Boy O Boy - Shish-Ska-Bob

I was going through my CD stacks the other day, and came across this old disc, which has been in my possession for over twenty years. Ah, Boy O Boy . . . a fond memory from my days in Washington, DC many moons ago. This band was a case study in the old adage, "You've got to punch your weight."

Boy O Boy was formed in 1985 by a bunch of musically like-minded friends, all students at Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Virginia. They made their bones initially on the frat house circuit, playing campus parties and the like at VA Tech, before branching out further afield to other local schools as word-of-mouth began to spread. Boy O Boy started out playing mostly covers of ska and ska revival classics, but soon began penning and playing their own skank-infused originals. Their sound, a good-time, rollicking fusion of ska, rock and funk, with lyrics primarily focused on partying, girls and dancing, was perfectly suited for the college circuit, and the band became known for its high-energy shows. At that time, Boy O Boy wasn't anything of any substance; they were basically your typical frat-house-type band, a bunch of guys who liked playing music on the weekends and picking up a few bucks here and there while they did it.

After graduation, the band members (who at the time consisted of drummer Mike Boyd, keyboardist Eric Lawson, lead guitarist David Triano, Dave Peterson on bass, with a horn section consisting of Jim Pennington on trumpet and trombonist Chris Leitch and the recent addition of Virginia Commonwealth University music major Schiavone McGee as lead vocalist) decided to get serious and see if they could make a go of this music thing. In the late 80s, Boy O Boy relocated east to Richmond, Virginia, a more central, transportation-assessable location (don't know if you've ever been to Blacksburg, but it's in the middle of fucking nowhere), and began expanding their circuit, playing gigs up and down the East Coast. They also started self-producing discs on their own BOB (Boy O Boy) Records imprint and selling them at their shows - the first self-titled album was released in 1990.

I used to see these guys a lot in the DC area in the late 80s/early 90s - as I mentioned in an earlier post, Boy O Boy was a fixture on the mid-Atlantic club circuit. I was mad for ska back in the day (still a big fan today), and went running to see any act of that persuasion that passed through the Washington area (for example, Special Beat (the collective made up of former members of The English Beat and The Specials) played the 9:30 Club on F Street a number of times between 1990 to 1993. The last shows of theirs I went to before moving away in 1993 was a three-night stand at the club - I went to EVERY show, all three nights!). At the show Boy O Boy played at 9:30 sometime in 1992, I enjoyed it so much, I purchased the album they had on sale there, Shish-Ska-Bob (their second BOB Records release) which included just about every song they played that night. In addition to the original tunes on the album (written mainly by Triano and Leitch), the band added reworked ska versions of Rossini's "Barber of Seville" and Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze". But the best song on the album, in my opinion, is "All I Need Is A Holiday", a superb ska workout that reminded me a lot of Bad Manners.

Boy O Boy toured relentlessly throughout the early 1990s, eventually playing more than 150 shows per year at colleges, clubs, and other venues up and down the East Coast. In 1993 they released a Christmas EP, Bobsled, which was well received by their regional audience. Through hard work and nonstop gigging, the band reached the point where it was self-supporting, and while the band members weren't making huge money, they were making a living doing what they enjoyed.

Then Boy O Boy did a curious thing - in mid 1994, they changed their name, now referring to themselves by the new moniker "Fighting Gravity".

Why did the band decide to forgo nearly a decade of fan goodwill and name recognition by making such a move? Well, band members had long held aspirations beyond regional popularity; by the time they had completed recording of their third BOB Records disc, No Stopping, No Standing, they were openly angling for a major label record deal. As part of that process, they attempted to incorporate the "Boy O Boy" name . . . only to find that it had already been incorporated by someone else. Faced with either retaining their original name, which would pretty much seal their fate as a local act, or changing it and building the new name into a national "brand" while hopefully retaining their old fans, Boy O Boy opted for the latter.

No Stopping, No Standing was released at the end of 1994. While it was a stronger album than any of the band's earlier releases, it didn't sell as well as Shish-Ska-Bob or Bobsled. I think fans were confused, not only by the name change, but also by the subtle change in the band's sound. Ska, while prominent in songs like "Godzilla", "Deep Blue" and the title track, was no longer the overarchingly predominant sound of Fighting Gravity. The group's tone became more rock-oriented, and somewhat darker and less good-timey then their earlier work. It was a sign of things to come.

Fighting Gravity's first big taste of national exposure came in the fall of 1994, when they were invited to compete on TV's "Star Search", a talent competition. The band ended up winning the show, and began getting looks from big music labels. EMI offered them a shitty deal in 1995, which they wisely turned down. The band headed back to the Virginia area for more touring, all the while keeping an ear open for additional major label offers they assumed would come pouring in. When no new offers came through that year, Fighting Gravity recorded another BOB Records release, Forever = 1 Day, if for any other reason to keep their momentum and name recognition going. Forever = 1 Day was even more 'rockier' than their previous release, with many of the band's songs veering into the Dave Matthews Band vein of soft pop (no shock there, since former DMB producer John Alegia helmed this album) - the skankified horns were few and far between on this one.

At the end of 1995, Fighting Gravity caught another huge break in their quest for national exposure. That December, Rolling Stone magazine assigned a writer and photographer to accompany the band on one of its regional frat house tours, to document life on the road in a feature article as part of an upcoming issue focusing on college life and music. When the article appeared in the March 1996 issue, the floodgates opened; the band was suddenly inundated with major label offers. Later that year, Fighting Gravity signed with Mercury Records. It was a better deal than the one offered earlier by EMI, but not huge, so the band continued their frenetic touring schedule while preparing songs for their major label debut. Some of their older BOB Records albums were rereleased under their new name as a stopgap, utilizing Mercury's distribution network.

You and Everybody Else was released on Mercury in the late summer of 1998. On this record, the band almost completely dispensed with its signature ska sound, completing their transformation into "Dave Matthews Band-lite" that began on Forever = 1 Day. Most of the songs (such as "Turn To Me", "Waterfall" and "Wait For You") are bland rehashings of tunes done better by other bands. There is very little on this disc that showcases the versatility, excitement or personality that the band used to display in its live shows. Needless to say, the record was a huge flop - listening to it now, you can hear why. Mercury wasted no time in cutting its losses and dropping the band from the label. Fighting Gravity had their chance, and they blew it.

The band soldiered on for almost another decade, resuming its extensive touring and cranking out albums on their BOB Records imprint. Some original band members fell by the wayside, to be replaced by new members who also departed after a year or two. By the mid-2000s, McGee, Peterson and Boyd were the only remaining founding members. Earlier that decade, Fighting Gravity dispensed with their long-time horn section, becoming a straight-ahead rock combo. Needless to say, that did nothing to endear them to their fan base. Nevertheless, Fighting Gravity got one more shot at national exposure. They were signed by a subsidiary of Atlantic Records in late 2002 and prepped an album for release the following year. But unfortunately, the label they signed to went under. The album they produced, Blue Sky & Black, was eventually released on their own label in 2006. That was Fighting Gravity's final release before breaking up in 2007.

Boy O Boy/Fighting Gravity was a good regional band, but I honestly don't think they had the right sound to break out of their limited area and expand their fan base across the USA. I think the band themselves realized that their original sound was not the recipe for national success - ska is not a musical genre warmly accepted by a majority of the record-buying public. Many an American band that started off surfing the high crest of ska's Third Wave (Fishbone, No Doubt, and Reel Big Fish, for example) found more success and acceptance by coasting down into the more familiar, more tranquil, less turbulent waters of pop and funk. Shoot, even Third Wave giants the Mighty Mighty Bosstones didn't find widespread success until they released the considerably toned-down song "The Impression That I Get" in 1997, their only Top 40 hit. In my opinion, the only band in the past 20 years that found national commercial success with an uncompromised, out-front ska sound was Sublime . . . but the band ended right at its peak with the death of lead vocalist and main songwriter Bradley Nowell, so the question as to whether the band could have/would have sustained its sound and its popularity will never be answered.

So, like I said, Fighting Gravity knew that ska wasn't their golden ticket to the Top 40. But in their hunger to make it big, they completely abandoned the music that got them to where they were in the first place. By they time they disbanded, I don't think they really knew who they were anymore, musically.

I'm all for individuals and groups reaching for the stars, and doing what they can to achieve success. And I know that in that quest, sometimes compromises and changes have to be made. But when does it become too much? How much can you change and still be true to yourself? What's the final cost, and is it worth it?

Fighting Gravity/Boy O Boy found what the price of would-be glory would be, and in the end it proved to be too much for them. To paraphrase Mark 8:36 -

"For what shall it profit a band, if it shall gain the whole world, and lose its own soul?"

Here's the best representation of the original ska band in all its glory: Boy O Boy's Shish-Ska-Bob, released in the spring of 1992 on BOB Records. Enjoy . . . and as always, let me know what you think.

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The Pixies - Surfer Rosa (RS500 - #315)

I was driving home from work today and listening to WBRU, when the DJ made a statement that made me feel very, very old:

The Pixies' Surfer Rosa was released 25 years ago today.

Twenty-five years . . . jeez.  It doesn't seem that long ago - and yet . . .   To put it in perspective, Surfer Rosa itself was released exactly 25 years to the day after the release of another historic record, Please Please Me, the Beatles' debut album.  Now, think about the progression, change and development of popular music in that quarter century between the Beatles and the Pixies' first albums - through bubblegum, progressive, glam, metal, punk, post-punk, New Wave, No Wave, New Romantic, etc.  The spark the Fab Four lit in 1963 ignited an explosion in popular music that is still being felt today.  The arrival of the Pixies should have signaled the start of another 25-year rock music renaissance.  And it did, sort of, for a while - but it didn't last nearly as long as what followed in the Beatles' wake.

As 'switched on' musically as I claim to be, I have to say that Surfer Rosa didn't come across my radar for quite a while.  In the first place, it was released overseas on England's 4AD, and its U.S. distribution (handled by Rough Trade) was somewhat limited.  Secondly, in 1988 I wasn't in one place long enough to pause and get a broader overview as to what was going on musically - around the time this album was released, I was moving from Georgia to Virginia to begin my military career, and shortly after I arrived in Norfolk, I departed with my ship on a long European deployment that keep me out of the States until just before Christmas.  Outside of the Boston area (the band's home base) and more musically 'with-it' locales (of which Norfolk was not one), the Pixies didn't make much of an impression on the overall U.S. music scene in 1988.

It was the release in the following year of their second album, Doolittle, that got me into the Pixies.  Doolittle was the band's first widely-distributed international release (Elektra took over the U.S. rights from Rough Trade), and as such it seemed to everywhere all at once.  Like practically everyone else who 'discovered' the Pixies that year, the gateway song for me was "Monkey Gone To Heaven", which I first heard one evening on the short-lived Hampton Roads alternative radio station (call letters long forgotten) while I was driving home to Virginia Beach down I-64 after a hard day's work at the Norfolk Naval Base.  By the time Black Francis was screaming ". . . And GOD is SEVEN!  And GOD is SEVEN!  And GOD is SEVEN!", I was already making a swerving detour onto I-264 towards the mall to buy this album as fast as I could.  I picked up a cassette copy at Big Daddy's Records & Tapes store at Military Circle Mall (that store's big claim to fame was its "lifetime guarantee" - if any tape or CD ever broke or went bad on you, they vowed that they would replace it for free, no questions asked.  Needless to say, the place no longer exists . . . ).  

Later that spring, my ship entered Norfolk Naval Shipyard to get a new fire control system installed.  With no overseas deployment scheduled for that year, I spent the warm spring and summer days and weekends In the Norfolk/Virginia Beach area, going to the beach and hitting the clubs with my friends, with Doolittle blasting through my open car windows the entire time.  I absolutely loved this album, so much so that I quickly began looking for additional Pixies releases.  I found a cassette copy of Surfer Rosa up in DC at my old standby, the George Washington University branch of Tower Records. 

I thought that nothing could top the brilliance of Doolittle . . . until I heard Surfer Rosa.  EVERY song on this album was a winner, including my personal favorites "Brick Is Red", "Cactus" and "Break My Body".

Big Black's Steve Albini, who produced the album, was openly contemptuous of the Pixies during the sessions, and soon afterwards said several disparaging things about the band and their music, admitting in interviews that many of the seemingly innovative recording techniques he used on Surfer Rosa (having band members sing in an echo-ey concrete restroom, running vocals through guitar amps, or including extended studio banter on the record) were done basically to amuse himself, and not necessarily to benefit the band (yes, he's (or at least was) an asshole . . . but he later apologized for his remarks and attitude, heaping praise on the group).  But despite Albini's personal feelings at the time and however you feel about him, whatever he did on Surfer Rosa worked.  He and the band created a unique, groundbreaking, classic album.

Looking back, you would have thought that the release of Surfer Rosa and the rise of the Pixies in the late '80s/early '90s would have led to the same sort of long-term, lasting emergence of musical innovation and variety that occurred in the wake of Please Please Me twenty-five years earlier.  And for a while, that was the case - I think that that five-six year window after the Pixies' debut album came out was not only the Golden Age of alternative music, but really the last time when great music not only seemed to be coming out of everywhere, but was being duly acknowledged as 'great music' in its present period, not long afterwards by music critics of the future.

[Now, I'm not saying that the Pixies were the direct cause of all of this happening; Lord knows that there were many other influential bands around during and before this time also serving as groundbreakers and catalysts.  But the band and this album serves as a convenient touch-point, a place to point at and say "See?  Here's where the floodgates began opening" and fantastic tunes began flowing in from seemingly every corner.]

During that time period, bands that a few years earlier were and might have been little-known, little-heard 'cult' bands - Ween, Sonic Youth, They Might Be Giants, Nitzer Ebb, The Sundays, Pavement, PJ Harvey, Stereolab, Cocteau Twins . . . (I could go on and on) - became widely recognized, popular and commercially successful groups.  It was the heyday of independent and college radio stations, which were widespread across the country and had the courage to buck the mainstream and play 'non-commercial' music.  Alternative music morphed into several subgenres - indie, jangle pop, Madchester, riot grrl, ska-punk, and of course grunge, to name a few - all of which thrived, at least for a while.  But this "golden age" was relatively short-lived, and by the mid-1990s it definitely felt as though an era had passed, and the apparent willingness of the media to continue exposing and championing new bands and cool sounds had come to an end.  

You can't quite put a definitive date on when music started turning to shit in the 1990s, but the breakup of the Pixies in early 1993 is a pretty good point to mark the beginning of the end.  I remember following the various rumors and bulletins related to their demise during the winter of 1992-93, first with disbelief and shock, then with sadness and resignation.  It was heartbreaking, witnessing their acrimonious end; in a way, the Pixies had become more than just a band, to myself and many others.  I don't think I'm overstating the feeling that lots of us shared back then - the Pixies and their music represented more than just a genre (alternative) or a style (LOUDquietLOUD) or a location (the fabled 'Boston Scene').  They represented an entire era, when the unfamiliar and experimental and exceptional, for a while, became the norm - an era that with the band's passing would never again come to pass . . . sort of like the Beatles, in a way.

OK . . . I guess I've said more than enough about this group and this disc.  Music is what you're here for, and music is what you're gonna get!  Here, for your listening pleasure, is Surfer Rosa, the Pixies' first full-length album, released March 21st, 1988 on 4AD (what I'm offering here is actually the Surfer Rosa/Come On Pilgrim compilation, which I picked up on CD a couple of years after my cassette purchase).  Enjoy this album as you think back over the past twenty-five years of so of YOUR life (assuming you're that old) . . . and as always, let me know what you think.

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Ratcat - "Tingles" EP

Another great memory from my days in the Washington DC area in the early '90s . . .

I first heard Ratcat's "That Ain't Bad" on the local alternative station there, WHFS, soon after I moved back to the area in the spring of 1991.  They really championed this unknown Australian band, and they HAMMERED this song on their station, day and night.  And it was easy to hear why - the song was catchy, hooky, punky, guitary - all the things I liked in music back at that time, all rolled up into one 3-minute blast.  After a couple of exposures to it, I ran like a bastard for the record store and snapped up an import cassette copy, which I began hammering myself on my car's tape player.  I didn't know much about the band at the time (it being the pre-Internet days), but their music was all right with me.  It wasn't until much later that I learned more about the group.

Ratcat was formed in Australia in 1985 by three Sydney-area teenagers, Andrew Polin (drums), Victor Levi (bass) and Simon Day (guitar/vocals), evolving from Levi and Day's garage band Danger Mouse.  The band paid its dues in the local small-club and party circuit, and gained a following among Sydney's skateboarding and punk communities with a sound that was more guitar-driven power pop than straight-ahead punk, although there were a lot of punk inflections in their music.  In late 1987, Ratcat came to the attention of local indie label Waterfront Records, who signed the band and quickly released their debut eponymous EP before the end of that year.  The record was well received in certain quarters of Australia, but did not chart.

Over the next two years, the band released several singles and one full-length album, This Nightmare, on Waterfront, which again made no great waves on the national charts.  This was mainly due to Waterfront Records' limited distribution and reach, which kept Ratcat's music off of Australian radio and held back the band's success.  Levi got fed up with it all pretty early, and quit the band in late 1988; he was replaced by new bassist John McAteer.  With the relative failure of This Nightmare, the rest of the band also saw the handwriting on the wall; after one final single release ("Saying Goodbye" / "Tura Satana" / "Overdrive") in late 1989, the band said goodbye to Waterfront as well, and signed with indie upstart RooArt in 1990.  McAteer decided to call it quits just before the label switch; he was replaced by Amr Zaid.

While RooArt, like Waterfront, was also a small independent, they had one major factor in their favor - the label had wisely entered into a distribution deal with recording giant Polygram, vastly increasing the exposure of groups on their roster.  RooArt engineered an all-out marketing strategy for Ratcat's first release that November, the 6-song "Tingles" EP.  The label saturated the country with a superb advertising campaign showcasing the band, and shrewdly directed purchasers to buy the disc at their local independent record shops (as album sales in department stores did not count towards the overall Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) charts).  The strategy was a bigger success than anyone could have imagined; the "Tingles" EP quickly shot to the top of ARIA's Alternative charts by Christmas, and soon after crossed over to reach #2 on the overall national charts.  The lead song off the EP, "That Ain't Bad", received massive mainstream radio airplay, and also reached #1 on the Australian singles chart.  Here's the video:

A band that could barely fill a mid-sized Sydney club less than six months earlier was suddenly the hottest, most popular group in Australia.

Ratcat followed up on their late-1990 success with their first LP release on RooArt, Blind Love, in April 1991.  Both the album and the lead single, "Don't Go Now", topped the charts by that June.  That spring, the band went on the road, supporting INXS on their huge "X" tour, then going out on their own as the headliner and playing to massive crowds of rabid fans.  In Australia in 1991, Ratcat could do no wrong.

Then the wheels started coming off . . .

Like many other Australian bands before and after them, Ratcat saw its future in the U.S. market.  In the summer of 1991, the band headed over to the States, playing support gigs with the likes of Iggy Pop and a recently reformed MC5.  The shows were well-received, but did little to enhance the group's profile stateside.  By the time they returned to Australia in early 1992, Ratcat-mania had subsided.  The band released two singles and a new album, Inside Out, with new bassist Marc Scully [man, this group went through a lot of bassists . . .], all of which reached the lower rungs of the Australian Top 50.  But Ratcat's bubblegummy, power-pop sound was starting to sound dated, especially in the wake of the rise of grunge music during this period of that decade.  The band released a couple of EPs in 1993 (neither of which charted) and laid down tracks for a third album (which wasn't completed/released until 1997).  But by the end of that year, the band was essentially kaput.

I had no idea about what had transpired with Ratcat; when I moved to New Zealand in early 1993, I fully expected the place to be filled with rabid Ratcat fans like myself.  So I was surprised (and somewhat put out) when some of my new Kiwi friends gave me the big laugh when I told them how much I liked this band.  By that time, Ratcat was being dismissed in one of two phrases: "Those guys are a kiddie band!" (akin to the present-day Jonas Brothers or One Direction), or "Ratcat?  Those guys were washed up a year ago!"

[That reminds me of when I was in high school in Monterey, California in the early '80s, when AC/DC was just getting big here in the States.  We had an Australian exchange student in our class, who used to laugh whenever someone came in wearing an AC/DC tee-shirt - "That band was washed up in Australia two years ago!"  I don't know how true that was, but at the time I believed it!]

In this case, my friends there were right.  With the lack of new releases by the band in the years I lived in Christchurch, I quickly determined that yes, Ratcat was no more, and moved on to new sounds.  But I never forgot that great EP and that incredible song . . .

And it appears that I'm not alone in remembering.  Ratcat has recently been experiencing a wave of nostalgia for their music; the band recently reformed for a one-off show in Sydney, playing Blind Love in its entirely and other hits before an appreciative crowd.  And a (godawful) cover of "That Ain't Bad" was recently showcased in an Australian bra commercial (Simon Day has a short cameo in the ad): 

Ratcat is now seen as a pioneer in Australian indie rock, finally providing the band with some long-overdue acknowledgement and appreciation.

And finally, here it is for you to appreciate as well: Ratcat's "Tingles" EP, released in November 1990 on RooArt Records and distributed by Polygram.  Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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The Beatles - The Complete BBC Sessions (Purple Chick) (10 Discs plus Bonus Disc)

January is always the slowest month for me, in terms of putting up new posts on this blog. Coming down off the highs of the run-up to Christmas and New Years, and facing all of the holiday bills I now have to pay . . . plus football season is winding up (with my team, as per usual, not making the playoffs) . . . and the weather REALLY starts to suck, so now I get to face weeks of driving to work over icy roads on bald tires.  Let's just say that my mood during January isn't the greatest.  I'm just trying to drag myself through the month, with a thick, hazy cloud of ennui hanging over my head like a real-life Schleprock ("Wowzy wowzy woo woo", indeed). And that slackadaisical attitude can't help but extend itself into my writing; I just lose the motivation to put pen to paper (or more accurately, "fingers to keyboard") for a couple of weeks.

But gradually, as February and the prospect of warmer weather in the near future approaches, I usually shake out of this funk, and start getting back to some serious posting. So just bear with me, folks, please - I'll be fully back at it soon enough.

In the meantime, I hope this one tides you all over: The Complete BBC Sessions, put out by the good people at Purple Chick back in 2004. This is the updated and expanded ten-disc set they put out in late 2004 (they originally released a three-disc set earlier that year), containing (by my count) all fifty-one Beatles shows aired on BBC Radio between 1962 and 1965.  And if THAT'S not enough, there's a little something extra I've included with this post - the elusive 11th disc in this set, containing interviews the band and band members conducted on a variety of shows between 1963 and 1970, along with songs from guest bands that were included as part of their many BBC shows (very few of their BBC shows were 100% Beatles material - music from groups the Fabs liked were usually included to fill out the programs).

I've been getting quite a bit of demand for this set over the past week, so I figured I'd post it, and let the masses have a crack at it as well! I've converted all of the albums over from FLAC to .mp3 - sound quality is still good, and the files are much smaller and iTunes-friendlier.  And all the song names and interviews denote the shows they originated from - it took me a while to find and append that information on each file, especially on the bonus disc - but it was worth it.

So, for your (extensive) listening pleasure, I proudly present you with The Beatles' Complete BBC Sessions, nearly 20 solid hours of nonstop listening spread over eleven discs, courtesy of Purple Chick. Enjoy this humongous stopgap done to rectify my recent lack of posts . . . and as always, please let me know what you think.

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[Postscript (26 May 13) - getting a HUGE amount of interest in this posting over the past week, due to the recent article in the Atlantic Monthly regarding the Beatles' BBC recordings - thank you, magazine writer Colin Fleming!  Here's a link to the article, if you're interested.]

National Public Radio (NPR) - The Sunshine Hotel and Charlie's Story

In my opinion, this is the single best story EVER presented on National Public Radio. I heard this show when it was first aired in the late summer of 1998, as I was driving home from work in Texas and listening to NPR. The Sunshine Hotel is one of the last of what used to be scores of flophouses in the Bowery section of New York City, places where the transients, hoboes and alcoholics in that area could find cheap temporary lodgings while sleeping off their latest bender. At one time, tens of thousands of men lived in the scores of cheap hotels lining the streets of this area.

For several months earlier that year, two radio producers from a foundation called Sound Portraits.org, David Isay and Stacy Abramson, were given unprecedented 24-hour access to the Sunshine Hotel and its denizens. They recorded dozens of hours of audio, which they then edited down into a combination documentary/sound collage that captures not only the story of the place, but the ambience and feel of living there. The

narrator of the piece was Nathan Smith, the hotel's longtime manager, who, despite his gravelly voice and 'Nu Yawk' inflections, exudes personality, warmth and humanity as he describes the grim way of life there. And what he describes is not pretty - dank, tiny cubicles with ceilings of chicken wire and beds full of fleas and bedbugs, occupied by a motley collection of addicts, mental patients and other castoffs of society. But with Smith's words, and the stories of some of the dwellers there, the people occupying this filthy, nearly forgotten throwback to another era became more than just a collection of losers, head cases and down-and-outers on the tail end of society. They are real people, with issues and adversities that most of us will hopefully never have to face. I found the entire story fascinating, so much so that I continued listening to the show long after I arrived home, sitting in my driveway to hear it in its entirety.

Many years later, I was in New York City visiting an old friend from New Zealand, who was over in the States on a brief vacation. She had an artistic bent, so we spent most of the time going through some of the city's top art museums: the Guggenheim, the Metropolitian Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art. She was staying with some people who had an apartment on St. Marks Place, and the plan was that we were all supposed to meet downtown later, then decide where to go for dinner. The location selected for our meeting place was the lobby of the New Museum of Contemporary Art, a funky, modern building located on Bowery, about two blocks south of where CBGB's used to be. Everyone was there at the scheduled time, and the decision was made to try a restaurant up on East Houston Street, so we all walked out and headed north. Just past the museum facade, I happened to glance up, and noticed this sign:

The legendary (in my mind) Sunshine Hotel was RIGHT NEXT DOOR to this place! I was momentarily tempted to stop and go inside, but I don't think the group of people I was with would be too keen on waiting for me while I explored what no doubt appeared to them to be nothing more than a nasty old tenement. As far as I knew, they hadn't heard the story of the place, so they just didn't know what it meant.

A couple of months after "The Sunshine Hotel" aired, the same producers presented another piece on NPR, "Charlie's Story", as an adjunct to their earlier show. Seeking a more first-hand look at life in these transient hotels,

Isay and Abramson befriended Charlie Geter, a long-time resident of the Palace Hotel, another Bowery flop. They gave Geter a tape recorder and asked him to interview other residents of the Palace Hotel and also tell his life story. It took Geter two years to finish the project, hampered by the reluctance of other hotel residents to tell their stories to him, and also facing his own serious health issues during that time.

But he DID complete it, and turned in a narrative just as compelling as that of "The Sunshine Hotel". This was another story that I sat in the driveway listening to from start to finish. The last voice heard on the recording is that of Geter, describing his troubled upbringing and his lack of accomplishment at any phase of his life, and how by finishing the project Isay and Abramson entrusted him with, how proud he was at finally completing something of substance and worth that will live on after he's gone.

Of everything in that story, those final words were the ones that got to me; I think of them often. Everyone, no matter what their rank or station, wants to leave some part of themselves behind that people will recall and remember. It makes me think about what part of my work or legacy, if any, will be remembered when my time comes . . . or if I'm destined to be just one of the anonymous, unnoticed billions who have come before and will eventually come after me, contributing my own small part to my miniscule corner of the world, but having no impact or influence on the great events or movements on this planet. We'll see, I guess.

Apparently, David Isay has the same sort of thoughts that I have, about the stories and histories of ordinary people. He eventually founded StoryCorps, a non-profit organization set up to record, preserve, and share the stories of Americans from all walks of life (if you listen regularly to NPR, you've no doubt heard some of the stories collected by this group).

But enough about that for now. NPR released both of these Bowery stories on CD at the tail end of 1999, and I wasted no time in purchasing the disc. So here, for your listening pleasure, is The Sunshine Hotel and Charlie's Story, produced by Sound Portraits.org and aired on National Public Radio on September 18th, 1998 and December 30th, 1998, respectively. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Poll results: "There have been a lot of questionable film remakes recently ("Red Dawn" and "Total Recall" are the ones that immediately come to mind). Which of these classics should/will never, ever be remade?

Thanks for the participation in this poll conducted last month. Here are the results:

Pulp Fiction: 38%
Blade Runner: 38%
Back To The Future : 38%
Lord Of The Rings trilogy: 30%
Raiders Of The Lost Ark: 23%
Harry Potter series: 23%
Casablanca: 23%
The Terminator/T2: 15%
Citizen Kane: 7%
Gone With The Wind : 7%
Vertigo: 7%

I was somewhat surprised at first at the strength shown by Back To The Future, as a movie that should never be remade.  Then I thought about it a bit . . . and yeah, as usual, you all are right. Back To The Future has that rare combination of story and casting that makes it impossible to replicate; it's hard to imagine any actor, then, now or in the future, filling the shoes of Christopher Lloyd or Michael J. Fox (I've seen stills of Eric Stoltz, the original Marty McFly before he was fired two weeks into production - even then, he just looked wrong for the part). And it would be madness to try to improve upon the screenplay for this film. I recall reading a review about it a couple of years ago, and the critic pointed out that practically EVERY line in Back To The Future was there for a reason - even the seemingly throwaway lines had enormous portent later in the film. Now THAT'S good writing.

Pulp Fiction is on a different level than Back To The Future on being unable to be remade. The writing for this film is just as strong as that for BTTF - stronger, actually. However (and I hate to say this), in my opinion the casting in Pulp Fiction, while brilliant in most aspects, is lacking for several characters (such as Amanda Plummer's Yolanda and Eric Stoltz's (wow - him again) Lance - and especially with Quentin Tarantino's Jimmie, a portrayal which singlehandedly nearly submarines the third act of the movie). But the thing with Pulp Fiction is that it was such a unique, groundbreaking movie that is both of its time (the mid-90s) and yet timeless in that it has yet to be ably duplicated or topped - THAT'S what makes this film one that future auteurs shouldn't ever consider touching.

My own personal choice for "Most Unremakeable Film" is the Lord Of The Rings trilogy - in every aspect of these movies, from story to casting to location, they completely stayed true to Tolkien's vision, and honored the underlying feel and philosophy of these books. I can't imagine any future filmmaker improving upon these films in any significant way - I think it would be pure hubris and folly for any future director to consider the Lord Of The Rings films as anything other than a perfect work.

All of the films in this poll are such that I hope and pray no one ever decides to give them another go. They're called 'classics' for a reason - let 'em stay that way, I say.

Again, thanks for voting. I'll think up another reader poll soon. Until then, I'll leave you with a film soundtrack classic: Vangelis' memorable, atmospheric and groundbreaking score to Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, composed in 1982 but not officially released until 1994 on EMI (Atlantic Records in the U.S.). Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Poll results: ". . . And along those same lines, there are some old movies that are crying out for a remake. Which one would you most want to see remade?"

Well, this was no contest:

Westworld: 62%
Dune: 37%
Fantastic Voyage: 37%
The Running Man: 25%
A Clockwork Orange: 12%
Close Encounters Of The 3rd Kind: 12%
The Towering Inferno: 12%
Ben: 0%
Duel: 0%

And I couldn't agree more - Westworld (1973) is a movie all but begging for a well-deserved remake. I find it simply stunning that no one in Hollywood has apparently even thought about redoing this film at any time over the past forty years. With today's filmmaking technology, camera techniques and marketing savvy, a modernized Westworld would be a guaranteed moneymaker for any studio that released it.

Despite the passing of time, the hokey special effects and the (mostly) less-than-inspired casting (I mean, c'mon - weedy Richard Benjamin and the future Mr. Barbra Streisand as the 'heroes'? (although oddly, the casting ends up being strangely effective)), the original movie still holds up remarkably well today, and remains thoroughly watchable and entertaining. Yul Brynner's android Gunslinger role is considered in some circles to be just as iconic as the actor's longtime leading role on stage and screen as the King in The King And I. He's an absolute badass in Westworld, an emotionless, unstoppable killing machine; the character is an obvious inspiration for Schwarzenegger's Terminator character a decade later (so much so that it borders on outright plagiarism, in my opinion. But I digress . . .).

The other top three films on the list following Westworld are also movies I would like to see remade. Dune (1984) was doomed from the very start - plans to film Frank Herbert's novel had been kicked around Hollywood in various stages of 'development hell' for nearly 15 years beforehand; the producer (Dino De Laurentiis) was finally all but forced to make the movie just as the production rights were set to expire. De Laurentiis hired a near-novice director (David Lynch, coming off his first big-budget movie, The Elephant Man) to helm the project. Even then, Lynch had the innate sense of scope and quirky artistic vision to make Herbert's world a reality, but the producer didn't give him the opportunity or freedom to bring that off-kilter vision properly to the screen. The result was an incomprehensible, over-produced, big-budget. widely-panned monstrosity that flopped hard at the box office. With the right producer, writer and director, and given ample time to flesh out a coherent narrative and plausible alternate 'world', a reimagined Dune could be a blockbuster.

Fantastic Voyage (1966) is a movie that, like Westworld, would benefit greatly from incorporating modern, improved special effects into it (though I doubt that anything around today can surpass the unique 'special effects' that co-star Raquel Welch brought to that film!).  As for The Running Man (1987), Schwarzenegger's version is an enjoyable live-action cartoon, with Richard Dawson's perfectly played villian Damon Killian stealing the movie right out from under Arnold. But the "Running Man" novel, written by Stephen King, is WAY darker and more thought-provoking than the muscle-bound action flick that ended up on screen. I think that a remake would surpass the original by utilizing this more-serious tone. Hell, it can't hurt - they tried it for last year's Total Recall remake; might as well give it a shot here too.

But that's just my two cents. I'd appreciate hearing any comments you all might have on this subject. Thanks again for voting, and I'll try to think of a new poll question soon. In the meantime, here's Westworld (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), composed and arranged by Fred Karlin and released by MGM in 1973. Enjoy, and let me know what you think.

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Happy New Year!

Just wanted to leave a special note to all of my readers out there, both the old troupers who've been with me from the beginning, and those of you who stumbled over my little corner of the Internet in the past year:

It makes me happy to know that there are so many of you out there that are interested in the same sorts of music that I like. I commend you all on your exquisite musical taste! But seriously - thanks to all of you for taking the time over the past 366 days to check out and comment on my little screeds; knowing that there are folks out there who actually read my stuff is very gratifying, and very humbling. I look forward to hearing from you all in 2013, as Pee-Pee Soaked Heckhole begins another year posting new stories and new tunes I hope you like.

I'll leave you all with the video to one of my favorite songs of the past year, Japandroids' "The House That Heaven Built" - enjoy, and see ya next year!

Joe Strummer - Earthquake Westher

The Clash posts this week were all lead-ups to today, the tenth anniversary of the death of Joe Strummer.

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard the news: I was in Rhode Island, driving into work two days before Christmas and listening to National Public Radio. The announcement of his death was one of the top news stories; it was brief, and provided no details other than the basic journalistic "five Ws". But it was still a huge jolt to me. The Clash were about to be inducted into the Rock Hall of Fame in just a few weeks, and I was eagerly looking forward to a reunion. While still on the road, I instantly called one of my buddies and fellow band mates, a big Clash fan like myself. He hadn't heard the news; when I broke it to him, he was just as shocked as I was.

I spent all day a work in a funk, listening to Clash tunes on my Creative MP3 player. Later that day as I drove home, I listened to the NPR afternoon show, which had a more in-depth report on Joe. It was a very well-done overview/tribute to Strummer's life, and at the end of it, they did something extraordinary - they played "White Man In Hammersmith Palais" in its entirety.

I remember being amazed and grateful that a news organization such as NPR devoted so much time and showed so much respect to Strummer's life and music - they didn't just treat him like some dirty punk rocker, but as a serious artist and visionary.

After the collapse of the final version of The Clash following the disastrous and widely-panned release of 1985's Cut The Crap, Strummer spent the next few years working on musical collaborations with other partners - I think that the reception of the last Clash album rattled him a bit, and he began working on projects to get back his confidence in his music-making abilities and skills. He first teamed with filmmaker Alex Cox and contributed two songs to the soundtrack of his 1986 film Sid & Nancy. Strummer then ended his feud with former Clash band mate Mick Jones, and collaborated with him on Big Audio Dynamite's second album, No. 10 Upping St., producing the album and co-writing most of the songs. He then went back to work with Cox, contributing another two songs to the film Straight To Hell. Cox was so pleased with Strummer's input that he asked him to score his next movie in its entirety. The film, Walker (released in 1987), was widely panned and flopped at the box office (Cox never worked for a major Hollywood studio again). But the film's soundtrack received much critical praise, with Strummer's mix of reggae, rock, calypso and South American music receiving high marks.

The positive reception of the Walker soundtrack gave Strummer back his 'mojo', and in 1988 he began working on his own material again, this time with no collaborator. He put together a backing band in Los Angeles (which included former Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Jack Irons) and spent a year with them in the local studios, working on his new project and also cutting songs to contribute to another movie, Keanu Reeves' Permanent Record. The album Strummer and his band (now known as The Latino Rockabilly War) released, 1989's Earthquake Weather, was a return to form for him. I purchased the album the instant it came out, and played songs like "Shouting Street" and "Dizzy's Goatee" to death. It's not his finest work, in my opinion. But it was good to see Joe Strummer back out there, doing what he did best, and most critics seemed to agree with that sentiment. The album was well-reviewed, but sold relatively poorly.

Frankly, I don't think Strummer cared one way or another. Earthquake Weather is Joe dipping his toe back in the musical water, to check the temperature and to see if it was worth it for him to jump back in again. Apparently, he found that it was. Strummer gradually made his way back into actively performing, eventually putting together The Mescaleros and releasing three superb albums with them before his death.

So, in honor of and in tribute to the great Joe Strummer, here's Earthquake Weather, released by Epic Records on September 20th, 1989. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

 Rest well, Joe.  

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The Clash - Nakano Sun Plaza, Tokyo, Japan (1982-01-28) (Discs 1 & 2)

More Clash bootlegs . . .

Here's the two-disc version of The Clash burning down the Nakano Sun Plaza in Tokyo as part of their Far East tour in early 1982, playing some pre-release versions of songs that would eventually appear on Combat Rock three months later. In terms of quality, this set is hit and miss . . . But even in its muddied glory, you can still hear the power and musicianship of the band shining through. You can even sense some remaining rapport between the band members here - probably the last of it, as the band was touring in the midst of the contentious recording of that album. Mick Jones was unhappy with the rest of the band rejecting his Rat Patrol From Fort Bragg mix, and Glyn Johns was about to be brought in at the end of the tour to remix the album in London. Jones was especially pissed at Joe Strummer; their acrimony would lead to Jones leaving the group less than eighteen months later . . .

(but I've already covered the story behind Combat Rock, haven't I?)

Anyway, what I'm saying is, despite the iffy quality in places, it's still an essential listen for Clash fans with a hankering to know what the band sounded like live. So, here you are. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Whoa - lookie here at what I found; some enterprising young raascal has taken the liberty of uploading a major portion of the Nakano Sun concert onto YouTube. Enjoy!

The Clash - D.O.A. (Demos, Outtakes, Alternates) (Discs 1 & 2)

Starting with this post, I'm kicking off what I'm calling "Clash Week '12" - nothing but Clash-related albums for the next few days.

And here's the first offering: the ultra-rare two-disc bootleg of Clash rarities, D.O.A. (Demos, Outtakes, Alternate Mixes). I have ZERO information on who put this excellent collection together, or even when it was first released - but no matter. This thing is the balls. I was going to write one of my usual long-winded reviews of this outstanding compilation, but instead I'll direct you to the blog of someone who's already written one a lot better than I ever could have come up with, Sharoma.net. His opening line says it all regarding this set: "Perhaps the ultimate collection of Clash rarities" (the link also provides a breakdown of all fifty-four tracks by source).

These discs are well-nigh impossible to find out there now - it took me over two years of diligent effort to track this thing down myself. But I'm a generous man, and thus I share my good fortune with you; if you love the Clash as much as I do, get ready for a real treat! To quote Sharoma's review, "All Clash fans MUST have this!" Enjoy, and as always, please let me know what you think.

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Various Artists - The Time-Life Treasury Of Christmas: Holiday Memories

Well, I thought it over . . . and figured, heck, it's no use in offering half of something. Here's The Time-Life Treasury of Christmas: Holiday Memories, the companion to my previous post, The Time Life Treasury Of Christmas (Christmas Spirit and Christmas Memories).

Just like its sister, this two-disc set is chockablock with nothing but holiday classics by the original artists! Just check out this great tracklist:

Disc 1:

1. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing - Nat King Cole
2. Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! - Dean Martin
3. Do You Hear What I Hear? - Bing Crosby
4. The Christmas Song (Merry Christmas To You) - Nat King Cole
5. Little Saint Nick - The Beach Boys
6. The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late) - The Chipmunks
7. Merry Christmas Baby - Charles Brown
8. White Christmas - Clyde McPhatter & The Drifters
9. Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt with Henri Rene & His Orchestra
10. It's Not The Presents Under The Tree (It's Your Presence Right Here Next To Me) - Eva Cassidy
11. I Believe In Father Christmas - Greg Luke
12. Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy - David Bowie & Bing Crosby

Disc 2:

1. A Holly Jolly Christmas - Burl Ives
2. Frosty The Snowman - Gene Autry
3. Christmas Is A Feeling In Your Heart - Andy Williams
4. It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas - Perry Como & The Fontane Sisters
5. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland
6. This Time Of The Year - Brook Benton
7. Christmas Auld Land Syne - Bobby Darin
8. Feliz Navidad - Joes Feliciano
9. Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms
10. Silver Bells - Earl Grant
11. I'll Be Home For Christmas - Bing Crosby
12. Silent Night - Dinah Washington

There's nothing else to say here about this album, other than enjoy, happy holidays, and as always, let me know what you think!

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Since "Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy" is part of this collection, I might as well include this superb video with this post - one of the all-time great holiday collaborations, Bing Crosby & David Bowie on Bing's annual (and final) Christmas TV special, November 30th, 1977 (the show was taped that September; Bing died less than a month later in Spain). People forget nowadays, but back in the mid-70s Bowie was considered to be an out-and-out freak by most of Middle America . . . so it was somewhat of a shock and an enlightenment for a lot of people seeing the friendly, polite, 'normal' family man Bowie warbling Christmas carols with Mr. Wholesomeness himself. This is a stone classic:



And on a lighter note - here's Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly's spot-on parody of this TV moment:

Various Artists - The Time-Life Treasury Of Christmas (Christmas Spirit and Christmas Memories)

Here it is - the Christmas collection by which all others should be measured: the classic and legendary Time-Life Treasury Of Christmas. I used to LOVE the TV commercial for this album; it would run on local channels starting around mid-October. To me, nothing said "Christmas is coming!" and got me pumped about the upcoming holidays more than seeing this ad:

Time-Life's big selling point for this album was that (at the time) it was the only compilation available which included Bing Crosby's immortal "White Christmas". But there are tons of other 'must have' holiday songs here as well - Gene Autry's "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer", "Home For The Holidays" by Perry Como, Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree", "The Little Drummer Boy" by the Harry Simeone Chorale - this thing is chock-full of the original classics!

I initially acquired this set on cassette in 1986, the year it was first released. Over the years, Time-Life has rereleased this album several times, in various formats, all with varying track lists as well. The original release had forty-five songs, spread over two CDs/cassettes. But in 2001, in an apparent effort to milk more money out of purchasers, the company modified the collection, splitting the compilation into two separate double-disc albums of 24 songs apiece (The Time-Life Treasury of Christmas and The Time-Life Treasury Of Christmas: Holiday Memories), removing some artist's tracks and adding new ones. While some of these changes were questionable and annoying (I, for one, liked Dolly Parton's "Winter Wonderland/Sleigh Ride" medley and the Beach Boys' "Santa's Beard" and miss seeing them on the record), overall the mods didn't impact the overarching quality of the discs. Still, it would have been nice if they kept all 40-something songs together on one release, instead of splitting them up.

Here's the lineup:

Disc 1: Christmas Spirit:

1. Home For The Holidays - Perry Como
2. White Christmas - Bing Crosby
3. Jingle Bells - Ella Fitzgerald
4. Do You Hear What I Hear? - Andy Williams
5. Carol Of The Bells/Deck The Halls - The Robert Shaw Chorale
6. I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day - Harry Belafonte
7. Blue Christmas - Elvis Presley
8. My Favorite Things - Eddie Fisher
9. Joy To The World - Julie Andrews
10. Here We Come A-Caroling - The Mormon Tabernacle Choir
11. March Of The Toys - The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra
12. O Holy Night - Luciano Pavarotti

Disc 2: Christmas Memories:

1. Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer - Gene Autry
2. It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year - Andy Williams
3. The Twelve Days Of Christmas - Roger Whittaker
4. Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairy - The Boston Pops Orchestra
5. Mary's Boy Child - Harry Belafonte
6. I'll Be Home For Christmas - Elvis Presley
7. Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree - Brenda Lee
8. Sleigh Ride - Johnny Mathis
9. Tennessee Christmas - Alabama
10. Baby's First Christmas - Connie Francis
11. The Little Drummer Boy - Harry Simeone Chorale
12. Auld Lang Syne - Guy Lombardo

I may post Holiday Memories here later (or maybe not - I have to save something to post for next Xmas!). But for now, enjoy this one! I guarantee that THIS is the holiday album you will be playing the most during your Christmas season!

So, for your listening pleasure, here's The Time-Life Treasury Of Christmas double-disc set, first released in 1986 and updated in 2001 by Time–Life Music in cooperation with BMG Music. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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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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