May 012008
 

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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May 012008
 


Except for the fact that he initially lacked a drummer and bassist, the concept of Billy Bragg, when he first hit the scene, was right up my alley: Clash-inspired, heart-on-his-sleeve type with more than a dash of righteous Paul Weller; meat and potatoes chord changes and no-punches-pulled vocal style; distinctive album art; DIY game plan; seemed like a great bloke. To this day he retains all those qualities, plus he’s not against using a rhythm section now and then. I truly wish I could embrace the records of Billy Bragg, but all I’ve ever owned by him is the Joe Boyd-produced Workers Playtime, which is strong and includes the one Billy Bragg song I’ve always loved without reservations, “The Great Leap Forwards”. I check him out every few years, sampling songs I might download and hearing new stuff on the radio, but beside his songs on that first Woody Guthrie album he did with Wilco, I don’t come close to embracing his music. Maybe it’s because he’s a little too focused, too put together. Are there nooks and crannies in Billy Bragg’s music? He always seems to be shoving his Braggness in my face. His accent almost seems like a put-on. Is it for real or an affectation? And the solo electric guitar performances, although cool in concept, don’t cut it for me. An unaccompanied electric guitar usually sounds silly to my ears.

It’s too bad. Bragg seems like a guy who’d be cool to hang with. We would talk about Joe Strummer and other topics near and dear to our hearts. We’d drink a few cups of coffee and take in a sporting event. Someone would recognize him while we were standing in line for sausages, and I’d be impressed by how gracious he was with this stranger. Is there any hope for me and Billy Bragg?

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Apr 302008
 


I don’t think I’m alone in having experienced this: a pattern of falling for a certain stylistic description in record reviews and recommendations from friends emerges, one that includes a mix two or more artists I already love. The description may be easily believable – or so unbelievable that you find yourself falling for it hook, line, and sinker:

“The band sounds like Revolver-era Beatles as played by Captain Beefheart!”

After buying 5, maybe even 10 records that fail to fit this ideal description, you finally come to the conclusion that you’ve fallen victim to a Sucker Mix. The recommendation from that favorite reviewer or trusted music friend is sincere, but once you’ve sniffed out a Sucker Mix, there’s no going back. Just the other day I recommended that an old friend check out a band that I described as a mix of “Talking Heads and Pink Floyd.” I truly thought I was doing him a favor. I immediately had visions of how I would spend my “turn-on points.” Instead he waved me off, saying, “No man, I’m not falling for that one again!” He’d been suckered one too many times by a description of what, for him, was once a dream pairing.

Have you ever fallen victim to a Sucker Mix? How many albums fitting this description did you buy before you finally realized it was an impossible dream?

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Apr 302008
 

THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!
I realize that this has only a loose connection to rock but given the musician-father and the recent Clemen’s discussion… That and my incredible moral indignation requires me to post this:

Can you believe this?! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! I learned about this story yesterday and immediately went on a frantic web search to try and uncover as many of these despicable photos as possible. The search turned up THIS!

Good Lord! Unbelievable. With both of these images open on my 24″ computer monitor I remained ENGORGED IN OUTRAGE for a good four minutes.

MORE OUTRAGEOUS IMAGES AFTER THE FOLD!
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Apr 292008
 


Okay, here’s a topic. Can you think of band or artist that was a specific gateway to your current overall thinking of what rock is? I don’t mean the first band you fell in love with. I’m thinking more about the moment you realized that there was more to rock than you initially perceived. What band first hipped you to that. By way of example, I’ll tell you my answer. I think my early exposure to Talking Heads videos, such as the one above, laid the groundwork for an adult life of cherishing off-kilter lyrical perspectives and nerdy, unconventional frontmen.

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Apr 292008
 


Like teaching a curveball to a young boy whose arm has not yet matured – or starting that same preteen boy on a heavy course of weightlifting – are there bands or albums that can be harmful to a young person’s musical development if exposed at too young an age?

This came up in a recent discussion with Townsman Andyr. I was telling him about our preadolescent boy getting into ELO‘s “Do Ya” and “Living Thing” and asking me to play him more of their music. When I told Andyr that my son asked me if “Do Ya” was the first heavy metal song, Andyr said, “Did you use this as an opportunity to open a discussion with him on The Move vs ELO?” My old friend knows me too well. Of course I did, and I made a mental note to play him the original “Do Ya” in the coming days!

Then Andyr asked me if I was going to turn him onto Roy Wood‘s Boulders. “No,” was my immediate reply, “he’s too young for that one.” That’s when Andyr brought up the curveball analogy. Having my boy jump ahead to a premature appreciation for Boulders (longshot that it might be) could mess up his musical development. It’s not that the material is “inappropriate,” in some prudish sense, but possibly loving it before working his way through the fundamentals of that strain of British pop music might give him a skewed idea of rock ‘n roll. He might blow out a forearm muscle and never learn to properly play power chords. You know what I mean?

I once had a similar feeling as a flea market, when a 12-year-old boy wanted to buy a used copy of John Cale‘s Slow Dazzle from a bin I was manning. Beside the fact that I didn’t want this boy leaving with a copy of an album I felt sucked and didn’t deserve to ever be resold (even if it was my own dreaded copy I was looking to move), I was worried that his possibly liking that album without first liking a great John Cale album might hinder his ability to ever discern good from bad Cale albums.

To those of you who’ve been entrusted with the musical development of young people, have you ever faced such a dilemma? I look forward to your sharing.

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Apr 292008
 


Did I miss the stunning rescue effort, in which My Morning Jacket singer Jim James was successfully lifted from a giant reverb tank? In past attempts at checking out this highly acclaimed Louisville, Kentucky band, I’ve been able to tune into the guitar interplay and loping rhythm section, but I’ve wondered what James was singing about from the depths of that reverb tank. On the band’s new album, Evil Urges, James is more or less front and center, at first goofing off in the sexy title track and a couple more songs that sound like something Prince and Lindsey Buckingham might cook up. Then James and his mates get down to making some serious Big Tent Rock.

“Evil Urges”

After a few years of possibly premature proclamations of the Age of New Sincerity, I think we’re finally here. First the Arcade Fire broke big with a magical combination of U2, The Cure, and Bruce Springsteen. Now My Morning Jacket offers an album of loose, generous, feel-good rock that is as often reminiscent of ’70s summer stadium tour artists like Peter Frampton, The Eagles (before the California dreamin’ turned altogether nightmarish), and a rockin’ Jackson Browne. The album settles into this “put your hands together!” vibe with track 4’s “I’m Amazed”, which has all the elements needed for a guy to hoist his tank top-wearing girlfriend onto his shoulders for all the crowd to admire. As the guitars cut loose and the drummer bashes away at his crash cymbals for all they’re worth, you can imagine James ad-libbing a Are you amazed, [insert that night’s town on the tour schedule]?!?!

“Thank You Too”

The next song, “Thank You Too”, is a song I’d like to play for a special lady. I’m reminded that Timothy B. Schmit‘s occasional lead vocal turns on Eagles songs had a soft, soulful appeal to them, no matter how much you didn’t want the other guys in the locker room to know how you felt. The lush harmonies used here are in no way ironic or tongue-in-cheek. James is so sincere in his delivery that he’s also not in danger as coming off as coming on to his lady. The band is equally adept at pulling off this kind of material in a way that a talented, wise-ass band from the regrettable Age of Irony, like Ween, could only dream of doing.
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