It’s been a busy couple of weeks — parades, festivals, races, culminating with even the simple act of breathing turning into an arduous affair — but with the prospect of crawling into a long weekend thought it was time to finally surface again so the legions of fans who hang on my every recommendation could enjoy their time away without stress. (More importantly, if there’s anything as synonymous with mindless celebration and endlessly transmitting your thoughts as wisdom as this country on its birthday, it’s the unsolicited, unread ramblings I pass off as posts.) As such, get ready for your own personal fireworks display as I share some of my favorite finds of late, certain to brighten your barbecue and dazzle your days off.
First I wanted to share some reading material for those of you who may be heading to the beach for the long weekend. I recently finished Steven Hyden’s Twilight of the Gods: A Journey to the End of Classic Rock, which was one of many recent finds at my newest used book store. It’s a really fun read — Hyden (who used to write for the AV Club here and has several other books in my queue — one on Radiohead, another on Pearl Jam) systematically explains his love of classic rock by taking us on a tour of some of the biggest names in the genre. It’s part history lesson, as he talks us through dozens of legendary acts — from Springsteen and Dylan to the Beatles, Stones, Who, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Sabbath, Neil Young, the Dead, and even less respected acts like REO Speedwagon, Styx, and Phish. (Hyden says classic rock starts with Sgt Pepper and ends with NIN’s The Fragile, just to bound the debate.) It’s also part travelogue, as the topics often surface based on Hyden’s trips to the endless nostalgia/reunion tours these acts put on, part of his decades-long dedication to them, whether past their prime or not.
I almost categorically refuse to go see shows like this — the bands are often years (sometimes decades) past putting out new material (or material that’s any good, at least) and often have undergone so many lineup changes the only original entity left sometimes is the second bassist from the third album and the sound guy from the 60s. As such, they’re shells of their peak incarnations and thus almost always recipes for disappointment for me — so to hear some of the arguments from a fellow fan as to why he keeps going was interesting and enjoyable. (And I’m not made of stone — I briefly bypassed my boycott and went and saw the Walkmen recently, as I wrote about last time, and that was a solid showing from a long dormant fave.)
The whole book has that loose, engaging feel, as if you’re at the bar having a rolling debate with a similarly obsessed best friend. “Are you insane? There’s no way *** is a better band/album than ***!” or “That’s what I’ve been saying for years! *** really IS the best band/album!” (At least for me — though I am a similarly obsessed music fiend who’s spent decades writing a blog that next to no one reads, so maybe I’m the narrowly targeted demographic here…)
Sometimes he’s just debating himself — his internal dialogue over Pearl Jam vs Wilco (and subsequently Ed Ved vs Tweedy), provoked when he has to choose between which show to see as both bands are playing in his town on the same night, is fantastic. (Verdict — he chose to see Pearl Jam, but feels Wilco has the better discography, listens to it more often, and wishes to apologize to Mr Tweedy and the rest of the band as he feels guilt and remorse (though not regret) about his choice.) For the most part, though, it feels like Hyden is having the conversation with you, teeing up topics and statements almost guaranteed to generate a response.
He starts by establishing common ground, gradually growing into his potentially more provocative statements as the book carries on. Hyden’s early encapsulation of what drew him to the music is an example of the former and was particularly resonant to me — “What I loved about classic rock as a kid is it seemed to have been around forever. Classic rock was there before I was born, and I was sure that it would still be there long after I was gone. Plugging into that made me feel part of classic rock’s impermanence. Classic rock represented a continuum that had started long before me and reached all the way to the grunge bands that I loved in the present moment. It felt like the opposite of pop music, which was proudly disposable and all about the here and now. Pop was inherently nihilistic, whereas classic rock had roots that you could trace back as far as you cared to go.”
As a kid classic rock was this amorphous thing that I knew from listening to ‘CKG on the radio and from the records my mom and dad endlessly played around the house. The Beatles and Boss for mom, the Stones, Who, and Zep for Pops. Plus countless other bands whose songs I knew all the words and melodies to, but took years to eventually learn who they actually belonged to, as my parents and the radio didn’t announce every track they played. (Or they got tired of me endlessly asking “who was that? Ooh who was that?” after something caught my ear.)
It was this established lineage that first appealed to my investigative spirit — this band was influenced by this one who had this guy on their album who worked with this other artist who used to be in this other band who opened for this other gal who was the daughter of this guy and on and on it went — you just kept pulling the thread and chasing it down countless rabbit holes until something else sparked your interest and sent you traipsing down other trails. This, in contrast to popular music of the day, which seemed either manufactured in a lab or deliberately opaque (or worse, actively rejecting the things that drove them to make music in the first place).
Fittingly — as they were the first classic rock band that felt like my own as a kid, as I wrote about a few posts ago — there’s a chapter early on about Zeppelin and it’s a good example of what’s in store for the other acts that follow. There’s clever, funny observations — “Led Zeppelin IV was so cool that it wasn’t technically called Led Zeppelin IV — it didn’t have a proper title…Fans called it Led Zeppelin IV, as opposed to Led Zeppelin 4, because Zeppelin albums had the weight of Super Bowls.” Or “Most albums — even others recognized as Greatest LPs of All Time — typically…[have] at least one or two tracks that are considered filler…but that’s the thing about Led Zeppelin IV — every song is important…Side one of Led Zeppelin IV is so great that it’s actually a little dull to talk about…it’s like explaining why oral sex is an enjoyable pastime — don’t blowjobsplain, dude…”)
There’s rules and structure to the analysis — “There are two unwritten rules about Led Zeppelin IV and the first is that your favorite track must come from side two. The other law is that Led Zeppelin IV is too popular to be your favorite Zeppelin album; this is why rock critics who try too hard always make a case for In Through the Out Door being Zeppelin’s best.” (In no way, shape, or form is this last bit even remotely plausible — gun to my head I still think I pick the original, just for top to bottom brilliance and overall importance (you never forget your first love, I guess), but NO ONE can make an argument for Out Door that isn’t laughable. To riff off his earlier analogy, that’s like someone talking about all the oral sex their ‘friend’ is having and how you don’t understand the obsession/mind that you don’t get any/want it even if offered — just ask nicely and maybe you’ll get what you’re after, buddy, but please stop spouting nonsense…)
And there’s just flat out great lines (which also double as good topics for separate debate) — “‘Stairway’ is what happens when the lights are on; ‘Levee’ is strictly lights-out material, conjuring the feral sound of pure sexual and spiritual foreboding. Never in recorded history has [something] seemed so seductive and terrifying.” (FWIW I pass both this and his previous test as “Levee” has always been, and probably always will be, my favorite Zeppelin track — and not just on IV — whereas I skip “Stairway” to this day when it comes on. The haunting harmonica and those incredible, otherworldly drums — which as we know from the Bonham post was a miracle we almost didn’t get to enjoy — destroyed my brain the first time I heard them and have continued to after decades of listens.)
Hyden has similar highlights for scads more bands/things along the way, almost always inviting a response as you read — here are a few others (along with my thoughts in parens, essentially capturing the dialogue I was having with the inanimate book in my hands as I read — and people say I’m crazy…):
On the importance of albums — “I still care about albums, because I want to believe in albums…Our current world is a place where algorithms help us find an approximation of what we think we want. But the best albums deliver something you never knew you wanted. And it might take years of listening to the same record — over and over, because it hasn’t yet quite connected — before you finally get it.”
(There have been lots of these for me over the years — notable ones I remember being Portishead’s debut, which I loved the single from but couldn’t quite wrap my head around the rest of, before ultimately becoming one of my ongoing obsessions in college and overall faves. Or Nirvana’s In Utero, which I thought was good, but was so loud and raw sounding compared to Teen Spirit that it took me a while to come around to (its singing about turning black from cancer while my mom was slowly being destroyed by the same disease didn’t help either) but now I actually prefer to its predecessor.
Or NIN’s Downward Spiral, which I almost took back immediately after buying it at Best Buy and listening to it on the drive home. I loved the single there, as well, but the rest was just so different. So ANGRY. I hadn’t yet been knocked onto the path of grizzled, almost obstinate resistance and fighting that would characterize my following two-plus decades, so wasn’t ready for that level of ferocious rage. (I would be very shortly thereafter when Moms finally succumbed to her near-three year fight — then that album (and Rage’s first two — two other examples I didn’t really like/get at first) would become veeeeeeeeeeeery close friends…))
On guilty pleasures — “Now there’s even cachet associated with appreciating joyously inane mainstream culture. Which means that if you’re a forty-five-year-old man who loves Carly Ray Jepsen, you probably don’t ever shut the hell up about it. However, guilty pleasures haven’t completely gone away, the definition has just shifted. There are plenty of music opinions that you’re not allowed to share publicly without shame, it’s just that most of them have little to do with silly, frothy pop. Loving Carly Rae Jepsen is now acceptable, but loving, say, the jam-band stylings of Phish is not. I know this because I love Phish, and I can already feel you judging me about it…Phish proves that it’s possible to be well-known without being famous; for decades, they have existed in a bubble that has only slightly grazed the mainstream on a small handful of occasions. The only thing most people know about Phish is that they hate Phish.”
(I’m not a big fan (phan?) of the band — though I do still really like disc one of the double live album that came out when I was in college. And I DID spend a summer on the road serving pizza at shows on their (then) farewell tour, sleeping in the back of my Honda Civic and mesmerizing stoners with my dough tossing skills (and the stuffed crust pizza I created with them, subsequently stolen by the evil corporate henchman of Pizza Hut). And while I’m probably never going to say “hey let’s put on a Phish album” or go to another show, I appreciate the enthusiasm their fans have and the happy, joyful vibe of their shows.
Case in point, one of the shows during that summer was at a cow farm somewhere in rural Pennsylvania (or maybe New York? Or Vermont? It was a LONG summer) and as a result there was a literal mountain of cow shit right next to the camping grounds — maybe two, three stories tall and half a city block wide (or at least that’s how it looked/smelled when you sized up its impact.) It had rained (and continued to) for about 24 hours straight, turning the ground into a soupy, smelly miasma that everyone had to miserably trudge through — to get to their tents, to the port-a-potties, to the stages and back — and it was a hundred degrees outside once it finally stopped downpouring. So the conditions were miserable, every person/thing was covered in a mix of mud, sweat, and liquid cow shit (and the swarms of flies and mosquitoes prone to feed on said substances), and yet somehow almost everyone was in a great mood for the affair. People were pumped for pizza, pumped for Phish, pumped for LIFE, maaaaaan! Which taught me two very important lessons — a) some people — either thanks to their wiring, discipline, and/or sheer obliviousness — are able to be happy even in the most miserable conditions, which is something laudable to remember and strive for and/or b) marijuana is a hell of a drug, able to lift your spirits even if they’re drowning in a sea of patchouli and manure.)
On the Beatles — “Sgt Pepper is to Magical Mystery Tour what Is This It is to Room on Fire — the first Strokes album gets all the hype, but the follow-up that everyone always dismisses as crap is actually stronger.”
(I get what he’s saying here and mostly agree — both these second albums catch sh#$ for being disappointments, particularly in light of their much-hyped predecessors (although who in their right mind is going to say Room is a BAD album and dismiss it as crap?! That’s just ridiculous.) And I may actually prefer Mystery to Sgt Pepper (or at least don’t go back to the latter much, but do occasionally spin the former), but there’s no way Room on Fire is better than Is This It. At best you might be able to get me to entertain it as a close second, but there’s zero chance you’re going to get me to agree that it’s BETTER than that debut. I still have the British version of that one on a burned disc somewhere (before they re-recorded/balanced it for the US version, stripping out the rawness (and “NYC Cops”) and it’s still a near-perfect listen. So while I agree Room on Fire is a really GOOD album (“Automatic Stop” is still one of my absolute favorites) you’re out of your mind if you think it’s better than that classic.)
On Dylan — “Dylan’s methods have always been primitive and slapdash compared with the pop geniuses of his time. He gets bored playing anything more than once. He’s quick to say ‘good enough…’ For years he routinely left some of the best songs off his albums…It’s not an exaggeration to suggest…that bootleggers have had better taste in Dylan’s music than Dylan himself.” [Which begs the question] “Does Dylan intentionally make it hard for his most ardent followers to hear some of his best material? Or is it possible that he’s held back so much music because he honestly believes that the best versions of his songs don’t yet exist?”
(Dylan, for me, is something of a mystery. I understand the importance and like some of the albums/songs — Blonde on Blonde, Bringing it All Back Home, and Highway 61 are albums I listened to a bunch in college and the greatest hits albums were filled with good stuff, but nothing since the 70s ever caught me and I don’t often find myself going back even to the aforementioned ones much — but don’t get the undying devotion so many folks show. (And definitely don’t get the continued “genius” critiques — or Grammy noms/wins — for recent outings.) I guess he’s sort of like the pyramids to me — they’re iconic, they’ve been around forever, and were the site of worship to a dedicated band of followers, but they look (/sound) a little ragged now and I’ve no real interest in seeing them in person.)
On women — “Since the beginning of time, women have been the greatest rock fans. No band has ever formed with the intention of attracting a room full of guys. A guy-heavy audience is the absolute worst for rock ‘n’ roll — who wants to play for plain, basic, boring-ass dudes? Women dance. Women scream. Women look glamorous when they’re sweaty — unlike men, who just look sweaty. Women also have the best taste….Women will stand by you even if you’re considered uncool by so-called experts. They’re always the ones you want in your corner.”
(Women are great — no argument here. If you know any who love music, Chicago, and bald dudes with bulldogs and beards, let me know.)
On the irrepressible allure of Fleetwood Mac — “Just try to find an uncompelling photo of Fleetwood Mac taken at any point between 1975 and 1987. I’ve spent hours scouring Google Images in search of a single Fleetwood Mac band photo to which I am not sexually attracted, and failed every time.”
(This is an attractive band — no argument here either. Let’s drink some cranberry juice and just bliss out to “Dreams,” shall we?)
Over the course of all these conversations I very rarely was not nodding my head in agreement — I’m still not a huge Springsteen fan (though obviously respect the craft, impact, and dedication to playing 3-hour shows every night for this many years), nor do Dylan or Phish do it for me (though really enjoyed both those chapters, as cited above). The one exception probably was when he took a shot at the Prodigy (“Virtually nobody remembers them now, but for about six months in 1997, some very overexcited music critics tried to convince readers that the Prodigy were the Sex Pistols of electronic music.”) (A) I very much remember them and B) still think their ’97 album Fat of the Land i) rocks and ii) remains a classic of the genre. (And there are plenty of good tracks off their first two albums — and the follow-on to Fat — too, which actually makes them more productive than the Sex Pistols, even if those other albums didn’t shred quite as hard as that big one.)
Overall, though, whether you like the bands/artists he’s describing, I think you’ll undeniably enjoy the journey — and maybe even be enticed to go back and revisit some of these bands, just to see if maybe you missed something before. Hyden’s summation at the end on the continued importance of classic rock brings it all home nicely — “When I was a kid, classic rock was a fantasyland populated by the impossibly cool and occasionally wise, where revelatory feats of daring and moxie were perpetuated in smoky concert halls and expensive recording studios by damaged geniuses and noble fools. Inside every album lay mystery, danger, sex, laughs, and maybe a good tip or two on how to live. It was a seductive place that I never wanted to leave, even after I grew up. And, I guess, I never did.”
So the next time you see an announcement for one of those ancient acts of your parents’ adolescence coming to town, don’t scoff and speak of them derisively — think of the Stevens in the crowd (or the Phish pholk!), showing their gratitude for what they were, not necessarily what they now ARE, and if nothing else maybe give them another listen. You might remember something you’ve loved/left behind!
In honor of the 4th we’ll close with a quartet of albums getting frequent spins lately — the first of which comes from RTJ fave Killer Mike, back with his first solo album since 2012’s R.A.P. Music. It’s got a bunch of guest appearances (including from the elusive Andre 3000) and has some solid beats to back up his ever-impressive verses, but gets a bit preachy for me at times (lots of talk about the Lord and what she’s done for him). That said, there’s enough good stuff outside of that to keep you coming back for more. (On album or otherwise, Mike almost always has something interesting to say, whether you agree with him or not.) The track with fellow jewel runner El and the opening track with former Goodie Mob mate Cee-Lo are two of my faves — give both of em a spin here:
Next we’ll jump to the opposite coast and a polar opposite in terms of tone and content — from Atlanta to Seattle and from rap to folk, courtesy of singer/songwriter Dean Johnson. I posted about him over on the ‘gram a few weeks back (lead single and #fridayfreshness champ “Faraway Skies” remains a little slice of heaven) and thankfully the rest of the album is every bit as good as that opening foray hinted. It’s Johnson’s debut, and a bit of an odd one at that (apparently he recorded its nine songs five YEARS ago?!), but is well worth the wait. Johnson’s voice is great (“soothing and pure like a soak in a cool, crisp creek,” to cite myself) and his playing is as steady and stately as that cowboy on the range conjured in the aforementioned single. “Acting School” and “Shouldn’t Say Mine” are two faves on a rather flawless half hour — check em out below!
Next we’ll shift to the south and LA’s Cory Hanson whose recently released third album (the terribly titled Western Cum) just dropped and has been beguiling me ever since. In contrast to his last one (2021’s lovely Pale Horse Rider), this one finds Hanson plugging in his guitar and rattling off heroic rounds of riffage across the album’s eight songs. (None moreso than on the epic “Driving Through Heaven,” which stretches for over ten glorious minutes.) His voice is a chameleon — at times I get Chrissie Hynde, others Thom Yorke or Neil Young. As such, the songs sometimes call to mind early Radiohead or Crazy Horse, as well as Wilco, White Denim, or even Skynyrd as the guitars double or triple up their attack. And just as soon as you think you’ve got it pegged, you hear a different influence coming to the fore as it shifts off in another direction. No matter who you’re hearing, it’s a really good listen — my favorite has shifted almost daily ever since I started listening, but these two remain high on the list. Check out “Wings” and “Motion Sickness” below:
Last but definitely not least we’ll close with the one I’ve been listening to most, the eighth studio album from faves Queens of the Stone Age, which has been a bit of a grower. Initially, aside from a couple of tracks I was a bit disappointed — there weren’t as many immediate face melters as on previous outings and what surrounded them was a somewhat underwhelming mix of Homme’s corny puns (“Obscenery,” “I don’t care what the peephole say” as replacement for “what the people say,” etc) and the band’s dark carnival music. At least at first. Then this thing sank its claws into my brain and I’ve been listening to it obsessively ever since. Thundergod Jon Theodore’s drums on “Negative Space” and the closing jam “Straight Jacket Fitting” got in first, then the blistering guitar riff on “Carnavoyeur” or rollicking bass on “Peephole.” Basically everyone got a turn after that. (Though I still kind of hate “Made to Parade”) The two that grabbed me immediately remain on constant repeat, though — so give “Paper Machete” and “Emotion Sickness” a listen and get your fireworks started early:
That’s all for now — enjoy the holiday, amici…
–BS