Ronald Cooper : Grew up with it and the other bands, Otis Waygood, Abstract Truth, Suck, Hawk. Met them in PMB, Mate of mine Gus , joined up for awhile in...
Geomel : I’m with you on this, Robin, Poor Will is one of RTs finest songs and the guitar solo a veritable controlled storm of magnificence, in fact...
Robinbrevard : Great review overall, but cannot agree with you that “Poor Will” is an inferior bonus track. It was left off Full House at...
Here’s yet another gem I found tucked within these pages at the The Band’s best fan site. Involvement from a Band member or two can’t guarantee a record’s gonna be a good one, but most of the time, you can count on it. Richard Manuel and Garth Hudson both grace this class act recording credited respectively as “Dick Handle” and “Campo Malaqua,” but they’re no show stealers next to some heavy hitting session men, a fine set of original tunes and Borderline’s down home, roaming feel.
Sweet Dreams and Quiet Desires somehow manages to blend classic rock with the Bearsville sound, Nashville country, even as far as bluegrass – albeit more of a laid-back and stoned grass-rock than that of the Dillards, Brummels or Goose Creek. Brothers David and Jon Gershen turn in 8 original numbers ranging from swampy groovers like David’s “Don’t Know Where I’m Going” to Jon’s strung-out, anthemic ballads “Please Help Me Forget” and “Dragonfly.” Traditional numbers arranged by producer and guitarist Jim Rooney (“Clinch Mountain,” “Good Womans Love,” and “Handsome Molly”) seamlessly flow next to classic sounding country numbers by David Gershen (“Marble Eyes,” Sweet Dreams”). In addition to the Band members, Band producer John Simon appears on piano as well as Billy Mundi on drums and Vassar Clements on fiddle.
Sadly, Sweet Dreams and the ill-fated Second Album remain criminally unissued. For now, get yer Borderline info/story here. This record certainly deserves as much recognition as any other genre-forging classic country rock record I’ve heard.
After spending the sixties ruthlessly disparaging country music, I experienced a Damascene conversion on catching the Eagles’ groundbreaking 1972 appearance on BBC TV’s Old Grey Whistle Test. Country rock, its reluctant antecedents and its bastard children became, and have remained, my favourite musical genre ever since, taking in everything from the Carter Family to the Drive-By Truckers. Yet the first I knew of Pure Prairie League was when I found out that Vince Gill had come to prominence with an early-eighties version of the band. PPL’s story is one of a couple of early near-misses at commercial success, followed by a long history as cult favourites with a small but faithful following, a bewildering sequence of line-up changes and periods of non-existence. After incarnations during which it contained not even one original member, the band prevails to this day, centred round prodigal returnee, founder Craig Fuller.
Originally coming out of the unpromising country-rock territory of Columbus, Ohio, the first stable line-up was led by principal singers and writers, lead guitarist Fuller and acoustic guitarist George Powell, and produced a sound not a million miles from the definitive LA country rock style of early Poco. The addition of pedal steelist John David Call strengthened the resemblance still further, but also allowed Fuller and Call to trade licks in a highly personal conversational style harking back to Western Swing. Their eponymous debut album appeared on RCA in March 1972, but after just one short national tour promoting it Fuller received draft papers and felt obliged to relocate rapidly to Toronto. The band promptly split, leaving the album largely unheard, and it disappeared without troubling the charts. This was a shame, because PPL could certainly have been as big as their Californian contemporaries: they had a memorable name (borrowed from the fictitious ladies’ temperance organisation in the Errol Flynn Western Dodge City), a distinctive image (reinforced by their logo featuring the Norman Rockwell cartoon cowboy character “Luke”) and undeniable chops as writers, singers and players. Moderate commercial success did come with the second album Bustin’ Out, recorded in October 1972 by just Fuller and Powell with session musicians and friends, but not until its re-release more than two years afterwards on the back of a hard-earned new popularity resulting from the reformed band’s gruelling touring. RCA did re-sign them and released a series of further albums throughout the seventies, but these generally failed to light up the record store tills.
Notwithstanding this, all of PPL’s recorded legacy is, perhaps surprisingly, still in print. The sophomore Bustin’ Out is a more mature album offering a more varied, more rock-oriented menu as befits its shifting personnel, plus the novelty of string arrangements by Bowie sidekick Mick Ronson. Personally, however, I prefer the inexplicably unappreciated debut’s softer, warmer, more countrified sound, with its ubiquitous lush harmonies and pedal steel licks and the occasional “blue” chord. The instrumental break in the gently swinging “Take It Before You Go” forefronts the interplay between Fuller’s squealing six-string and Call’s sinuous steel, while “Woman” is a magnificent guitar-driven song with power-pop overtones, and the closing “It’s All On Me” highlights Powell’s elegant fingerstyling and recalls the Byrds’ “Chestnut Mare” period. Available at the time of writing are an Acadia twofer comprising the first two albums complete and a Camden anthology which includes most of the debut, all of the follow-up and selected later cuts. Admirers of the Eagles, Poco, the Dirt Band, the New Riders, etc., should apply; they won’t be disappointed.
Plainsong was a short-lived folk-rock outfit with country-rock leanings that briefly provided a pretty close British equivalent to the likes of Crosby, Stills & Nash. Singer-songwriter Iain Matthews had been the frontman with Fairport Convention during their early West Coast-influenced period, and had subsequently enjoyed moderate success as a solo artist and with his pioneering British country-rock outfit Southern Comfort. His main collaborator in Plainsong would be guitarist and multi-instrumentalist Andy Roberts, former musical kingpin of the loose collective of folk musicians and performance poets known as the Liverpool Scene. Rounding out the new band were bassist/pianist David Richards and Californian acoustic guitarist Bob Ronga, with percussion being provided on an ad-hoc basis by Iain’s former Fairport colleague Dave Mattacks or fellow folk-rock stalwart Timi Donald. The gentle irony of the band’s name belies their strengths: Matthews’s angelic voice and their superb four-part harmonies, plus immaculate instrumental backings.
Prior to their formation in early 1972 Roberts had become infatuated with the alternative version of the Amelia Earhart story propounded in Fred Goerner’s book The Search For Amelia Earhart, which suggested that she had been on a clandestine aerial spying mission for the US government on the Japanese at Saipan in 1937 and had perished at their hands, the whole affair then being hushed up to avoid an early war. Matthews became readily interested in the topic. Unable to stretch the concept to a whole album, they decided to make a short suite on it the centrepiece of their Elektra debut, which also took as its title that of Goerner’s tome and featured appropriate cover art. A cover of David McEnery’s traditional account “Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight” was followed by Matthews’s own “True Story Of Amelia Earhart” which proffered the Goerner line. Cleverly splitting the two was a soulful version of the old bluegrass spiritual “I’ll Fly Away”. The remainder of the album comprised mellow, thoughtful compositions by Matthews and widely varying but carefully chosen covers of numbers by obscure but respected folk-rock and country artists, including Paul Siebel’s “Louise”, Henske and Yester’s “Raider” and Jim & Jesse’s rollicking “Diesel On My Tail”.
What you got from this apparent mishmash was a beautifully coherent folk-country-rock album with glorious vocals and superbly understated, largely acoustic accompaniment with the occasional fiery Telecaster tail-twist, the whole having a wistful, summery feel absolutely redolent of 1972. It nonetheless failed to trouble the Top 100 album charts, and the Ronga-less follow-up provisionally titled Now We Are 3, which moved further towards country-rock, was shelved when the remaining band members split abruptly due to ferocious antipathy between Matthews and Richards and Iain’s long-aspired determination to move his muse to California. The album lay dormant till 2005 when the Water label in San Francisco released it as part of an absolutely stunning 2-CD compilation entitled simply Plainsong which includes the debut album, the unreleased follow-up, an early single and a dozen live stage and radio recordings: just about everything laid down by the original line-up. Matthews and Roberts had meanwhile reunited in a new Plainsong in the nineties, but I’ll leave you to investigate that if you will.
Here’s another one for the wish-this-wasn’t-it list. Eggs Over Easy were virtually unknown but recorded an incredibly solid album and have a cool story to boot.
Credited with launching the genre of pub rock, these hard working American road warriors brought the sound of Americana/country rock to the pubs in England during an ill-fated recording trip, and ended up gigging around until their visas ran up, inspiring the likes of Brinsley Schwarz, Bees Make Honey, and Frankie Miller. They had amassed an impressive repertoire of original and cover material upon their return to the states, and recorded Good ‘N’ Cheap out in Tuscon, AZ with Link Wray producing. Sadly, it’s about all they recorded.
You can tell the Eggs were seasoned performers the instant their record hits. These fun, good-natured country tunes have a smooth, Steely Dan vibe, sounding at times squeaky clean, loose & tight, honest and raw. All but one are originals, with writing and singing duties equally distributed between members Austin Delone, Jack O’Hara, and Brien Hopkins. The songs are surprisingly versatile: “Party, Party” is a pure sweet ’70s treat, just what the title says, “Arkansas” is a gorgeous, foot-tapping roots ballad, “Runnin’ Down to Memphis” is straight country, and a couple harder blues numbers round things out (though “The Factory” is my one skippable track and I’m not too big on “Night Flight” despite its Bowie-tinged flavor). I originally thought the record was a little top-heavy, considering how the first three tracks seem to climax during the anthemic chorus to “Henry Morgan,” but Good ‘N’ Cheap is loaded with gems. These are pretty advanced compositions for a bar band, “Home To You” and the nearly epic “Pistol On A Shelf” are unmissable tracks. Same with “Face Down In The Meadow” and “Don’t Let Nobody,” which feel like instant classics.
It’s the kind of record where you savor the bonus cuts. “111 Avenue C” gives us a taste of the live Eggs act, featuring some intense scatting at the back of this swinging blues number. Also included is the infamous “Bar In My Car” (“put a bar in the back of my car and drive my self to drink”) and is actually one of the band’s catchiest moments.
There is reportedly a 2nd album out there, recorded in 1982 called Fear of Frying. I have yet to track it down but based on this debut, it’s a joke it hasn’t been properly reissued. In any case, Good ‘N’ Cheap is no doubt essential to any fan of Americana and pub rock. Sincere, sweet, feel-good music.
The Small Faces, the Pretty Things, the Zombies and the Move have seen numerous write-ups, send offs, and press in all the big-time (and small-time) classic rock publications. But of all the major British Invasion acts, none has been as ill-served and neglected in rock critic circles and the collector circuit as Manfred Mann. Mann and his group are usually thought of as a singles act, which is a cryin’ shame as many of their albums are great if not better than that. Manfred Mann’s Earth Band followed the excellent jazz rock explorations of Chapter Three (Volume 1 is a stone cold classic). The self-titled Earth Band debut remains one of the forgotten progressive rock masterpieces. Manfred Mann’s Earth Band is an LP that’s actually worth hearing as it’s one of the best albums of its time and a fan favorite of sorts.
Originally the Earth Band had been working on Stepping Sideways, a rootsy album that was scrapped in favor of newer, more challenging material, which had been part of their live act at the time. Many of the Stepping Sideways tracks are as good as much of what ended up on the Earth Band’s debut. Most of the lost Stepping Sideways sessions later appeared on the Earth Band’s outtake box set, Odds & Sods.
On Manfred Mann’s Earth Band, the group take the best aspects of pop and progressive music and meld them into something original and distinctive. Manfred Mann’s Earth Band came out in 1972, the height of the progressive rock boom. The album is half covers, half originals. There are no long, wanky keyboard solos, everything here is well structured and tight – the band cooks throughout. Mann still kept some of the rootsy singer songwriter material from the earlier, Stepping Sideways sessions. ”Part Time Man,” a cover of Dylan’s ”Please Mrs. Henry,” and “I’m Up and I’m Leaving” are all wonderful, underrated cuts that hold up to repeated plays. Other worthy tracks are “Captain Bobby Scout” which features a cool middle synth section, “Tribute,” a mysterious space rock instrumental and the great, hard rocking “Prayer.” Mann’s use of the Minimoog/synth/keyboards is inventive and often overlooked, he never loses focus or falls prey to mindless self-indulgence. The album’s centerpiece, a cover of Randy Newman’s “Living Without You,” was a minor US hit and is perhaps the best version of this song you’re likely to hear. The Moog work on this track is subtle but powerful while the hooks are huge. “Living Withou You” is one of those great early 70s singles that wasn’t a big hit, but truly deserved to be. Overall, not a wasted note or duff track to be found on this lost classic.
“Part Time Man”
CD Reissue | 2009 | Polydor | at amzn ] Original Vinyl | 1972 | search ebay ]
Posted by Jason |
Tuesday, March 16th, 2010 | Comments (11)
Byrds historians would have you believe that Cecil Ingram Parsons III was the squarest peg ever to occupy one of the legendary band’s round holes. Not a bit of it: that honour has to go to Clyde “Skip” Battin, who held down the bass chair from 1969 till the breakup of the band in 1972. Progeny of Italian immigrant parents, Battin was born in 1934, which makes him a hoary 35 years old when he joined McGuinn & Co. In fact he was the oldest Byrd ever, by eight years. Further, whilst all previous Byrds had cut their teeth on Greenwich Village folk or Nashville bluegrass in the early sixties, Skip’s musical genesis came in the novelty music era which followed the initial surge of rock’n’roll in the fifties. With his heroes being Fats Domino and Tom Lehrer, it’s no surprise that his forte turned out to be witty narrative songs with a piano spine, mostly written with assistance from maverick lyricist Kim Fowley. If you’re familiar with the moderately successful single “America’s Great National Pastime” taken from Farther Along, you’ll get the essence. Surprisingly, in the latter days when all but McGuinn were merely salaried Byrds members, the Leader allowed a handful of Battin’s distinctly oddball songs on to the final three albums.
Even before the breakup, Skip obtained a contract with Signpost Records of LA on the strength of “Pastime”, and his first solo album, Skip, emerged rapidly. Battin handles piano duties as well as bass, and his voice is warm and husky. All the Byrds’ final lineup contributed, including McGuinn in amusing circumstances: the track “Captain Video” is a delightful pastiche of the Byrds singing Dylan, and McGuinn guests on 12-string Rickenbacker whilst Skip himself sings the lyrics dedicated to Roger, who allegedly never realised that they were about him. Clarence White is everywhere, including some of his best-ever B-Bender wailing on “The Ballad Of Dick Clark”, more of the same plus amazing mandolin on “Four Legs Are Better Than Two” and what sounds like Fender electric mandolin on “Valentino”, providing an appropriately Italian flavour. In fact much of the record combines Bakersfield country licks with typically Italian polka two-step rhythms, as Skip wears his two cultural hearts on his sleeve. Towards the end the pace slackens for the wistful, witty paean to a 1940s baseball team, “St Louis Browns”, on which Clarence flatpicks superb dobro licks, and the closing, gentle “My Secret Life” in which Battin artfully lays his own soul bare.
The late ’72 timing of the album was not good; Skip’s touring commitments with the ailing Byrds meant that it was barely promoted, and sales were poor. Nonetheless, a second album was mooted by Signpost, by now part of Atlantic, to be entitled Topanga Skyline, but Clarence White was killed the day before recording was due to begin. It went ahead assisted by members of Country Gazette plus Al Perkins, but the heart had gone out of the project and the completed tapes were shelved. Skip went on to serve with New Riders Of The Purple Sage and the reformed Burritos, but his two other solo albums were released in the 1980s solely in Italy, to which he made frequent visits; these featured some songs sung in Italian, and remain rare collectors’ items. In Sept 2009 Skip’s son Brent financed the belated release of Topanga Skyline on Sierra Records as a fortieth anniversary commemoration of Skip’s first appearance with the Byrds. For an affectionate Skip Battin tribute website, go to http://www.skipbattin.com.
“Four Legs Are Better Than Two”
CD Reissue | 2003 | Collectors Choice | at amazon ] Vinyl | 1972 | Signpost | ebay ]
Posted by Len |
Monday, November 23rd, 2009 | Comments (6)
I’ve been holding off on posting this one here for a few reasons: 1) it sounds just on the other side of gritty, b) Tony Joe’s voice is, at times, uncomfortably smooth, and 3) I’ve been trying to hang on to a few secrets. But Train I’m On is just too damn good. TJ White makes like a white Barry White and melts the ladies’ minds, keeping it oh so real and raw on what may be his finest moment, this sweet and groovy roots rock triumph.
Give me acoustic guitar and the bass drum, that’s all it needs to hook me in sometimes. “Thing About You Baby” is sparse and smooth, fitted with just enough details to keep your ears addicted to the feel. Elvis took this one to number 5. Like contemporaries Bobby Charles, Lonnie Mack, Dale Hawkins, and Link Wray, Tony Joe was one of those swamp-rockers digging up roots in the 70s. On Train, his second album for Warner Bros, the production is stripped though not to the bone; a full band fills up about every track, the nice thing is you can always see the spine. Harmonica, piano, and organ help on dynamic ballad “The Family,” and raucous percussion and hyperactive jaw harp push along “Beouf River Road” while tunes like “Sidewalk Hobo” need little more than a guitar and that voice. Slightly absurd “Even Trolls Love Rock And Roll” approaches some grimy alley-funk and “As The Crow Flies” and “300 Pounds of Hongry” are as muddy as I’ll ever need a groove to be.
“Polk Salad Annie,” TJ’s huge 1969 hit, kept the paychecks coming, but this kind of record is how Tony Joe ought to be celebrated. Every song a keeper, this is one of those perfect records. Good introduction to a fine career in music.
“I’ve Got A Thing About You Baby”
CD Reissue | 2002 | Sepia Tone | at amazon ] Vinyl | 1972 | Warner | search ebay ]
Posted by Brendan |
Friday, November 13th, 2009 | Comments (8)
There are enough good vanity pressings from the late 60s – mid 70s that make record collecting a rewarding interest. The really good ones (the Bachs, the Rising Storm, Wilson McKinley, Relatively Clean Rivers et al) are far and few between. Most of these records, while musically very good, are overpriced because so few quantities were initially pressed. Please be warned though, most private press albums are average at best – I’ve been disappointed many, many times. So naturally, when I bought the Riverman Music version (a Singpore cd reissue) of John Drendall, B.A. Thrower and Friends’ Papa Never Let Me Sing The Blues I was somewhat unsure of its quality, in other words, a skeptic.
Deacon Productions released 100 copies of Papa in 1971/1972. Both John Drendall (vocals/guitar) and B.A. Thrower (bass guitar/electric guitar/organ) lived on the campus of Michigan University in Lansing. The two eventually moved into a suburban house with a spacious garage. This garage was turned into a studio where the group practiced hours on end. Eventually Drendall and Thrower found a studio in Kalamazoo that would record their experiments. Friends Tommy “Stiff Finger Eddie” Caruso (slide guitar), Mike “Elmo” Skory (keyboards), Vern “The Bopper” Albaugh (flute), Nelson Wood (harp), Jimmie Spillane (backgrounds), and Ross Maxwell (bells and anything else) add many valuable contributions to the album. The music is very fine Americana, a true undiscovered gem that needs to be heard by more music fans.
The performances on Papa sparkle with a true level of professionalism. Drendall, Thrower and their “Friends” are all excellent musicians, the songwriting is stellar, and the production sounds top notch – on par with a major label rock group. Those of you who enjoyed Euphoria (the Texas country-rock group), Crazy Horse, and Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere era Neil Young will fall for this record in a big way. One of the songs on Papa, “Old Man Gibbs,” sounds like an early Neil Young number in that it’s a great rootsy rocker with stoned electric guitar work and burnt out lyrics. The album opener, “Cold Nite in August,” stands out as the album’s most blues oriented cut, 6+ minutes of laid back country-blues that’s well worth hearing. Other highlights are the title track and “Get Too Heavy,” both acoustic gems that feature solid guitar picking and in the case of the latter, good, close harmonies. Even the psychedelic numbers, “Black River Lady” and “I Feel” are fabulous mood music that conjures up a spacey atmosphere more in line with the late 60s. My favorite tracks are the nifty country-rocker “Bye Bye Mr. Jones,” with its amusing group dialogue and the great “Throw Off Your Troubled Past.” This last number features frantic guitar work (the guitarist really shreds up the fretboard on this one) and busy percussion; it’s really a treat to hear these last two numbers. The album as a whole is uniformly strong and a must hear; not a bad cut on this LP.
So once again, Papa is a very accomplished work that should have been reissued years ago. There’s been plenty of great reissues in 2009 but Papa is one of the best I’ve heard so far.
Pieces is just what the title says, but shouldn’t be discounted. The original Manassas album was a disconnected smattering of “pieces” itself. Nobody had combined country, rock, salsa, blues, and bluegrass like Stephen Stills’ powerhouse 7-piece that formed out from the wake of CSNY and the Burrito Brothers.
Pieces collects some leftovers from the Miami sessions that led to the first album (“Witching Hour” “Like A Fox”), warmups and ideas intended for the lost 2nd Manassas album, Down The Road (“Lies” “Love and Satisfy”), and what Stills refers to as “Chris Hillman and Byron Berline teaching me bluegrass” (“Panhandle Rag” “Uncle Pen”). Other tracks are electrified covers from Stills 1 & 2, the largely successful solo albums that gave Stephen the freedom to form a band like Manassas.
I can’t imagine Stills had heard the original Fox On The Run by Manfred Mann, which the Country Gentlemen would turn into a bluegrass standard, before writing Like A Fox. Even with Bonnie Raitt lending her voice, the chorus is still hard to listen to under the circumstances. The bluegrass numbers have no knockout picking, but a treat to hear Stills and Hillman harmonize on “Uncle Pen.” “Do You Remember The Americans” is bluegrass cooler than I’ve ever heard, a song that I wish had spawned an entire record’s worth.
“I Am My Brother” is a sick solo blues proves Stills true worth.
Al Perkins on steel
Pieces is the perfect name for this new Manassas outtakes collection from Rhino. Nobody had combined country, rock, salsa, blues, and bluegrass like Stephen Stills’ powerhouse 7-piece that formed out from the wake of CSNY and the Burrito Brothers, and their eponymous album was a disconnected smattering of “pieces” itself. This new hodgepodge of unheard treats may be scattered, but it’s right in line with tradition and kicks ass like any Manassas fan would expect.
Pieces collects some leftovers from the Miami sessions that led to the first album (“Witching Hour” “Like A Fox”), warmups and ideas intended for the 2nd Manassas album, Down The Road (“Lies” “Love and Satisfy”), as well as what Stills refers to as “Chris Hillman and Byron Berline teaching me bluegrass” (“Panhandle Rag” “Uncle Pen”). Other tracks are electrified covers from Stephen Stills 1 & 2, the hugely successful solo albums that gave Stephen the freedom to form a band with Doug Sahm level schizophrenia.
There are a number of gems here; “Witching Hour” and “Sugar Babe” are easy classics. Stills throws together the chorus of “Like a Fox” last minute and presages Manfred Mann’s “Fox On The Run” (which the Country Gentlemen would turn into a bluegrass standard) word for word. Only problem, even with Bonnie Raitt lending her voice, I can’t hear past the Manfred version to this one. On Side B, the bluegrass numbers have no knockout picking, but it’s a treat to hear Stills and Hillman harmonize on “Uncle Pen.” “Do You Remember The Americans,” however, is cooler grass than I’ve ever heard. I wish Stills had recorded an entire album in this vein. ”I Am My Brother” is a sick solo blues to prove Stills’ immense talent and soul.
This is a no-brainer for Stills, CSNY, Byrds, Burrito, or rock music fans.
I usually stay away from live albums. Rock of Ages was my last chip at The Band’s discography, but what a thrill to hear the band at their peak, a true live-rock classic.
Before this record, I’ve always felt “Across The Great Divide” plays kind of hokey at the helm of one of the top records of all time, but here it nearly brings me to tears, revealing the power of a good song. A considerable chunk of this recording’s force comes from Allen Touissaint’s horn arrangments, adding a level of raw, visceral energy, one that fails to detract from the original tunes (unlike so many last-minute horn-section supplements).
Subtle road-variations kill me: the super-slowed chorus to “Stage Fright” (it should have been like this from the beginning), the embellished arrangment for the “Rag Mama Rag” tag (Touissaint again), not to mention the killer Lowrey Organ solo from Garth Hudson, “The Genetic Method,” introducing blazing hot “Chest Fever,” and Robby Robertson’s emotic guitar solo for “Unfaithful Servant.”
I’m glad I saved it for last. Guaranteed to put everybody in a good mood. Though The Band still had more great material in the wings, specifically Northern Lights – Southern Cross, I say make this your Last Waltz.
Original Vinyl | 1972 | Avalanche |
CD Reissue | 2005 | Water | 
MP3 Album |