an avid collector of music) I did get the Libertines’ two albums, as well as the Babyshambles and the Dirty Pretty Things. She was right, though, my ex-girlfriend – she always was – most of their music sounds like a bunch of drunken brawls. Despite the steady teaching job, I felt like a drunk fuckup myself, at the time, and I thought this was the perfect music for hanging out in Williamsburg or Bushwick late at night. She’d complained about the hipsters on Bedford. I’d seen them, too, with their ironic inauthenticity, their beards and lumber shirts. I just didn’t care – at least, I didn’t resent them as much as she did. I had come to enjoy hanging out with her sister or other friends in Williamsburg, drinking Stella and Jack until I puked my guts out. Maybe I wasn’t snorting cocaine or shooting heroin, but it seemed fitting. “Vertigo,” “Up the Bracket,” “Road to Ruin,” “The Likely Lads.” Stumbling along Bedford, Union or Metropolitan, Pete Doherty and friends seemed like the right kind of accompaniment for my state of mind. Some two years later – and worlds away from there – that also explains perhaps why it’s rather painful for me now to hear this alcoholic melancholy music.

In addition to “What Katie Did,” my favorites actually tend to be the more quietly wistful, often acoustic songs, like “Radio America” (Up the Bracket, 2002), “Music When the Lights Go Out” and “France” (The Libertines, 2004), “Albion” and “Merry Go Round” (Down in Albion, 2005), “UnBiloTitled,” “There She Goes” and the beautiful “Lost Art of Murder” (Shotter’s Nation, 2007). As their singles, such as “Time for Heroes” and “Can’t Stand Me Now,” illustrate best, The Libertines and their off-shoots were part of the post-punk/garage rock revival of the 2000s – which also include other “The” bands like The Hives, The Vines, The Stokes, The White Stripes, The Von Buddies and The Killers. Not surprising, since Mick Jones of The Clash produced most of their music, a few songs also grab you with a real punk-drunk energy, like “Horrorshow,” “I Get Along,” “Arbeit Macht Frei,” “The Saga,” “Deadwood” and “You Fucking Love It” – Down in Albion often sounds like The Clash.

Some songs sound like garage-rock throw-backs to The Beatles and The Kinks, like “Boys in the Band,” “Last Post on the Bugle,” “The 32nd of December,” “Delivery” (which essentially lifts the riff from “You Really Got Me”) and most of Carl Barât’s Dirty Pretty Things (what with a title like Waterloo to Anywhere, 2006). “The Boy Looked at Johnny,” “8 Dead Boys” and “Gin & Milk,” are other good examples of those alcohol-infused brawls. I’d also wish to mention the opening song on Down in Albion, “La Belle et la Bête,” with its walking bass and rolling drums, shared vocals with Kate Moss and catchy melody. The song indicates a deliberate attempt to shift away from The Libertines, while remaining recognizably Doherty. More so than the Dirty Pretty Things, I am actually quite partial generally to the Babyshambles. Doherty not only has a way with words lyrically, he also has a knack for melody which can be simultaneously cheerful and filled with regret. If you’re not already familiar with their music, and you enjoy some of the other revivalist “The” bands, I’d say give Babyshambles’ Shotter’s Nation a spin.

Progressive Rock

BBC 4 recently ran a program, Prog Rock Britannia: An Observation in Three Movements. I’ve been a sincerely devoted fan, I mean an avid collector, of progressive rock since the late eighties. In that respect I may have been born in the wrong era, but I was sure raised with this genuinely weird music: King Crimson, Yes, E.L.P. (Emerson, Lake & Palmer), Genesis, Jethro Tull, Soft Machine, Egg, you name it! We skip the light fandango of Procul Harum, gather our psychedelia, our Beach Boys and Bach, Beethoven and Bartok, our Beat Boom and Weed and Jazz, and the crowd called out for more. And so it was that later, two weeks later, to be precise, that the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967). The late sixties were the germination period of the genre, mostly influenced by psychedelic rock (Pink Floyd, the Crazy World of Arthur Brown, the Nice, Tomorrow) and Jimi Hendrix.

The early seventies were the true classical era of progressive rock, when technical virtuosity combined with classical composition, when lyrics explored grand fantasy worlds, when chords revealed unheard harmonies and instruments displayed sounds never met before, when songs extended beyond ten minutes and time signatures shifted from 5/8 and 7/8 to 21 and 25, if you could keep up! This is the period of Close to the Edge and Nursery Cryme, Brain Salad Surgery and Larks’ Tongues in Aspic, and of course the ultimate prog rock send up Thick As a Brick (all ’72-73)! I really adore this kind of music, quaint and outdated as much of it will appear to unfamiliar ears. Perhaps it’s my attention-deficit disorder, my hyperactive mind, but this music engages me intellectually – and while this music may not be gratifying emotionally, prog rock gets me involved, amazes me, impresses me, and in the process transports me to wondrous worlds.

By the mid seventies things went over the top. Yes journeyed across Topographical Oceans with Tales that spanned entire album sides, four extended tracks on a double album. Genesis went all pomp and circumstance where the Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. Emerson, Lake & Palmer sought fame and fortune to Welcome Back My Friends to the Show That Never Ends. (All 1974.) Then Queen came and brought the tune back. A Night At the Opera (1975), “Bohemian Rhapsody,” still progressive, still a lengthy three-part composition with the “opera” bit stuck in the middle, but it rocks and people all over the world can sing along with it, drunk or not. “Scaramouch, will you do the fandango?” And then Sex Pistols took a piss and brought three-minute rock back. No fills, no solos, three chords, and crap sound production. Never Mind the Bollocks (1977). “Prog” became a four letter word and it wasn’t until the mid-nineties that people here and there started whispering the term again. That’s not in the program, but it’s thanks to bands like Fates Warning, Dream Theater, Tool and Opeth that “progressive” is no longer a derogatory, dirty word. Thank heavens for small mercies!

Bob Seger

If you know his music at all, you probably know Bob Seger from his signature song “Old Time Rock & Roll.” Perhaps you are also familiar with mid-to-late-‘70s songs like “Betty Lou’s Getting’ Out Tonight,” “Night Moves,” “Nine Tonight,” “Turn the Page,” or his rendition of “Nutbush City Limits.” Let’s begin with the basics: Bob Seger is a hard rocking roots rocker hailing from Detroit who started his career in the Sixties. His debut album, Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man (1968), combines rock ‘n’ roll, r&b, and hard rock with hints of experimental psychedelia (witness “White Hall”). I particularly like the stomping blues rock of “Black Eyed Girl.” The album also includes one of the earliest protest songs against the Vietnam War, the marvelous “2+2=?” (released as a single in Feb. ’68). There are also some dull acoustic ballads and country rock duds that I don’t much care for, though.

Most of Seger’s earliest albums are not available on CD, apparently because he is displeased with the result. So, it’s ironic that it’s exactly those albums I prefer... His sophomore effort, Noah (1969), still reveals some remnants of psychedelia, showcases a great title track, some supercharged stomps (“Innervenus Eyes”) and blues rockers (“Lonely Man”). There are a few nice tracks on Mongrel (1970), in the vein of Credence Clearwater Revival (like “Highway Child,” “Lucifer,” and “Teachin’ Blues”). The all-acoustic Brand New Morning (1971) leaves me cold. But then we come to the excellent Smokin’ O.P.’s, an album consisting mostly of covers (hence the pun, “smoking other people’s” cigarettes/tunes). Bo Diddley, Stephen Stills, Tim Harding, Leon Russel, Chuck Berry. Everyone who likes roots rock & roll should listen to this album!

Later, starting with Back in ’72 (1973), Seger recorded with the Alabama Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section. Who? The all-white session musicians who’ve worked with Aretha Franklin, Percy Sledge, Wilson Picket, Johnnie Taylor, the Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Leon Russell, J.J. Cale, and the list goes on. J.J. Cale can also be heard on Back in ’72 (another album that has never been reissued on CD) that includes covers of “Midnight Rider” (Allman Brothers), and “I’ve been Workin’” (Van Morrison), plus the well-known originals “Rosalie” (itself covered by Thin Lizzy) and “Turn the Page.” Perhaps the most pleasant surprise in my recent acquaintance with Bob Seger’s early music was a bootleg recording I found of a radio broadcast of his live concert at Ebbet's Field in Denver, Colorado, on July 8, 1974. His next studio album, Seven (1974), still has a few good moments, but when he begins recording with the Silver Bullet Band my interest wanes. It gets too radio-friendly mainstream for me... Well, that’s what the Music Cricket thinks anyway.

ZZ Top

I know, I know, when I say “ZZ Top,” you’re thinking about dudes in matching suits and beards and sunglasses, you’re thinking about cheesy video clips with fast cars and loose women, you’re thinking “Gimme All Your Lovin’” and “Legs” and “Viva Las Vegas” and maybe “Tush”... But before the commercial success of their radio friendly hard rock, ZZ Top were accomplished Texas blues rockers, in league with fellow Southerners Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Marshal Trucker Band. If you like your blues hard with a Spanish tinge, their first three albums are sure worth your money.

I only recently became aware I’m actually quite partial to Rio Grande Mud (1972) and Tres Hombres (1973). They may not be Southern blues jammers like The Allman Brothers Band, but then who is? “Just Got Back from Baby’s” and “Backdoor Love Affair” are hard rockin’ Southern blues tunes from their First Album (1971). “Francine” could almost have been a lick by the Stones of the Mick Taylor era. In my book, “Just Got Paid” and “Waitin’ for the Bus” are the kind of rockin’ stomps that earn ZZ Top a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with great slide guitar and blues harp respectively. “Jesus Just Left Chicago” is a true tribute to the electric blues of Muddy Waters. Even by the time of Degüello (1979) they could still come up with gems like “A Fool for Your Stockings,” with its hard thumbing bass line and razor sharp licks. Let’s not forget “La Grange,” of course, the one-chord “How howhow how” blues tune ripped straight off John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillen.” And then there’s the rowdy “Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers,” which Motörhead covered so well early in their career. Check ‘em out!

Protopunk

Lately I’ve been listening to some protopunk garage rock. Stuff brings back memories, man, though not of the ’70s or 80s, but rather of the girl who stole my heart. I enjoy the raw energy of this music, not to mention the usually leftist political stance, social critique, or otherwise inspired lyrics. I’m talking about going all the way back to The Velvet Underground, circa White Light/White Heat (1968), and Loaded (1970). Great, though harsh, experimental psychedelia. I’m also thinking of the debut live album by MC5 (Motor City Quintet), Kick Out the Jams (1968), “motherfucker!” Talk about raw power and energy! Then there’s Iggy Pop & The Stooges. Like garage glam punk blues with hints of free jazz. Their album Raw Power (1973) says it all! Don’t forget Alice Cooper, whose early-70s output has a great punk garage rock vibe. (All three bands, MC5, The Stooges, and Alice Cooper, not coincidentally hail from Detroit.) Of course we have the New York Dolls (true glam punks) as well as Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers (Like A Mother Fucker!), fun punk rock ‘n’ roll. And Television, with their intriguing interlocking guitars and much more technically proficient compositions.

When I was younger (“so much younger than today”), I didn’t care much about punk rock, not because I disliked it, but because I was listening to progressively more and more complicated and weird music. It was only a few years ago that I started listening to punk because the love of my life spoke about it. That’s when I picked up albums by The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, and so on. I remember we listened to Blondie together when we were in Hawaii. (They played “The Tide Is High” everywhere we went, until we got sick of it!) She recommended The Buzzcocks to me after we broke up and I was still hoping we’d get back together. Other bands I (re-)discovered on my own, like The Runaways, The Damned, The Jam, The Stranglers, and so on. I remember taking the bus to her place one day when I had just uploaded Iggy Pop into my iPod. So, those are the recollections I get when I hear punk rock. Bittersweet as these memories are, they are some of the best and some of the worst moments of my life.

Patti Smith

Last month I was talking with people about how I believe that Patti Smith is seriously overrated. But if you want to formulate a statement, you’ll also need arguments on which to base it. To be sure, I realize that she helped female singers explore modes of expression beyond merely singing pretty love songs. In that respect, you can draw a direct line to Blondie and to Siouxsie and the Banshees. Unfortunately, that also means that she often sounds horrible, no Janis Joplin or Billie Holiday (singers who likewise can be said to have been limited in their vocal range, but still were unrivaled in their expression). The spoken word delivery of her own poetry is even more annoying (witness “Birdland,” and “Land” on Horses, “Poppies” on Radio Ethiopia, “Babelogue” on Easter, and the title-track on Wave, for instance).

Musically, her albums provide a link between the psychedelic art rock of The Velvet Underground and the American punk rock of Television, The Ramones, Blondie, and The Runaways, via some garage blues rock. If her debut errs on the artistic side, it lacks the punch on the punk side. I prefer the burst of energy on her rendition of The Who’s “My Generation.” In retrospect I find it hard to believe that critics blamed her for self-indulgence on her sophomore effort, as if Horses (1975) wasn’t overly self-indulgent. You might say she sold out, in that onwards from Radio Ethiopia (1976) her sound became more and more polished and mainstream, until Patti Smith sounds just like Stevie Nicks (not that there’s anything necessarily wrong with that, just that Stevie Nicks does that better). So, to me it seems that her overall relevance is limited to the late-70s NYC punk rock scene at Max’s Kansas City and CBGB... Admittedly, I wish I could have been there!

The members of her band in the 70s (Lenny Kaye, Richard Sohl, Ivan Kral, Jay Dee Daugherty) are no doubt talented, I’ll give her that, but much of the music remains rather uninspiring and unoriginal. Noted exceptions include “Radio Ethiopia” (ten minutes worth of distorted rock guitar noise), “Chicklets” (a nice outtake with fender rhodes), “Easter” (a religious meditation on death and resurrection), and “Dancing Barefoot” (a celebration of falling in love). Perhaps it’s unfair to dismiss her poetry without so much as a word, but I just can’t force myself to analyze her lyrics. I just think she’s trite. (“Hey Sheba, hey Salome, hey Venus eclipsin’ my way, ah! / Her vessel, every woman is a vessel, is evasive, is aquatic. / Everyone, silver ecstatic, platinum disk spinning”; or “She is recreation. / She, intoxicated by thee. / She has the slow sensation that / He is levitating with she” ... ?)

Sorry if I offend any die-hard followers, but my contention remains that Patti Smith is a clear case of being at the right place at the right time – and with the right people: photographers Robert Mapplethorpe and Lynn Goldsmith; producers John Cale, Jack Douglas, Jimmy Iovine, and Todd Rundgren; plus musicians such as Tom Verlaine (Television), Allen Lanier (Blue Öyster Cult), (her own guitarist) Lenny Kaye, and Bruce Springsteen; and the coterie of Rolling Stone writers who praised her to the stars (she was herself at one point an RS writer). That doesn’t mean I find her outright bad, I just could have lived without her music – even if I’ll keep her first four albums in my iTunes...

Alt Rock

At the recommendation of my dearest Luloo I’ve recently tuned into some non-heavy metal music... First off, The xx’s eponymous debut album (2009) that has apparently been received with universal critical acclaim. At first it didn’t blow my mind, but after repeat listening it grew and grew on me. Theirs is very nice, dreamy, alternative pop rock, with hints of new age electronica. Or, to state it differently, it reminds me of Radiohead, Björk, Keren Ann (especially her collaboration with Bang Gang’s Bardi Johannsson), some parts resemble The Cure (circa Seventeen Seconds), with a splash of Bat for Lashes or Feist. To these ears their song “Infinity” is a remake of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” (which you might know from David Lynch’s film Wild at Heart, or from that sexy black and white video in which Isaak is rolling on the beach with fashion top model Helena Christensen). I really had to warm up to this kind of music and, to be true, I have to be in the mood for it, which I’m not always, but it sure does pay off very well.

Next, Charlotte Gainsbourg’s collaboration with Beck, entitled IRM (MRI, of the brain scan, spelled backwards). The album similarly reminds me of Keren Ann plus a dash of The Velvet Underground with Nico, and some Portishead, maybe Radiohead, too... It’s sometimes electric, sometimes acoustic, soft, alternative pop rock. Unfortunately I can’t let go of the fact that Charlotte’s father Serge Gainsbourg is a legend in France, that she would most likely never have been able to release this album without her father’s legacy, because in all honesty, Charlotte cannot really sing ... she sighs and moans (much like her mother Jane Birkin), which is nice, too, but not extraordinarily skillful. After giving it some time to sink in, though, it sure grew on me, too. When I was moving these past few weeks, these albums became my soundtrack and gave me a sense of regained cheer and hope and optimism...

Another critics’ fave is the debut album, For Emma, Forever Ago, by Bon Iver (“bon hiver” is French for “good winter”), practically the one-man band of Justin Vernon. This kind of acoustic alternative indie folk rock is definitely not your Music Cricket’s usual cup o’ tea... Yet, I was soon captivated by the tuneful tracks, with remarkable soundscapes in the background here and a beautiful trumpet line there, carefully arranged, especially considering that it was essentially self-produced and recorded in a Wisconsin cabin. There are silent moments where you can practically hear the cracks of the woodwork. “Lump Sum” could almost have been by Radiohead. After making the concerted effort of listen to this music, I was pleasantly rewarded. After just a few days I started humming random bits of melody from “re: Stacks,” “Wolves,” “For Emma” and “Skinny Love.” I can imagine that listening to a song like “Wolves” on a good stereo (to which I don’t have access right now) would be an amazingly powerful, wistfully emotional experience. Thanks Luloo, my love!

[This is a slightly edited version of the original post; BvO - 5/26/10]