Odds & Sods, 1975-79
Rock n roll Velveeta ..
I just have a few more days of break … so I want to lay out a few loose ideas around the subject of rock in the mid-to-late-‘70s. The biggest thing I’m thinking of this morning is how bands like Boston become part of the mainstream hegemony by the mid-1970s. In other words, rock, with bands like Boston, became conservative. Yes, they wanted to get high and play rock n roll, but this was rock n roll with no imagination, rock n roll as processed Velveeta.
It’s strange to me how calling a band a rock band automatically ups expectations. If Boston or the Eagles had just called themselves pop bands, if they would’ve never let on that they believed they were creative rock geniuses, then we could have just enjoyed “More Than a Feeling” and “Peaceful Easy Feeling” like we enjoy “Sara Smile.” As rock bands, though, we’re forced to compare them—say, in 1976—to Lou Reed, Patti Smith, the Residents … And even Aerosmith—if you bought the rap about the band being a dumbed-down, American version of the Rolling Stones—had to start looking pretty smart and even fun beside Boston and the Eagles.
Which brings me to one more question: How does one measure out the spaces between these multiple approaches to rock during the mid-to-late-‘70s? Between the nostalgia of Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seger, and Tom Petty, and the experimentation of the Residents and Pere Ubu; between the predictability of Boston and the Eagles and the punk assault of Patti Smith and the Ramones; and between the aging rockers who’d run out of steam like Led Zeppelin and the Stones to aging rockers who still gave the impression of having something to say like Neil Young and the Who?
FM, 8-Tracks, & LPs
Mainstream rock n roll …
I’d describe my tastes in the mid-to-late-70s as classic or mainstream rock, incorporating mostly what I listened to on AOR … but also including an assortment of 8-tracks that I picked up. At the time, I really didn’t think much about how odd the mixture was or—within my given category of classic rock—how mainstream it was. It was simply what I and my friends listened to and identified with.
A couple things strike me as odd looking back. First, the bizarre mixture of bands. Why would anyone in his or her right mind stick Boston, Styx, and Foreigner in the same format with Led Zeppelin, the Who, and the Rolling Stones? Or Peter Frampton, Kansas, and Queen with the Kinks, Bob Dylan, and the Beatles? I’m not sure that a lot of the newer stuff at the time—say, like, Boston—should have even qualified as rock, but it was all thrown together in the AOR blender and we called it our own.
The second thing that strikes me odd has to do with the limited number of tracks AOR stations would play from any given band. Why did you usually hear the same four or five Lynyrd Skynyrd tracks—“That Smell,” “What’s Your Name,” “Gimme Three Steps,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and “Free Bird”? Or the same two or three Kinks tracks—“You Really Got Me,” “Sunny Afternoon,” and “Lola”? Part of the problem with “Stairway to Heaven,” then, wasn’t that it was a good or bad song; it was that the AOR stations I was familiar with didn’t play a wider variety of Zeppelin songs. As a result, they played “Stairway to Heaven” too damn much.
Of course the simple solution would’ve been to buy more albums … and I had a list of 5 star albums memorized from the first edition of The Rolling Stone Record Guide. But I was a dumb teen with little cash to spare … so I relied on FM radio which was free.
A Beautiful Corpse: Rock Meditations, 1975-1979
How do you define what rock music is at any given historical moment?
I have a little downtime over the holiday break … so I’d like to lay out or frame—over a half-dozen or so entries—an idea. It basically revolves around a particular period of time—‘75-‘79—and a particular music—rock—and asks: what did rock music have to offer music fans at this juncture of time?
The juncture seems to be the crossroads where whatever had been initiated in rock during the mid-‘60s was either coming to an end or changing. I’ll get more into the traditional narratives of this mid-to-late-‘70s juncture/change later … I’ve also picked this juncture because I came of age as a music listener during this time. The original question then—what did rock have to offer?—is set against a backdrop of familiar narratives on what happened to rock between ’75 and ’79, and against a personal backdrop of my listening habits during that time.
In a way, ’75-’79 seems like a bad time to write about, because it’s been covered so often. But how many folks have more than a rudimentary knowledge of what rock had to offer between ‘75 and ‘79? How many people have dug beneath the clichés to take a fresh look at the clash between classic rock, new wave, and punk? Other questions might include:
1. How did major labels and FM radio limit what kind of rock music was available between ’75 and ‘79?
2. How did the rock press and FM radio frame the rock cannon between ’75 and ‘79?
3. Were there non-mainstream forms of rock available for those industrious enough to find them in the mid-to-late-‘70s?
4. What were the spaces—musical, philosophical—between the various forms of rock during the mid-to-late-‘70s?
5. Is it possible to sum up rock music—what it was, wasn’t—during the mid-to-late-‘70s?
Radio Fodder, 1975-79
Trends is Banality
One reason it’s hard to tell whether classic rock as we had known it since ’65 or so had really gone to hell in a bucket after ’75 was the evolution of FM radio. From my own experience, several trends guaranteed that classic rock would seem pretty out of touch, stale, boring, etc., when compared to the punk and new wave of the era.
1. Dinosaur Rock—FM kept playing new stuff by bands that had been hanging around since the ’60s … which made them ancient by rock standards. The Who, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones. While these bands could still surprise you (The Who By Numbers), there was a sense of diminishing returns as the decade rolled on.
2. Nostalgic Rock—Lots of folks got real excited about Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seger, and Tom Petty around mid-decade (1970s), as though these guys—deep voiced, real men—were the saviors of a dying form. Most of the music and even the lyrics, however, seemed firmly grounded in yesterday.
3. Rock Redux—One thing that helped the AOR format keep growing was a slew of new bands that reduced rock to its most banal elements. Foreigner, Van Halen, Boston. In their hands, rock was either turned into cheesy pop dross or reduced to the grand themes of partying and getting laid.
4. Mainstream Rock—It was hard to tell whether bands like the Eagles, the Steve Miller Band, and Fleetwood Mac embodied or created mainstream pop-rock in the mid-to-late-‘70s. Everything sounded pretty good … but also pretty predictable.
5. Southern Rock—Southern Rock had elements of Rock Redux and Nostalgic Rock … and in the hands of a band like Lynyrd Skynyrd, something worse. The tuneful, gritty music was laced with a cultural conservatism that was disguised as Southern pride. It gave the music an unpleasant (and aggressive) edge that worked against many of the things that rock originally seemed to aspire to.
That doesn’t cover everything … I’ve left out the double album phenomenon (Kiss, Peter Frampton, etc.) and the occasional addition of pseudo-new wave bands (the Knack, the Cars) to playlists. The point is, the classic rock/AOR format seemed to be chocking off the growth of a form (and the personal growth of its listeners) by promoting fairly safe, predictable stuff.
Musical Revelations
What Gets Pushed to the Side?
Yesterday while listening to Pandora Radio, I had a musical revelation. I don’t listen to much music online—I find most of it a pain. All my MP3 files have been ripped from albums or borrowed from my sister (I only bought my first MP3 player last Christmas). … So I don’t go to the internet for music unless it’s to order CDs from Amazon. But I did run across this Pandora site yesterday, and it—along with the Presidential race—managed to distract me for most of the day.
To start out, Pandora simply wanted to know what song or artist I wanted to hear. I plugged in—just because I happened to be curious about the group—the Residents. From there, the Pandora program started randomly selecting other tracks from other bands that were just as strange/ experimental as the Residents. The program also allowed me to add more bands to the playlist. There was Faust, Amon Duul II, the Bonzo Dog Band, Mahogany Rush, David Bowie (from his Eno collaborations), and Pink Floyd. There was also a lot of intriguing stuff that I’ll leave out because it had nothing to do with the ’70s.
What was (and is) strange to me is that even within the confines of the classic rock I grew up and, for much of my life, have continued to listen to, it surprises me—even without considering punk and new wave after ’76—how much stuff never made it onto classic rock playlists. And even when it did (as with Pink Floyd), the material that was played was limited to a handful of the same tracks. It shouldn’t seem surprising then, that many classic rock fans, weaned on the most conservative playlists, would have—in 1978—perferred Dire Straits to Pere Ubu.
Pop as Value Judgment
The pop/rock divide …
I was listening to John Lennon’s Imagine (1971) yesterday during lunch … and it occurred to me that I didn’t—despite a good set list—particularly like the album. It also occurred to me that I considered Imagine a pop album, as opposed to Plastic Ono Band (1970), which I considered a rock album. This bugged me because I’ve wondered—for some time—if the pop/rock divide isn’t somewhat artificial.
The general idea seems to be that pop is artifice and rock is authentic, that one serves little more purpose than to sound pretty and offer pretty sentiments while the other is about getting at the truth somehow. Plastic Ono Band swirls around Lennon himself, offering gritty revelations and observations against barebones arrangements; Imagine is a disparate batch of songs with light pop arrangements (piano, strings) and populist sentimentsv
I think the problem here is that Lennon made both albums within a year … making Imagine seem fake by comparison. Even throwaways on Plastic Ono Band—“Well Well Well”—seem to offer more than cliché ditties like “Crippled Inside” from Imagine.
Which leaves me with an open question or two: Does the pop/rock divide assume too much (about authenticity, for instance)? Or does the pop/rock divide—when you look at Imagine and Plastic Ono Band—really make sense (is rock really more authentic)?
Brewer, Shipley, and Welk
Two tokes over the line …
I had planned for my next entry to be a compare/contrast of Harry Nilsson and Badfinger’s versions of “Without You” … but got sidetracked listening to The Best of Brewer and Shipley. I only knew the group from “One Toke Over the Line” … so I did a little background research on the Net. I soon became distracted, however, by a clip a found on YouTube.
Come to find out that that a couple simply named Gail and Dale performed the song on the Lawrence Welk Show. I imagined that this happened sometime in the early ’70s (“One Toke” charted in 1971) … but if you know your Welk, it seems to be taking place in some time warp, circa 1947.
I always liked the song and the line “one toke over the line sweet Jesus,” even though it seemed like little more than Association-styled pop, a couple years too late (“Along Comes Mary”). After listening to the sunshiny Gail and Dale cut loose of “One Toke Over the Line,” however, Brewer and Shipley’s version seemed to be brimming with authenticity.
Welk tops off Gail and Dale’s performance by calling “One Toke” a “modern spiritual.” It seems impossible that these guys could’ve been this naïve (I mean, the song was controversial) … and it’s tempting to think they simply did the song straight to put one over on Welk’s audience. Whatever the reason, it’s a beautiful cultural collision, brought to you by Geritol and Rose Milk.
Does Power Pop Live Up to Its Rep?
Never underestimate one great song.
I went on a research trip earlier this week … and loaded up the Corolla’s CD player with lots of Power Pop and non-Power Pop. The Raspberries, Bad Finger, and Big Star … along with Harry Nilsson, Todd Rundgren, and Bread. Some of it was new to me … and some of it I’ve been listening to for a while.
I continue to love the best of Badfinger, and of the big three Power Pop groups from the early ’70s (Badfinger, Big Star, and the Raspberries), I think they’re the best. Still, only about half of No Dice and Straight Up are really solid. The overall results for the Raspberries and Big Star, seem to me, even weaker. There are great moments—“The Ballad of El Goodo” and “I’m in Love with a Girl” (Big Star) and “Go All the Way” (Raspberries)—but how much of the rest of each band’s material reaches this level?
This is the problem with Badfinger, too. They can deliver a solid rocker like “I Can’t Take It” from the beginning of No Dice and then return two songs later with a throw away like “Love Me Do” (not the Beatles’ song). In fact, Badfinger doesn’t even sound like the same band on cuts like “Flying” or “Money” from Straight Up.
While I’m still in the process of digesting Power Pop, the genre, overall, seems to be over sold. The power of individual tracks, however, should not be underestimated. How many bands ever cut a track like “The Ballad of El Goodo” or “Go All the Way” or “Day After Day?”
Pop & Punk
Guilty Pleasures v. Noisy Medicine
I’ve been listening to early ’70s pop, Elton John, Big Star, Bread, and Badfinger … and I’ve ordered several things to fill gaps including stuff by the Raspberries, Todd Rungren, and Harry Nilsson. Fun stuff. I’ve been trying to build my ’70’s collection so that I can start exploring another book idea … and wanted to focus on classic rock and punk … And although punk is a real weak point for me, I still find myself more interested in early ’70s pop right now.
I like some aspects of the punk/ post-punk albums I’ve listened to recently—the Clash’s London Calling, Pere Ubu’s The Modern Dance, and Richard Hell and the Voidoids’ Blank Generation—but I’m more likely to put on No Dice or Straight Up by Badfinger. Neither of the Badfinger albums are perfect—both have spotty tracks—but when the band gets it together on songs like “We’re for the Dark” or “I’ll Be the One,” they’re incredible.
I wonder if a certain aspect of punk—the shock of a new sound juxtaposed against the old—is lost when looking back. It’s as though you have to work at liking punk, overlooking the fact that no one can sing that well (Joe Strummer, Hell, or David Thomas), or that the best songs on a disc like Blank Generation—“Blank Generation” and “Love Comes in Spurts”—overshadow everything else or that too much of The Modern Dance runs together.
It’s reasonable to ask if there is much or any depth to, say, Bread or Elton John, and I admit that I find myself less patient with albums like Baby I’m-a Want You (1972) and Yellow Brick Road (1973) after digging deeper into better pop bands like Badfinger. Still … I’m not in any hurry to pick up another Pere Ubu album … though I’m sure I will eventually.
Pop Production–Badfinger
When Cool Band Meets Crappy Production
A crappy production or mix can ruin an album … and it’s too bad the technology doesn’t exist to just hand over a digital version of the original tapes to the listener. Until that day, we’re sometimes stuck with good material and poor presentation
I had picked up a copy of Badfinger’s Straight Up recently, and by the third track, something was bugging me about the production and mix. No Dice, the band’s previous album, sounded much better, and no one had felt the need to break up the lead vocal (s) to the left and right channels simultaneously. It isn’t that I mind using the stereo spectrum–it just seemed like a gimmick here. It also seemed to take the guts out of the band’s sound.
I had to get all the way to the sixth track–”Name of the Game”–before I realized that something was really screwy. I knew the track from The Very Best of Badfinger but this was a completely different–and to my ears, far inferior–version. It’s as though producer Tod Rundgren had used all of his power to turn Badfinger into a run-of-the-mill pop band.
“Name of the Game” is also one of the tracks that George Harrison originally produced, though the Straight Up liner notes say that Rundgren gave the material a “complete overhaul.” That means “he chose to re-work and mix tracks” from earlier sessions. After all that, the fact that Harrison produced “Name of the Game” seems pretty much beside the point.
The most recent re-issue of Straight Up includes an earlier version of “Name of the Game” (the same version, I believe, from The Very Best of Badfinger). It’s great to have both of these versions on the same album … and a second version of the Harrison produced “Suitcase,” but why are these alternate versions re-issued in such a haphazard way? Why not issue all of the Harrison tracks together in one place (”Suitcase,” “Name of the Game,” “I’d Die Babe,” and “Day After Day”)? Then we could have a proper comparison. Anyway you cut it, Badfinger’s sound was better centered with producer Geoff Emerick on No Dice.
