How’s that for a blowhard title?

The operative word being “moments”… which speaks to one of several fundamentally different ways that we experience music.

Some folks like it in the background, like aural wallpaper. Now, I’m not going to waste valuable bandwidth trashing smooth jazz, Enya or Muzak. I actually felt a tinge of sadness when I found out that Muzak filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection last year. But I tend to have a hard time ignoring ambient music – I’m always trying to figure out what song is being reprocessed, and whether or not it’s an actual improvement over the original.

Years ago, I was toiling away in a Muzak-fed workplace when I kept hearing this nagging melody… Why is this so disturbing? Then I suddenly realized I was listening to an orchestral remake of Journey to the Center of Your Mind by Ted Nugent and the Amboy Dukes, and my head almost exploded. I found out later that Nugent actually tried to purchase Muzak just to put it out of business. So I’ll give the company credit for following through on this diabolical act of revenge.

Other folks just wanna dance. Nothing wrong with that… In fact, that’s probably a far healthier approach to music than this constant need to analyze every song and identify every conceivable influence.

Some of my more literate friends are all about the lyrics. They trace their musical lineage back to Dylan, who begat the Beatles who begat Elvis Costello who begat a whole slew of contemporary indie poets. Unfortunately, some of these modern-day bards approach things like rhythm and musicianship with an attitude bordering on contempt.

I recently came across a quote from guitarist Geoff Muldaur (Paul Butterfield’s Better Days, The Texas Sheiks) in the Austin Chronicle that seemed to describe where I come out on this issue:

“I’m miserable at listening to singer-songwriters, because I’m not interested in the (singer-songwriter’s) music, and I don’t listen to the words,” Muldaur said. “Zero. I come at it from the music. If the lyrics hold up, if the music is compelling, I might listen to words – if they’re spectacular and draw me in. Take ‘Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good to You,’ as an example. ‘Love makes me treat you the way I do. Gee, baby, ain’t I good to you.’ That’s it.”

Which brings us to the malcontents at Rubber City Review and other obsessive-compulsive types – mostly musicians and record collectors – who simply can’t get certain guitar licks or horn parts or vocal flourishes out of their heads. Sadly, these retained musical moments don’t go away – they begin to crowd out other basic thoughts, such as those involving food, personal hygiene and the speech patterns of spouses and family members. Help stop this terrible affliction…

OCD-related maladies aside, I’ve always noticed that musicians use these moments as shorthand to describe what they like about a certain song, artist or genre.

When I was putting together my post on Robert Quine, I came across a tribute from an old friend of Rob’s, Procter Lippincott (from the music site Perfect Sound Forever). Here he describes a process that should be familiar to most musicians:

“We never listened to whole tracks together. In fact, on most occasions, as I recall, we listened only to that particular instant on any track that we felt made it great, even breathtaking, in its impact. It might have been A Thing of the Past, for instance, where Shirley of the Shirelles’ voice cracked on the first word of the phrase, ‘Thi-i-s-s is the moment to decide’ (my choice), a syncopated line on ‘Waltz for Debby’ (Bill Evans’ ‘Live at the Village Vanguard’… his), or the pregnant pause right after the head in Power to Love on Jimi Hendrix’s wildly uneven ‘Band of Gypsys’ album, before Jimi cranks up the volume to take another unearthly solo (mutually appreciated). Quine typically was not as accepting of my choices as I was of his, but we kept at it endlessly, searching for our secular epiphany.”

Here’s that moment (and more – I just couldn’t cut off the solo) from “Band of Gypsys”: Power to Love/Jimi Hendrix

In the best spirit of this process, I’ve asked brothers Jack and James to join me in sharing some of our favorite musical moments. I promise to be accepting of their choices – even if I’m convinced they suck – and I look forward to joining them at the upcoming Rubber City Roundtable: “Why Our Opinions About Music Are Much More Important Than Yours.”

Tim: Charlie Parker may seem like an obvious choice, but I wonder how many jazz musicians became junkies after hearing Bird’s ultimate throwdown to his fellow be-boppers? This is from a compilation of his recordings on the Savoy and Dial labels (one Dial collection even included this sample as a separate track, listed as the “Famous Alto Break”): Night in Tunisia/Charlie Parker

Jack: This is one of those slow blues that only a good blues singer can sing. I’m talking about Muddy Waters. With a top-notch band that follows his every breath. “Don’t say I don’t love you, cause I stays out late at night long… You know I’m a country boy and I don’t know what’s going on.” It’s great, but the growl and cry at the end really nails it. Country Boy/Muddy Waters

James: It had to be the mid-’70s when I first heard Reconsider Me coming from a record vendor’s booth at a Pensacola flea market. When I asked who the singer was, the vendor said he thought it might be Tom Jones. “Tom Jones can’t sing like that,” I said. Not even in his dreams. It turned out to be New Orleans crooner Johnny Adams. For reasons I still don’t understand, the song was included in a compilation album called “The Streak,” which also featured that Ray Stevens ode to exhibitionism. I don’t know how to categorize this sound. Swampolitan? I do know there aren’t many vocalists, alive or dead, who could sing with this particular combination of sophistication and scary passion. Listen to Johnny’s bloodcurdling falsetto on the chorus. Reconsider Me/Johnny Adams

Tim: Couldn’t resist another perfect falsetto – this one from gospel singer Claude Jeter, who passed away in January 2009. You probably didn’t read about it in the paper or see it covered on Entertainment Tonight. Which makes sense, because he had one of those transcendent voices (like the previous example) that seem to exist in another world… one that would relegate Madonna Ciccone to a lifetime of obscurity. Here’s my favorite moment – actually, two soaring falsettos by Jeter – from my favorite tune by the Swan Silvertones: Mary Don’t You Weep/The Swan Silvertones with Claude Jeter

Jack: The great James Booker… Is he playing in front of the beat or behind the beat?  You figure it out. He sure is creating a lot of excitement with just a couple of chords. Keep On Gwine/James Booker

James: I Ain’t Got Long has to be one of the most deep and moving performances I’ve ever heard on record, and the story behind it is incredible. A prison warden overheard the legendary Bahamian musician Peter Elliot singing the song in his cell, where he was awaiting execution, and was so moved that he arranged his release. Elliot later fell to his death through the open window of a Nassau bar. The song is performed by a group of Elliot’s friends in the same alley where he died. It’s from the classic collection of field recordings, “The Real Bahamas.” This is as real as it gets… (we’ll just play the whole thing) I Ain’t Got Long/Sam Green and group

Anyone else want to weigh in? Doesn’t even have to be an actual piece of music… I’ll leave you with this little slice of studio banter between Leonard Chess and Sonny Boy Williamson (warning: don’t play this for the kids) as you ponder which nugget you’ll send me for a future post: Little Village/Leonard Chess and Sonny Boy Williamson

Today’s Record Store Day… Go spend some cash at one of the 700 independent record stores left in the U.S. so they can stay open for another year.

I guess it wouldn’t be Christmas without Elvis crooning his way through some seasonal standard.  And I had a hard time choosing among my favorite Elvis Christmas songs.  But I settled on Here Comes Santa Claus, because it seems to have a rockabilly rhythm even without the King – and I can’t resist a perfectly placed “well-a-well-a” in an otherwise hum-drum holiday song.  So slap this little nugget on the stereo as you prepare a nice meal of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches for your family this Christmas… It’s a great way to remember the man who thought of it first. Here Comes Santa Claus/Elvis Presley

A couple of posts ago I waxed poetic about the mighty Hammond B3 organ.  You can find a wide range of recordings by the master of the B3, Jimmy Smith – big band, small combo, blues, gospel, pop – so it shouldn’t surprise you that his 20-page discography includes a pretty fine holiday collection called “Christmas Cookin’.”   Here Smith joins guitarist Quentin Warren to roast Santa’s chestnuts (well, maybe slow-boil them) in the warm, soulful sound of the classic organ combo.  If I were making the rounds on Christmas Eve, I’d stop at Jimmy’s Place and go no further. Santa Claus is Coming to Town/Jimmy Smith

What is it about an ethereal harp playing a classic Christmas song?  And no, I’m not talking about the innards of a piano.  I’m talking about the Mississippi saxophone as played by one of its greatest practitioners – Charlie Musselwhite.  Charlie bends a few notes that I didn’t know you could bend on a basic diatonic harmonica, and even manages to throw in that big, throaty vibrato you tend to hear more often on songs about murder and prison rather than odes to virgins and shepherds.  But it works… because there’s nothing more soulful than a big man alone with his blues harp (and maybe a bottle or two) on Christmas. Silent Night/Charlie Musselwhite

When I was a kid, my friend’s dad got all liquored up and stole a Christmas tree out of the parking lot of Montgomery Ward (which has since gone out of business, so I can finally speak out about this).  It’s a sad story with kind of a happy ending – after all, the family did have a tree for Christmas.  But it reminds me of another cautionary tale about what happens when the old man pours a little too much rum in his nog.  And this one comes to us from Commander Cody, a guy who knows a thing or two about the dangers of Old Demon Alcohol (he was banned from Letterman for getting trashed, and his last album was titled “Dopers, Drunks and Everyday Losers”). Daddy’s Drinking Up Our Christmas/Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen

Even junkie be-boppers like Christmas songs.  Take Charlie Parker, who once said that jazz was all about “playing clean and hitting the pretty notes.”  Well if that’s the case, what better vehicle for a giant of jazz than White Christmas, which certainly has more than its fair share of pretty notes.  This take was recorded in 1948 at the Royal Roost night club in New York City – hardly the place where people went to hear Christmas carols.  But Bird tears into it like it’s Ko Ko or Donna Lee or any other original he came up with to showcase his legendary chops on alto sax.   For the few be-bop hipsters remaining on the planet, this is the only White Christmas that matters! White Christmas/Charlie Parker

Here’s a little tip for those of you who play in bar bands:  learn a Christmas song that you won’t be embarrassed to play.  Our band learned this next one in about 15 minutes – and that included 10 minutes of arguing.  Which is not to say it’s a piece of fluff.  In fact, it’s a towering achievement by Emery Williams Jr., better known as Detroit Junior.  A native of Arkansas, Williams began his career as a journeyman blues piano player in Flint, Michigan, and eventually landed in Chicago, where he cut a single for Chess and played in Howlin’ Wolf’s band for seven years.  He passed away in 2005, but left us this holiday classic that practically howls with Christmas joy. Christmas Day/Detroit Junior

I like a lot of space in my music, so I was never a big fan of the Phil Spector “Wall of Sound” treatment –  which I guess includes Bruce Springsteen (sorry, Gary!).  But let’s face it, the holiday season is not a very subtle time of year.  And even though Spector throws the kitchen sink and several other fixtures into this one, he still manages to preserve the majesty of ex-wife Ronnie’s voice, which seems to exist somewhere between the playground and the red light district.  Sure, you could speculate whether “Frosty the Snowman” is code for something far more nefarious… But I’d rather take this one at face value and assume Phil and Ronnie had a nice, uneventful Christmas that year. Frosty the Snowman/The Ronettes

At this point you may be asking, what’s your favorite holiday song?  (Hey, you stuck with me this far!)  Here’s one I have no problem listening to all year round.  Led by Cissy Houston (mother of some up-and-comer named Whitney), the Sweet Inspirations were the back-up singers of choice for artists ranging from Aretha Franklin and Wilson Pickett to Elvis Presley and Van Morrison.  This cut was recorded in 1969 at the fabled Muscle Shoals Sound Studio and features the deep southern soul of Eddie Hinton on guitar.  It’s an American classic by any measure, but sounds especially sweet this time of year.  Merry Christmas, y’all! Every Day Will Be Like A Holiday/The Sweet Inspirations

Gold-framed photos (hand-colored) from the collection of Charles Auerbach

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