Rubber City Review

We’ve covered guitarist Robert Quine pretty well in this blog, especially here and here. But I had to throw this post together after my sister came across a long-lost article in the bottom of a box at her house in Akron, just a block from where Rob grew up. I think she got it from Rob’s mom, Rosalie, who did a fine job of chronicling her son’s career, starting with the trailblazing NYC punk band Richard Hell and the Voidoids back in the mid-70s, then with Lou Reed, then on to a whole slew of guest appearances – from Lydia Lunch and Marianne Faithfull to Tom Waits and Matthew Sweet.

The article, titled “Run – Don’t Walk,” was written by rock journalist and musician Rick Batey (author of “The American Blues Guitar: An Illustrated History”… you can buy a copy below) and appears to be from a UK music magazine, probably Melody Maker. I couldn’t find any evidence of it online, even over at the uber-research site rocksbackpages.com, which lists 32 articles about Rob. I’ve dated it from 1990, since Batey references “a 47-year-old ex-lawyer” and Rob was born on December 30, 1942. Rob seems especially wound up and expansive during the interview, which really nails his skewed wit and musical wisdom (in writing my posts, I was disadvantaged by not having tape running during my conversations with Rob). He talks at length about influences, his approach to playing, the state of rock at the time, and even his favorite gear. And he betrays a deep appreciation of rock’s roots, which might seem surprising given the shrieking, often atonal solos that defined his playing with the Voidoids. As Rob liked to point out, “by many people’s standards, my playing is very primitive but by punk standards, I’m a virtuoso.”

Before I share some excerpts (with music samples for those of you who want to play along), I’ll offer this in the way of “full disclosure”… Rob is my second cousin, which makes him second cousin once removed from Daniel Quine Auerbach of The Black Keys (which explains the “DQA” on Dan’s guitar strap). Needless to say, Rob was a big influence on Dan, who regrets not having the opportunity to play and record with him (Rob died in 2004 from a heroin overdose).

Rob on Influences:

• I’ll buy almost any European reissue of totally obscure rockabilly bands; there’s a wildness, a freshness in those records that came from discovering things for the first time. Try to recreate that music, and you’d never even come close.

• I’m listening to J.J. Cale constantly at the moment. People are either bored by him, or completely hypnotized. You couldn’t call it innovative, but he’s a genius. I’d put him right up there with the great blues soloists, even though he can obviously play jazz as well. River Runs Deep

• And some time ago I started listening to James Burton again. I hadn’t heard him since 1962, so I checked out Waylon Jennings, Merle Haggard, the later Ricky Nelson, and even the Elvis stuff – which is pretty dire listening! Most guitarists burn out, it’s inevitable – even the caliber of Hendrix’s work fell off in the last year and a half of his life – but I saw James Burton with (Elvis) Costello and he’s still doing new things. He doesn’t copy his early work, but his identity is intact. How many players can you say that about? Susie-Q/Dale Hawkins with James Burton

• Initially I never dreamed of playing lead, I just wanted to play acoustic guitar like the Everly Brothers. I remember being shocked on hearing the flipside of Bye Bye Love and discovering a steel guitar hidden in there! I thought – these guys are hillbillies! But then, in almost the same month, Link Wray’s Rumble and Duane Eddy’s Movin’ ‘n’ Groovin’ came out… Link Wray was the one that really grabbed me. I even got to meet him in 1975 because the Voidoids were using the same studio as him while we were making the “Blank Generation” album. I told him about some pretty obscure things of his that had really inspired me, and I think he appreciated it. He left his amplifier lying around, an Ampeg with four 12-inch speakers, so heavy it took five people to shift, and I used it for some of the better solos on that album. If he reads this, I hope he forgives me. No one was supposed to touch it. Ace of Spades/Link Wray

• I really got into electric guitar by playing along to Ritchie Valens records. I later found out that a studio musician called Rene Hall had played a lot of it, but Valens himself was a great guitarist and some of his instrumentals were really innovative. Fast Freight was the first record with two bassists – Red Callender on double bass, and Rene Hall getting a totally different, clanky sound from a six-string Danelectro. Valens was so young at the time – he died aged 17 – but you could hear him stretching out, even then. Fast Freight

• (Watching Buddy Holly play at a 1957 rock ‘n roll review) Buddy Holly playing a Stratocaster was an amazing thing. The image of Elvis banging away on an acoustic guitar was well-known, of course, but suddenly here was this guy with this Martian-looking guitar. What’s more, he was doing the singing and taking the solos. The other acts – Frankie Lymon, The Clovers, The Drifters – all used the big house band, but the Crickets were doing everything by themselves. I thought, “that’s bizarre.” And because this was 1957, it was before Buddy Holly had cleaned up his image: he had a baggy suit, un-capped teeth and wire-rimmed glasses! He covered a lot of Little Richard songs, funnily. Blue Days, Black Nights

• (Seeing John Coltrane in concert, 1966) I’d been getting into jazz, and I’d barely just figured out bebop when I went to this concert and sat in the very front row. There I was, analyzing it, trying to understand this out-there jazz, but these horns were going full velocity right in my face and all of a sudden I realized that there was nothing to understand. It was coming from the same place as a Charlie Patton or Howlin’ Wolf record. Living Space

• Hearing Eight Miles High was one of the final breakthroughs for me. It was the first hint of something real, as opposed to all this fusion trash. Lou Reed was listening to them, too. Back then, when we first met, Roger McGuinn was the only guitarist he had anything good to say about. He also liked (saxophonist) Ornette Coleman’s Ramblin’, and exactly the same thing happened to him as to me; he was trying to understand it all, when suddenly he realized “shit – this is just rock ‘n roll.” Eight Miles High

• Sometimes you can be struggling along, when all of a sudden the things you’ve been listening to come together with a snap. And the next guitar solo after Eight Miles High that came to terms with free jazz was the Velvet Underground’s I Heard Her Call My Name. At first I thought it was terrible, awful. The way he let the wrong harmonics feed back was totally unacceptable at the time but it was completely intentional, he knew exactly what he was doing. I Heard Her Call My Name

On Playing/Practicing:

• Sometimes I look out there and see a bunch of 11-year-old girls who don’t care, and I’ve got a stock solo that I can fall back on. Other times you want to keep yourself on edge, hopefully without destroying the song. Then again, there are places where I can show a total lack of respect for the songs if I want. But sometimes you get up there and nothing works, it’s just total frustration. So you decide to play it safe – and you can’t even do that right.

• A big part of understanding the Velvet Underground is realizing the guitars are detuned. When I worked on “Blue Mask,” Lou Reed played a great deal in D, which I find very hard to play along to. I ended up lowering the whole tuning of my guitar to D and still playing an E shape, and it’s that drone factor that’s the key to the whole thing.

• 

  Albert Collins

  I have no qualms about using a capo these days… I used to think of them as purely a crutch for beginners, until I did a session with Albert Collins. It was amazing to be there, playing right next to him. He was using a capo on everything, putting it right up to the ninth or tenth fret. He used his Telecaster, the studio’s regular Fender Twin set clean on 5, and no boxes whatsoever – and yet all this distortion was coming out, just from his fingers. It was really quite distressing. Melt Down/Albert Collins

• Ever since the Voidoids, chord playing has been the priority; with Lloyd Cole, I’m trying to leave the high and low E’s ringing as much as possible, and then sliding chords around inside of that. My confidence has grown over the years, but I’ve never been entirely comfortable with solos. The way Richard Hell got them out of me was to make me do it over and over again until I got so angry and frustrated, I’d just smash away at the strings. Lou Reed generally left me alone. Some people think that the solo on Waves of Fear from “Blue Mask” was the best thing I ever did, and that’s all they want to hear, but I’d like to think I can play lyrical stuff and still put as much emotion in as that. Not the same kind of emotion, thank God… I really put myself in a state to play that part – it wasn’t fun at all. My biggest break, a Lou Reed album for RCA, and I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown and that they’d have to call a taxi and send me home! Waves of Fear

• There’s only one way I practice; for 15 years I’ve had this system of mixing the guitar in with a record and hearing it in stereo over headphones. I play along to blues things, or jazz if I’m feeling adventurous. I don’t enjoy sitting on my own and working out guitar parts, so this way it’s very immediate, I’m right in the middle of it. I remember once doing it with a song called Pharaoh’s Dance off Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew.” It’s very ambiguous, you don’t know what key it’s in, and I found that I could play along with it using any notes I wanted and whatever I played wasn’t wrong – just so long as I did it with confidence. Finding my way around the fingerboard by doing things like that is my alternative to playing scales up the neck. Pharaoh’s Dance

• They just brought out the Little Richard boxed set. Something as savage as Good Golly Miss Molly, the scream of those sax solos – I’ll never tire of it because there’s something there that cannot be recaptured, not even by him; he tried, and he never came close. That what I try to do in a solo, to capture something that people can relate to, musically and emotionally. And I would rather listen to someone who can barely play, who had some soul, who made mistakes, than hearing jazz-rock scales all night long. I think that people like that kind of music because it doesn’t threaten them, and they like to live ordered lives. Ultimately, I don’t think they want to come to terms with their own emotions. Good Golly Miss Molly

• The only piece of advice I have to give is to listen. I violently disagree with people who never listen to other music for fear of being influenced. Other music is not a threat! You cannot harm yourself by listening to a Charlie Christian solo over and over again. Just give yourself over, inundate yourself with it. You don’t need to worry about losing your own identity. Breakfast Feud/Charlie Christian break

• I’ve got my own style, I suppose, but I play both good things and bad things. My idols are basically Charlie Christian, Lester Young and Charlie Parker, and if you worship people like that – as anybody that has a brain should – then even if you could play a thousand times better than you do, it would still keep your ego under control. It keeps you from getting a swell head, to say the least.

On the state of rock music (1990… but he could be describing 2012):

• I don’t want to get too deeply into my Rock is Dead lecture, and at least Guns N’ Roses are a basic band with guitars, but I can hardly see how things can get much worse, really. On the other hand, music of such bad quality is so generally accepted these days that I’m afraid things will get worse. If you look at the sales figures, you can hardly say that rock is dying. But most of the rock around now is borrowing so heavily from the past that I’m scared that in a few years people won’t remember who Van Halen were, let alone Led Zeppelin or Jimi Hendrix. Perhaps there is good music, but I’m not hearing it.

• I can’t see what the “next step” is going to be; it seems as though all the obvious combinations, like jazz and rock, have been experimented with already. One of the last really new things for me was Brian Eno’s ambient music, and that’s just basically stuff on one chord – he’s a genius. Music’s the only thing that makes any sense to me, and if I really believed everything I’m saying here, I’d go back to being a lawyer. But it disturbs me that I have to wait for some unissued Charlie Christian or Jimmy Reed record for my musical enjoyment.

Rob shreds his way through the Velvet Underground’s White Light/White Heat… Live at the Bottom Line, NYC, 1983:

The Great Flood of 1927

So I’m pondering my next post and it dawns on me, some of my favorite songs are about rivers. Or, as Mr. Springsteen would put it, The River. That murky, mythological force that keeps drawing us down for purposes both sanctified (such as baptism) and sinful (e.g. killing your baby).

Charlie Patton

Here’s one that falls under the “bad things happen by the river” category. Recorded in 1929 by legendary bluesman Charlie Patton, High Water Everywhere chronicles the Great Mississippi Flood that occurred two years prior. Consider modern-day floods like the one that overcame much of Nashville in 2010, or several more in recent years that have plagued towns along the Mississippi River. The Great Flood of 1927 topped them all – taking 246 lives and causing more than $400 million in damages (probably the combined value of virtually every home and business within miles of the river). Patton’s lyrics are gut-wrenching: “It was 50 men and children come to sink and drown; Oh Lordy, women and grown men drown… Oh, women and children sinkin’ down Lord have mercy.” The song obviously had a big impact on Bob Dylan, who paid tribute to it with High Water (For Charlie Patton), recorded in 2001. High Water Everywhere Pt. 1

I’m sure you’re familiar with Johnny Cash’s cool cover of a tune originally performed by Australian singer Lucky Starr: I’ve Been Everywhere. You know… Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, etc. etc. (Lucky used Australian locales in the original). Well, it wasn’t the first travelogue song tackled by the Man in Black. He wrote a great one back in ’58 that he recorded that same year for Sam Phillips’ Sun label. Instead of highways and byways, it takes us down a veritable river of heartbreak (the Big Muddy, of course). Now I love Cash’s original, but I think I’m a little partial to a later version done by Texas honky-tonk hero Delbert McClinton – maybe because it borrows from the backwoods funk of Tony Joe White instead of the more familiar chunk of the Tennessee Three. I spliced them together on this one… you be the judge. Big River (Johnny Cash/Delbert McClinton)

Allison Krauss almost fooled me into thinking she’d written an American classic when I first heard her moving rendition of Down to the River to Pray (from the soundtrack to the movie “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”). Turns out it’s an old traditional that dates back to the 19^th Century – and, like most great traditionals, it was sung by African-American slaves in the fields. In fact, the tune appeared in an 1867 slave songbook as The Good Old Way, and some ethnomusicologists believe the song might have its roots in Native American culture. In more recent years, it’s been covered by a number of artists who have used various titles and lyrics that were loosely based on the original. Here’s a version that the Appalachian singer and flatpicker Doc Watson recorded in 1966 for his Vanguard album “Home Again!”: Down in the Valley to Pray

Getting back to more nefarious riverside activities, Neil Young wrote this dark little ditty for his classic 1969 album with Crazy Horse, “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere.” And the tune’s basic sentiment is summarized in one startling line: “Down by the river, I shot my baby.” Why did he shoot her? Who the hell knows. I guess she decided not to take his side or, for that matter, take him for a ride. He seems to feel pretty bad about this senseless act of violence, and I’m sure he got his comeuppance (if you conveniently ignore worldwide sales of well over one million for Nowhere and Young’s continued success as a solo artist of utmost integrity). Apparently, Young wrote this tune when he was at home in bed suffering from a severe fever. Maybe the same malady inspired his brilliant, one-note solo in one of my all-time favorite tunes, Cinnamon Girl. Down by the River

Have to hand it to Al Green for somehow combining the sanctified and sinful in one river-related song. Some of you might be more familiar with The Talking Heads’ version. Let me respond to that by borrowing a line from Donnie Brasco: fuggedaboudit. But I’ll give David Byrne credit for recognizing the inherent power of a song that, in his words, “combines teenage lust with baptism – not equates, you understand, but throws them in the same stew, at least. A potend blend.” (The Independent, Feb. ’94.) Syl Johnson came up with a nasty version of Green’s original (using the same musicians and producer, Willie Mitchell), and Delbert did a fine job with it too. But no one does that dance between the sacred and profane better than Mr. Green. Take Me to the River

J.J. Cale seems to have a real affinity for the river song. River Runs Deep. Mississippi River. River Boat Song. And this next one, Stone River, which stands out as a true rarity in the Cale catalog – an environmental protest song. “They bottled up and dammed it, choked it up and jammed it, killed the life around it and stole it like a bandit.” I think Merle Haggard wrote one of these recently too, but being pissed off comes easily to Merle. It’s nice to hear J.J. slip out of his comfort zone and get worked up about something for a change! Stone River

The river often is used as a metaphor for an obstacle or challenge, and reggae singer Jimmy Cliff works that image beautifully in this next song. Speaking of water metaphors, the tune can be found on one of my desert-island albums, the soundtrack to the gritty Jamaican gangster movie “The Harder They Come.” I wore through the original release from ’72… couldn’t get enough of Jamaican treasures like Rivers of Babylon by The Melodians, Sweet and Dandy by The Maytals, Johnny Too Bad by The Slickers and no less than four classics by Cliff. So I jumped at the opportunity to pick up the two-CD “Deluxe Edition” released in 2003 that includes 18 more reggae essentials (I often play it in the dead of winter as an act of extreme denial). Actually, Many Rivers to Cross isn’t a reggae song at all – it’s more of a simple, plaintive soul tune with strong gospel overtones. And it’s easily one of the most beautiful songs to come from Jamaica… or anywhere for that matter. Many Rivers to Cross

The sound of the swamp is in good hands with bayou bluesman Tab Benoit. He might be standing on the bank, but it sounds to me like he’s getting sucked right into some dark, dirty backwater. It’s from his ’99 album of the same name. For my money, it’s about as good as contemporary blues gets. Check here for Tab’s upcoming gigs and info on his new album that drops on April 3 – “Legacy: The Best of Tab Benoit.” I have a fair amount of Tab in my own collection, so I’m hoping the new release unearths a few lost nuggets for my listening pleasure. Standing on the Bank

Let’s close on a high note with the gospel sound of my favorite harmony singers, The Louvin Brothers. Another old traditional, another river to wash our sins away… Hopefully Neil Young isn’t upstream plotting another senseless act of violence. The River of Jordan

OK, one more… A masterful river song written and performed by French roots-rocker Don Cavalli. We featured it here, but this post practically begs for its return. I like how the videographer creates this sense of foreboding without taking us to an actual river. Why screw up a good metaphor?

Another band from Akron makes it big… “The Blues Snob” is on record as liking this song and this video (should Dan & Pat be worried that they’re getting namechecked for their coolness?).

Over the past year, I pulled all my music gear out of cold storage and started playing in bars again. Which wasn’t as difficult as it could’ve been, since I only took a two-year hiatus. But my chops were real creaky in those first few gigs – and I’m still not back to that level where I could hold the attention of a small gang of drunk bikers.

I’m now playing in a band called The Steelheaders, sort of a loose collective of songwriters and ex-folkies who tend to view every song through blues-colored glasses. So our set lists are filled with semi-acoustic tunes that wouldn’t sound out of place at the Newport Folk Festival back when Dylan was pissing off all those Woody Guthrie fans. In fact, we probably would’ve been a decent opening act for Dylan – not old guard, but not as amped-up as Mike Bloomfield and Al Kooper were when they backed Bob in ‘65. And the gig is certainly more age-appropriate for someone whose ears are still ringing from years of amp-related abuse.

I’m also doing something I’ve always wanted to do, which is play the same club every Thursday night. If someone can’t make it, no big deal. Just drag in another picker or make do without. But showing up at the same dive week after week creates a comfy, living-room vibe… that “just among friends” feeling that leads to a whole lot of screwing around. Wanna play a hillbilly version of Hey Joe? Sure, why not. Forgot the lyrics to Folsom Prison Blues? Go look for them in your guitar case while we hold this intro for another five minutes. Bass player’s trashed? Hey, look who just walked in the door…

One of the great pleasures of this setup – other than free drinks and the opportunity to play with some damn good musicians and friends – is that I get to crank up a few of my favorite tunes in between sets and at the end of the night. So I have my own little focus group (basically four other band members, the bartender/owner, the songwriter/chef, and the small handful of friends/relatives who happen to show up that night) to find out if anyone other than me likes this mess of songs on my iPod.

Well, following several months of extensive, highly analytical research, the focus group results are in. Here are the clear favorites:

OK, you’ll probably think, here’s Tim flogging the boogaloo thing again. But “Sabroso: The Afro-Cuban Groove” is, hands down, the best collection of said genre (and a few related strains, like mambo and salsa) I’ve ever come across. And every time I put this on, people come up and practically beg me for a copy. One guy said it kind of reminded him of “lounge music, but real ballsy.” Every cut is essential – well, except for one, which is a little too lounge-y (the curiously named Undress My Mind by Ocho). But consider the rest of the lineup: Willie Bobo, Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria, Ray Barretto, Joe Cuba… a murderers’ row of Latin soul. If your date doesn’t like this stuff, dump the chump. Hong Kong Mambo/Tito Puente

It’s only appropriate that a band called The Steelheaders would admire a band called The Steeldrivers. And although the latter lost two standout musicians featured on this cut – singer/songwriter Chris Stapleton and mandolin player Mike Henderson – the Nashville-based bluegrass band is still going strong with a new lineup. Thankfully, that lineup includes fiddler Tammy Rodgers, who also is one hell of a harmony singer as evidenced by this next cut. Grammy-winning sensation Adele covered this song on her Live at The Royal Albert Hall DVD (see video below), and you also can find it as a bonus track on an import version of her album “21.” Put this on at your local dive and watch hardened barflies cry like babies. If It Hadn’t Been For Love

At least four or five of our Thursday-night regulars are hard-core J.J. Cale fans. So it really doesn’t matter which one of his albums I play (and I have most of them), his stuff always gets that knowing, glassy-eyed look that seems to say, “Thank you for reminding me of the copious amounts of controlled substances I smoked/ingested back in the Seventies.” To be honest, as much as I love his first few albums, I rarely play them – mainly because the CD versions sound like shit (and nobody’s stepping up to remaster “Naturally”). I know… heresy. My turntable’s broken, and I’m partial to J.J.’s last few releases. Hey, it’s not like he’s doing anything different 40 years down the road. Same laid-back voice, same stunning guitar, same throwaway lyrics… just recorded a lot better. Fancy Dancer

Here’s another bit of heresy: I like to hear other people sing Tom Waits’ songs… well, maybe not William Shatner, but definitely a grizzled blues veteran like John Hammond. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Waits himself produced this 2001 release that also featured Charlie Musselwhite on harp, Augie Meyers (of Sir Douglas Quintet fame) on keyboards and accordion and Larry Taylor (ex-Canned Heat) on bass. It’s a brilliant melding of trash-can rhythms, vintage blues riffs and Hammond’s weathered howl. He seems right at home working this spooky, apocalyptic vibe and squeezing every ounce of menace from Waits’ fractured songbook. In fact, he’s never sounded better… just ask the regulars at our spooky, apocalyptic bar. 2:19

It’s just past midnight, and a little past my bedtime (sorry, I can’t keep up with you coastal hipsters). Time to slap on some “pack up your shit and have one for the road” music. Nothing frantic or hurried… We need something to wind everyone down and send them home safe – not across the street where all those Red Bull-guzzling, dubstepping zombies hang out. I’ve got just the right song, one of several slow-groove instrumentals I’ve pulled together for this very purpose. It features three giants of soul jazz: Willis Jackson on tenor sax, Brother Jack McDuff on the B3 and Bill Jennings on guitar. So listen to one more story about the guy with the monkey, move slowly away from the bar, give everyone a big hug and call it a night. Mr. Jackson is ready to tuck you into bed with sweet dreams of blinking party lights and bubbling Wurlitzers. Just don’t forget to wake up before the owner locks the door. Please Mr. Jackson

Here’s Adele’s take on The Steeldrivers’ If It Hadn’t Been For Love… For this reason alone, consider me a fan:

Here’s an album that came and went a couple of years ago, but I keep getting sucked back into its strange vortex. It answers the question, what happens when a fairly twisted French dude records a loving tribute to his favorite American musical influences?

His name is Don Cavalli, and I’m surprised his latest release, “Cryland,” didn’t get more notice (although the British rock mag Mojo ranked it #12 of their 50 best albums of 2008, noting that “Cryland” is “appealing low-fi and iTunes eclectic… 21^st century psychedelic”). If you’re looking for brilliant lyrics or multiple layers of meaning, go somewhere else. This is all about deep, swampy grooves and gutbucket guitar played through overdriven tube amps. In other words, my kind of music… River/Don Cavalli

Cavalli’s casual approach to songwriting reminds me a lot of J.J. Cale – a true master at creating an overall mood and timeless vibe that transcends the material. J.J.’s done this better than anyone for about 50 years. And he’s still bringing the goods, with the possible exception of his recent collaboration with Eric Clapton (I’m not sure if Clapton has another good album in him). Here’s the intro to one of my favorite cuts from Cale’s 2004 release, “To Tulsa and Back”: New Lover/J.J. Cale

Cavalli’s another restless explorer of vintage sounds and riffs, with the same minimalist approach to guitar playing and songwriting as J.J., but maybe a little more edge and energy. Yeah, you’ll probably think you’ve heard some of these lines before: “Moon is a-risin’, sun is sinkin’ down low, wind is a-howlin’, been down lonesome with gloom.” But it’s hard to resist sturdy little tunes like the next one, especially if you share my weakness for rough and rootsy guitar: Vitamin A/Don Cavalli

The quirk factor also is fairly high on “Cryland.” And I guarantee you’ve never come across songs quite like New Hollywood Babylon and other oddball gems by Cavalli. It’s like someone stuffed all of these American influences – blues, country, rockabilly, cajun – into a Euro/Franco processing machine and hit the random switch. It’s nice to hear those influences subverted with such “aggress-shawn,” as he sings on one tune. I guess I’m also a sucker for strangled syntax, wha-wha guitars that seem to come out of nowhere, trashcan rhythms – not to mention whacked-out numbers like this one… Wonder Chairman/Don Cavalli

Make no mistake, this guy can play. But it’s hard to find much of substance written about Cavalli. From what little I’ve found on the Web, it appears he spent a number of years playing in rockabilly bands.

With “Cryland,” he seems to be moving away from more obvious tributes to his American idols, and closer toward establishing himself as a true original. His next album lands in 2011 – hopefully we’ll be around to share some of it with you.

Talk about creating a mood… I love this stark, ethereal video for River. I’m sure it involved a small budget, but a fair amount of choreography.

Every year I get together with five or six of my high school buddies – as well as assorted spousal units and special guests – for a party at my friend’s alpaca farm just outside of a small town in southern Ohio.  Now this town is a good three-plus hours away from our alma mater, St. Vincent-St. Mary in Akron.  In fact, it’s a good distance from just about everything.  One of the running jokes on the morning after the party involves asking for the Sunday Times and a cup of Starbucks joe (although I’ve been told the frozen breakfast burritos at the mini mart are actually quite good).

But our relative isolation allows us to reflect, in a somewhat impaired manner, on all things Seventies.  And for me, of course, it’s all about the music – which is why I’m in charge of coming up with a five-hour playlist that draws from that awkward era between the hippies and the punks.

Several of the activities don’t require musical accompaniment.  There’s the shooting competition led by Officer Tony.  And then there’s the obligatory golf-like event organized by Fern, the honorary Mayor of Batavia.

But the main event of the weekend focuses on the making of sausage, using a century-old stuffer and several miles of entrails.  Over the years, this has become a highly synchronized activity involving wine, accompanying dishes, exotic spices, Seventies music and near-constant bitching from all of us about how much ground red pepper to put into the pork.  This bitching dissipates somewhat as the evening progresses – which is why we need special containers, originally designed for the nuclear industry, to hold the late-night sausage (note to self: rephrase that before posting).

Dazed and confused…

I thought that coming up with a playlist for this event would be fairly easy.  After all, I burned through what seemed like several thousand dollars in my youth buying albums by the Rolling Stones, the Allman Brothers Band, J.J. Cale, Little Feat, Taj Mahal, Steve Miller Band (before he was the Joker), Fleetwood Mac (before they were a joke), Savoy Brown, and so on.  Now I could’ve referenced other Seventies acts like prog-rockers Yes, King Crimson and Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and the ubiquitous city/state bands like Chicago, Boston, Kansas, Duluth, whatever… but I hate that shit – and unlike most other DJs, I don’t take requests.

I also could’ve mentioned the most iconic album (and image) of our high school years, “Dark Side of the Moon” by Pink Floyd. But that’s like saying the baseball game kicked off with the Star Spangled Banner.  It’s safe to say that no other generation has had such an omnipresent soundtrack.  Of course, this was back before the music industry was such a fragmented mess, when it was possible for huge masses of people to share the same musical tastes and sources.  I heard “Dark Side” so many times during the Seventies, both intentionally and otherwise, that I’m not sure I can work up a visceral reaction to it today.  I won’t question that it’s one of the most important musical achievements of the 20th Century.  Just don’t play it for me, ever again.

A lot of stuff I grooved on in the Seventies sounds pretty lame today.  I’ll start with the musical moment that defined every young man who came of age in that era – the arrival of Led Zeppelin’s first album in 1969.  How can that be, you ask?  Well, first, Led Zeppelin may have landed in ’69, but they rocked every high school kid in America in the early Seventies, period end of story.  And second, this is my blog, so I’ll pretend it was released a year later to make my point.  And that point is… oh yeah, lameness.

There are many moments of great power and majesty in Led Zep’s first – which completely altered my reality when Brother James’ friend Bill Austin first brought it over to the house, holding it carefully like the small explosive it was – but this next little number ain’t one of them… You Shook Me/Led Zeppelin

Everything up to that point actually works pretty well, but I just can’t get beyond Robert Plant yelping like some crazed, rabid blues hound in heat.  I’m reminded of a capsule review I once read about ”Apocalypse Now” – two hours of great drama, leading up to a cameo by Don Rickles.

A lot of other stuff on my playlist holds up much better.  And, once again, I’ll cheat a little – by picking an album that was recorded in late ’68.  I really don’t consider Taj Mahal’s “The Natch’l Blues” part of the Sixties anyway… it’s not the least bit psychedelic or mind-expanding, and the lyrics are fairly straightforward (except for something about painting a mailbox blue).  “The Natch’l Blues” is a rootsy collection of mostly blues-based songs – eight originals and four covers, and only one extended jam.  Taj is a triple threat with his gritty voice and perfect touch on harp and national steel.  But the album’s secret weapon may be guitarist Jesse Ed Davis – an American Indian from Oklahoma with an endless supply of slippery, soulful licks.  I’ve listened to this album regularly since it showed up on my radar screen in the early Seventies… hard to believe it was recorded more than 40 years ago. Going Up To The Country, Paint My Mailbox Blue/Taj Mahal

Another notable album from that era is “Live!” by Bob Marley and the Wailers, recorded on July 18, 1975, at the Lyceum Ballroom in London.  This was Marley’s third tour of England, and you can tell by the crowd response that he’d become a major phenomenon.  One of the great pleasures of the album is hearing this steady roar in the background – the same sound you typically hear at World Cup Soccer matches… in other words, the sound of many delirious people shouting and singing at the same time.  And, unlike some other live albums, it seems like the crowd’s quasi-religious fervor was more than warranted.  It may be one of Marley’s best performances, live or studio, and certainly better than some of the slick recordings he made late in his career.  Here’s the raucous opening to Lively Up Yourself… Lively Up Yourself/Bob Marley

I also have a weak spot for Steve Winwood and his band Traffic.  Winwood started his career (and might be ending it) as kind of a slavish interpreter of American soul.  Not to take away from tunes like Gimme Some Lovin’ and Roll With It, but I like the fact that in most of his work with Traffic, Winwood isn’t afraid to sound, well, British.  To my ears, early-Seventies classics like “John Barleycorn Must Die” and “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” sound very organic – what you’d expect when three hugely talented Brits hide out in a countryside cottage, experiment with god knows what and explore their own roots for a change.  It’s really genre-bending at its best – not quite jazz, not quite blues or folk, and certainly not sea chanteys… just an oddly familiar-sounding mix of influences that these guys seemed incapable of screwing up.  Here’s part of an extended jam that closes out “Low Spark”… Rainmaker/Traffic

None of the tunes on these albums would ever show up on a “Classic Rock” playlist.  But I’ll spare you from my usual rant about this dreadful format (if it were a form of torture, I’d cave right away).

Instead, I’ll use this opportunity to thank Mark, Francis, Sophie and Sadie for graciously welcoming the Mongol Horde from the North to their beautiful home in the country… by giving a shout-out to the Sausage Party regulars – wife Laura, Jim and Martha, Fern and Patty, Pat and Mary, Don and Donna, Tony, Mickey, and assorted hangers-on… and by leaving you with this quick list of a few other Superhits from the Early Seventies (or at least the version that would exist in a parallel universe).  I purposely left off my favorite funk and soul of the era – that’s a subject for another post.

A little gem from ZZ Top’s best album, “Tres Hombres” (released in 1973) – Low Rider meets the Texas Hill Country: Sheik/ZZ Top

Another great live album that I completely wore out, “The Allman Brothers At Fillmore East” (1971): Statesboro Blues/The Allman Brothers Band

I’m a proud veteran of the Rolling Stones’ 1972 concert at the Akron Rubber Bowl (yes, I was five years old), and this was the song of the summer: Tumbling Dice/The Rolling Stones

From Bonnie Raitt’s first, back in 1971 – still her bluesiest album: Finest Lovin’ Man/Bonnie Raitt

So much J.J. to choose from… Why not start at the beginning, “Naturally” (1971)? Crazy Mama/J.J. Cale

Before Rod became irrelevant, he fronted one of the great rock ‘n roll bands of all time… Also evidence that Ron Wood could play. Bad ‘N’ Ruin/Faces

Ry Cooder reinvents a song by zither-strumming evangelist Washington Phillips, from 1974’s “Paradise and Lunch”: Tattler/Ry Cooder

Still the greatest soundtrack album of all time – made even better with the “Deluxe Edition” treatment in 2003: The Harder They Come/Jimmy Cliff

On the video front, I’d love to post the party scene from the movie “Dazed and Confused.”  It’s almost as if the director, Richard Linklater, were a documentary filmmaker at half the parties I went to in high school.  Instead, I’ll offer this prime example of what ethnomusicologists have labeled “stoner rock,” featuring one of the great voices of the Seventies, Paul Rodgers.