2020 In Memoriam - #2: Eugene Wright (Born 1923)

Eugene Wright (1923 - 2020)

Longtime jazz double bassist Eugene Wright, "The Senator", the last surviving member of the legendary and classic Dave Brubeck Quartet lineup (consisting of Wright, pianist Brubeck, drummer Joe Morello and Paul Desmond on sax), died just last week, on 30 December at the age of 97.  Wright's steady, innovative play anchored the sound of that group for a decade, from 1958 to 1968, and he participated on nearly thirty albums with the Quartet, including the classic 1959 album Time Out (featuring the hit "Take Five"), the first jazz album to sell a million copies.  

As the only black member of the quartet, he was part of one of the few racially mixed jazz groups during the early years of the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s.  As such, Wright's presence led to showdowns between band leader Brubeck, a staunch opponent of segregation, and some concert promoters and college officials in the Southern U.S., incidents that Brubeck never backed down from, supporting his bandmate in every instance.

I've already posted something on the quartet many years ago, on the day Brubeck died, so I won't reiterate how great I think this combo was.  Instead, I'll just provide you all with yet another example of the level of jazz mastery this group was capable of, off of one of the quartet's less popularly celebrated but critically acclaimed late-period recordings, Time In.  A reviewer for Allmusic.com, Thom Jurek, described this release as "one of his most musically adventurous. ... of all the 'Time' recordings, this is the least commercial ... Though it is seldom celebrated as such, this is one of Brubeck's finest moments on Columbia."  If you enjoyed Time Out and Time Further Out, this album is going to be right up your alley as well.

So, here you are - The Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time In, put out on Columbia Records on June 14, 1966.  Chill out to this cool and interesting slice of '60s jazz, and as always... well, you know.

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2020 In Memorium - #1: Tony Lewis (Born 1957)

In addition to artists who passed on last year that I've already posted about, including David Roback, John Prine and Andy Gill, the following are a series of posts regarding other perhaps less heralded/recognized musicians who died in 2020 who will also be sorely missed.

Tony Lewis (1957 - 2020)

RIP to Tony Lewis, frontman and lead singer for the 1980s English power pop group The Outfield, who died unexpectedly in London on 20 October at the age of sixty-three. This group didn't have many hits during their lifetime, but the ones they did have were stone-cold classics, including this sublime 1985 gem and defining band tune "Your Love" off of their debut album from that year.  This song got played to death on FM radio back when I was in school, and rightfully so - just a great, great tune, eventually reaching #6 on the US Billboard Hot 100 charts.

The song dragged the album, Play Deep, into the US Top Ten as well, achieving triple-platinum status (The Outfield was an odd and rare example of a British band that made it big in the States, but had little success in their own home country). Subsequent albums by the band during the decade led to diminishing returns, and the original lineup of The Outfield broke up in 1992. Various iterations of the group continued touring and releasing albums intermittently over the next twenty years until band cofounder John Spinks died of cancer in 2014. After a short hiatus from music, Lewis continued his career as a solo artist, releasing a solo album (Out Of The Darkness) in 2018 and touring constantly until his own death last year.

To me, "Your Love" is one of the most recognizable and defining pop songs of the mid-80s; movie-makers who include this tune in their soundtrack immediately establish a time and setting for their films. It's the sound of beaches, and cars, and sun, and fun, and summer love... all rolled into a three-minute nugget. So it deservedly lives on long after its debut and heyday, and so does Mr. Lewis as well. Thanks for the music, Tony.

In honor of his life, I proudly present you with Play Deep, the debut album by Lewis' band The Outfield, released on Columbia Records on November 12th, 1985. Enjoy, remember, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Simon & Garfunkel - Bookends (RS500 - #234)

June 6th, 2018... fifty years today since the death of Bobby Kennedy.

A lot of ink has been and will be spilled today regarding Kennedy's 1968 campaign for the Democratic presidential nomination, most of it related to the continuing "Kennedy Myth" that has haunted and teased this nation for over fifty years. RFK's run has now assumed almost legendary status - the star-crossed young warrior, going to battle against the entrenched hierarchy and the special interests; a man born to great privilege and yet a "man of the people" and champion of the poor and downtrodden; a shining light of passion and dedication, cut down just as he could all but visualize his goal. While a lot of that has some basis in fact, Bobby's decision to run that year and his prospects for winning his party's nomination, and ultimately the presidency, were a lot more complicated than that.

It shouldn't be forgotten that Robert Kennedy entered the 1968 presidential race late, on March 16th, four days after President Lyndon Johnson narrowly won the New Hampshire primary over upstart Minnesota Senator Eugene McCarthy (49% to 42%). The relationship between

Kennedy and Johnson wasn't just one of mutual contempt - they actively despised one another, and had since the early Fifties, when Johnson was a powerful senator and Bobby was little more than a low-level Senate staffer. When JFK assumed the presidency in 1961, with Johnson as his vice-president and his brother as Attorney General, that power dynamic had shifted to Bobby's advantage (the office of the VP having little if any real power), and the younger brother used it to humiliate and emasculate Johnson constantly - revenge for Johnson's treatment of him in the '50s. By late in JFK's first term, it was clear that Bobby, not Johnson, was the #2 man in the administration, and his power and influence would only grow after JFK's near-certain reelection in 1964 (which would have set up a remarkable "what-if" scenario in '68 - if Johnson had been retained as a VP running mate in '64, undoubtedly both he AND Bobby would have run to succeed JFK that year... which would have in all likelihood set off a intra-party war between the two candidates' factions even nastier and more bitter than what actually happened that year...).

The bullets fired at the presidential motorcade in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963 suddenly and immediately altered that power dynamic yet again, this time with the new president Johnson on top, and he didn't hesitate to use it to exact some vicious payback against a physically altered and emotionally distraught Bobby, reeling in the aftermath of his brother's death. Even with all of that, Kennedy stayed on as Attorney General in the Johnson administration for several more months, ostensibly to cement JFK's legacy in the legal realm. But his heart clearly wasn't into his job, or with continuing to work with LBJ. Sensing that he could do more good - and establish his own political base for the future - outside of the cabinet, Bobby resigned his office in mid-1964 to run for the Senate in New York, defeating the incumbent Republican Kenneth Keating that November. During his four years in the Senate, Kennedy enhanced his liberal bona fides, championing civil rights and marginalized members of the population (who he referred to as the "disaffected", the impoverished, and "the excluded"), and increasingly calling into question America's involvement in the Vietnam War. By early 1968, Bobby's popularity with certain groups (especially minorities) rivaled and even exceeded that of Johnson.

Kennedy was itching to make a presidential run against the hated Johnson in 1968, who he considered to be over his head as Chief Executive and unable to adequately deal with the serious issues (war, racial divisions, poverty, etc.) he faced during his first full term. However, despite urging from his advisors and from various corners of society, Bobby considered his prospects for a successful run against a sitting president exceedingly unrealistic - the last president denied his party's nomination for a second term was Chester A. Arthur in 1884. So he announced at a January 30th, 1968 press conference (coincidentally, the same day as the beginning of the Tet Offensive) that “under no foreseeable circumstances” would he run for president. And it seemed to most of the world that that was the final word regarding a possible "Kennedy '68" bid.

However, shortly after this declaration, Kennedy, his pollsters and advisors began to sense that something was going on in the American electorate - a hidden but surging groundswell of discontent with the current direction of the country.  Bobby and his team could see that in the preliminary February polling for the upcoming "first in the nation" New Hampshire primary,

where the underfunded anti-war candidate Senator McCarthy was quietly gaining strength and support over the incumbent. It was clear to Kennedy that a significant number of people were looking for an alternative to Johnson. Bobby read the tea leaves and trusted his well-honed political instincts... while the modern narrative is that Kennedy jumped into the race only after smelling blood after Johnson's close call in New Hampshire on March 12th, the truth of the matter was that he'd changed his mind regarding his decision to run significantly earlier, prior to the primary vote. He'd planned to make his announcement in early March, but was persuaded by other influential friends to either talk McCarthy into dropping out prior to the primary (which McCarthy had no intention of doing) or waiting until just afterwards, in order to avoid splitting the Democratic anti-war vote.

Either way, Bobby's declaration on March 16th, in the Caucus Room of the old Senate Office Building, was not met with overwhelming nationwide hosannas. He was denounced in some quarters as a political opportunist, taking advantage of the trail that McCarthy's months of hard work had blazed. Despite this, he was immediately regarded as the frontrunner and the president's most formidable electoral foe. Faced with two strong opponents now, Johnson famously bowed out of the race on March 31st, throwing his support and that of much of the Democratic establishment behind the candidacy of his Vice-

President, Hubert Humphrey. In this essentially three-way race between the major challengers Humphrey, McCarthy and Kennedy, only the latter two competed head-to-head in the state primaries. Of the four primaries with active competition between McCarthy and Kennedy, Kennedy won three, losing only in Oregon in an upset a week before the crucial California primary.

While the two liberal candidates were slugging it out in the states, Humphrey concentrated on acquiring nomination delegates from states that didn't hold primaries, places where party bosses still held sway and controlled delegate selection. Unlike nowadays, back then, most states DIDN'T hold primaries, and delegate slates were largely determined by big-city political machines. So, despite his relative success in the primaries, on the night of the California primary, Kennedy still had a grand total of only 393 pledged delegates to Humphrey's 561 (McCarthy had 238), with 1,312 votes needed to lock up the party's nomination. He hoped that with his primary successes, he could convince party leaders that he was the only Democrat who could defeat the nominal Republican candidate Richard Nixon and prevent them from pledging their delegations and allegiances (to Humphrey or anyone else) too early, at least not before the party convention that summer in Chicago. Kennedy wanted to create a "bandwagon" effect of the same manner and type that helped his brother gain the nomination in 1960.

With all of this, it's a tough call to say that RFK could have arrived in Chicago and garnered the remaining votes needed to win the nomination.  McCarthy's team was still furious at him for his late entry (two days before the California primary, two Kennedy staffers went to McCarthy state headquarters in Los Angeles to argue that the loser of the California primary withdraw and support the winner; said one McCarthy worker: “I’d vote for Nixon over that SOB [i.e., RFK].”), so those delegates weren't necessarily Kennedy's for the asking. Young antiwar voters, whom he needed to draw into in his coalition, remained steadfast in their loyalty to their champion Senator McCarthy.

More significant to his overall prospects, Kennedy faced opposition from three groups central to the nominating process and influential with state and big-city political bosses:

• Southern Democrats, many of whom bitterly resented his civil rights advocacy; 
• Much of organized labor leadership, who remembered his crackdowns on crooked Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa and other corrupt union officials; and—despite his upbringing and pedigree;
• Titans of industry, who viewed with deep worry his steady drift to the left during his four years in the Senate. 

While Kennedy was hugely popular with minorities and the poor during his campaign, those groups would have almost no voice at the convention, and zero pull with the power brokers there.

So, looking at it in a cold, hard, objective manner, I seriously doubt that Bobby would have been able to get to 1,312. Of course, the events in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in the wee hours of June 5th, 1968, and RFK's subsequent death little more than a day later makes all of that a moot point.

I was still in preschool in 1968, so I have little to no memory of the earthshaking events of that year - war, assassinations, riots, flights to the moon. Therefore, Kennedy's death had no impact on me at the time.  It was only later that full force of the event hit home. In my opinion, the RFK assassination was the single most significant event of the late 1960s affecting American history - more than the Watts riots, more than the Martin Luther King assassination, more than the moon landing. It seems to me that with his passing and the missed opportunity of a Robert Kennedy presidency, America lost its last, best chance to reclaim the shining beacon of hope, justice, truth and right in the world that had begun slipping from our grasp in the '60s.

It's impossible to say with any certainty, but it is likely that under Kennedy, America's involvement in Vietnam would have ended much earlier - not with any sort of victory (as the Pentagon Papers later revealed, prior administrations had concluded years earlier that a military conflict there was essentially unwinnable), but possibly with better terms and a saving of thousands of American lives. With a government led by a leader liked and trusted by marginalized groups, implementation of civil rights laws probably would have been expedited. And among other things, Watergate and its aftermath, the public's mistrust of and disillusionment with government and political service, never would have happened.  With the prospect of a Kennedy administration, there was an anticipation and expectation of a more caring and compassionate government, responsive to the issues and needs of the many, especially those needing assistance - and spearheaded by a tough-minded, experienced professional.

As Leonard Pitts Jr. wrote in a recent op-ed in the Miami Herald:

It turned out the tough guy had an instinct for the underdog and a deep, moral indignation over the unfair treatment that trapped them in their hoods and hollers, barely subsisting in the shadows of plenty. He saw their humanity. This, I think, even more than his opposition to the war in Vietnam, was what drew people....

There was in that last ragged campaign of his, this sense of the possible, of the new, of fundamental, systemic change. There was this sense of a more compassionate America waiting just below the horizon. There was, in a word, hope. Or as Rep. John Lewis, then a campaign aide, consoled himself in the grim weeks after Martin Luther King was murdered in Memphis: “At least we still have Bobby.”

Read more here: https://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/opn-columns-blogs/leonard-pitts-jr/article212396079.html#storylink=cpy

The key word in that section above is "hope" - to many people, that's what Bobby Kennedy represented, and that's what was lost.

Looking back fifty years now at the events of that time, the thing that is most devastating and distressing about Robert Kennedy's death to me is that there wasn't any interim period needed for citizens to assess his legacy - people IMMEDIATELY knew what a profound loss they and the nation had suffered.

RFK's funeral was held at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York on the morning of June 8th, 1968, then his body was transported by special train down to Washington, DC, where he was to be laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. Without provocation or urging, hundreds of thousands of people lined the entire length of the railroad tracks and packed the stations along the route, paying their respects to their lost champion as the train moved past. A sampling of the photos of the assembled crowds is haunting and devastating in depicting the grief and despair of a vast swath of the nation:

 

The Number One song in the U.S. the week of Kennedy's death was "Mrs. Robinson" by the pop duo Simon & Garfunkel. The song was originally included in the soundtrack to the hit Mike Nichols-directed film The Graduate, released in late 1967, and released again as part of the folk-rock duo's 1968 album Bookends. The song, one of several Simon & Garfunkel tunes included in the movie, was originally titled "Mrs. Roosevelt", but was revamped and retitled for the film to refer to one of the main characters, the adulterous Mrs. Robinson, played by Anne Bancroft. While popular in its own right, the film version of "Mrs. Robinson" was markedly different from the album version, released a couple of months later. It was this latter version that climbed the charts in the spring of 1968, peaking on June 1st and remaining at the top of the charts for most of that month.

The most famous and celebrated portion of the song refers to the former Yankee great Joe DiMaggio:

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you
Wu wu wu
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson
Jolting Joe has left and gone away
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey

In an interview years later, Simon discussed this lyric and explained that the line was meant as a sincere tribute to DiMaggio's unpretentious heroic stature, in a time when popular culture magnifies and distorts how we perceive our heroes. He further reflected:

"In those days of Presidential transgressions and apologies and prime-time interviews about private sexual matters, we grieve for Joe DiMaggio and mourn the loss of his grace and dignity, his fierce sense of privacy, his fidelity to the memory of his wife and the power of his slience.  ...I didn't mean the lines literally... I thought of him as an American hero and that genuine heroes were in short supply."

In the wake of the assassination, it was easy at the time to figuratively transfer the meaning and context of the words in that song to the nation's feelings regarding the loss of RFK.  Being that Bookends was consciously constructed to contain many of Paul Simon's major lyrical themes (including "youth, alienation, life, love, disillusionment, relationships, old age and [especially] mortality"), the album became almost the perfect accompaniment to and encapsulation of the nation's collective feelings during that terrible month.  I can't listen to the album nowadays without thinking of Bobby.

In memory of Bobby Kennedy, all that he was and all that he could have been, here's Simon & Garfunkel's Bookends, released by Columbia Records on April 3rd, 1968. Enjoy, reflect, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Ultra Vivid Scene - Mercy Seat and Special One EPs

More good stuff from that golden music era of the late '80s/early '90s . . . I used to catch the occasional Ultra Vivid Scene tune on one of the various alternative radio stations I listened to back in the day, and always enjoyed what this band had to offer.

Ultra Vivid Scene was essentially singer and guitarist Kurt Ralske, accompanied occasionally by a rotating host of musicians. Ralske was a gifted musician pretty much from the get-go; at sixteen, he had already gained entrance into Boston's prestigious Berklee College of Music. But Ralske was always a free spirit and seeker of sorts on all levels, never settling on one particular thing, but absorbing what he thought was necessary before moving on to the next location and experience. He stayed at Berklee long enough to gain a thorough exposure to jazz music concepts, before moving on to college in New York City in the early 80s, and falling in with some of the major figures in that city's "No Wave" music scene (folks like James Chance and Thurston Moore). These New York sounds, which included not only the contemporary experimental scene but also the output of the Velvet Underground and hardcore punk, were a major influence in the music Ralske was attempting to piece together. He joined his first bands while in New York, serving as guitarist for Nothing But Happiness (who released a single ("Narcotics Day"/"Couldn't Make You Mine") in 1985 and an album

(Detour) in 1987), Dissipated Face (sort of a punkier version of The Contortions), King of Culture and Crash, fronted by singer-songwriter Mark Dumais. When Dumais decided to relocate Crash from NYC to London in 1987, Ralske went along.

During his time in England, Ralske was exposed to the experimental, abrasive, guitar-driven sounds of bands like The Jesus & Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine. To quote an interview he conducted years later: " . . . the example of the Jesus & Mary Chain was very important for me. It pointed [toward] a way of doing things that were both simple and very complex at the same time. I was keen on this idea that things could have a simple form but actually be complex and subtle in their meaning."   It was the culmination of his extensive experience playing with his bands along with the profound influence The J & M Chain had on him that led him to form Ultra Vivid Scene in early 1988.

Ultra Vivid Scene (which, as stated above, was essentially Ralske) was quickly signed by 4AD later that year. His/the band's first recording, the four-song She Screamed EP, was released that August. Of all of the group's releases, it's the one that comes closest to emulating the Jesus & Mary Chain sound, albeit filtered through Ralske's extensive exposure to more mainstream rock (probably because it's the only release completely written, produced and performed by him). For example, here's the title cut:

UVS's first full album, a self-titled release, quickly followed in October 1988. The album is somewhat less abrasive and experimental than the preceding EP; the mixture of pop and noise here is definitely skewed toward the pop end of the spectrum. For me, in some cases (like the songs "Nausea" and "A Dream Of Love") this amalgamation is compelling; in others, it comes off as bland and whiny alt-rock. The best song on Ultra Vivid Scene in my opinion is "Mercy Seat", an almost perfect grind-pop meld of My Bloody Valentine and The Velvet Underground. [In my scrambled musical memories of years past, I had all but convinced myself that I had heard "Mercy Seat" in late 1987, more than a year before it was actually released. After a little reflection, I realized that I was confusing the song with the band Mercy Seat, former Violent Femmes vocalist Gordon Gano's gospel-punk side project, which released a self-titled album in the fall of 1987.]

The group and 4AD also realized what a winner they had in this song. In the spring of 1989, “Mercy Seat” was re-recorded and released on an EP, along with an excellent cover of Buffy St. Marie’s “Codine”, a new song called “H Like In Heaven”, and the original version of the lead track. The new version of “Mercy Seat” was augmented by a long, languid intro that almost doubles the track’s length but doesn't necessarily add anything new or compelling to it - in many ways, it weakens the power of the original album cut.

Here's one of the two videos made for "Mercy Seat" (the shorter version) - I included this one because near the end of the clip (at about the 3:25 mark), you can catch a glimpse of one of Ralske's erstwhile session band mates - none other than Moby himself - with hair no less!

Both the album and the Mercy Seat EP were fairly well received by critics. But Ultra Vivid Scene's main problem at the time was that they couldn't translate their music to audiences in a live setting. The band set out on their first American tour in 1989, but the shows were not well received. Ralske hired musicians rather than doing it all himself, so there may have been an issue with getting these hired hands fully conversant in his music. In addition Ralske (admittedly) paid little attention and less interest as to how to adequately capture his studio sound in concert. The result was a series of poor shows that killed much of their momentum in America; they were reportedly so bad that after a label representative saw them play in New York, he recommended that Ultra Vivid Scene become purely a studio concern, and no longer be allowed to play live.

Despite these setbacks, UVS soldiered on. Ralske reentered the studio in November 1989 to record the follow-up to Ultra Vivid Scene. This time out, he enlisted some help - namely, an established producer (Hugh Jones, who previously produced well-received indie/alternative releases, including That Petrol Emotion's Manic Pop Thrill and The Icicle Works' debut album) and a bevy of seasoned studio musicians. He also got some assistance from some of his friends in the industry, such as The Pixies' Kim Deal. The extra support freed Ralske from shouldering the entire burden of putting an album together, and led to the creation of probably Ultra Vivid Scene's finest record.

The new album, Joy 1967-1990, was released in May 1990. Overall, it's a lot peppier and somewhat bouncier than its predecessor (perhaps reflecting the lifting of pressures off of Ralske), and it was very well received in both the UK and US. The album reached the British Top 60, and three cuts off of it charted on the US Billboard Modern Rock Tracks. The highest charting single in the US was Ralske's sole collaboration with Deal, the excellent song "Special One" (which liberally steals much of its riff from Big Star's "September Gurls"). Here's video of the song:

[This is purportedly the "official video" - there's another one I used to see years ago, a black and white version with just Ralske and Deal sitting together and singing . . . I always hated that video, because Kim Deal (as much as I love her) acts like a complete bitch in it and all but hijacks the performance - smoking, mugging for the camera, pushing Ralske off his stool and and one point giving him a vicious face slap . . . not her finest moment.]

As with the previous album, 4AD recognized this as the strongest track off the new disc, and subsequently released "Special One" on its own EP later that fall, along with three non-album cuts.

Despite the negative reaction to their first tour, in the wake of the good press they were receiving with the new album, UVS went out on the road again in 1990, starting with a small concert series in England. Again, disaster ensued. Ralske commented years later about the shows:

" . . . with great fanfare, there were four nights of performances at a smallish club in the centre of London called the Borderline. In the audience were all the press and everybody important in the music industry. And basically we went out there and completely sucked: we had a very inadequate performance. I have spoken to other people who told me that, that was the point at which the fate of Ultra Vivid Scene was sealed. The performances were so bad that 4AD apparently begged people not to write about it. [laughs] Nobody wanted to think or talk about this group at all, ever again."

Ralske's take of the reaction to their performance was pretty spot-on. From that point onward, 4AD's support of UVS was sharply curtailed. Yet the relationship between the band and the label continued for a little while longer.

Prior to the sessions for Ultra Vivid Scene's third release, Ralske put together a real band to go into the studio with (consisting of himself on guitar and vocals, Julius Klepacz on drums and Jack Daley on bass), and this time the music was a true collaborative effort between the three of them. Rev, with a clear, polished

professional sound, was released in October 1992. Once again, despite label trepidations, Ultra Vivid Scene went out on the road to support it. But this time, the trio was in sync, and the result was some superb live performances.  But it was too little, too late for the group. The album failed to chart in either the US or England, and only one song, "Blood and Thunder" made the Modern Rock chart. Ralske and his band were released by 4AD in 1993.

For most of the rest of the 1990s, Ralske made his living engineering and producing records for the likes of Rasputina and Ivy, while working on his own experimental electronic music (he released four albums in the late 90s / early 2000s). Since then, he has moved into other artistic fields. He is now a well-respected and award-winning video and media artist, who holds professorships at two renowned East Coast art schools, the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) and the NYC School of Visual Arts. His works have been exhibited all over the world; have you ever been to the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in downtown New York City, and noticed the video display right there in the lobby? That's his, and it's on permanent display there. His current curriculum vitae focuses mostly on his digital endeavors, barely mentioning his stint as a popular, groundbreaking alternative musician.

The online music magazine The Quietus featured an extensive interview with Ralske last October, the first he's given in many years. In it, he does much to all but dismiss his previous career in music. “I know there are some people that are still interested in those [Ultra Vivid Scene] records”, he stated, “but mostly I’m just focused on the present and the future. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about them.”  That sort of precious, pretentious "I'm a real artist now" attitude irked me, more than a bit. Kurt, you once made challenging, compelling, popular music - a creation that tens of thousands of people enjoyed, loved and still remember. OWN it, and respect your fans, instead of being a big arty wuss about it.

Shortly after I read the Quietus article last year, I received a letter in the mail, telling me I had been selected for jury duty that November.  I spent most of the first week of November cooped up with several dozen other similarly unfortunate members of the public in a dank room in the basement of the Rhode Island Superior Court building on Benefit Street in downtown Providence, just a little ways from the RISD campus. They gave all of us who weren't assigned a case time off every afternoon to go out to lunch, and I invariably made the walk down North Main Street to eat at Fat Belly's Pub.

It was during one of my lunchtime strolls through RISD that week that I saw someone walking towards me who I swore was Kurt Ralske - the guy had the same thinning hair and glasses that were in his interview picture. His words in the article - and my reaction to it - were fresh in my mind, and I was just about to address the man headed in my direction to see if it was, in fact, him . . . but at the last second, I just kept my mouth closed and let the person walk on by. It might not have been him at all - who knows? And even if it was, what would/could I say? I'll let him be content with his current life and career; I'll be content with the music he left behind.

And here it is for you all to be content with as well - two Ultra Vivid Scene EPs:

• The Mercy Seat EP, released in April 1989; and
• The Special One EP, released on November 12th, 1990.

Both discs were put out by 4AD, and distributed in the US by Columbia Records.  Enjoy these tunes, and as always let me know your thoughts.  

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Mercy Seat EP: Send Email  

Special One EP: Send Email

The Dave Brubeck Quartet - Time Further Out

I don't usually write timely posts related to recent news items . . . but in this worthy case, I'll make an exception. Dave Brubeck, who died earlier this morning, was a GIANT, not just in the world of jazz, but in popular music as a whole, and as such he deserves heartfelt acknowledgement and profound tribute.

Brubeck was already a highly experienced and hugely successful musician when he formed his legendary quartet in 1951.  The group established its headquarters at San Francisco's former Blackhawk club, but during the Fifties made an effort to expand their audience through concerts of college campuses nationwide and during the decade releasing a series of popular recordings based on these tours: Jazz At Oberlin, Jazz Goes To College, Jazz Goes To Junior College, etc. He formed what is now considered the "classic" quartet lineup in 1958, with Joe Morello on drums, Eugene Wright on bass, the great Paul Desmond on alto sax, and himself on piano.

The following year, the group released Time Out, a jazz album featuring songs with unusual/rarely used time signatures, like 5/4 and 9/8. Brubeck's record company wasn't thrilled about putting the album out, and the release got creamed by critics at the time, but nevertheless Time Out became one of the most popular and best-selling jazz albums of all time, peaking at #2 on the US pop album charts (unheard of for a jazz disc), with the great 5/4 tune "Take Five" off of it becoming a chart hit and popular standard.

I'd heard "Take Five" a few times before in my life, but it wasn't until 2000 that the song really took hold of me. I was out in Los Angeles for a few days late the spring, attending my younger sister's graduation from USC's grad school, along with meeting up with old friends and running around the city. By that point, I'd been to L.A. enough to know the places I liked (like Pink's Hot Dog stand, Lola's Martini Bar in West Hollywood and the Formosa Cafe) and the places to avoid (basically, most of the touristy stuff like the Chinese Theater or the Hollywood sign), so I spent a lot of time at the places I preferred, just grooving to what the city had to offer.

Early one morning, after a long night of fun in out in Santa Monica, I found myself seated over a pastrami & rye in a booth at Mel's Drive-In on Sunset Boulevard. In the heart of that built-up and relentlessly modernized area of L.A., Mel's felt like an anachronism, a throwback to the American Graffiti, "Happy Days" era - it had that sort of vibe working, with its old-timey look, red pleather seats and general atmosphere. Each booth had a small coin-operated jukebox attached to it, containing songs from that bygone age - stuff like "Mr. Sandman", "Splish Splash" . . . and "Take Five", a song I hadn't heard at that point in years. I dropped my nickel, punched in the Brubeck song, and it was like BAM! The power, the smoothness, the overall coolness of that tune just hit me right between the eyes, right then and there. I sat there and played that song three more times before I settled my check, and with each play, "Take Five" took hold of me more and more. I walked out of Mel's that morning a Brubeck fanatic; later that day, I went down the street to the old Tower Records and bought Time Out.

As much as I thoroughly enjoyed Time Out, it was a long time before I discovered that the Dave Brubeck Quartet had released a followup/sequel to this classic. Time Further Out was released in 1961, and repeated the pattern of the previous success, showcasing tunes with strange beats (for me, a lot of the fun in these albums is trying to wrap my head around the time signatures when listening to the songs, trying to determine exactly what the beat is for each tune). While at first glance it may seem that the group was resting on it laurels and repeating its popular success, that is definitely not the case. Time Further Out is the equal, if not superior, to Time Out.

Why? Well, as good as the latter was, in a lot of ways Time Out feels sort of like a music experiment, with the quartet trying out the different signatures and arrangements in almost a detached, clinical fashion, just to see if they can do it - a scientific musical exercise, if you will. But to me, on Time Further Out, the music seems to have more heart and feel behind it. It's as if during the two years after the release of Time Out, the band got more and more comfortable with working with different timings; they didn't have to THINK about it as much, what went into a 9/8 or a 7/4, and as such they could concentrate more on the playing, the infusion of character and soul into their music, rather than in making sure they all stayed in time. Listen to songs like "Maori Blues" or "Unsquare Dance", and you can HEAR the fun the band is having in playing these songs together (listen to them laugh together at the end of the latter song!). Time Out is brilliant on a technical level; Time Further Out is brilliant on a musical level - and as such, the two albums complement and complete one another. Both are essential jazz recordings.

The classic Dave Brubeck Quartet broke up in 1967, but Brubeck continued to record and play live shows, both solo and with other groups, up until his death today, the day before his 92nd birthday. In the years before his death, he has been justly and widely recognized as one of the towering figures in jazz and popular music, and the music and legacy he leaves behind will keep his name alive far into the future. Thanks for everything, Mr. Brubeck, and all the best to you in your current journey.

Here's the Dave Brubeck Quartet's classic jazz album Time Further Out, released by Columbia Records on May 3rd, 1961. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Eddie Murphy - Eddie Murphy

As I mentioned in a previous post, at one time I made a concious, concerted effort to subconciously mold and influence my kids' musical tastes into something resembling my own - an attempt that frankly was an abject failure. But over the years, as my children have grown, it has been interesting and fun to see them develop their own tastes, and marvel at the things they start to like - especially so when those likes begin to mirror my own.

For example, my younger daughter and son are still at the stage where "Spongebob Squarepants" and "Phineas & Ferb" rank high on their lists, in terms of cultural relevance and quality entertainment. She loves playing with her dolls, and he with his toy soldiers, and they both enjoy the Poptropica and Club Penguin websites and their Xbox and Wii games. With all of those activities and programs capturing most of their attention, I assumed that they were absorbing very little, if any, of the music I played around the house.

However, a few months ago, while we were all driving somewhere, I was playing some tunes off my mobile device through the car stereo (I always keep my iPod in the car, for on-the-go tuneage). My little girl suddenly piped up, "Daddy, would you play that 'Lobster' song, please?"

I quickly figured out that she was referring to the B-52's "Rock Lobster", and put it on for her.

While it was playing, I happened to glance back at my son. Now, his favorite pastime while riding in the car is playing one of the several games I have for him on my iPhone - Angry Birds, Smash Cops, Major Mayhem, Jetpack Joyride. Usually, he's so locked into these games, that I have to impose limits on how long he can play them. So, needless to say, I was surprised to see that, as "Rock Lobster" played, he had actually turned the iPhone OFF, and sat in his seat, head down, playing air guitar a la Ricky Wilson . . . for the ENTIRE song! When the song ended, they asked for an immediate repeat; all in all, I played "Rock Lobster" six times in a row for them, with my son pantomiming every note every time, and my daughter learning the correct sounds to make every time Fred Schneider called out "Dogfish!" or "Sea Robin!" It was very funny, and very good to see.

My third child, the oldest (tween-aged) daughter, has her own iPod, and with it she has established her own musical tastes - mostly showtunes (like the soundtracks to Cats, Wicked and West Side Story), Michael Jackson songs and a smattering of lightweight pop like Demi Lovato and Katy Perry (*sigh* . . . yeah, I know). But occasionally I can sneak something onto her device that she 'discovers' and falls in love with.

For instance, a couple of months ago, I surrepticiously put Crystal Castles' "Crimewave" in her playlist - she found it, thought it was the greatest song in the world, and now she's a devoted Crystal Castles fan. But I don't do a lot of that sort of stuff - I'd rather let them discover their own media likes . . . although in more than one case, it's left me with some awkward situations to deal with.

I have a couple of Apple TV boxes in the house, connected to the TVs in the living room and in the girls' room. Apple TV allows you to, among other things, wirelessly stream the contents of your iTunes music and video database directly through your television - so instead of crowding around a computer screen to hear a song or watch a show, you can hear/view stuff anywhere in the house. Through Apple TV, my oldest daughter discovered my Monty Python collection (I have the entire series, along with all the movies, digitized in my hard drive). Over the past year, she's watched every single episode and film multiple times, laughing her head off every time; she knows Monty Python cold now, and through her exposure to it, it's sparked her interest in comedy.

I also have a show on my computer called The Best of Eddie Murphy, featuring some of his most celebrated sketches from his time on NBC's "Saturday Night Live" - you know, stuff like Gumby, Mr. Robinson, and of course Buckwheat; pretty mild stuff comparatively, but still hilarious. She found that on Apple TV early last month, and enjoyed it immensely, watching it multiple times and even putting the show on her mobile device, so she could watch it on the go.

Over the Labor Day weekend, I surprised the children with an "end-of-summer" trip to a nearby amusement park. It took about an hour to drive to the park from my house, and my daughter brought her iPod along, watching the Eddie Murphy clips all the way there. We spent all day at the park, riding the rides, seeing the shows, eating stuff that wasn't particularly good for us and splashing around at their on-the-grounds waterpark. The kids had an absolute blast, which was all that I hoped for. As the park closed, I loaded up my three happy, tired children into the car and began the long drive home.

My oldest daughter turned her iPod on early in the return journey, but found that it was running out of power.

"Daddy? Can I plug my iPod in to charge it up?" (I have a Apple device car adaptor)

"No, honey - I'm sorry; I need the plug to charge up my phone. But you can listen to Daddy's iPod if you want."

"Okay!"

I handed my device back to my little girl, and for the next ten minutes silence reigned in the car. Then I heard a sound coming from the back seat:

**snicker!**

I looked back through the rear-view mirror to see my daughter covering her mouth and shaking with laughter. I asked, "What's so funny, sweetheart?"

In the most innocent voice possible (a telltale right there), my daughter answered, "Ohhhh . . . nothing!"

I just nodded, but kept an eye on her . . . And sure enough, a couple of minutes later, again - **snicker!**

"What are you listening to, honey?"

And again: "Ohhhh . . . nothing, Daddy!"

Just as before, I let it go - she was enjoying herself; so be it. But a minute later, when she snickered again, I laughingly asked her what was making her laugh so much.

She paused for a moment, then said, "Well, I found these old Eddie Murphy albums on your iPod . . ."

My immediate thought was "Oh, shit." Eddie Murphy's comedy shorts on SNL, while funny, are only a bit risque - as much as he could get away with on network TV. But the stuff on his comedy albums is a FAR CRY from the material my daughter had seen and was used to - filled with profanity and references to "faggots" (pardon the term), "motherfuckers" and "big dicks". I was mortified, and my initial impulse was to either reach back and snatch the iPod from her ears as quick as I could, or otherwise tell her to turn it off and find something else to listen to . . .

But just as quickly, I reversed myself, and decided to just let it go and let her keep listening. You know, your kids are your kids, and over the years as you raise them, you tend to think of them as these innocent little tykes needing constant monitoring, nurturing and protection from all of the bad things in the world. But I think that most parents (myself included) maintain this image of their children for a lot longer than necessary. Kids grow up pretty quickly, especially in these times, and it's both impossible and foolish to try to keep from exposing them to the reality of the world - both the good stuff and the bad (racism, profanity, obscenity, etc.). Instead of putting up an iron wall between them and these sort of things, I've found that it's better to erect a door instead, allowing these things to enter their lives slowly, with some level of control, and together with them helping to understand and deal with these issues. When the odd event or situation slips through or around that 'door' into your child's life, outside of your control, instead of freaking out or trying to pretend it's not there, having an approach like this already established helps you to deal with it in a more rational way.

My oldest daughter is pretty smart and switched-on; after a year of watching Monty Python, she 'gets' politically incorrect humor, knowing why it's funny in certain circumstances, but also knowing why it's not for general audiences. The last thing I'd expect her to do is start repeating these riffs in front of her mother or grandparents - she knows better than that. So that makes my job a little easier . . .

Besides, she thinks the stuff is hilarious, and she's right. In the wake of Murphy's meteoric rise in the 1980s, followed by his uneven career (to put it mildly) of the past twenty-odd years, it's easy to forget what a bombshell his debut comedy album was when it was released in November 1982. At that point, Murphy has been on SNL for two years, for the past year being the breakout cast member and biggest attraction during a lackluster period in the history of the show. The album Eddie Murphy was really the first time a national audience got to experience the REAL Eddie Murphy - profane, powerfully cynical, urban, raw. Some of the routines on this first release have become classics: "Talking Cars", "Black Movie Theaters", "Myths/A Little Chinese" - and my personal all-time favorite, "Drinking Fathers".

Most of this album is a laugh riot, with the only off-notes (pun intended) coming from the two weak songs Murphy saw fit to put at the end of each side, "Boogie In Your Butt" and the annoying "Enough Is Enough". Still, that being said, the release of Eddie Murphy was the opening salvo in a two-month onslaught of career successes in 1982 - the release of 48 Hrs. in early December, and his stint as guest host of SNL later that month (the first, and only, active cast member to ever host the show) - that by the end of the year had elevated Murphy to one of the biggest stars in the world.

Eddie Murphy extended that superstardom through the remainder of the '80s, but by the beginning of the 1990's, that momentum had petered out, weighed down by hubris and bad career decisions. Too bad. Even in the wake of his career decline and series of crappy, widely-panned movies (I Spy, Norbit, Meet Dave, Imagine That, and one of the all-time flops, The Adventures Of Pluto Nash- among many, many other stinkbombs), Murphy is still considered by people in my generation as one of the funniest comedians and greatest film stars ever. And this debut album is where that reputation took seed and began to grow. Heck - if it can still make my tween-aged daughter laugh, all these years later, I guess there's still SOMETHING to it, eh?

So, for your listening pleasure, Eddie Murphy, released by Columbia Records on November 6th, 1982. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Lady Day: The Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia 1933–1944

When I first began working in Newark, Delaware in the middle of the last decade, there were two decent record stores in town, both on East Main Street within walking distance of one another. Bert's Compact Discs, the one I preferred, was a little further away from the main campus of the University of Delaware, closer to Academy Avenue. This place was a pure music store, stocking a pretty wide selection of import and independent music. The other place, Rainbow Books & Music, was practically sitting inside the university gates. Its selection of music was a lot narrower; in addition, the discs shared space with a textbook and used-book shop. In other words, music wasn't the main focus there, like it was at Bert's.

So for my first couple of months in the area, my visits to Rainbow were few and far between - for me, Bert's was where the 'action' was. I got turned on to Of Montreal in that store, when during one visit, the shopgirl played a prerelease version of a song off of the band's upcoming album, Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?, that I went nuts for. I found ultrarare CDs by New Zealand noise artists (and old favorites) The Dead C there, along with a bunch of other great stuff. I really loved that record store.

During that winter, I went through a lull for a couple of months where I didn't visit the CD shops or purchase any music. I can't recall why I stopped for a while; there probably wasn't anything left that I wanted to get my hands on at that particular time. Finally, one day after work, I decided to drive downtown on my way home and see what was new at Bert's. I was shocked to discover that Bert's had disappeared, seemingly overnight - replaced by a religious bookstore. The change was so thorough and complete that you couldn't even tell that a great music store once resided there. I stood there in front of the entrance in stunned silence, snow flurries swirling around me, shocked and saddened to find that Bert's was no more. I then turned, and for the first time in many months, trudged up the street to Rainbow.

As I mentioned earlier, Rainbow had nowhere near the quantity and selection of music that the other now-defunct record store had. But Rainbow had two things going for it - a fairly large used CD section full of discounted music (a lot of dross to be found in there, to be sure, but in my later visits I found more than enough that was worthwhile), and a section of shelves around the corner and behind the register that held special staff picks and promotions.

I browsed the used racks, but nothing jumped out at me. So on my way out, I stopped to take a look at the promotions shelf. The theme that month was jazz and swing, and featured prominently was a large purple-and-black boxed set containing ALL of Billie Holiday's Columbia Records recordings.

Now, I'm a HUGE Billie Holiday fan, and have been since high school. Back when I was a freshman and involved in the school drama club, one of my first parts was as a featured player in a one-act play called "The Death of Bessie Smith". Up until I had been cast for that show, I had no idea who Bessie Smith, the former "Queen of the Blues", was, nor had any real understanding or interest in the jazz and blues music from that period. So I began educating myself, checking out old records from the local library and reading up on Ms. Smith and other artists from that era, eventually coming around to Billie Holiday. She quickly became my favorite from that period. A family friend had a couple of old Billie Holiday records, that I borrowed and copied onto cassette tapes, and kept in my possession for years. To me, her voice was the personification of jazz and blues. My favorite Holiday song was (and is) "Speak Low" (Please use the email link to contact me for the link to this song: Send Email), which I thought was an original of hers; I learned later that the song was a reworking of a tune from an old WWII-era Broadway show called One Touch of Venus, and was written by none other than the great Kurt Weill, with lyrics by the famous poet Ogden Nash. Holiday just made the song her own, and in my opinion her version of it vastly improves upon the original.

So needless to say, when I saw this ten-disc set, I was very excited . . . until I saw the price tag. The sum thar Rainbow was asking for it was well beyond my means at the time. But I coveted those tunes, so much so that I made what was at that point a rash decision - I was bound and determined to head to Atlantic City that weekend and WIN the purchase price of that music at the poker tables there. I asked the shopkeeper to hold the set for a couple of days, and I would come back for it by Monday. He did as I requested, but all in all he didn't seem too jazzed about it . . .

At that point in time, the prospects of me coming away from New Jersey's casinos with any kind of gain were slim at best. I'd recently started playing no-limit hold 'em again after a layoff of a couple of years, and my once-awesome skills were more than a little bit rusty. My last few trips to Atlantic City had been disasters; guys who I normally would have been wiping the floor with were taking my money seemingly at will. This was coupled with a long and demoralizing run of insanely bad luck, with opponents again and again catching miracle suck-out cards on the river to destroy me - the worst instance occuring during a session at the Borgata, when I turned one of only two straight flushes I've ever held in my life . . . and LOST the hand (that one STILL hurts to this day . . . ). But even with those multiple sessions of ass-kickage, I was confident that I would eventually turn it around and get back into my formerly winning form - hopefully sooner rather than later. I left for A.C. that weekend, full of hope.

Upon arrival in the New Jersey coastal city, I steered clear of bad-luck Borgata, and headed down to the string of casinos located along the famed Boardwalk. I decided to try the Tropicana, a favorite due to their large poker room and the overall ambiance of the property (I try very hard not to be superstitious . . . but at that point I could use all the positive vibes I could find). I made my way down past the shops and restaurants, and quickly found a seat at a $1-2 no limit hold 'em table. My hands were actually sweating as I sat down - the ghosts and memories of all those bad sessions and hellacious beats all came storming back. But I tried to calm down, push those bad thoughts aside, and concentrate on what I was doing . . .

And for the first time in a while, my focus paid off - I made an absolute KILLING at the table that day! Cards kept falling my way, time and time again. By the end of that session that evening, I needed two racks to hold all of the red and green chips I had acquired. I felt like I finally got my poker mojo back! I drove home that evening a very happy man.

In the early afternoon of the next day, Sunday, I drove back to downtown Newark and entered Rainbow. "Remember me?", I asked the guy behind the counter. "I hope you held on to that Billie Holiday set." He seemed very surprised and happy to have me come back as I promised I would; I suspect that his prospects for selling such an expensive set to impoverished students in a college town like that probably weren't too optimistic, so essentially I was doing him a favor by taking it off of his hands. I raced home with the huge leather-bound folder and over the rest of that day, proceeded to burn all ten discs onto my computer and into my MP3 player. In terms of quality and quantity of music, this set could not be beat. I must say that, even all these years later, I'm still very happy with my purchase!

So, on the 53rd anniversary of the death of one of the greatest jazz singers of all time, I proudly present to you Lady Day: The Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia 1933–1944, the full ten-disc set, the definitive collection of the music of the sublime Billie Holiday. This one is for the fans and yet-to-be fans of one of the greatest song interpreters of the century. As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think.  

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Big Audio Dynamite II - Ally Pally Paradiso

Wow . . . I didn't know this one was so rare. I've had this disc for forever; I picked it up in early 1992 at either Phantasmagoria Records or Vinyl Ink Records, two legendary Washington, DC-area music stores that sadly are no longer with us. From what I've read, this album was a promo, attached to a limited edition version of Big Audio Dynamite II's 1991 album The Globe, or available through mail order from NME magazine. The place I bought it from had it out separately for sale from the main album. I recall acquiring it in the run-up to the band's scheduled 1992 concert in DC as part of their international Globe tour.

The group was slated to play the Citadel Center, which back in the day was a great place for Washington-area concerts. It was located on Kalorama Road in the heart of the Adams Morgan neighborhood of the city, and from what I understood was a former roller skating rink. As such, the place was a cavernous barn; a huge room with a stage at one end and no seats - just standing-room only. But it was simply an outstanding venue for seeing bands . . . although you took your life in your hands if you stood too close to the stage - not due to flailing mosh pit idiots or aggressive bouncers, but because of the constant crush of people behind you surging forward. I saw The Pixies there (with Pere Ubu opening) in November 1991 with my sister, and being huge Pixies fans, we wanted to be right up front for the show. Well, I spent the entirety of The Pixies' set with her in front of me, while I held my arms locked rigidly on either side of her against the stage barrier, trying to keep both of us from being squashed. It was a great show, mind you, but my arms were so sore afterwards that I couldn't lift them to drive; my sister had to take the wheel to get us home.

Despite the drawbacks of this concert hall, I saw a lot of bands there. When I heard that BAD II was going to be at the Citadel Center over the summer, I was completely jazzed. I'd been a fan of Big Audio Dynamite from the get-go; I regard the original band lineup (featuring The Clash's Mick Jones on guitar and vocals, the vocals and found sound additions of Don Letts, Dan Donovan on keyboards, Leo Williams on bass, and drummer Greg Roberts) as the best, 'classic' lineup. When Mick Jones & Co.'s first album (This Is Big Audio Dynamite) was released in 1985, I acquired it practically the moment it came out. In subsequent years, I purchased and enjoyed the follow-up albums by the original band as they appeared - No. 10 Upping St. in '86, Tighten Up Vol. '88 (in . . . well, guess what year), Megatop Phoenix in '89 - but I could tell by the end of the decade that there was a definite lack of spark and originality remaining within Big Audio Dynamite. If there was, it certainly wasn't making it onto the albums. So there was disappointment in some quarters, but I don't think anyone (including me) was really surprised when the original BAD lineup dissolved in 1990.

When I heard that Mick Jones was putting together a brand new lineup and planning to record/tour under the name "Big Audio Dynamite", I must admit that I was more than a bit concerned. To me, it sounded as though Jones was making the same mistake that Joe Strummer made back in the mid-eighties, when in the wake of Jones' acrimonious departure from The Clash, Strummer gathered up a group of nobodies and recorded the embarrassing, widely-panned and vilified Cut The Crap under the 'Clash' moniker. I figured Jones would have learned his lesson after witnessing that debacle - but apparently not.

When The Globe was released in the summer of 1991, I forced myself not to pay attention to it - I just didn't want to be disappointed. But songs from the album began appearing in heavy rotation on some of my favorite radio stations, including DC's WHFS, and to my happy surprise I discovered that the replacement band (now dubbed "Big Audio Dynamite II") had risen to the challenge, and had actually put out a pretty good record. The new guys brought an infusion of energy and new ideas, which was basically what the group needed. I greatly enjoyed songs like "Rush" and "Green Grass", and looked forward to their upcoming show.

But alas, to my intense dissatisfaction, the show was cancelled at the last minute, for reasons that were unclear to me at the time. From what I heard later, the homeowners who lived near the Citadel Center were up in arms about having a concert venue all but on top of their houses, and were ticked off about dealing with the noise, rowdy crowds and incidental property damage that occurred during show nights. So eventually, the city shut the place down. In recent years, the location has been converted into a Harris-Teeter supermarket. Too bad - for a while there, the Citadel Center was THE place to see a show in DC.

The songs on this live album were recorded at two European shows Big Audio Dynamite II played in 1990, at the Alexandria Palace in London and at the Paradiso in Amsterdam, Holland (hence the name, Ally Pally Paradiso). On this album, some of the live song names were changed from the names of the original songs on the BAD albums; when necessary, I've noted the 'real' names below:

1. "Ritual Idea" [aka "E=MC2", off of This Is Big Audio Dynamite]
2. "Babe" [aka "Baby, Don't Apologize", off of Megatop Phoenix]
3. "Free"
4. "Messiahs of the Milk Bar" [aka "Hollywood Boulevard", from No. 10 Upping Street]
5. "City Lights"
6. "Situation No Win" [aka "Rush", from The Globe]
7. "All St.'s Rd" [aka "The Battle Of All Saints Road", from Tighten Up Vol. '88]
8. "I'm On the Right Track" [aka "Contact", from Megatop Phoenix]
9. "1999" [Prince cover]

I think that this album catches much of the energy, excitement and sound of a live BAD concert in the early '90s. Listening to it now, you can also hear a huge dollop of the then-current rave/Madchester sound contained in what BAD II was doing back then. But in my mind, it doesn't really date the album all that much. As a standalone disc, I think that it holds up pretty well, and as part of the overall Big Audio Dynamite I/II oeuvre, it's not essential . . . but neither is it a frivolous or unnecessary album to own.

Anyway, you decide. For your listening pleasure, here's the only live album ever put out by any iteration of Big Audio Dynamite, Ally Pally Paradiso, released in 1991 on Columbia Records (then a subsidiary of CBS). Enjoy, and let me know what you think:

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