Happy Birthday to one of the greatest and most unheralded musicians in the history of this country.
An influence on Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Billy Joel and countless others, he sold more records in the 50s than any other rock and roll pioneer, save for the King himself.
He had countless hits, many of which became part of the American fabric: "Blueberry Hill," "Ain't That a Shame," "I'm Walkin,'" "Blue Monday, and my personal favorite, "Let the Four Winds Blow."
This is his house in his beloved New Orleans, the one in which Antoine Fats Domino is turning 87 years-old today.
A friend called me from the car the other day asking if I had ever heard the song below; going on to say that she thought of me when she heard it on "Little Steven's Underground Garage."
Did she think of me because of the sound or the lyrics?
Well, of course I've heard it and have long been fascinated by it. Still, I've never bothered to look up the backstory, content to marvel at the uncanny Beatlesesque sound.
Apparently the Jersey band followed trends, opting to copy the Four Seasons early on before hitting on this gem. The clip below is telling; lead singer Buddy Randall is a bit out-of-step with the times, with a dated haircut (for '65) and holding a sax (an instrument that faded after the Beatles landed) that he never plays.
But Randall's vocals are uncannily reminiscent of John Lennon, the harmonies are spot-on and the guitar licks snarl in a Harrison-like manner. This record may be regarded as just a knockoff, but I think it stands on its own as a not-so-minor classic
Label issues hampered The Knickerbockers after "Lies," dooming them to a footnote in rock and roll history.
Saw that last week was Yoko Ono's 80th birthday, and it reminded me of this legendary moment in rock and roll history:
Two of the musical giants of the 20th century do their absolute best to tear down the rock and roll stage they so brilliantly built. And Yoko is at the center of it, though there is plenty of other blame to go around. The band (Elephant's Memory) is rudimentary, Chuck's guitar is out of tune, and his playing is uninspired to say the least.
But as for Yoko: At 1:15 or so, she begins, as my dad would have called it, to "caterwaul." She beats on a drum, caterwauls some more, and generally brings up the questions, "what in God's name is she doing there, and why is she ruining several of rock and roll's most signature songs?"
I am sure Lennon loved her, and I am sure she had, and has, merit in the art world. But musically, it's hard to say what she brought to the table that was positive.
Did she break up The Beatles? No, I think they were certainly headed in that direction anyway, although her presence may have made it happen a bit sooner.
Did Lennon's musical output suffer after she came some on the scene? Arguably, yes. Even though we had "Imagine" and "Mind Games," there was also the "Some Time in New York City" album. Of course, that could be due to not having McCartney to push him. But I can't see "Revolution Number 9" finding its way onto vinyl without Yoko's influence.
Overall, this performance remains almost indescribable. I sent it to a younger friend/co-worker, who is a big fan of both The Beatles and Chuck Berry, and his response was, "holy crap."
John Lennon was killed 32 years ago tonight. I saw my first concert, The Eagles, 38 years ago at the then Lock Haven State College. "The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle" first hit my turntable 39 years ago, after reading two glorious reviews, one in "Crawdaddy" and another in "Stereo Review." "Moondance" has passed its 42nd anniversary. Forty-eight years have flown by since The Beatles first made my hair stand on end on The Ed Sullivan Show.
The touchstones of my youth seem to be getting further and further away, at least by looking at the calendar. But some still strike major chords with me, and at times more so now than ever.
Take the last couple of hours, for instance. I just spent a good deal of time driving around listening to high art that was recorded more than 40 years ago. At full volume.
No record from the rock era sounds as dense, driven and alive as "Exile on Main Street." It's shot full of vitality, of decadence, of complications. Drenched in the blues, somewhat indecipherable, altogether brilliant and with no small amount of courage, it stands as testament to the power of The Rolling Stones.
When it was released, I listened to it for hours on end driving around on my Torino's 8-track, also at full volume. I had no idea then it would still matter these many years later.
Tonight, it made me feel like there are still possibilities. Still mountains to climb. Still dreams to realize. Still touchstones happening, right now.
If I can only bottle the courage so evident on those 18 tracks.
Got to scrape the shit right off my shoes, indeed.
