Mar 162011
 

"I'm seeing trails! Can you see the trails?"

Until yesterday, when I belatedly read the news that the Godfather of Acid, Owsley Stanley, was dead I had no idea the guy had a last name, or should I say that Owsley was his first name! I also had no idea he was the man behind the high-tech stage soundsystem of the Grateful Dead. If you ask me it might have helped the band if he wasn’t so handy with electronics and their music came out inaudible. Here’s the New York Times obituary on Owsley. I wonder if all that acid he ate and handled had anything to do with his overall dietary philosophies.

Acid intake had a profound impact on rock ‘n roll, in many cases for the good of the genre. However, the drug—or at least music recorded to sound as if it had been recorded under the influence of the drug—led to some regrettable moments. What “acid” albums would you like to see packed off with Owsley’s corporeal remains…once and for all?

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Mar 152011
 

This one’s gonna be hell to referee, but someone’s gotta do it: Jesus songs—Rock ‘n Roll Jesus songs—which we will define as songs including Jesus in the title OR prominently featuring Jesus, specifically, as the main character or subject matter of the song.

Songs referring broadly (or specifically) to God, Lord, Him, The Boss, or what have you are not eligible for this contest. The songs must be about Jesus, and address Him by name.

Songs in which a singer simply asks for Jesus’ help or take His name in vain as a throwaway line are not eligible for this contest, unless the throwaway or blasphemous reference to Jesus is in the song’s title.

The song must be, at least broadly, a rock ‘n roll song. Some gospel song that Little Richard did during one of his sacred periods does not count solely because Little Richard is “rock ‘n roll.”

Crystal clear? I thought so! In honor of our Jesus-obsessed Townsman of the Jewish faith, andyr, let’s kick things off with one of my favorite Jesus songs composed by a musician of Jewish heritage, The Velvet Underground’s “Jesus.”

The race is on.

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Mar 152011
 

One of the biggest disappointments in my CD-buying life was listening to Wild Wood by Paul Weller. I mean, I was a HUGE Jam fan as a lad. So much so, that I didn’t dare follow him into the Style Council days (like another member who will go unnamed, HVB) so as not to sully my memories of his mod/pop brilliance. So imagine my excitement when I read a few years back all the incredible raves about his third life as a true solo artist. I mean, man the reviews were incredible! Like finally, wow, the guy came to his senses and started to settle down into some mature songwriting.

Mature my ass. Boooorrring, is more like it.

Am I alone here?

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Mar 152011
 

HVB meets one of his heroes!

The only band photo known to exist

Hey, gang!

So I just got back from SXSW—the “interactive” one, not the music one. While I was there, I stopped off at a trailer selling Thai food. I noticed a promo shot on the wall from one of my all-time favorite bands, and I said to the gentleman manning the trailer that I was a huge fan. He immediately extended his hand, said he’d been waiting for years for somebody to recognize the group, and introduced himself as (DELETED), the band’s bass player. He then gave me a plate of free food, offered me a pile of free band swag if I came back the next day, and then came out from the trailer to explain the real history of the band.

Now, the reason I can’t tell you who this guy is is because this particular band jealously guards its secret identity, and its reputation as a freaked out country-punk cult phenomenon. I promised “Mr. X,” the bassist (not his real, nor his stage name) that I would keep his current whereabouts, and the history he shared with me, a secret. I will tell you that I was astonished to learn that many of the band members were actually former members of some very prominent SoCal musical outfits of the ’60s and ’70s, including one featured very recently in an RTH thread. If you knew this band’s music like I know it, you’d be as shocked as I was.

I realize all this may be too cryptic for RTH relevancy, but I feel compelled to share. I swear I’m not bullshitting, and Townsman mockcarr (whom I couldn’t help but call in my giddy excitement after Mr. X and I had our lengthy chat, and to whom I spilled the beans) will back me up on that. I’m posting the photo to prove the encounter really happened, and to give everybody but mockcarr the opportunity to guess this man’s identity.

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Mar 142011
 

I’m an idealistic guy. Each day, as I enter the Halls of Rock, I hope to find a roomful of Townspeople with their earbuds and smartphones pocketed and, rather, respectfully blasting their boomboxes, enthusiastically (or grumpily, as it may be) sharing their latest musical obsessions. Rarely, if ever, does a day go by when I don’t get a jolt from such rock nerd enthusiasm—and frequently I get this jolt from someone I’ve never met and know nothing about outside of this place. I’m probably a little weird, but I dig knowing that there are like-minded music enthusiasts beyond the relatively safe harbor of my all-important Facebook friends list.

However, not everyone’s weird in the same way I’m weird. Continue reading »

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Mar 122011
 

Sounds of the Hall in roughly 33 1/3 minutes!

In this week’s edition of Saturday Night Shut-In Mr. Moderator dips, almost exclusively, into the New Releases bin, spinning records he’s never before heard by bands, in some cases, he’s never previously heard. See whether Mikey likes any of them. See if you do too.

[audio:https://www.rocktownhall.com/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/RTH-Saturday-Night-Shut-In-19.mp3|titles=RTH Saturday Night Shut-In, episode 19]

[Note: The Rock Town Hall feed will enable you to easily download Saturday Night Shut-In episodes to your digital music player. In fact, you can even set your iTunes to search for an automatic download of each week’s podcast.]

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Mar 122011
 

Happy Monday! Coming down’s a bitch, ain’t it? As much as I am turned off by Roger McGuinn, I feel bad for the guy in these early ’70s performances, watching him try to hold onto his dream of The Byrds—and all the knowing, mop top, granny glasses insights that came with the band’s initial territory—with a group of musicians who couldn’t care less.

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