When a townie friend recommended the Providence-based Viennagram to me, I assumed his description of a “f*cking crazy time” to be a blend of hyperbole and local loyalty. After witnessing their show myself (Sunday, 28 September at AS220), I can attest that it was, if anything, an understatement. Except “show” doesn’t do Viennagram justice. How can I better describe this experience to an absent third party? Glam-thrash-vaudeville-noise-core; an ecstatic spectacle of carnival masks and confetti; a phantasmagorical orgy of boogie-down bass-lines; an anarchic frenzy of free cookies and flying bananas; an unstoppable parade in warning of – no, in spite of – no, in celebration of some psychedelic apocalypse. If Ziggy Stardust, James Joyce, Death From Above 1979, and Edgar Allen Poe started a band together, they would be trying to sound like Viennagram. But Caveat Auditor: this freak show is not for the faint of heart. If you attend a Viennagram show (and I strongly encourage it), come prepared to have your ears assaulted, your squeamishness affronted, and your feet hypnotized into raucous rhythms. Even with a moderate turnout, the energy seemed endless. The night was not without its disappointments, however. Unfortunately the tuba player and Berklee-trained trumpetist were not very well miked and positioned far from the action, almost like an afterthought. And even when he appeared to be trying to sing intelligibly, frontman/ring-master Dan White was difficult to understand. That is, his words were difficult to understand. His message, though, was clear: Viennagram came to make some noise, and you’d damn well better dance.
Acting as a sort of trashy, drug addicted bridge between the glam metal of the 80's and the alt-rock of the 90's, Guns N' Roses released one of the great metal albums of all time with 1987's Appetite for Destruction. The band seemingly imploded in after the bloated curiosities that are Use Your Illusion I and II and the covers collection The Spaghetti Incident, but the endless sessions for the unreleased Chinese Democracy have become a pop culture punch line. Tentatively begun in 1994, the album will contains the performances of at least a dozen current and former members, culled from 14 years of sessions. Most attribute the lack of progress and the continual canceling of release dates in the past 18 months to singer Axl Rose's perfectionist-bordering on control freak-tendencies, which leave him the last man standing from Guns N' Roses time as biggest group on the planet. The band's draconian legal reaction to any leaks have raised some eyebrows, the latest incident resulting in the FBI arrest of Kevin Cowgill, who posted 9 finished sounding tracks onto his blog antiquiet.com. He awaits prosecution, the band insists that the focus is on finding the source of the leak. As of a three year old New York Times article, the costs have exceeded $15 million dollars, making it the most expensive unreleased recording of all time. Claims that all recording had been completed in early 2007 turned out to be false, as would be assurances that it would be released by Christmas 2007. But now it seems that Billboard.com reports that it will be on shelves before the year is out, but only at Best Buy who have an exclusive retail deal, much as The Eagles had with Wal-Mart for their Long Road Out of Eden. So, what should the curious fan expect? Definitely not the kind of epic sounding hard rock they once specialized in-Axl has favored a more adventurous brand of metal with industrial influences at least since he recruited avant-garde metal guitarist Buckethead to join the band in 2000. He has since left the band, but the new material bears more similarities to a more rockist Nine Inch Nails than "Paradise City" or "November Rain". The first single "Shackler's Revenge", debuted on the video game Rock Band 2, and with grinding, guttural verses and a cleanly sung chorus, sounds more like a death metal band reclining on La-Z Boys than anything the band has recorded thus far. Whether or not you think the band is artistically significant, the idea of an unfinished work is magnetic to music fans. Rumored guest spots by Brian May, Shaquille O'Neal, and Dave Navarro can only raise the interest level even higher.
Wilco's "The Late Greats" is a song about missed opportunities framed by the fictional song "Turpentine" by the fictional band "The Late Greats". Yes, the characters may be invented but many music fans identify with the refrain of "the best song will never get sung / the best laugh never leaves your lungs / so good you won't ever know / I never hear it on the radio" could have been sung about any of these albums. As Guns n Roses moves closer to releasing their long awaited Chinese Democracy, here are some more fascinating lost albums.
The Beach Boys – Smile (1966)
What it was supposed to be: The perfect encapsulation of a century of American pop music. The culmination of Brian Wilson's musical ambitions. An album so good it would "make Pet Sounds stink". Containing the witty lyricisms of collaborator Van Dyke Parks and the logical continuation of Brian's "Good Vibrations" experiments, bootlegs reveal it to be one of the most compulsively listenable and addictive artifacts of the psychedelic era. What happened: The drugs and pressure got to Brian as the endless sessions only produced Smiley Smile, a bizarre little home recorded album that will forever live in the shadows of those classic demos and session excerpts. Release status: A large chunk of the sessions would see release in the 1993 box set Good Vibrations, but Brian would finally complete the work as a total re-recording with his new band in 2004. The album would cement his status as a pop music icon with a stature equal to any songwriter in pop music history.
The Beatles – Get Back (1969)
What it was supposed to be: An album that continued The White Album's back to basics approach in a more communal group format and premiere of the material that would herald the group's return to live performance after a two year hiatus. What happened: The rehearsals were fraught with arguing and countless takes of throwaway covers. Besides a few tracks like "Don't Let Me Down" and "Get Back", which were salvaged as a single, the songs were of a markedly lower quality than what the Beatles had been producing. After a final rooftop concert, the band abandoned the sessions. The band would reuse some promising scraps when they returned to the studio to cut Abbey Road, the last album recorded they would record as a group. Release status: After several abortive mixes helmed by producer Glyn Johns, Phil Spector was brought on to make sense of the mess. He famously spoiled several songs with syrupy strings and choruses, most notably "The Long and Winding Road" and "I Me Mine". The album would be released shortly after the breakup of the band in spring of 1970.
Big Star – Third (1974)
What it was supposed to be: The last in a trilogy of releases that saw Big Star move from starry eyed power pop to drugged out vets who had been fucked by the record industry and wanted you to know about it. What happened: Leader Alex Chilton famously sabotaged his own material as revenge for the failure of Ardent and Stax records to get his band's music heard. When the powers that be mooted "Downs" as the single, Chilton muted the vocals to barely audible and used a basketball as a snare drum. With the material uncommericial and Ardent records nearing the end of its existence, the band died and the material was shelved. Release status: It would see release in 1978 as the band started achieving notoriety amongst the few who knew Big Star even existed. A more complete portrait of the sessions would be released on cd in 1992.
The Who – Lifehouse (1970)
What it was supposed to be: The next step in Pete Townshend's transition from mod kingpin to multimedia artist. Part movie, part album, part concert, it was meant to portray the power of music as a sort of all consuming event-a union of performer and audience-that could triumph over all. What happened: Much like Brian Wilson had with Smile, Townshend simply lost focus as the scope of the material grew ever larger beyond that of an ordinary LP. Without producer Kit Lambert as an ally, as he had been with the rock opera Tommy, he had to convey his ideas to the skeptical band himself. Finally after a residency at the Young Vic did not create the desired "celestial cacophony", Townshend abandoned the project. Release status: The material intended for Lifehouse would crop up in Who albums for a decade. Who's Next would be constructed almost entirely out of scraps from the project, as well as the "Join Together" single, and even parts of Who Are You. In late 1999, the whole of the narrative was finally completed for a BBC radio play, which was included in a box set along with 4 discs of music in the 2000 box set Lifehouse Chronicles.
Neil Young - Chrome Dreams (1977)
What it was supposed to be: Neil Young's best album of the 70's. Young had achieved a commercial breakthrough with the singer/songwriter oriented Harvest, but abandoned that trail with a trilogy of dark, drug-drenched albums that have since become critically acclaimed cult classics-Time Fades Away, Tonight's the Night, and On the Beach. Zuma had seen Young refine the Americana/garage hybrid he had created into slightly more clearheaded terrain. Chrome Dreams would be the culmination of this artistic thread. What happened: Whether due to Young's mercurial nature, or as some have suggested his love of self-mythologizing, the album was never released. Release status: The monumental "Like a Hurricane" would see release on that year's American Stars 'n Bars and most of the other tracks would be picked along the years whenever Young needs to beef up a mediocre album. Confusingly, Chrome Dreams II was released in 2007, but other than the title, bears no resemblance to the unreleased album of thirty years ago.
Ryan Adams - Suicide Handbook (2001)
What it was supposed to be: A more emotional and mournful sequel to Adams' debut album Heartbreaker. What happened: Details are sparse, but apparently his label, Lost Highway, preferred the demos for the more upbeat Gold to the Suicide Handbook tracks. Release status: Rumored to be contained in it's entirety on an upcoming Ryan Adams rarities box, some of the best tracks have already been released on other albums, such as "Wild Flower", "Dear Chicago", and "Off Broadway".
Weezer - Songs from a Black Hole (1995)
What it was supposed to be: Weezer meets Jesus Christ Superstar, but instead of being unsure of his role as savior, Rivers Cuomo is unsure about his role as rock star or astronaut or some combination thereof. What happened: The band scrapped the rock opera somewhere around the demo stage and would go on to record Pinkerton, the raw and emotional album that would maintain their cult throughout their three year hiatus. Release status: The seven minutes of the material made available on the Rivers Cuomo demo collection Alone, effectively ended any desire for this material to see official release from all but the most intense Weezer fans.
Bob Dylan/The Band - The Basement Tapes (1967)
What it was supposed to be: Zimmy's abandonment of the pop world that he had conquered with "Like a Rolling Stone" and return to folk music on his own terms. By recording with The Band far away from the media in Woodstock, New York, he ensured those terms would not be topical protest songs but rather a series of addictively cryptic songs like "Lo and Behold", "You Ain't Going Nowhere", "I Shall Be Released" and "I'm Not There". Along the way, he invented Americana as we now understand it. What happened: It seems that Dylan had no desire to release these tracks. Instead they were given to The Band ("Tears of Rage", "I Shall Be Released"), Manfred Mann ("The Mighty Quinn"), and The Byrds ("You Ain't Going Nowhere"), amongst others. Released status: Portions of these sessions were first released in what is believed to be the first bootleg ever, 1969's The Great White Wonder. Finally in 1975, a large chunk of the material was released in a two-record set, which failed to include some of the best material. The most infamous of these tracks, "I'm Not There" would be released on the soundtrack album of the Todd Haynes film which borrowed it's name from the track.
Dave Matthews Band – The Lilywhite Sessions (2000)
What it was supposed to be: A break from their three previous albums of loose jamming that had been embraced by millions of hippies and frat boys. With darker material written in reaction to the death of his stepfather, and alcohol prevalent in the writing sessions, the material was surprisingly focused and melodic, including some of Dave Matthew's best songs like "JTR" and "Grace is Gone". What happened: The rest of the band were never quite on board, and their recording at a new home studio in the woods of Virginia complicated matters. According to many, several members of the band were more interested in riding ATV's around the nearby trails than completing tracks for such a personal and downbeat album. When producer Steve Lilywhite-who lends his name to a bootleg of the sessions-grew tired of the slow progress and quit. With pressure for a new album with commercial potential coming to a head, Dave Matthews would partner with producer Dave Ballard and create the more pop oriented Everyday album in ten days. Release status: With the demo tapes of the abandoned material making rounds online, the band decided to re-record the material in 2002. Several newer songs were recorded in those sessions, displacing "JTR" and several others from the track list.
Dennis Wilson – Bambu (1978/1979)
What it was supposed to be: The album that consolidated the good reviews and decent sales of his first solo album Pacific Ocean Blue and provided the middle Wilson brother with a creative outlet independent from the stagnating Beach Boys. The sessions were filled with his gruff blue eyed soul with the symphonic pop trickery he learned from his older brother. What happened: The Beach Boys constantly hijacked Dennis Wilson's best songs to add interest to subpar albums, the Beach Boys sold their home studio, and his drug problems worsened. A combination of these three factors caused Dennis to abandon recording altogether in the years before his drowning death in 1983. Release status: This year's generous reissue of Pacific Ocean Blue contains nearly all the material from Bambu. Of the key tracks, only "Baby Blue" is left off, which can be found on the Beach Boys' L.A. (Light Album).
Dr. Dre – Detox (2004-Present)
What it was supposed to be: The third, and according to Dr. Dre, final album of cutting edge gangsta hip-pop. Supposedly containing guest appearances by Nas, Lil Wayne, 50 Cent, Busta Rhymes, Jay-Z and about every other major label rap artist who isn't named Kanye West, the album is according to Snoop Dogg "worth the wait". What happened: Dr. Dre focused on producing tracks for others, and maintained a leisurely pace on his third solo record. Release status: It is rumored to be released this year, but then again at least one rap periodical also called Detox one of the most anticipated releases of 2006.
Modern Lovers – Modern Lovers (1972)
What it was supposed to be: Proof that the reach of the Velvet Undergroun touched more than smack-addicted cosmopolitan minimalism fanatics. A stunning group of chugging songs written by Jonathon Richman and recorded by ex-Velvet John Cale, the songs included "Roadrunner", which built the bridge between punk and suburbia even before there was anyone to cross it. What happened: Richman's erratic nature made things difficult for the band-as he refused to play these songs live even as Warner Brothers was attempting to gather support for the album. Eventually, the original Modern Lovers would implode without an album to support and Richman would move to more childlike pastures. Release status: The sessions would be released in 1976 and gain an immediate audience with the nascent punk scenes in New York and London. "Roadrunner" would even become a charting hit in England in 1977.
The Velvet Underground – Second MGM Album (1969)
What it was supposed to be: A transitional work between their tranquil self titled LP and the good ole rock 'n' roll of Loaded. The album would've included some of Lou Reed's most timeless tracks, including "Lisa Says", "Ocean", the proto-twee pop of "I'm Sticking With You" and perhaps even "Stephanie Says", a gorgeous track first recorded directly before John Cale's 1968 departure What happened: MGM records sought to purge their stable of overtly drug related bands, and The Velvet Underground was among the first to be dropped. Strangely, the label refused to relinquish the submitted tapes for the band's next album. Release status: Lou Reed would fill the blank spots on his first couple solo records with songs from these sessions, but the Velvets versions would remain unissued until the mid-80's rarities compilations VU and Another View and the 1995 box set Peel Slowly and See.
John Lennon – Roots (1973)
What is was supposed to be: Lennon's saving grace from a large lawsuit. Sued by Roulette Records chief Morris Levy for having stolen a Chuck Berry line while writing "Come Together", Lennon agreed to record at least three songs published by Levy on his next album. While searching a list of possible tracks, Lennon was reminded of many of his favorite tracks from the 50's and resolved to record a covers album. What happened: The sessions with Phil Spector were the booze soaked nadir of Lennon's Lost Weekend. In the ensuing legal confusion, Levy released his own version of the album, based on rough mixes. Release status: Two of the most popular songs from Roots, "Be My Baby" and "Angel Baby" would not be included when the sessions were finally distilled into the official Rock 'n' Roll. Those tracks would eventually find release on Anthology and Menlove Avenue respectively.
Mahavishnu Orchestra – The Lost Trident Sessions (1973)
What it was supposed to be: The third album of John McGlaughlin's searing vision of fusion by the original lineup of his seminal Mahavishnu Orchestra. Retaining his love of distorted rock and the odd meters and scales of Indian classical music, the sessions also saw the democratization of the band with Jan Hammer, Rick Laird, and Jerry Goodman contributing a song each. What happened: The band was given the choice of releasing a live album of overlapping material from that year's show at Central Park or releasing the expanded studio versions. The band chose the live album-Between Nothingness and Eternity- and shelved the studio sessions. That temporary shelving would be made permanent when the band broke up amid infighting and creative conflicts. Release status: When searching for the master tapes of a previous album during a remastering effort, the tapes, previously thought lost, were discovered and released in 1999.
This week The Providence Phoenix has run a frightening article about the use of police force at last months Republican National Convention in St. Paul (click on the title for the link). Whatever your political beliefs, this was an affront to the entire democratic process and a reminder that we surely live in strange times. There was a systematic attempt, as well, to brutalize journalists in a manner not seen since Daly's thugs turned the '68 Democratic Convention into chaos. It is amazing that the mainstream media allowed Sarah Palin to distract them from the brutality happening all to frequently in the city that week.
When Ben Folds came to the Bank of America City Center (a formal euphemism for the Bank of America Skating Center when the puddles aren't freezing yet) on September 25th, his new album Way to Normal had yet to be released. Fans of the wise-ass piano pop craftsman expected a show filled with favorites from a career going strong in its second decade. When two multi-instrumentalists joined Folds' now familiar trio of Jared Reynolds on bass and Sam Smith on drums-would they focus on more highly produced efforts like "Narcolepsy" and "Prison Food"? The hardcore fans knew that just days before Folds reunited with his seminal 90's band Ben Folds Five for a one off concert-would he be treating us to a set of oldies? Both theories would be proven wrong rather quickly as Ben played nothing but new material for more than an hour. It came not only from the upcoming album, but also from a "fake" version, which the band wrote and recorded on a lark in Europe to confuse fans with multiple songs sharing titles. The crowd gave a warm welcome, however, despite two versions of "Free Coffee", "Brainwascht", and others. The new material totally abandons the maturity of Rockin' The Suburbs and Songs for Silverman in favor of the tossed off fun of his recent EP tracks and 90's fan favorites. Highlights of this first set were the first single "You Don't Know Me", which worked well even with Jared Reynolds covering Regina Speckter's parts and "Hiroshima" which included an always crowd pleasing chorus of "oh oh oh oh". A too short encore included "Underground", "Landed", "Not the Same", and "Rockin' the Suburbs" besides the concluding fake version of "The Frown Song". The encore mainly served to illustrate in high contrast how middling some of the new material was in comparison with his best work, but left the crowd pleased, if wanting a little more.
"Yeah I'm really excited for the show." "Yeah." "I hope he plays a lot of the weird stuff. I just found bootleg of a show from last year, and he plays "I'd Love Just Once to See You" "Yeah." "Y'know, the song from Wild Honey." "Yeah." "There's no way Brian can actually be picking the set lists if they keep dragging out stuff like that." "Yeah." "I mean I love the track, but I doubt Brian thinks it’s the apex of his craft y'know? I'm sure he'd rather play "Good to My Baby" or something." "Yeah." "My big worry is that he really dumbs down the set list for the festival crowd. If I wanted to hear Endless Summer I'd pull it out of the basement." "Hmm?"
8/1/08 The debate has been churning ever since Brian Wilson was announced as the Friday night headliner at The Newport Folk Festival. What place does Brian Wilson have playing at a folk festival? His music is the antithesis of sparse Americana and his persona adds nothing to the long running dialogue on authenticity, probably the most interesting thing about the genre four decades removed from Dylan. The old Newport Folk Festival made it's reputation on musicians who remained cognizant of their role as cultural preservers; sort of walking and talking and singing wax cylinders with "Field Recording, Kill Devil Hills, 1904" on their cardboard cases. The new Newport Folk pays little mind to such preservation, as evidenced by Brian Wilson, The Black Crowes, and Jimmy Buffet holding the weekend's most esteemed slots as acts like the Felice Brothers and other young folk acts got busy in the smaller side stages. A persistent debate on the pop side of the fence was whether Brian Wilson would make any concessions to the historic festival. An acoustic set? Maybe lead off with "Sloop John B" or "Cottonfields", two folk songs that Beach Boy Al Jardine convinced Brian to rearrange into pop masterpieces. Left out of the conversation were several facts: 1. The Friday night concert would be held at the International Tennis Hall of Fame, arguably the most perfect venue for crystalline symphonic pop outside of the Sunset Strip. 2. The audience had the choice to buy tickets for individual days. Brian Wilson would not be justifying his music's place in the pantheon of American culture, or even American pop culture. He would be playing a set for his fans. 3. Most importantly, in his hyper-insulated mental state, Brian Wilson simply does not care. In the words of Mojo writer Mat Snow, Brian's music is "unclouded by its absolute disconnection to the world as experienced by any alert person over the age of 12." See, in the post-Landy, post-Smile world of Brian Wilson, he can be happy, but never quite healthy. Years of drug abuse, overprescribing, and mental strain have taken a toll that simply cannot be surmounted by any amount of good reviews, feel-good articles, or even turning the failure of his twenties into the triumph of his sixties. His support system, composed of his wife Melinda, his acclaimed band, and assorted friends, shield him from pressure and ensconce him in a bubble, where it is always the early 60's, the sun is always out, and he is free to act like Spector is still pumping out hits in the studio next door. In that bubble the tennis court in Newport was no different than any other outdoor concert he had done or would do that summer. It was just another occasion to break out "Dance, Dance, Dance", "Do It Again", and "Surfer Girl" to a demographic eerily similar to Parrotheads. Brian looked slightly bored. He checked his watch a couple times, as if he wasn't quite sure how long his songs were. Those like me who hoped that he would give us an advance look at the That Lucky Old Sun song cycle, premiered live at London's Royal Festival Hall in September of 2007 would be sorely disappointed.
9/2/08 The obsessive Brian fans who have been waiting for an album that would reach the same heights climbed by Pet Sounds and Smile would also be let down. The first thing you notice is that this is a very different kind of production for Brian Wilson. Yes, there's all the bells and whistles (yes, really there are bells and whistles) and organs and handclaps, but it is strikingly more modern than the usual Wilson album. As a dedicated fetishist to the masterfully old fashioned descending bass lines he wrote for songs like "Melt Away" and "Child Is the Father of the Man", I was disappointed that they were relatively absent here. Perhaps it is because this is the first Brian Wilson work ever that was a live show before it was recorded. Sure, sure, the 2004 version of Smile was played live before it was recorded, but they had a trail of bootlegs 40 years long to show them how the whole thing was supposed to sound on tape. The first song on the new record is an arrangement of the title track, a Gillipsie/Smith chestnut dating back to 1949. When That Lucky Old Sun was still just a rumor I was worried. Actually, make that Very Worried that he was embarking on one of his Ahab-ian missions to re-imagine a pre-rock tune. Like when he spent most of his hours of sober energy in the late 70's in the futile task of trying to make "Shortenin' Bread" interesting. Or the Beach Boys recording of "Old Man River" in the late 60's. With those fears in mind, "That Lucky Old Sun" is a success. At less than a minute long it doesn't wear out its welcome and instead contains a wonderful segue into the middling "Morning Beat". Yes, the album is essentially about Southern California, but since Brian Wilson doesn't experience his life quite like you or I do, it can only be about Los Angeles in the 50's and early 60's. It is remarkably similar to Van Dyke Parks' Orange Crate Art, an album that Brian sung on but did not write, in both outlook and sound. That album compositionally did indeed ape the classic sunshine pop of Brian's prime, so yes, I do mean that the Brian Wilson of 2008 sounds more like he's imitating his classic sound than he is occupying the same mental space as 1965. "Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl" suggests that it is a retread of the Beach Boys' first ballad, but it is everything but. There are hints of the mid 60's outtake "Sherri She Needs Me", but the song is simply a giddy encapsulation of all that was fun and technicolor and wonderful about those great singles. People who think that Smile and Pet Sounds were Brian's only decent work were probably disappointed that it is band member Scott Bennett, not the eccentric wordsmith Parks who is the main contributor. Van Dyke did, however, add the spoken word narratives that almost derail the album each of the four times they appear, such as when the aforementioned "Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl" segues into one like a child falling off a horse. With phrases like "Pumps drunk with oil dance like prehistoric locusts on the hills to LAX" and sing song rhymes, Brian recites them with some amusement and little indication that he knows what they are supposed to mean or suggest. So goes the first 22 minutes of this 40 minute work-a blur of images of SoCal that have no secondary meaning besides losing yourself in an ocean of sound. Like when Brian sings "I've got a notion / we've come from the ocean" in "Live Let Live" and its not the words you hear but the way the rhythm of his voice suggests a train. Then it just explodes into a sunny refrain of "God almighty passed his hands on the water" as if you peeled a Clementine and a chick covered in yellow down came out.
8/1/08 About halfway through the set, Brian was getting energized, and here came the classics…first it was "The Little Girl I Once Knew", that classic stepping stone between Summer Days (And Summer Nights) and Pet Sounds that charted dismally because of those jarringly avant-garde silences before the choruses. The vibraphone was more energetic and pure rock n roll than the guitars had been all night. Next was an intimate rendition of their slightly overrated Brother-era highlight "Add Some Music to Your Day" and finally a version of "Heroes and Villains" that pleased the dancers as much as the rock snobs. And then he was gone. Jeffrey Foskett, a portly man who plays guitar and covers the high falsetto parts that Brian used to do before medication, coke and drink destroyed his vocal range, stepped up to the microphone and murmured something about a technical problem with Brian's keyboard. Lost on him was the fact that Brian hadn't touched it all night (a regular occurrence for someone who was propped up behind an organ that wasn't plugged in for much of the 80's) and that many of us probably would rather see Brian portrayed as a stage-shy neurotic rather than a prima donna throwing a temper tantrum about technical problems. At any rate he returned on stage without his watch and blazed through a few Pet Sounds tracks and a ripping version of "Marcella".
9/2/08 Listening to Brian Wilson; much like Syd Barrett, Roky Erickson, Skip Spence, or any amount of intriguingly disturbed musicians, we all become amateur psychologists. Like the cop walking back to his car after the show "Yeah that song "In My Room" is where he started to go crazy". I can't deny the strong psychic bond I have with Brian. The loss of hearing in one ear that sometimes makes me a difficult conversation, the difficult parental relationships, the obsession with a childhood past; I feel like I know where Brian is coming from even at his most deranged-stuff like "A Day in the Life of a Tree" or the "Mount Vernon and Fairway" suite or most of the Love You album. I have several biographies of the man and I regularly fill up my car wit nothing but Beach Boys discs and travel with my windows done imagining what kind of pain rests between the notes of those harmonies. For me, the last 15 minutes of That Lucky Old Sun is the most satisfying quarter hour of music Brian's been involved with since the first 4 songs on his self-titled debut album, or even maybe since side one of the Friends album from '68. Never before has Brian so explicitly laid out his mental difficulties. The confessions come fast: "how could I have got so low / I'm embarrassed to tell you so" "all these voices, all the memories make me feel so alone / all these people make me feel so alone". Finally in "Going Home" he goes for the money shot that the previous songs had been building towards. A few years ago he would have been content to leave the track as a bouncy song that he could introduce in concert as "now here's a real groovy rock n roll song". Instead, now there's an incredible, crystalline bridge "at 25 I turned out the light / cause I couldn't handle the / glare in my tired eyes / but now I'm back / drawing shades of kind blue sky".
Conclusion After a long encore, it seemed that the show was over. The band started walking off stage when they noticed that Brian was still planted at his silent piano. The man who put on his bass, but did not play more than two notes during the entire encore was suddenly stubbornly possessive of the stage and his audience. "I guess we're gonna do one more song," Foskett shouted into the microphone to rapturous applause, but the song they played wasn't one that the crowd knew. I recognized it as "Southern California" from The Lucky Old Sun live bootleg I had. It was all spartan piano and a feeling somewhere between laughing and smiling and crying and kicking at the dead leaves on the sidewalk. The crowd had been worked to a frenzy during "Surfin' USA" and "Fun, Fun, Fun" but now they didn't know what to do as the only surviving Wilson brother sang "I had this dream / singing with my brothers". Some seemed to have lumps in their throats and others made their way to the exits seemingly annoyed by such a buzz kill at the end of a feel-good set. Who knows if Brian was in any way involved with writing this track. It is credited to Wilson/Bennett, but a bootlegged demo of the track is sung by Bennett. When you pay to close attention, those vibraphones seem more like the synths in The Police's "King of Pain" than the lounge jazz way that Brian favors the instrument. "It seemed OK to out in an overtly nostalgic way," Bennett explained to USA Today, "he should celebrate his triumphs. He's had some dark times, but he's got phenomenal songs that are going to live forever. It's OK to look back." Hence the lyrics "Oh, it's magical / living your dreams / don't want to sleep / you might miss something". In the disc's booklet there is a photo, obviously sun drenched and taken with an analog camera. Brian is sitting on deck chair on a concrete roof staring off into the distance at the traffic in front of the Hollywood Tower. He does not seem alert or aware. Here was the essence of Brian Wilson. The singing on those records isn't harmonizing; it is the sound of wailing into pillows. He is Joan Didion's California distilled into one man: we've run out of continent, there are no more no beginnings, no more second chances, WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW? More gently, it reminded me of the last words of Edmund Morris' bizarre Ronald Reagan biography Dutch-"Upstream, the last rays of the sun shone. I looked at the coming water, and felt, as I guess Dutch does too, the silent onrush of death." It is an odd choice for a promotional photo, but it is almost a perfect match for the triumphant final third of his new album. The first time I listened to "Southern California" I stared at the photo and bawled my eyes out. If Brian was in the room with me I would have told him that I've wasted so much of my life listening to music because of him. He was the one who gave me that sick need to search the world for that same feeling I got the first time I listened to Pet Sounds or "This Whole World". I tried to explain to my girlfriend the sharp feeling of loss I had listening to song. "But you don't know him", she wisely pointed out. And she was right. I've spent a lot of time trying to track down the real Brian Wilson. But it's like chasing someone through a hall of mirrors. I keep turning corners and only seeing myself.
By the time their set picked up, neo-folk quartet Death Vessel had already lost most of my interest. Elegant, creamy-white vintage guitars and flashy red sunburst pick-guards couldn't make up for disappointingly mediocre songwriting at their Sept. 23 show at the Living Room. Self-consciously quirky instrumentation (including a string bass, toy maracas and an electric ukulele) failed to result in correspondingly quirky music. Frontman Joel Thibodeau's distinctive visual and vocal aesthetic took a backseat to his aloof stage presence. He continually requested a louder monitor in spite of his tendency to shy away from the mic, and remained inexplicably silent between songs except when he mentioned that the beer he was drinking, a Monsta Ale, wasn't quite cutting it. Halfway through the set, though, multi-instrumentalist Don Larson started to steal the show. His shoegaze-tinted style mixed elements of Broken Social Scene, R.E.M. and Pink Floyd, infusing the otherwise lackluster songs with much-needed energy. Perhaps his only weaknesses were his abortive attempts at stand-up comedy and his love affair with the wah-wah pedal. But these sparse moments of solidity only threw the rest of Death Vessel's thin and unremarkable songwriting into starker contrast. Fortunately, the real treat came immediately before the headlining band. Micah Blue Smaldone's haunting, hypnotic solo acoustic set required patience, but was ultimately far more satisfying than Death Vessel . Where Thibodeau was disturbingly disengaged from the audience, Smaldone captivated the crowd with his endearing presence, equal parts bashful self-awareness and tasteful virtuosity. Incidentally, he also played some of the most memorable melodies of the evening as the bassist for Death Vessel. The Living Room is a charmingly squalid venue with a very good sound system; however, beware. Fliers claimed the show would start at 8 p.m., but doors didn't open until 8:30, nobody played until 9:30, and the three-band show wasn't over until 12:30 a.m.
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