Such raves would have seemed unlikely in the wake of the program’s Aug. 9, 1963, debut, which featured an underwhelming lineup that included some now-forgotten acts. Episode two, which aired a week later, also offered an unimpressive guest list and garnered a review that termed the show “a mess.”
But things began to change after that. The third week’s edition presented a Rolling Stones performance and an interview with Brian Jones; and Dusty Springfield and her then group, the Springfields, appeared on episode number four. Pretty soon, everybody who was anybody wanted to be included. Episode 11, for example, offered the Ronettes, Dion, Ray Charles, Brook Benton, Lesley Gore, Dee Dee Sharp (“Mashed Potatoes,” a No. 2 hit), Jimmy Gilmer (the chart-topping “Sugar Shack”), and more—all in one fast-paced, 45-minute program.
By the time Ready Steady Go! ended in December 1966 after 173 shows, the list of artists who’d performed on it had grown to include a virtual who’s who of British Invasion acts and up-and-comers, among them the Dave Clark Five, the Beatles, the Hollies, Manfred Mann, Peter and Gordon, the Kinks, the Animals, Spencer Davis Group, Rod Stewart, and the Moody Blues. The series had also featured countless leading American performers, such as Del Shannon, Gene Pitney, Roy Orbison, Gary U.S. Bonds, Marvin Gaye, Jimi Hendrix, the Righteous Brothers, Stevie Wonder, and the Supremes.
The bad news is that only about 5 percent of the program’s filmed performances have survived. However, Andy Neill’s new LP-sized, 268-page hardcover book, called Ready Steady Go! The Weekend Starts Here, does about as good a job as any print publication could do of conjuring up this video phenomenon. It includes essays and comments from many of the artists and others involved with the program, plus hundreds of color and black-and-white photos of the musicians, the sets, and assorted memorabilia. There’s also a show-by-show guide that lists performers, songs, dancers, directors, and even regional broadcast times for each episode throughout the U.K.
Also Noteworthy
Solomon Burke, The King of Rock ‘N’ Soul - The Atlantic Recordings (1962-1968). Solomon Burke has been called the “most unfairly overlooked singer” in his genre. He never had a top 20 pop hit, though Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler—who worked with such giants as Ray Charles and Otis Redding—proclaimed him “the greatest male soul singer of all time.”
Hear why on this three-CD set, which includes such superb recordings as “Cry to Me,” “Everybody Needs Somebody to Love,” and “If You Need Me.” Also on the program: covers of songs by everyone from Bob Dylan to Jimmy Webb that underscore the versatility of his tastes and talents.
The Sensational Country Blues Wonders!, The World Will Break Your Heart. The Sensational Country Blues Wonders! is the name of the band, and a fine one it is; but The World Will Break Your Heart nevertheless feels like a solo effort, since Gary Van Miert wrote all the material and dominates every track with his personality-drenched vocals. His self-assured performances will leave you surprised to learn that this is his first album of original material. (He released a covers collection in 2012.)
Like, say, Dwight Yoakam, Van Miert has one foot in traditional country and the Bakersfield Sound and the other in the work of rock and roll pioneers such as Elvis Presley and Carl Perkins. His lyrics are relentlessly bleak, as you can tell from the names of the title track and such numbers as “Love Murders Your Heart,” “My Baby Stabbed Me with a Steak Knife,” and “I’m Afraid of Every Goddamn Thing.” But the music—which sounds more redolent of Memphis and Nashville than of Van Miert’s New Jersey home base—belies the words with upbeat melodies and addictive hooks.
Paul Winter, Light of the Sun. Paul Winter, a father of New Age music and one of its most noteworthy proponents, is not slowing down at age 81. This latest album from the seven-time Grammy winner echoes his past work in some ways, such as in its integration of elements from nature. (Winter even shares songwriting credits with a chirping wood thrush on one number and a howling wolf on another.)
But the CD also represents a departure from form: for the first time in Winter’s 60-year recording career, he is the featured soloist throughout on his soprano sax. The songs are ethereal and as calming as titles like “Dolphin Morning,” “Quiet Now,” “Sweet Home,” and “Inner Peace” would suggest. Given the state of the world right now, they couldn’t come at a better time.
Felix Hatfield, False God. Felix Hatfield limns an original worldview on the engrossing False God, whose 13 tracks variously convey melancholy and humor while flirting with rock, folk, and Dixieland jazz.
The artist’s irreverent, absurdist compositions and rough-edged vocals sometimes recall Kinky Friedman, but Hatfield’s style is too distinctive for comparisons to other performers to be of much value. He can be surrealistic and likably silly, but this album also delivers several excellent bittersweet ballads, such as “That Kiss,” a duet with his friend Esme Patterson, and “Train to London.”
]]>The LP—which incorporates Nicky Hopkins’s piano on seven tracks as well as some of Brian Jones’s last major contributions to the band—still sounds terrific. The conga-driven “Sympathy for the Devil” opens the proceedings on a high note, and the set also includes “Street Fighting Man,” a fine rocker that addresses political violence with as much ambivalence as the Beatles’ contemporaneous “Revolution.” Also memorable are the folky “Factory Girl,” which sounds a bit like a companion to the earlier “Back Street Girl”; slide-guitar-and-vocal gems like the country-flavored “No Expectations” and “Jigsaw Puzzle”; the raunchy “Stray Cat Blues”; and a terrific reading of Rev. Robert Wilkins’s “Prodigal Son,” the only non-original. A few songs are arguably better than others but there’s not a rotten apple in the bunch.
Two new editions of the album mark its 50th anniversary. Both feature an excellent remaster of the original recording; a mono version of “Sympathy for the Devil”; a Flexi-disc containing a 1968 phone interview with Mick Jagger; and the image of a graffiti-filled toilet seat that the record company rejected for the LP’s cover 50 years ago. The difference is that one edition presents the album and mono single on vinyl and includes a promo code for download of a digital copy, albeit one that consists of lossy MP3s, not CD- quality WAV files. The other delivers the album and single on Super Audio CDs (SACDs), which are backward compatible with standard CD players.
The bad news is that perhaps because of contractual restrictions, neither package offers any demo versions, outtakes, surround-sound mixes, or video bonuses. Also, neither contains any liner notes. Those are notable shortcomings in a 50th anniversary reissue of an album as significant as Beggars Banquet. Still, anyone who doesn’t already own this music—or who has worn out a copy or two—would be well advised to pick up one of these editions.
BRIEFLY NOTED
The Animals, Before We Were So Rudely Interrupted. The Animals’ membership changed over the years, but all its big mid-sixties hits, such as “House of the Rising Sun” and “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” issued from the original lineup: vocalist Eric Burdon, keyboardist Alan Price, guitarist Hilton Valentine, bassist Chas Chandler, and drummer John Steel. This newly reissued 1977 album, which reunites those five, is arguably less commercial-sounding than some of the earlier stuff and, in fact, did not sell well. But Animals fans should check it out. Burdon and company are in fine form on bluesy covers of songs like Percy Mayfield’s “Please Send Me Someone to Love,” Doc Pomus’s “Lonely Avenue,” and Bob Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.” And there’s at least one five-star performance here: a reading of Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross,” on which Burdon’s powerful vocal and Price’s organ conjure up the magic of the Animals’ early hits.
Paul Oscher, Cool Cat. Singer, pianist, guitarist, and harpist Paul Oscher, a one-time member of Muddy Waters’s band, digs deep into the blues with this latest collection, which delivers strong originals plus Waters’s “Rollin’ and Tumblin’.” Highlights include the New Orleans-flavored “Money Makin’ Woman,” the sax-spiced, nearly 10-minute-long “Cool Cat,” and the double-entendre-laced “Dirty Dealin’ Mama,” with vocals by longtime blues singer Lavelle White.
Shawn Mullins, Soul’s Core Revival. Twenty years ago, Shawn Mullins’s career got off to a flying start with a No. 1 single called “Lullaby.” The song appeared on Soul’s Core, his first major-label LP, alongside 11 more originals and Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down.” Mullins—an excellent singer whose baritone sounds like a soul-inflected variation on Steve Goodman’s voice—revisits that album’s contents on this release, which includes fresh band versions of Soul’s Core’s numbers, plus a bonus disc with acoustic performances of the same tunes, each with a spoken introduction by Mullins. His story songs, written mostly in the first person, are well-told, and the music, which draws on rock, folk, and pop, is consistently catchy and melodious.
ON THE BOOKSHELF
Dreaming of Dylan: 115 Dreams about Bob, edited by Mary Lee Kortes. “I’ll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,” Bob Dylan sang in 1963’s “Talkin’ World War III Blues.” That invitation apparently provided the inspiration for this attractively designed book, which collects descriptions of 115 people’s dreams that feature Dylan in one way or another. It’s a clever idea, and it underscores the fact that Bob and his music are on a lot of listeners’ minds. Because these aren’t Dylan’s dreams, though, they shed zero light on him. Another problem: dreams can be difficult to interpret, even if you know the dreamer, and we don’t know—not to mention care about—the vast majority of these people (though you’ll recognize a few names, such as Patti Smith and perhaps Sirius XM DJ Meg Griffin, and guitarist Kevin Odegard, who plays on Dylan’s “Tangled Up in Blue”). Yet another problem: like many remembered dreams, some of these are extremely sketchy, and Dylan barely even figures in some of them, such as the one where the only connection to the singer is that it incorporates the drumbeat from one of his songs, the one where the dreamer deems his music annoying, and the one in which Dylan is found to be simply sitting on a bench. Granted, some of these tales will make you smile, but I suspect most of them will leave you thinking, “Who cares?” Answer: maybe only the dreamer.
]]>
Morton’s new book gives the inside story
of that fabled relationship. Backed by recently discovered letters and first
-hand accounts, he reveals that Wallis’s heart was taken not by the King who gave up his throne for the woman he loved, but by a suave, handsome
American called Herman Rogers.
Herman and his first wife Katherine have long been acknowledged as central to the dramatic events of the abdication in December 1936: while Edward VIII left his country, responsibility and family behind for an uncertain future, Wallis was cossetted at Lou Viei, the Riviera villa of the Rogers. They were her hosts and protectors while the King, now Duke of Windsor, went to Austria and waited out the then legally required time apart before Wallis’s divorce from her second husband, Ernest Simpson, became absolute.
During that period Wallis and Herman grew uncomfortably close - he slept in a room next to hers with a pistol to ward off intruders. His wife slept downstairs.
Wallis and Edward were reunited and about to be married at the Chateau Conde, the Loire Valley home of American entrepreneur Charles Bedaux. Morton has uncovered evidence that Wallis propositioned Herman, suggesting that a baby conceived so near to the wedding would be assumed to be the Duke’s.
It seems that Herman was ever the gentleman, and declined her offer. Widowed some years later, he remarried. Wallis warned his second bride, Lucy: “I’ll hold you responsible if anything ever happens to Herman. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.”
The book is littered with examples of Wallis’ ferocious temper: she slashed the trousers of an earlier love. The poor doting Duke, however, got the brunt of her fury with numerous put-downs.
To modern eyes she looks a hard-face harridan, yet her intense gaze and her clever ploy of showing interest as men talked about themselves won her three husbands and several lovers.
As Morton concedes, the definition of the latter is questionable; she spoke to friends as not 'allowing men south of the Mason/ Dixon line’. Some doubt that her marriages were ever consummated. Having read this book and several others about Wallis, I think that a highly unlikely theory. Morton does not subscribe to the strange rumour that Wallis was a man, confirming that she had ovarian cancer and a consequent hysterectomy.
A social climber par excellence, Wallis had little time for ordinary people, and true to the conventions of her narrow world, was also racist. Recording the days when Wallis' obedient husband, was Governor of the Bahamas during World War Two, Morton notes: " When a black resident entered Government House, he came through the back door. Wallis' military canteen was also segregated. Indeed at one charity event, after she found herself shaking hands with a multitude of well-wishers including Arthur, their black chauffeur, Wallis, who had black servants in her childhood, remarked to local historian Mary Moseley: 'It's the first time in my life I have ever shaken the hand of a coloured person.' "
Some official documents relating to the 1936 Abdication are withheld from the public under the 100 year rule, so it may be January 2037 before they are released. Unless other unofficial sources are found, Morton’s biography could remain the definitive account of Wallis’ loves and marriages.
Wallis could never be described as attractive, nice, kind or caring. There is one inescapable conclusion from Wallis in Love: that Wallis really had one great love—herself.
]]>At least a few of these LPs contain excellent music, but all are a far cry from the elemental, rhythm-driven, rebellious sounds that characterize rock’s earliest tracks. By 1976, the music had evolved into everything from vapid pop to lyrically dense folk/rock to hard-rock with endless guitar solos. The Ramones wanted to get back to basics.
That they did on their debut album, which launched the punk movement and which reappeared in a 40th anniversary deluxe edition last year. Now come two more 40th anniversary editions, this time of their second and third LPs, both of which originally surfaced in 1977. Like the debut, those albums feature hard-driving music that is sufficiently fast-paced to suggest a heavy dose of amphetamines. No song is as long as three minutes, and some don’t even make it to the two-minute mark. Over and over, the Ramones deliver quick bursts of fuzz guitar, a heavy and predominant beat, and powerful hooks and harmonies—and then they bow out, almost before you know what hit you.
The group mixes in covers of a few oldies that make clear what turf they admire: Bobby Freeman’s 1958 hit “Do You Wanna Dance,” the Trashmen’s “Surfin’ Bird” from 1963, and the Searchers’ “Needles and Pins,” from 1964. (Last year’s reissue of the first Ramones LP incorporates the Rivieras’ 1964 smash, “California Sun,” and Chris Montez’s 1962 hit, “Let’s Dance”; later, on a 1993 album, they would cover such 1960s punk progenitors as the Troggs and the Seeds.)
As for their lyrics, the Ramones have quoted Herman’s Hermits’ “second verse, same as the first” (from “I’m Henry VIII, I Am”), which could have been their motto. All the lyrics for Leave Home barely fill a single page in the accompanying booklet, and those on Rocket to Russia aren’t exactly verbose, either. At least one song there contains a mere 10 words.
But the Ramones’ use of language is often as funny, clever, or sardonic as it is concise: In one song on Rocket to Russia, they rhyme “tell ’em” with “cerebellum” and, in Leave Home’s “Oh, Oh, I Love Her So,” they sum up a romance with “I met her at the Burger King / We fell in love by the soda machine.” Then there’s that album’s relatively wordy “Carbona Not Glue,” which begins, “Wondering what I’m doing tonight / I’ve been in the closet and I feel all right / Ran out of Carbona / Mom threw out the glue / Ran of paint and roach spray, too / It’s TV’s fault why I am this way / Mom and Pop wanna put me away.” Indeed.
Like the 40th anniversary edition of the Ramones debut, the new sets come fully loaded. Each features three CDs: the first offers two versions of the 1977 album (one remastered, one also remixed); the second delivers dozens of demos, rare mixes, and oddities, including everything from a "doo-wop mix" of “You’re Gonna Kill That Girl” on Leave Home to a Rocket to Russia radio ad featuring Joey Ramone; and the third presents a rowdy 1977 concert recording. (Leave Home serves up a CBGBs gig; Rocket to Russia taps a show from Glasgow, Scotland). For those who crave the full 1970s experience, all the 40th anniversary editions also include the remastered version of the original album on vinyl. In addition, the packages come with booklets that feature lyrics, credits, photos, and extensive liner notes.
As Leave Home and Rocket to Russia demonstrate, the Ramones remained true to their mission over time; unlike most groups, they clearly felt no need to grow, experiment, or become more sophisticated. Thus, their sophomore and junior efforts basically offer just more of what they delivered on their debut. But that doesn’t mean these records are dispensable; on the contrary, they include some of the group’s best-hooked and most irresistible rockers, such as “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” on Leave Home and “Rockaway Beach” and” “Sheena Is a Punk Rocker” on Rocket to Russia.
When the Ramones’ albums first came out, a lot of people didn’t know what to make of them, and they sold poorly: though Rocket to Russia did reach number 49 on the charts, the first two didn’t even make the top 100; and a hit single—a format they clearly admired—remained elusive. But the group persevered for 22 years, thousands of concerts, and more than a dozen LPs without ever losing their vision, delivering a single long guitar or drum solo, or to my knowledge laying hands on a mellotron. Eventually, they earned a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and a position on many lists of the great rock groups of all time. The Ramones opened the door to outfits like the Sex Pistols—and then inspired such artists as the Pretenders, Talking Heads, Elvis Costello, Blondie, and U2 (who acknowledged the debt in 2014’s “The Miracle (of Joey Ramone).”
Listening to Leave Home and Rocket to Russia, it’s not difficult to see why the band ultimately garnered such acclaim and proved so influential. Sure, it was all an act—Johnny, Dee Dee, Joey, and Tommy Ramone weren’t their real names, and they weren’t brothers—but what an act. No, the Ramones weren’t nearly as important as Elvis or the Beatles; but like those artists, they came along at just the right time, when music needed a shot in the arm. They delivered the medicine, and it helped to wake up a genre that was getting a bit too sleepy.
ON THE BOOKSHELF
Hendrix: The Illustrated Story, by Gillian G. Gaar. Longtime rock writer Gillian G. Gaar walks us through Jimi Hendrix’s life and career in this handsome coffee-table book, which begins with a detailed look at the guitarist’s parents and childhood and ends with information about his gravesite and the Seattle museum that memorializes much of his work. Also included are essays by Gaar and several other writers about Hendrix’s guitars and the albums he issued during his lifetime. Throughout, there are lots of photos—everything from a three-year-old Hendrix with his father to performance shots and images of concert posters. Supplements include lists of live appearances and an extensive discography. There’s also a bibliography of books and articles for those who want to read more, but I suspect this volume will suffice for many fans.
]]>As that quote might suggest, Popoff—the author of more than 50 music books, most about heavy-metal—is a major fan of the group. He writes that he “couldn’t give a damn about the Beatles,” but considers Physical Graffiti “the greatest album of all time.” Still, he manages some degree of objectivity, and doesn’t praise everything Led Zeppelin produced. He calls “Achilles Last Stand” "10 minutes of uncomfortably striving heavy metal,” for example, and notes that “the lyrics were kind of an afterthought” on “The Song Remains the Same.”
Popoff’s book provides song authors and track times, plus information on album producers and engineers, recording studios, release dates, sales, and chart positions. Curiously, he offers no detailed discussion of the previously unreleased material on the recent deluxe reissues that he says inspired him to undertake this project; and he includes no chapters on concert releases. He does, however, serve up extraordinarily thorough descriptions and analysis of every track on Led Zeppelin’s nine original studio LPs.
Discussing the famous “Stairway to Heaven,” for example, he notes that its beauty “is in its purposeful arrangement introduced with Jones playing four or five tracks on wooden recorders as Jimmy’s mournful and simple acoustic picking (in A minor, on his trusty Harmony, his main writing guitar through three albums and the only acoustic he used throughout III) frames the song quietly at first. Over it Robert offers a solemn vocal. At the 2:12 mark, a deft increase of activity is registered when a well-behaved electric is added. Jones is not playing bass, but rather a very low-def bass part with his left hand on a Hohner ElectraPiano direct into the console, with Andy Johns adding a lot of bottom end to emphasize the effect."
And that’s just one paragraph of an 11-paragraph description of the song—which is followed by another eight paragraphs of discussion about it by engineer Andy Johns.
You have to be a pretty serious fan to wade through all this text, which sometimes conveys an academic tone that belies the raunchy rock it describes. But Popoff’s well-illustrated book is pretty well written (though some of his sentences run on too long); and it’d be difficult to imagine a more knowledgeable Zeppelin observer. He says his goal was “to turn you on to something you might not know well, or if you do know it, point out myriad subtleties deep inside, many of which will have you digging out those headphones you have stashed away somewhere and listening intently for squeaky bass drum pedals and ringing telephones.”
I suspect the book will have that effect, at least on the ultra-devoted fans who clearly represent its target audience.
]]>Arranged chronologically, the volume devotes chapters to each of 31 Dylan albums, from his eponymous 1962 debut to 2012’s Tempest. In addition to songs from the LPs, the chapters include numbers that he wrote around the same time that did not make it onto the discs. Dylan’s first album, for example, featured only two original tracks, “Talkin’ New York” and “Song to Woody,” his tribute to Guthrie. But the chapter on that album includes lyrics for more than two dozen additional numbers from the period, among them the now-classic “Tomorrow Is a Long Time” and such early signs of a humorous bent as “Talking Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues” and “Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues,” neither of which officially surfaced on disc until Columbia began issuing Dylan’s Bootleg Series. Each chapter opens with the composer’s handwritten or typed and hand-edited lyrics for one song.
Inevitably, in a catalog of well over 300 compositions, some are much better than others. A handful—such as “Lenny Bruce,” a heartfelt but weakly worded tribute to the comic—seem far from profound, and even some of the great ones don’t work nearly as well on paper as they do in song. But genius permeates many of this book’s nearly 700 pages. Look particularly at the period that extended from the artist’s 1963 second album, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, through 1967’s John Wesley Harding; the stretch that began with 1974’s moving, highly personal Blood on the Tracks and continued through 1978’s underrated Street Legal; and the five-album burst of brilliance that began with 1997’s Time Out of Mind. I’m tempted to start quoting favorite lines, but if I did, we’d probably wind up with a book review that was itself book-length.
Reading through the volume, you’re reminded that throughout his career, Dylan has been just as adventurous as he has been brilliant. He’s been fearless about trying new songwriting styles, then abandoning them to try something else. So in this book, we get everything from political diatribes (“Masters of War”) to deftly written fantasies (“Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”) to straightforward romantic ballads (“Make You Feel My Love”) to a country moon-spoon lyric that actually includes that rhyme (“I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight”). Then there are the many poetic numbers, such as those dominating Blonde on Blonde, that paint vivid pictures but are difficult or impossible to explain. It’s no wonder that when asked what his songs are about, Dylan once famously answered, “Oh, some are about four minutes; some are about five, and some believe it or not, are about 11 or 12.”
I can offer at least two reasons to buy this volume aside from the excellence of its lyrics. If you’re a serious fan, you’ll be interested to know that Dylan—who has a reputation for changing the words to his songs in concert—has done the same thing here. Unfortunately, the book doesn’t indicate which lyrics have been altered, but a press release notes that “Dylan has edited dozens of songs for this volume.” It will be interesting to discover which ones, and how he has changed them.
Like many rock songs, also, Dylan’s sometimes make it difficult to hear every word correctly, so this book might clear up some confusion. In Blood on the Tracks’ superb “Tangled Up in Blue,” for example, I’ve always thought Dylan was singing, “split up on the docks that night,” but it turns out the line is “split up on a dark, sad night.”
This is going to require a period of adjustment on my part.
The impressively researched 704-page Stones book, which features more than 500 illustrations, is organized just like its predecessors. As its title promises, it includes a detailed, chronologically arranged examination of virtually every single and album track recorded by the group, starting with Chuck Berry’s “Come On,” which appeared in the UK in June 1963, and ending with “One More Shot,” which the Stones recorded in August 2012.
For every one of 340 tracks, the volume lists composer, time, personnel, recording location, producer, and other technical credits; it also discusses how the song came to be, its significance, and its production process. The essays include a fair amount of speculation (a certain lyric might mean or be influenced by such-and-such) but also a ton of facts about instruments played, recording techniques employed, references cited, and more. Also here are essays about the birth of the band, each album, and such Stones-related people as “blond muse” Anita Pallenberg, “sixth Stone” Ian Stewart, and manager Allen Klein. Sprinkled throughout are hundreds of small boxes, all labeled “For Stones Addicts,” that report often-fascinating trivia.
While few people will probably be inclined to read this book cover to cover, it’s a browser’s paradise that Stones fans are bound to love. On the off chance that you don’t, you can always use the six-pound volume for a doorstop or maybe even weight training.
]]>You can hear echoes of some of his songs here, too. For example, when Springsteen recalls his Freehold High School years and says, “There were harsh words spoken between two cars at a South Street light and a gun was fired into a car full of black kids,” fans will immediately conjure up the lyrics to “My Hometown."
But this book doesn’t simply give us more of the Springsteen we’ve already met. As you know if you read my collection of his interviews, he has been unusually forthright over the years about his personal life and career, but Born to Run adds a wealth of intimate detail about both—and some major surprises. Springsteen talks candidly about his relationship with his supportive mother, his marriages, and his career struggles. Most notably, we learn that his father was not simply difficult but mentally ill, and that Bruce himself has struggled with intense depression, including one bout in recent years that apparently left him contemplating suicide.
This sad news serves as a reminder, if anyone needs it, that mental illness has nothing to do with logic. Here’s a guy who has achieved incredible heights in his career, has great wealth and a loving family, and has brought happiness to millions. Yet sometimes he is miserable. Even he doesn’t really know why, but he certainly knows how to describe the feeling.
He also does a good job of limning his classic rags-to-riches story. In early chapters, he talks of cold-water flats, unheated bedrooms, a house without a phone, and a life that was pretty much bounded by the borders of his hometown. For a long time, he couldn’t afford much of anything; at one point, he had trouble scraping together the dollar toll needed to drive into Manhattan. In later years, of course, Springsteen found himself in another universe, meeting with accountants, flying on private jets, and buying assorted real estate, including a horse farm.
One of the book’s many strengths is the honesty that permeates it. Though he has nothing but lavish praise for his wife and a few others, Springsteen often balances positive comments with criticism when he talks about assorted friends, associates, and bandmates, and he’s the same way about himself. He has justifiably high regard for his own musical talents, but he doesn’t hesitate to spell out his shortcomings. In fact, he’s sometimes harder on himself here than anyone else, his father included.
One thing we never quite learn is where that immense talent came from. How did a kid who played so-so garage rock to audiences of a few dozen in the Castilles wind up as arguably the best live performer in the history of rock and roll? And how did he manage to write such masterpieces as “The River,” “Badlands,” and “The Ghost of Tom Joad,” to name a few? The best the book can come up with are a lot of tales that ultimately just reminded me of an old joke: Q. "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" A. "Practice." Springsteen did practice as hard as anyone—but of course his accomplishments required something more. They required some kind of magic.
So did the writing of this book. I’ve encountered some excellent musician memoirs over the years—Keith Richards’s Life and Bob Dylan’s Chronicles come to mind—but Born to Run is in a class of its own. Whether you’re interested in reading about rock and roll or about the inner life of one of its best practitioners, you won’t be disappointed. As Springsteen says near the end, “in a project like this, the writer has made one promise: to show the reader his mind.” He delivers on that promise with a book that is as impressive in its own way as the album of the same name.
*****
I can’t speak quite as glowingly about the deftly titled Chapter & Verse CD, which is billed as an “audio companion” to the book. Containing 18 selections from throughout Springsteen’s career, it includes five previously unreleased early numbers, plus the demo recording of “Growin’ Up” that first surfaced on the Tracks box set and such later landmarks as “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy),” “Badlands,” “The River,” “The Rising,” and, of course, “Born to Run.”
Serious fans will want the early stuff, if only because it shows just how far Springsteen has come. “Baby I” and Bo Diddley’s “You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover,” by the Castilles, are energetic but ultimately run-of-the-mill period garage rock—the sort of material that would have appeared on one of the Nuggets collections if it were a little more distinctive. Bruce’s guitar and Danny Federici’s organ enliven Springsteen’s “He’s Guilty (The Judge Song)” but we’re still in amateur-hour territory, with little hint of how far the group’s leader would travel. The country-rock-tinged “Ballad of Jesse James,” by an early version of the E Street Band, is better constructed and more compelling—a step closer to the sound that would emerge on Springsteen's first two albums. “Henry Boy,” which features only Bruce’s vocal and guitar, sounds like an outtake from his debut LP.
If you’re interested enough in Springsteen to read his autobiography, I suspect you don’t need me to tell you that the rest of the music on Chapter & Verse is great; indeed, you probably already own most or all of it. And that’s the problem with this package: though you can buy MP3s of the five early tracks, you’ll likely have to purchase songs you already own in order to get CD-quality copies of those numbers. (This is the same situation fans faced with Springsteen’s Greatest Hits and 18 Tracks, both of which coupled a few new selections to material many fans had already purchased.) I’m glad to have the five rare old recordings here, but I wish they’d been offered separately on an EP, perhaps bundled with the autobiography. Like many fans, I already had a shelf-full of “audio companions” to the book before Chapter & Verse came along.
]]>In the volume, which spans 208 oversized pages, the veteran Seattle-based rock writer offers the basics of Springsteen’s story, starting with the birth of his difficult father and ending with the 2014 induction of his E Street Band into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Gaar also delivers thoughtful reviews of Springsteen’s albums; includes an impressively thorough selected discography of singles, EPs, albums, and box sets that lists release dates, recording info, producers, musicians, and more; and features a generous assortment of color and black-and-white photos from throughout the artist’s career. Sidebars cover such topics as Springsteen’s pivotal 1975 Bottom Line gigs, his London debut, his wives, his key singles, and the life and death of E Street sax player Clarence Clemons.
Gaar offers a fair amount of detail throughout but, obviously, you don’t cover all this turf in 208 pages without cutting some corners. Those who want to dig deeper can pick up my own Springsteen on Springsteen: Interviews, Speeches, and Encounters, Peter Ames Carlin’s Bruce, or Ryan White’s Springsteen: Album by Album, all of which Gaar lists in a bibliography, along with a variety of other books, magazines, websites, and articles. (Fans can also order Bruce’s autobiography, Born to Run, which will be released on September 27.)
If you’ve already read much of this other material, you’re not likely to find many revelations in Gaar’s book. But if you’re just starting to fill your Bruce bookshelf, this would be a sensible first purchase. Boss is well-written and carefully researched, and it packs considerable insight and information into most every page.
]]>Note that I say I’ve looked over the Beatles book rather than read it. That’s because, like the Dylan volume, it is gargantuan and, at nearly 700 oversized pages, more suited to browsing than to cover-to-cover perusal. That said, the book—which includes 600 or so black-and-white and color photos—is quite a browse.
Along with a preface by Patti Smith, a brief foreword, several essays on the Beatles’ formative years, and commentary on each LP, you’ll find sections on each of 213 songs, including every one of the group’s singles and studio album tracks. These write-ups detail the songs’ genesis and production; where and when they were recorded and mixed; how many takes were performed; who actually wrote the numbers (as opposed to who’s credited on the record label); and who played on them.
You’ll also find a ton of trivia, the vast majority of which is not included in the original albums’ notes, You’ll learn, for example, that the Beatles recorded 26 takes of “Strawberry Fields Forever”; that 13 musicians played along with the group on “Penny Lane” (including George Martin on piano); that Ringo didn’t perform on “The Inner Light” because he was off guesting on Cilla Black’s BBC show; that backup singers on “Yellow Submarine” included Marianne Faithfull and Mick Jagger; and that Paul used the same fuzzbox on his bass for both “Think for Yourself” and “Mean Mr. Mustard.” You’ll also read that Ringo walked out on the group during the recording of “Back in the U.S.S.R.,” leaving Paul to play drums, and that “I Want to Hold Your Hand”—which John and Paul recorded the day after they wrote it—sold 10,000 copies an hour in New York alone after the Beatles performed it on the Ed Sullivan Show.
For some people, the response to all of this will undoubtedly be “Who cares?” And if that’s what you’re thinking, this is obviously not the book for you. But if you’re among the countless fans who soaked up every note of Beatles music as it was being released and who have subsequently played it over and over for approximately another half century, you’re bound to find this volume endlessly fascinating.
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