exit... stage left (1981) – rush: mercury records, SRM-2-7001

The live album, like vinyl in general, is something that’s become an anachronism. Back in the 70’s, particularly, live albums were a staple of the record industry. Every band seemed to have at least one live album, and many had two or three. Not only was it a very cheap and easy way for the band to satisfy part of their recording contract obligation, but it was also a very cheap and easy way for the record company to make more money off the fans. Pretty much a win-win situation.

But it was actually a win-win-win situation, because the fans were able to get a front-row seat to a virtual concert by a band without having to pay the high ticket prices, and with the ability to re-live the concert over and over again.

Besides, live albums were cool. You got to hear some stage banter; the setlist was almost always awesome; many of the songs were often different interpretations or versions (usually longer with more exploration) than the original from the album; the roar of the crowd gave the music an added element of energy and vitality; and inevitably, the music was authentic – no studio enhancements or fixing mistakes. It was the band, their instruments, some amplifiers and a microphone. It was real. Or, at least as real as recordings from multiple shows at multiple venues, cobbled together in a studio and arranged by engineers and producers could be.

By 1981 Rush had released eight studio albums and, in a very polite manner, managed to become one of the biggest bands in the world. Exit … Stage Left was their celebratory live album.

Side 1: The Spirit of Radio Red Barchetta YYZ
Side 2: A Passage to Bangkok Closer To The Heart Beneath, Between & Behind Jacob’s Ladder
Side 3: Broon’s Bane The Trees Xanadu
Side 4: Freewill Tom Sawyer La Villa Strangiato

Now, Exit... isn’t Rush’s first live album. Five years earlier they released All The World’s A Stage, but the boys only had three album’s worth of material from which to draw, so the songlist was a bit limited. With Exit..., Rush had managed to expand their repertoire considerably, allowing them to put together a truly impressive set, in both size and quality.

Of course, with a larger repertoire comes the inevitable griping about what’s left out. In Exit... the the absence of songs like Working Man, Lamneth, 2112, and Limelight are as noticeable as the inclusion of songs like Barchetta, Bangkok, Xanadu, and Strangiato.

Damn, it’s tough when you’ve got so many kickass songs.

What is interesting is that, in a very clever little bit of design, the album jacket pays homage to all eight previous studio albums, despite the fact that the songlist completely ignores their first and third albums, only includes one song off their second and fourth, and has a song that isn’t on any at all. Still, Exit... is quite a little journey through Rush’s first seven years of life. More than that, it does a great job capturing the band at their musical and creative peak.

The flow of the album is also quite well thought out. Side one opens with what is essentially side one of Moving Pictures, the album for which this tour was in support. All three songs are energetic and immediately set the proper mood. Side two begins to form a transition between the new and the old, and the fun and thoughtful. Side three features the more navel-gazing songs, where the band gets to wallow in their musical fetishism, much to the listener’s appreciation. The album wraps up with a one-two-three lineup that can only be called awesome, ultimately closing with perhaps one of the most incredibly indulgent pieces of music ever, begging the listener to whip out a bic lighter and hold the flame high.

I admit that as a kid this album got a lot of play, and it’s one of the albums to which I listened consistently throughout the years. So this listen didn’t so much reignite any long-buried memory as much as rekindle my affinity for live albums, and a reaffirmation of just how cool they are.

Up next: Movement of Jah people.

everywhere at once (1983) - the plimsouls: geffen records, GHS-4002

One of the cruelest myths in American folklore is that the only ingredients for success are willingness to work hard, tenacity to remain dedicated, and a reasonable level of talent. That’s all it takes.

That sure sounds good in a Horatio Alger sort of way, and really seems to be the central core of the egalitarian American dream. You know, the whole nose to the grindstone, be willing to sweat and suffer, keep getting back on the horse, and reap the reward.

Too bad it’s a load of crap. Because if it were true, then Peter Case and The Plimsouls would have been mega-stars. Although, when they first came around, it looked as if that would indeed be their fate.

The Plimsouls were yet another one of the many incredible bands to sprout from the ridiculously fertile soil of the late 70’ - early 80’s LA music scene. The 1980 release of their debut EP, Zero Hour immediately drew attention from influential LA radio station KROQ, and their local acclaim continued to grow with the 1981 release of their self-titled album.

By 1982 the Plimsouls were a constant presence on radio and in clubs in LA. They brought intensity, clever writing, musical accomplishment, and a sense of sardonic wit. Their style was more folk and blues than punk, experimental, or electronica. And, it’s safe to say that The Plimsouls were the West-Coast doppelganger of REM. Or, vise versa if you want to go in chronological order.

Everywhere At Once was their second studio album, released in 1983.

Side 1: Shaky City Magic Touch Oldest Story In The World Lie, Beg, Borrow And Steal Play The Breaks
Side 2: How Long Will It Take? A Million Miles Away My Life Ain’t Easy Inch By Inch I’ll Get Lucky Everywhere At Once

Looking over that list of songs, one would think that the Plimsouls finally managed to get national recognition and were on the same sort of trajectory as their counterparts, REM. Particularly when you add in the movie Valley Girl featured the song A Million Miles Away.

But even with buckets of talent, a quiver full of great songs, exposure in a hit movie, the support of a major radio station in one of the top two markets in the country, and the sort of dedication required to play countless gigs in countless clubs, success for the Plimsouls remained a million miles away (sorry, I couldn’t help myself).

Everywhere At Once peaked at 186 on the Billboard charts, and even though they continued to be wildly popular in LA, the Plimsouls never seemed to be able to break out. Perhaps it was because the country was only able to abide one musically gifted power-pop band with roots in traditional American music, and REM was the one. Or, maybe it was just that the Plimsouls never had that one MTV video needed to truly break into the national consciousness. Whatever the reason, the Plimsouls continued to play together for only a short while after Everywhere At Once, before lead singer/songwriter Peter Case decided to go solo, effectively ending the band.

Happily, the album remains. And it is great. Songs like How Long Will It Take?, A Million Miles Away, and Everywhere At Once continue to be as catchy and lively as they were when they were released. There’s very little musical cliché to make the songs sound dated or stereotypically “80’s” pop. Quite the contrary.  The band’s reliance on established American music, including use of groovy organs and harmonica, give the songs an evergreen feel. Even when released, the songs couldn’t be easily categorized as contemporary, since they sounded as if there were equally in place in the 60’s or 70’s.

The only thing that really dates the album is the fact that so much current pop music relies on exactly the sort of temporal clichés that the Plimsouls avoided: derivative electronic enhancement, heavy use of formulaic bass, and artificial autotune and studio cleansing.

In the end, the most enduring legacy of the album is how it showcases just how good music can be when it relies on the simplicity of instruments, rather than the artifice of producers.

Up next: Canadians politely take over the world.

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