I pit these guys against each other…I’m not sure why…something to do with late-’70s AOR in Phoenix maybe…
What gets me is the respect that Aerosmith gets and the lack of respect that Van Halen gets. Can I hear an Amen!
We just got Guitar Hero Aeorsmith over here, which was worth the price just so I could play Complete Control by The Clash. (The first person who can post the appropriateness of this Clash tune for use in this game wins a patented RTH No-Prize.)
Anyhoo, in listening and “playing” the Aerosmith songs I got to thinking how much they suck. By the time I was finished with the game I realized that by owning Toys in the Attic (which is pretty great), I had more than enough Aerosmith, with the possible exception of Dream On.
Van Halen on the other hand ripped out 6 great (but flawed for sure) albums from ’78-’84. These guys kicked it, and evidenced by the videos, if not by their lyrics, had a sense of humor about themselves. Plus they were relatively original in both sound and Look. Aerosmith just comes off as a K-Mart Zeppelin-come-by-Stones schtick, right down to the lips, scarf, and lead guitarist initials.
Is it the birthright of every English guy named Mick to be in a band? Or, conversely, is it some sort of English law or regulation requiring that every band have a guy named Mick?
I recently caught a few minutes of a random documentary about a British punk band comprised of middle aged mentally handicapped guys, and even those guys had at least one Mick in the band.
So, name an English band with a guy named Mick in it. I’ll start: Heavy Load (the aforementioned middle aged mentally handicapped punk band).
“Fifty years from now you’ll wish you’d gone ‘wow’.”
– Captain Beefheart, conscious of his visionary powers, in a 1980 NME interview.
As I read through and participated in Townsman Sammy‘s candid Bullshit On: Captain Beefheart thread, I sensed some members of Rock Town Hall willing to give this admittedly difficult artist a fair shake. It’s a new day at Rock Town Hall – Your Rock Town Hall – so I’ve put together mix of decreasingly accessible Beefheart songs that may allow those of you who are getting anxious with only 22 years left on that 50-year “wow” clock that’s quoted above to find a way into this guy’s music. Do you get what I’m saying? Have a listen, and say “wow,” somebody!
First, a recording that makes me wonder why anyone wastes their time on ZZ Top, even at their best. I like my boogie refried.
Next, an uncharacteristically tender Beefheart song that you probably know from The Big Lebowski. Close your eyes and think of Julianne Moore‘s translucent skin if you start finding yourself troubled by this naked sound file.
I know you like hearing a guitarist cut loose now and then. On this next track, Beefheart steps aside, shuts up, and lets his guitarist do the talking.
Now steel yourself for a plodding, grumpy tale of devolution. This is the point where we oh-so-slowly head way back toward Mirror Man, where it’s just a few turns across the border to Trout Mask Replica.
The following Clear Spot song is a good example of the benefits of Beefheart picking up on his fractured blues approach from Trout Mask Replica with more accomplished musicians and a fairly conventional studio sound. Plus it’s funny. I’m surprised, when I read of a Townsperson’s inability to dig Beefheart, how often folks fail to appreciate the man’s humor. I know, I’m sounding like The Great 48🙂
Now, let’s shift ahead to 1980’s Doc at the Radar Station, where I think Beefheart and/or his label once and for all gave up on the idea that he’d ever be a regular rock artist and sell more than 2000 albums and, instead, made an entire album as focused on his vision as was anything since the primitve Trout Mask Replica. (Maybe Lick My Decals Off Baby was the last one made with as much integrity and focus, as Geo suggested, I don’t know. I get a cold feeling from that album whenever I spin it. I’ll have to listen to it again.) This album opener always gets me dancing in my head. As a lover of dry recordings, this album can’t be beat. Place me between a sandwich of Doc and Gang of Four‘s Entertainment and I won’t ever grimace over some insecure use of reverb.
Here’s another one that recommits to Beefheart’s old Trout Mask Replica approach while still rocking. The imagery in the lyrics is pretty cool, too, for those of you who can closely follow that stuff.
Here’s a little ditty I’ve always loved. General Slocum and I had some really deep discussion over this track about a hundred years ago, if memory serves, although I can’t recall what wisdom we’d culled from the tune. If you happen to have similar deep thoughts, feel free to claim our forgotten insights as your own.
With the recent turmoil over who’s RTH this is I thought I’d offer myself up as a sacrificial lamb in an effort to bring everyone together…against me.
Trust me, I realize that I may very well be committing some sort of rock nerd harikari (spelled correctly, looked it up.) Beefheart is god! Right? Continue reading »
It becoming like flu season now. Indie bar-band The Hold Steady have released a new album, Stay Positive, and critics have unanimously given it high, high marks. Don’t believe me? Check out the album’s Metacritic page, or this summary of the album’s reviews. With extended pieces on the band appearing in places like Salon.com and New York Magazine, it’s clear that they’ve become a rock band worthy of coverage by publications that generally do not give one lousy shit about rock bands.
All of this I find quite compelling, because I completely and totally despise this band.
I’ll be honest. I saw them play Philly in 2005, found it enjoyable enough in a beery, noisy way, and headed to the merch table to buy a copy of their breakthrough Separation Sunday. About a month later, I’d had enough of their tuneless jock-rock twaddle, their boring, overrated fixation with hard-drinking Catholic kids and, especially, frontman Craig Finn’s singular inability to stop bleating out the same arrhythmic note throughout the entire album.
A Mostly Irrelevant Image
Also, many of my best friends worship this band, so there’s that.
One more thing: Since those experiences, I’ve managed to wholly avoid any subsequent Hold Steady music (a testament, perhaps, to the fragmentation of American society). Please spare me any “Oh, you just haven’t heard the right album, Oats” posts. This band doesn’t need any more fans. Which brings me to the real crux of this post.
Why won’t rock critics give this band a bad review? Yes, I’m basically asking the same question Mr. Mod posed regarding Peter Gabriel, even if I was one of the most vocal opponents of his central thesis that time. Let me explain.
Now, I’m not hurting for someone to agree with me. This is the ’00s, after all, where the hate flows like fine wine, thanks to the internet. I’ve seen it on message boards and comments sections. I know I am not alone in my Hold Steady distaste.
You might find a bit of tempered praise, perhaps even disappointment in reviews of Stay Positive. But even these reviews denote a deep affection for the band. Matador Records co-head Gerard Cosloy famously derided the band as “later-period Soul Asylum fronted by Charles Nelson Reilly,” which is awesome, though a little unfair to CNR. Cosloy is something of a tastemaker, but still not a rock critic. What the hell’s going on here?
The rock press generally lives to hype ’em up and knock ’em down. Also, rock critics love to take sides. My boys Wilco have engendered deep divisions in rock-crit circles for years now, even with an album as easy-going as Sky Blue Sky. Why are The Hold Steady given free passes from these standard, perhaps even necessary, rock-press rites of passage? (See, guys? Like in Catholicism!) And how can this possibly be good for rock ‘n’ roll? Looks like The Cool Patrol is alive and well, and doing its to best kill any joy a curmudgeon like me might be able to salvage in these dark times.
Now, I appreciate Mr. Mod’s suggestion that This Is Your Rock Town Hall, but we all know that it ain’t always so. We all know that there are all sorts of subjects having to do with rock and roll and its aftermath that can’t get a fair hearing around here, because we know what everybody’s tastes are and we know what they will or won’t allow without making blog equivalents of the bodily noises of middle-aged males spending too much time in front of computer screens.
So in this post–the first of a series, if necessary–I’d like to hear about what you think are the types of subjects that could never possibly get a fair hearing on Rock Town Hall. If you want, I’d also love to know why you think these subjects can’t get a fair hearing. As the rules of this game go, responses that suggest that you can get a fair hearing will be considered out of bounds. However, I encourage people to respond by agreeing that the subject could never get a fair shake on this list and explaining why they themselves are not prepared to give the subject a fair shake. The only way to Listen Without Prejudice is to Recognize The Prejudice.
The Moderator knows that I play this game often in different variations, but it ain’t gonna be Your Rock Town Hall until you can speak about those things Rock Town Hall doesn’t want to hear. Only by our coming to terms with the fact that This Is Not Our Rock Town Hall can Rock Town Hall possibly be Our Rock Town Hall.
Did Foreigner ever express a single couplet of sincere emotion, creativity, or insight? I can’t think of one instance of anything but the most predictable, cliched “Rock-like” lyrics.
I had the misfortune of hearing “Juke Box Hero” over the weekend, while we were hanging at our pool club. I’d forgotten how much I’d hated this song, and following a discussion with my 11-year-old son about why I hated Pat Benetar‘s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”, which he knew through Guitar Hero and thought “wasn’t that bad,” all that I hated about the Foreigner song struck home. In the second half of the ’70s, when bands like Foreigner and Benetar hit the scene, there was a rash of Rock lyrics about the so-called Rock life: “road” songs, songs about the price of Rock superstardom, songs about “gettin’ crazy,” and other songs about general “wild” living. Even previously established bands that really had achieved rock stardom, like The Eagles and Jackson Browne, got into the act. That stuff rang hollow. It bummed me out. It betrayed what rock ‘n roll was supposed to be about.
