Townsman Al just passed along the sad news of Kinks bassist Pete Quaife dying at 66 years of age. Although it's hard to gauge how much magic Quaife contributed to a band led by control-freak Ray Davies, his departure from the band in 1969 marked the beginning of the end of The Golden Age of The Kinks. The band would make a couple more fine albums with replacement John Dalton, but Dalton's Look never melded near as well as Quaife's did with the Davies brothers and Mick Avory.

I wonder how late in his Kinks kareer this 1969 clip dates?

NEXT: Rock Town Hall's Official Eulogy...

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I've never heard anyone who's seen The Kinks live say they were a great live band. I've never seen them myself because dating back to my high school days, when they were at their suprising arena-rock height and I'd hear live concerts of them, they never sounded like they'd deliver anything near what I loved about them on record, in the privacy of my bedroom. Then, into the early '80s, they started making albums that didn't interest me in the least - and from concert recordings I'd hear from that period they had the nerve to stand behind those new songs and play them live.

As video evidence of my favorite rock bands became more accessible in the '80s, even early performances of The Kinks with all their British Invasion exhuberance were unwhelming. There are many reasons for why The Kinks have never been known as anything more than a mediocre live band, but from what I've seen the reasons start with Ray Davies. He's too self-conscious. The humor of The Kinks is in the music; he doesn't need to play it up with the goofy hand gestures (see the 40-second mark of the above clip, where Ray's pointless holstering and gesturing first kick in) and "Banana Boat Song" call-and-response nonsense. That stuff almost always takes me out of the performance and undercuts the ambiguities inherent in their music. It doesn't help that Ray seems incapable of smiling without smirking.

Meanwhile, the poignancy of The Kinks' music often gets lost in their live performances. That 1977 clip that Townsman misterioso provided of The Kinks playing "Celluloid Heroes" on British television was surprisingly straightforward and appropriately reserved, but too often, from what I've seen and heard, Ray can't step forward as a clear, confident lead singer on a sensitive song and the band can't lay back and support things in a subtle, interesting way to make what I feel is the heart of the sound of The Kinks work in a live setting. Am I way off base here; does any of this ring true?

I should note that there is ample video evidence of The Kinks lip-synching to their greatest, most poignant songs, and they demonstrate great skill at this then-nascent rock 'n roll act. I'm not kidding - and this may be saying something that will help answer the question for you at the end of this piece.

Before we get into the question I have for you, here's an interesting clip I'd never seen before today. Ray is sans guitar and energetically fronting a full-title boogie band version of The Kinks, from a 1972 television show, if I'm getting this right. The clip even comes with the magical timecode that, in my opinion, makes any video at least two degrees cooler.

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Last night, I hit a Kinks motherlode on YouTube -- a collection of promo clips around the time of the release of the Kinks' least-loved album, 1989's UK Jive, for which I maintain a cockeyed affection.

Of particular note is the VH1 documentary contained in these YouTubes. I watched this special when it first aired, and it was where my Kinks obsession began in earnest. It marked the first time I had heard "Waterloo Sunset," "Dead End Street," and other mid-'60s gems, and it was like meeting your best friend.

Of course, there's some embarrassing footage of latter-day Kinks, full of '80s shoulder-pads and mullets. But there's also a fair amount of insight into Ray's creative process, and they managed to catch him on a day when he wasn't consumed by bitterness over the band's lot in life. Enjoy!

Here's a humble oldie but goodie that was initially posted with a hard-to-find Pere Ubu video that was quickly removed from YouTube, as we learned is the case with this band's scant videos. A Kinks video that only a Kinks fan could love was put in its place, and this gets to the heart of our discussion. We're a discerning bunch, and many of us have been known to kill off the "runts" in our favorite artists' outputs, such as a friend's literal shooting of his copy of London Calling, the Clash album that marked, in his mind, the band's betrayal of their initial purpose. Who knows, on the other hand, what kepts others buying Clash records right on through Cut the Crap. Us parents call it unconditional love.

This post initially appeared 5/31/07.

No longer Maimone's mullet, but hair treats nevertheless!

Am I incorrect in thinking that there are some long-running bands and solo artists who somehow manage not to bum out their dedicated fans? I'm thinking, in particular, of The Kinks and Richard Thompson. Do diehard fans of either band ever bum out at the release of a lesser work, or do they just "walk on by," content with the fact that their underdog favorites have lived to see another release? Come to think of it, I probably do this for Pere Ubu, who haven't put out a decent album that I've heard among occasional releases for what must be closing in on 15 years. Is there a band for which you turn the other cheek?*

*Really nice people, who never bum out over a bad turn by a favorite band, need not apply.

I first met Tom Kitts at a meeting of the Popular Culture Association. Tom and the late, great Mike Kraus used to host sessions where people presented papers on The Kinks, and I attended five of these sessions over the years, presenting and also listening to papers by Tom, Mike, and a rotating group of Kinks scholars. It’s more fun than it sounds like, and it’s always great to be around other music fanatics.

Tom has now published his magnum opus, a critical biography, Ray Davies: Not Like Everybody Else (Routledge, 2008). Tom is a professor of English at St. John’s University in New York City, and he took time out of his busy schedule for an interview about the book and more generally Ray Davies and the Kinks. If interested, click on this Amazon link to get your copy of the book. I’m sure any Kinks fan will find it a great read.

In general how has the feedback on the book been?

While formal reviews are just now starting to appear, the feedback has been very positive. Kinks fans seem to appreciate the focus on Davies' work -- even if they don't always agree with me. I have done a series of readings and discussions and I have to say that I have been very pleasantly surprised by the positive response I have heard not only at the readings but also in emails from readers across the country and in Europe.

Any reaction from anyone connected with Ray or the Kinks?

I did hear from Grenville Collins and Peter Quaife, who both liked it very much. Both liked the emphasis on the art, which both were a part of and which both are very proud of. I spoke to Ray briefly after his recent show in New York and he seems pleased by the publication. We joked about how long it took for me to get it out. He has a copy, but he said that he hadn't had a chance to read it yet.

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I just saw this last night -- a commercial featuring The Kinks' "Everybody's a Star (Starmaker)" from Soap Opera. Song choices in advertising are getting more and more obscure. How soon till Apple gets its hands on "Think Visual"?

Greetings, fellow Town Hallers! I'm passing these two vuh-deos along to prove a point: there is something distinctly autumnal about the Kinks in their wistful, introspective but optimistic prime, 'round about 1967. The obvious choice to make this point is this song:

... but there's also something crisp, snappy, and I-can't-wait-to-get-home-to-warm-up-some-leftovers about this one, too:

And by the way: is it just me, or do these two songs constitute one of the most amazing rock and roll singles of all time? ("Mr. Pleasant" was the B-side to "Autumn Almanac.")

Anyhow, I realize there's nothing specifically autumnal in the lyrics to 95% of the Kinks' output in this or any other era of the band's history, but, by golly, I hear it in the arrangements, the production, the melodies -- Fall is everywhere! Anybody else hear the band this way?

HVB

Home Counties Boy

I first learned about Martin Newell nearly 14 years ago to the day, not too long after my wife and I had moved to Hungary for a year. A Townsman sent me a cassette with Newell's The Greatest Living Englishman on one side and Crowded House's Together Alone on the other. The latter was advertised as a "good stoner album" from a band both of us had previously been lukewarm on (thanks, in large part to the productions of Mitchell Froom). This Newell guy's album was produced by XTC's Andy Partridge, and my friend touted the album as an extension of The Dukes of Stratosphear. This was music to my ears. I'd felt XTC's proper studio albums had been getting too clinical.

Martin Newell, "She Rings the Changes"

Today I'm having particularly strong associations with this time because our move way back when coincided with the day before my beloved Phillies team ended a typically long drought of winning baseball by clinching the division and heading to the playoffs. I would miss the entire playoff and World Series drama, staying up 'til all hours in Budapest, trying in vain to tune in the game on some army radio station on shortwave radio. I was loving our new adventure overseas but a part of me missed home more than ever. In short time, The Greatest Living Englishman would somehow speak to this longing for home. Although the songs had nothing to do with missing life in a large, East Coast, American city, they had everything to do with a personal sense of place. My wife and I listened to this album constantly, and Martin Newell would soon become one of "my" special artists, alongside The dBs, The 101ers, Roy Wood, Big Dipper, and countless others. The guy's been on my radar, although you'll see that the radar of a busy middle-aged man fails now and then.

A few weeks ago I picked up Newell's latest release, A Summer Tamarind, and it was like pulling on a favorite brand of jeans. He has a way with jangly tunes that never strikes this hard-ass '60s music fan as cloying. It's jangly music the way it was meant to sound. His lyrics are typically funny and down-to-earth; my delicate sensibilities are not distracted by songs about the genetalia of fishes and keeeeeeraaaaaazzzzzy diamonds, no matter how sincere and tuneful the singer of such numbers might be. Newell's best songs strike me as the best songs I hear by any of my music-making friends who are found in the Halls of Rock, be it The Unknown Mysterious 60's Group, The Trolleyvox, Photon Band, The Dead Milkmen, our man Hrrundi, and so on. There's something about hearing a great song from a person I'm friends with; I get this added knownledge about my friend that is especially touching. Of course, I don't know Martin Newell from a hill of beans, but his songs sound to me like they're coming directly from a CD or cassette handed to me from an old friend. Here's a new one from A Summer Tamarind that's been sticking in my head:

Martin Newell, "Cinnamon Blonde"

With that song in mind - and the knowledge that Martin's new album as well as The Greatest Living Englishman are available through eMusic (what better way to try our trial offer, found on the right side of this page?) - let's move onto our chat with rock's finest gardener!

RTH: I did something I’ve only begun to do more often in the last year, download your new album – legally [cue eMusic plug], of course! The first half dozen times I listened to it I kept thinking how good it sounds and how much more your voice is given room. I went back and listened to The Greatest Living Englishman, and your new album sounded even richer. This is a long way of saying at least two things. First, in lieu of liner notes for this middle-aged rock fan to study while on the john, who produced and played on A Summer Tamarind?

MN: I played nearly all the guitars. I consider myself not a bad bass player, but Carl, the engineer/producer, turned out to be much better and quicker. I therefore only played bass on, "Mulberry Harbour" and "Stella and Charlie Got Married". Drums were all Carl. Keyboards, tambourines, and percussion were me. And I did all the vocals. It really was a solo album in old-fashioned terms. It took only 20 days (and short days) recording time. A lot of the stuff was one or two take performances, especially vocals. That's why it sounds so fresh and uncontrived.

RTH: As someone who once managed to get his music out through the grassroots style of home-produced cassettes, what’s been your experiences with and impressions of the digital download era?

MN: I was ahead of my time. This though, is perfectly as useless as being behind my time. So it wasn't a virtue. I forsaw it happening. On the other hand I always tell young musicians: "As long as young people with dreams make music, businessmen will find ways of hijacking the music and taking a big skim."

I think there is almost too much music about. On reflection, I was much happier as a 16 year old, with only three albums and ten singles, which I played over and over. Now I have a room full of CDs and tapes, I have never had such access to music and yet I can't think what to play.

RTH: As an artist you seem very comfortable in your skin. “Wow! Look at That Old Man”, from your new album, makes me laugh and seems to sum you up pretty well. From what I’ve gathered dating back to your Cleaners from Venus days, you’ve managed to sidestep every popular music trend that was there for the following. How far back did you know who you were as an artist? How far back did you accept and commit to your voice?

MN: I tell you, it was mostly ineptitude and isolation, rather than a stance. I just couldn't seem to get things right and I ended up with my own thing. Kind of like Reggae came out of Jamaican calypso musicians picking up R&B records from American stations, and this skewed music with its bass drum on the third beat of the bar came out. Someone said to me, "You've never sold out Martin." And I'm like, "Nobody ever ASKED me to!" I'd have gone like a shot. You think I wouldn't have LIKED all that Jack Daniels, assorted bags of drugs, and naughty foreign ladies impaling themselves on me? The problem with me is that I didn't even know how to be corrupt!

RTH: When punk hit, did you ever cut your hair, ditch your flares, and backdate yourself a bit in hopes of fitting in with the new scene, the way the members of XTC, The Damned, Joe Strummer, Nick Lowe, and other pub rockers and glam-rockers of your generation would do?

MN: While I'd been waiting to ditch the flares for a long time - they kept getting tangled in my bicycle chain - I just couldn't find the skinny jeans in the shops. As for the haircut, I never really did get around to having short hair. I've never liked it. But I often had it razored in strange ways. More glam than punk. Oh and I stayed in a heavy prog-rock band all through the punk period. I only left it in 1979 cos I wanted to do 3-minute songs again.

RTH: Does the glam part of your musical background ever play a role in the songs you write these days? What did Bowie and glam rock mean for you coming out of the Swinging ‘60s of your teen years? I ask because, although Bowie was also huge in America, the whole glam scene was experienced at arm’s length in the US.

MN: I retain a huge affection for its fun, it's showiness, and it's sheer light-hearted songs. 1972 and 1973, particularly, were just two of pop's greatest years for me, in the UK at least. Bowie, Bolan, Slade, and Roy Wood made brilliant pop music, much of it still unsurpassed.

Note to self...

RTH: Are there any bands and out-of-print albums from that era that are worth us shockingly ignorant American rock snobs seeking and plunking down wads of dollars to buy? Should we track down the last remaining copy of Stray albums? All we tend to know about are the heavy hitters: Bowie, T Rex, Mott the Hoople, Roxy Music, Sweet, and maybe Slade, thanks to ‘80s hair metal bands covering their songs.

MN: Some which spring to mind are Suicide, by Stray, and Neverneverland, by Pink Fairies, Slaughter on 10th Avenue, by Mick Ronson (which I loved), and the recently released Boulders, by Roy Wood. Personally, one of my faves of the entire period was your very own Steely Dan with Countdown to Ectasy.

RTH: Your memoir of your formative rock years, This Little Ziggy, should be required reading for aspiring rock musicians. Did you hope to pass on anything special in writing the book? Do you feel you might have captured something in music-making literature and mythology that is rarely captured?

MN: I wish someone would re-print the thing and publish it. I haven't got the machinery in place to service it really, but if any publishers are interested, call now, I do actually own it again. I wrote it in an insane burst of work to give it its continuity and flow. Yes, I'm sort of proud of it. It's horribly honest.

RTH: Do you have any favorite music memoirs or biographies? Did I read correctly that you have another book on in the works?

Next: Martin answers this question and, later, participates in some Dugout Chatter!

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Watching the All-Star Jam clip of The Kinks performing the exquisite "Autumn Almanac" that Mr. Todd just posted, I'm reminded of perhaps what is - for me - the most disappointing letdown in a favorite rock artist's Look. How cool is Ray Davies' Look in 1967? How cool is Dave Davies' Look, for that matter? Sure, getting old's a bitch, and I'm not getting any younger myself. Somehow, though, Ray's long, thinning, dyed hair - possibly with some combover action in play - makes him look too much like the questionable characters he portrayed in both song and stage persona circa early-70s. For me, that's a letdown. I didn't grow up thinking I might model my Look after a sleazy hustler. I know it's petty and wrong to express such a feeling, but I suspect you harbor your own Look Letdown candidate.

I look forward to your shamefully sharing.