end of the century (1980) – the ramones: sire records, SRK-6077

By 1980 the Ramones had already released four albums; replaced their original drummer, Tommy (who also co-produced the first three albums) with the new guy, Marky; had established themselves as the emeritus band of punk; and had starred in their own movie.

All in all I'd reckon that's not a bad resume for a bunch of delinquents from the alleyways of Queens.

As a result, their label gave the boys the freedom to go ahead and pretty much do whatever the hell it was they wanted to do when it came to their fifth album.  Oh sure, being the figureheads of American punk was fine, but it seemed that the Ramones wanted to record an album that would broaden their appeal to an audience beyond the regular assortment of pinheads and teenage lobotomies that made up their core.  And they reasoned that the way for them to achieve this goal was to change their sound to add mass appeal by making it more accessible and radio friendly.

In other words, the Ramones needed to pop their punk.

Now, the first four Ramones albums were all recorded with a very low budget (almost non-existent - their debut album was recorded for less than $6,500), in a very short time, with very little actual producing by engineers.  The records were really little more than the boys strapping on, plugging in, and belting out - which fit with their minimalist, three chord guitar-bass-drum style quite nicely. But for their fifth album, the Ramones opened the label's checkbook and reached out to certified batshit insane rock music legend Phil Spector, creator of the “Wall of Sound” and producer for the likes of the Ronettes, Ike & Tina Turner, and John Lennon.  Surely, if anyone could make the Ramones suitable for consumption by the squares it would be Spector.

The result of a truckload of money and about nine months of studio time was not only the breakthrough End of the Century album, but tales of lunacy that would become the stuff of legend.

Side 1: Do You Remember Rock n Roll Radio? I’m Affected Danny Says Chinese Rock Return of Jackie And Judy Let’s Go
Side 2: Baby I Love You I Can’t Make It On Time This Ain’t Havana Rock n Roll High School All The Way High Risk Insurance

 
Spector’s presence is obvious even before one can remove the wrapping from the jacket, because on the back, at the very top, in very large, bold printing it states “A PHIL SPECTOR PRODUCTION: Produced by Phil Spector”.  The redundancy, I suppose, was intended to ensure absolutely no ambiguity regarding the identity of the producer responsible for producing the production.

If the prominent declaration on the back cover wasn’t enough, easing the needle into the groove obliterated any remaining doubts about whether this was a Ramones or a Spector effort.  From the presence of instruments like organs and saxaphones to the over-produced nature of the dubbing and mixing needed to get his “Wall” sound, Spector’s greasy fingerprints are all over this album.  But even though one can clearly hear his impact in songs like Rock N Roll High School and Do You Remember Rock N Roll Radio? his unseemly intrusion is never more obvious than in the (one has to assume) forced inclusion of the very out-of-place cover of the Ronettes’ Baby I Love You, which features a sweeping orchestral score yet is devoid of any actual participation by the Ramones, other than Joey’s singing.

To fully understand the extent to which Spector manipulated the songs, one only need to grab the CD and compare the vinyl version to the demos.  In every instance the demo (often only with acoustic guitar) is superior by having the raw honesty and phenotypic expression of Ramone DNA.

To their credit, all four of the Ramones have gone on record in their displeasure with the album, with Joey saying it was the worst stuff he ever did, and Johnny admitting that it was “… watered down Ramones”.

Yet even at their worst, the Ramones were still really good.  Sure, Do You Remember Rock N Roll Radio? and Rock N Roll High School are more pop than punk, and yes, to one degree or another the other songs are scrubbed clean of their  Ramoney grubbiness, but songs like Chinese Rock still pack a punch, and even with Spector’s interference, Danny Says is one of the best things the band has ever done.

In the end, the Ramones got what they wanted out of the album, as it was by far their most successful release to that time, peaking at #44 in the US charts.  But as always, when one makes a deal with the Devil (or in this case, the Devil’s super-freakazoid assistant), one has to pay, and for End of the Century that price was the Ramones’ identity.

Up next: LA’s local “pub” band

empty glass (1980) – pete townshend: atco records, SD-32-100

When Keith Moon died in the second half of 1978, the surviving members of The Who proclaimed they wanted to continue to soldier on with the band, but one has to imagine that it would have been just incredibly difficult for them to really muster the enthusiasm to do so.  Particularly in the few months immediately following - I mean, most people have a hard time getting their peckers up to go in to work after their favorite team loses a game on the weekend.  So despite their intention, the prospect of carrying on performing in a band in which one of the founding members – a close friend and guy with whom they spent many intimate years – recently died unexpectedly and under some heartbreaking circumstances must have been almost impossible for the remaining three.

So, it isn’t too hard to conclude that as a way of coping with this, and other significant events in his life at the time (such as alleged trouble with his marriage and substance abuse), Pete Townshend sought therapy through art, and immersed himself in working on a solo project.  After all, proximity to Entwistle and Daltrey would likely have been just too emotionally jarring.

Of course, while Townshend had released work separate from The Who in the past, they were either merely a collection of Who demo songs (Who Came First), or collaborative efforts of the more spiritual nature.  But Empty Glass was 100% solo Pete.

Side 1: Rough Boys I Am An Animal And I Moved Let My Love Open The Door Jools And Jim
Side 2: Keep On Working Cat’s In The Cupboard A Little Is Enough Empty Glass Gonna Get Ya

 
The first thing I noticed on the re-listen to this album was the first thing I noticed on my very first listen some 30-some years ago: that it sounds exactly like a Who album in terms of musical arrangement, instrumentation, and lyrical content.  And I am not alone.  In fact, Empty Glass was released around the same time as the The Who released Face Dances (their first post-Moon album), and in the eyes of many critics and fans, Empty Glass was the better Who album, even though it was Who-less.  If nothing else, this certainly did confirm the suspicion that, while the Who were definitely a collaborative effort, Townshend was more collaborative than the others.

The next thing I noticed on the re-listen is something that more or less escaped me when I first got this, and that is there is a lot of stuff going on in these songs.  A lot of stuff.  That’s not surprising since having one of your best friends suddenly die at 32, dealing with serious marital problems, juggling a drug and alcohol problem, and basically entering a mid-life crisis is more than enough to put the zap on anyone’s head.  But when you’re an introspective and creative dude like Townshend, who had a tumultuous childhood and was searching for some sort of spiritual meaning, that zap takes on the qualities of a bolt flung by a very pissed off Zeus.

Some of the issues covered in this album? Well, clearly spirituality is one.  I mean, aside from that giant halo around Pete’s head on the cover making this look like some iconography from ancient Byzantium, the lyrics to Let My Love Open The Door contains some pretty religious-sounding bits like:

Let my love open the door / It's all I'm living for
Release yourself from misery / There's only one thing gonna set you free

While A Little Is Enough throws a heaping pile of christian ritual and dogma in your face.

Pete also tackles sexuality with Rough Boys; Jools and Jim tries to cope with anger at a couple of NME writers and their crass reaction to Moon’s passing; and Empty Glass is an unequivocal song about drowning your sorrows and the miserable state of an incurable drunk.

All in all it’s just way easier to focus on Townshend’s patented ability to write great riffs and hooks and enjoy the music on this album, because paying even the slightest attention to the heavy lyrics can seriously fuck with your head.

Up next: Punk gets the Spector treatment

duke (1980) - genesis: atlantic records, SD-16014

By the end of the 70’s prog was quickly coming to the end if its run as a relevant genre of music.  Bands like Yes, Jethro Tull, and King Crimson all started (or were soon to start) turning to different sounds – whether experimental or electronic, and in 1981 the official death of prog would be heralded by the creation of “supergroup” Asia, proving that old proggers don’t die, they just form horrible, overstuffed bands.

So it’s no wonder that by 1980 Genesis would also begin to start seeking to a way to ensure relevance with a new style of music as well.  This search for a new identity began unintentionally with the departure of Peter Gabriel in 1975.  However, both  A Trick of the Tail and Wind and Wuthering (both released in 1976) continued to be Genesisy in their way, and it seemed as if the lads would slog on as a prog band.  But when Steve Hackett left in 1977 Genesis were faced with some serious questions about their direction, and their aimless stumbling of …And Then There Were Three indicated that there were some significant changes ahead.

By the time the boys released Duke, it was clear that they had left prog far behind and were rapidly moving to the sort of easily accessible, softer rock that would be suitable for mass consumption and background music in dentist’s waiting rooms.

Duke would be the last Genesis album I would buy.

Side 1: Behind The Lines Duchess Guide Vocal Man Of Our Times Misunderstanding Heathhaze
Side 2: Turn It On Again Alone Tonight Cul-de-Sac Please Don’t Ask Duke’s Travels Duke’s End

Now, I haven’t listened to Duke since the 90’s because I just didn’t like it at all. To be honest, I kind of hated it, because I felt cheated.  That’s not to say that the music on Duke was bad, per se, because it wasn’t.  On the contrary, some of the songs are quite good.  But this new softer, more-pop Genesis just really wasn’t my thing at all because, as mentioned earlier, they seemed to me to be little more than a former shell of themselves.  They now made easily digestible rock masquerading in the ostentation of prog … sort of how a little girl might play with her mom’s makeup and high-heels during a dress up game.

One needs to look no further than the lyrics, which in many cases replaced pomposity and pretense with overly lachrymose melodrama.  After Gabriel’s exit, Genesis were much more hit-or-miss lyrically.  Some songs, like Firth of Fifth and Squonk retained the grandeur and verbal nods and winks of the past, but some were overly melancholy or simple.  That inconsistent and often overly morose lyrical trend continued on Duke, which is quite a moody and uneven album.  That’s not to say that Gabriel didn’t have his lame songs or lyrics (oh, he did), but without him one sees a loss of sophistication coupled with an increase in the maudlin, because Phil Collins used music as a form of extended therapy to get past the very traumatic disintegration of his marriage.

However, as much as Gabriel was missed in terms of the words, it was the loss of Hackett and his guitar magic that’s really noticeable.  Instrumentally, Duke is one-dimensional, being overwhelmingly dominated by keyboards and devoid of much of the complex interplay Hackett’s string work would bring.  This renders the songs a bit hollow and unfinished.  That emptiness is actually felt the most acutely on songs like Man Of Our Times, Duke’s Travels, and Duke’s End which, paradoxically, are the strongest musical numbers on the album.  Listening to these songs is quite frustrating, because you can hear the holes where the guitar ought to have been.  And while Rutherford is more than competent on both 6 and 12 strings, he is no Hackett.

I have to admit, it was nice to listen to this album again after so long, because the time allowed me to consider the 1980 incarnation of Genesis for themselves, rather than what they were five years prior.  I also again noticed that the labels with the running Duke cartoon seem a bit too much like the fat bottom girls riding their bikes on the labels for Queen's Jazz.  That aside, I still don’t like Duke, but I don’t really hate it any more, either.

Up next: Who goes solo

doors, the (1967) - the doors: elektra records 1970 reissue, EKS-74007

By the time I entered High School music was in a very weird place because there was so much diversity.  It was a rare time when disco and hard rock and soft rock and stadium rock and bubblegum rock and punk rock and funk rock all lived side by side: Billy Joel, the Bee Gees, Rush, Journey, Jackson Browne, Donna Summer, Led Zeppelin, The Clash, Pink Floyd, Earth Wind & Fire, Blondie, Fleetwood Mack, the Doobie Brothers, Neil Diamond, ELO, the Who, the Stones, P-Funk, Bruce Springsteen, and more were all incredibly popular, and it wasn't at all strange to hear something from each of them during the course of a day.

But even though it was more than five years after Jim Morrison ended up getting the Marat treatment, the Doors continued to be wildly popular at my school.  Moreso than the Beatles and moreso than many of the (then) current bands. In reality it wasn’t all that surprising.  The recent release of Apocalypse Now helped reinject the Doors music into mainstream pop culture, and both KMET and KLOS (the local rock stations) had the Doors on regular rotation – in fact KLOS even offered their iconic rainbow stickers with the band’s name:

And, of course, there was that whole SoCal connection, too.  The Doors were one of those bands that really could only have been forged in the crucible of the cultural upheaval of the late 60’s amidst the fertile swirl that was Los Angeles. In a very real sense, the band had LA in their DNA which kept them locally relevant and important throughout a decade after they had stopped being a band. The Doors were ours just like the Beatles belonged to Liverpool or Buddy Holly belonged to Texas.

Now, while everyone acknowledges the importance of the San Francisco scene on music in the late 60's, it seems as if what was happening 350 miles down the coast gets ignored.  But consider the time and the place and the acts that were born there: Frank Zappa, The Beach Boys, the Mamas and the Papas, Sly and the Family Stone, Buffalo Springfield, and others.  What you begin to see is that the music from LA was developing along a different path than in the Bay Area.  The LA scene was more about bringing experimentation and diversity – using surf sounds along with some jazz and funk, with a lot of blues, psychadelic and folk mixed in.  The result was music that tended to defy easy categorization but was really a strong reflection of a local culture blending hippies, squares, gurus, freaks, and dropouts.

So when Jim Morrison met Ray Manzarek on Venice Beach and explained that he was taking notes at a rock n roll concert going on in his head, it made the sort of perfect sense in exactly the same way it wouldn't if they had met in, say, the Bronx.  And only in that wild, open, and uninhibited land of Los Angeles in the late 60’s could The Doors release what might well be among the most potent debut albums in history.

Side 1: Break On Through Soul Kitchen The Crystal Ship Twentieth Century Fox Alabama Song (Whisky Bar) Light My Fire
Side 2: Back Door Man I Looked At You End Of The Night Take It As It Comes The End

Look at that song list.  It’s almost a greatest hits collection. And from the opening organ riff for Break On Through, you just know you’re in for an incredibly groovy ride.

One of the things that comes immediately clear on listening is that even though the Doors were a blues-influenced band, they also had a serious Booker T & the MGs thing going on, with that whole Memphis Soul vibe created by Stax Records.  And that bluesly-soul sound is clear on Break On Through, Soul Kitchen, and their cover of Howlin’ Wolf’s Back Door Man.

But it would be a huge oversimplification to just call The Doors a blues bad, or The Doors a blues album.  There’s much more than that, from the playfully bizarre Alabama Song to the lusty Light My Fire, to the Gotterdammerung of their epic The End.

One thing that isn’t an oversimplification, though, is recognizing the Doors as a band very well suited as a soundtrack for someone looking to take some time to mellow out. Although true of all the songs on this album, both Light My Fire and The End, with their extended musical interludes, are seemingly composed expressly for burning a jay and letting some time pass.  Fire in particular is perfect for this, and if you time it right you can start your time-warp just as Manzarek’s organ escorts you down a rabbit hole into a lush maze, and just when you think you might get lost Krieger’s smooth classical Spanish-tinged guitar comes along to guide you out.

And through it all are the silky, hypnotic vocals. Morrison’s voice has the same sort of syrupy allure as the finest crooners of the 50’s, but with a touch of malice and familiarity with mind-altering experiences that makes it dangerous.  The closest description would be Tony Bennett singing while on a mushroom trip.

The Doors as both band and album is definitely of a time and place, but also transcends time or place.  It's as heavy an album today as it was released even if it is clearly something that belongs in a past era.

Up next: Prog gets a vasectomy

don't tell a soul (1989) - the replacements: sire records, 1-25831

The post-punk world of rock was a very weird place.  New wave, new romantic, electronica, hair metal, and goth all flourished in the wake of the musical freedom left in the residue of the punk revolution.

College indie rock was another format that had its moment in the sun.  Typified by bands like REM, the Lemonheads, the Plimsouls, Dinosaur Jr, and Dramarama, this was a weird amalgam of what could be only called folk-punk.  It had the raw honesty of punk, but it was almost always framed in this soft, fuzzy cocoon of non-threatening music.

A lot of this college-indie rock was little more than brooding navel-gazing stuff focused on the angst of the post-boomers coming into adulthood.  It wasn’t emo, though it certainly did help launch such saccharine bands like Goo Goo Dolls and Radiohead, and it wasn’t really punk, though it did express the sort of disillusionment that would feature so prominently in grunge.   At best indie rock was a fantastic blend of musical skill and astute social commentary. At worst it was a mess of aimless self-indulgence. Basically the musical equivalent of a buffer in chemistry, maintaining a neutral pH of “Meh”.

The Replacements was one of the few indie bands  that showed just how good the post-punk scene could be, peaking with their 1987 album, Pleased to Meet Me.  The success of that album inspired them to break out of the confines of the indie niche and so they tried for mainstream appeal with Don’t Tell A Soul.

Side 1: Talent Show Back to Back We’ll Inherit the Earth Achin’ to Be They’re Blind
Side 2: Anywhere Better Than Here Asking Me Lies I’ll Be You I Won’t Rock N Roll Ghost Darlin’ One

I haven’t listened to this album since the early 90’s, so putting it on the table was a bit like stepping into the wayback machine.  From the opening few notes of Talent Show, the songs were all familiar too me, but not distinctly memorable.  In fact, listening to this album was very much like having a prolonged and somewhat irritating attack of déjà vu, in that I had this strong sense I had heard it and enjoyed it sometime in the past, but I couldn’t actually remember doing so.

By the time I was near the end of side 1 I began to more fully realize why, and after the second song on side 2 it was clear.  This album is a perfect reflection of an aimless and sullen 25 year old unsure of where their life is going and unwilling to actually take any action or responsibility.  There is a level of maturity in the music, but the lyrics in particular are almost completely void of experience and understanding needed to properly place it into any real context.  Just like the generation from which it came and to whom it’s directed, Don’t Tell A Soul drips with the affected ennui and nihilism so common among young adults who still have the residue of the certainty and arrogant ignorance of their adolescence, and who are more than willing to wallow in artificial trauma while deluding themselves that it's a form of expressing a genuine pain (rather than pure narcissistic indulgence).  It’s a perfect reflection of the bored, uninspired, self-pity of Gen X circa 1989,   exemplified in the half-sung, half-mumbled chorus of We’ll Inherit the Earth:

We’ll inherit the earth / but we don’t want it
Laid our claim at birth / but we deny it

Wow.  Is that pathetic or what.

When I was 25 this album seemed deep and insightful.  Today it seems like the silly whinging of an annoying millennial.  I guess that means they really aren't any worse than we were.

Up next: All Hail the Lizard King!

ain't love grand (1985) - x: elektra records, 60430

Despite whether you believe Punk originated in the garbage-strewn streets of New York or the garbage-strewn streets of London, it’s hard to argue (and I’ve made this point before) that punk was nurtured and allowed to fully mature in the garbage-strewn streets of LA.

In much the same way that British Invasion bands like the Stones, Cream, the Who, and the Beatles got their inspiration from American blues, R&B, and country music, American bands like Black Flag, The Germs, Fear, Circle Jerks, Black Randy, The Weirdos, The Angry Samoans, The Plugz, 45 Grave, and more had their creative juices primed by British music.

Except for X. They were 100% rooted in ‘Murrican music of Appalachia and the South East.

X was a band that was branded as punk out of convenience, because of where and when they emerged.  Pretty much any band starting in LA in the very late 70’s or early 80’s was thought of as a de facto punk band, unless it was very clear they weren’t.  Besides, when they started, there was very little about X to suggest they weren’t a punk band.  Exene had funny hair.  Their songs were short and very fast.  They lyrics involved cursing and were subversive.  The band members had sardonic pseudonyms.  And they were intentionally un-glamorous.

So, even though X was part of the explosion of SoCal punk, they were always somehow a bit different.  While they definitely had punk sensibilities, they never really fit the restrictions of that label.  For instance, where most U.S. punk bands emulated the snarling, violent, confrontationally belligerent sound of the Sex Pistols, X tended to find their muse within domestic borders.   Their music had the delicate twangy guitar of rockabilly rather than a full-volume chainsaw roar.  Their lyrics tended to be less superficially belligerent and more nuanced in their defiance and subversion. And their singing tended to actually harmonize John Doe’s baritone with Exene’s atonal whine, rather than the usual punk style of unmelodic screams.

Side 1: Burning House of Love Love Shack My Soul Cries Your Name My Goodness Around My Heart
Side 2: What's Wrong With Me All Or Nothing Watch The Sun Go Down I'll Stand Up For You Little Honey Supercharged

By the time they released Ain’t Love Grand! the chasm between rockabilly and punk had grown to the point where calling X punk was getting more and more difficult to justify.  Sure, there are some punk moments on the album with e What’s Wrong With Me and Burning House of Love, but then there are some decidedly un-punk moments too. For example. My Goodness recalls Big Mama Thornton, while Watch the Sun Go Down sounds like something leftover from Springsteen’s early years, complete with Clarence Clemons-like sax.

More than that, the album strikes a much more introspective stance rather than one of anger and frustration.  Around My Heart, Love Shack, and My Soul Cries Your Name tend to examine the emotional ringer of life, in the same way that Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn songs do.

And this shift into a more rockabilly/blues style actually resulted in even better musicianship, as truly American music was the perfect fit for X.  Billy Zoom and DJ Bonebreak are not simply punk musicians – these dudes have some serious chops. They’d be right in place ripping things in a honky tonk or on stage with the likes of Clapton. And John Doe could easily play with Johnny Cash, Roger McGuinn, or T Bone Burnett.

In the end, Ain’t Love Grand! is a good listen, but shows the beginning of an inevitable decline in ganas for X.  In the X canon it rates along Hey Zeus as their less substantial albums, but that would still rate it as extraordinary for many other bands.

Up next: Proto-Emo Indie Rock