One Album Wonders: How many Buffalo did you say you've seen?

60 000 000 Buffalo weren't supposed to be one album wonders. Unlike some others in this series, they didn't struggle through self-publishing or difficult record company dealings. They were contracted for two albums by the mid-sized Atco label, but after completing Nevada Jukebox the band soon broke up afterwards. Which is a shame because lead singer Judy Roderick was an absolute powerhouse and Don Debacker on guitar was no slouch either. The group was in a friendly competition with fellow Colorado band Zephyr, whose lead singer Candy Givens - like Judy Roderick - somewhat recalled Janis Joplin. I'd say Roderick was less obviously imitating Joplin, and while Zephyr had its moments, I overall prefer the country-fried vibe of Nevada Jukebox. 

In many ways, 60 000 000 Buffalo are somewhat typical of a hippie band in 1972, freewheelin' while generally staying in a blues rock framework with some country influences mixed in as was the style of the day. "Lovely Ladies" with its slightly sludgy midtempo blues stomp is probably a good representation of their style, while "Denver Dame" does the same thing in a more relaxed register. "Canyon Persuasion" shows that Roderick is equally effective with a ballad, while Don Debacker gets a vocal cameo on the old timey country rag "Shake it & Break It". But the real highlights of the album are the lilting "Country Girl Again" and their turbo-charged cover of the traditional "Maid Of Constant Sorrow" which old time One Buck Heads might remember from all the way back on All Pearl, No Swine Vol. 2. 

This is a nice rock'n'roll'n'blues'n'country record from back in the day - nothing more, nothing less. But sometimes that is quite enough. 

The Byrds come full circle, now even more in style...

At long last, we come to the end of the Byrds' twilight years, and the end of my associated series of alternate albums, chronicling the band's adventures from the recruitment of Gram Parsons in late 1967 to the last album to wear the Byrds name. When Asylum announced that the classic five-piece line-up of the original Byrds would reunite and record an album, expectations were flying high. Way too high, as it turns out. When the record came out and was passable, rather than great, critics came down hard on the adventure. Of course, by 1973 things had changed so much that any direct continuation of where the band had stopped in 1966 would have been illusory. There was no return to innocence. Nor was such a thing ever planned. The reunited band was a band only in the absolute loosest sense of the term. With all of them (besides Michael Clarke, who was just happy to be there and collect a sizable check) having eyes and attention on other projects and David Crosby thanks to Crosby, Stills & Nash having risen to a status of immense power, the get together was modeled like the latter, a semi-recurring side adventure while everyone else was also doing their solo careers and projects. 

Since everyone was still tied into other things when David Geffen initiated the Byrds reunion (McGuinn was wrapping up with the CBS Byrds and Hillman with Manassas), there was little time spent rehearsing and playing with each other, not to mention collaborating or co-songwriting. When the not very inspiringly titled Byrds came out, the album sold well, returning the band to the Top 50 in the album charts after Farther Along's abysmal performance, but the critics savaged the record. It seemed a trifle, bereft of inspiration or conviction, a record made by a bunch of rock stars to make themselves richer, employing an affable but ultimately disppointing country rock sheen on a number of pedestrian songs. 

The album also bore all the hallmarks of a compromise due to egos and old war wounds involved. As this was more or less Crosby's project (as the official producer), he had not very subtly sidelined old foe Roger McGuinn. McGuinn gets a mere two lead vocals and is completely absent from the b-side of the album. The greatest beneficiary of the old McGuinn-Crosby grudge was Gene Clark who - as a sort of neutral person in the middle - got four lead vocals, including on the two Neil Young songs on the album. Hillman had deliberately brought his worst songs, basically two outtakes from Manassas' Down The Road sessions, and kept his better compositions for a future solo album, feeling the others were doing the same. 

Now, obviously I don't share all the gripes with the album, it is much better than it is generally given credit for. The playing and singing at times is marvelous and does remind you of the magic of the original Byrds. But the strains of ego-soothing and the lack of effort or good will from some members do show, as the album could and should have been better. There is some really good stuff on the album, but 'really good stuff' wasn't what people wanted, they wanted the genius and adventurous attitude they associated with The Band That Started It All. But the makings of a good album are there, and with some care and some little twisting and fixing we might just get there. So, let's take a look back towards the end of the recording of the album and how things might have turned out differently and better: 

The sessions had proceed as planned, with producer Crosby paying little mind to the classic Byrds sound and due to old grudges actively trying to minimize McGuinn’s contributions. The fate of the project changes during a playback meeting with David Geffen. Geffen is flabbergasted by what he hears, remarking “This doesn’t sound like the fuckin’ Byrds”. When Crosby wants to give him the old spiel about the band changing and evolving, Geffen wants to hear none of it. ”Where’s McGuinn?” he asks, after realizing that the voice most associated with the Byrds is missing in action for three quarters of the album. So Geffen wonders about how to get a product that is more to his liking and, more importantly, distinctly more Byrds-ian. Scheduling new sessions with the group members, who are all off to other obligations proves impractical, if not impossible. An off the cuff remark from McGuinn about how “back then, we sounded like the Byrds” referring to the sessions for an aborted Gene Clark single in 1970 sparks an idea in Geffen’s mind. 

He contacts Jim Dickson to find out more about possible Byrds and Byrds-ian tracks in A&M’s vaults, falling in love with the “She’s the Kind Of Girl/One In A Hundred” single that wasn’t. Dickson also points him to an outtake from Gene Clark’s Roadmaster album sessions, a recut version of “She Don’t Care About Time” that prominently features McGuinn, to the point where his co-lead with Gene is essentially a lead vocal. Seeing how that track never featured on a Byrds album, Geffen licenses it, together with the two tracks that the Byrds cut in 1970 (all recording separately, but still). To make space on the album, Crosby is asked to drop one of his compositions, which he refuses, to no avail. “Long Live The King” is dropped, Crosby’s complaints about the album now being unbalanced remain unheard, with Gene Clark – who brought the strongest material in the first place – profiting even more from the reconfiguration, getting 50 % of the lead vocals. Perhaps a quiet make-up gesture for the shabby way his material was pushed off the first albums (and the shabby way he was pushed out of the band). The new album features a much more prominent Byrds-ian sound and a better distribution of McGuinn’s presence throughout the album.

And so this is what Full Circle - once the working title for the album, but abandoned because Clark hadn't written it for the occasion and didn't want it to come off that way - is. A better version, and a more Byrds-ian album to end the band's run on a higher note. Having the tracks in place, off to the sequencing: Since Gene Clark gets half of the leads (obviously wouldn't have happened in real life, but quality trumps real life here), his tracks are put to alternate with every one else's and the re-instated title track would obviously lead things off. Since I wanted a punchy opening, next is Chris' "Things Will Be Better", which is actually a really nice power-pop number that doesn't deserve the auto-derision its author retrospectively put on it ("Awful stuff."). Then it's time to meet head Byrd Roger, even if "Born To Rock'n'Roll" stays a relative mediocre song. (Chris again: "Terrible. Yuck!")

Crosby's Joni Mitchell cover gets his first apparition out of the way, as the entire Byrds cast is wheeled out one after the other in between Clark's stellar work. Then we end side a with the aforementioned "She Don't Care About Time" which brings more McGuinn to the table. Side B then launches with the lovely "She's The Kind Of Girl" that really brings you back to 1965 (fittingly, since the song was written before the Byrds where even signed), then we hide Hillman's "Borrowin' Time" - admittedly a weaker track - before Crosby's well-done reworking of "Laughing". McGuinn gets to do the folkie-Byrds with "Sweet Marie" before the fearsome fivesome sign off with their greatly underrated take on Neil Young's "(See The Sky) About To Rain", whose glorious coda - mixed startingly louder than the rest of the song - is pure Byrds. 

Full Circle catches The Byrds - at least fleetingly - in their last moments of glory. Further and further removed from the unrealistic expectations heaped upon it in 1973, the album - especially in this version if I dare say so - holds up as a real good listen. See if you agree.   

P.S.: This might be the end of the alternate album Byrds here at One Buck Records, but not the end for its participants showing up here. There will be more Roger McGuinn to come, more Gene Clark of course, and I just finished working on reconfigured versions of the next closest thing to the Byrds: the semi-successful reunion as McGuinn, Clark & Hillman. So, Byrds-fans, as usual, stay tuned...

Back to the roots with All Pearls, No Swine

After having a couple of APNS volumes that strayed into different decades or included a resonable number of reasonably known artists, this version of All Pearls, No Swine goes back to the roots: tons of great tracks from micro-label or self-published artists. Looking at the track list, I'd say maybe Justine (with Laurie Styvers) and the hidden-all star Alpha Band are more widely known, but that's already a bit of a stretch. The rest are very talented folk who never made it particularly big. Oh, and Cheryl Dilcher had two of her albums on A&M, so she's technically a major label artist, I reckon. "Cotton Eye Joe" is from her debut on Ampex, though. And unfortunately those two A&M platters sold nothing, so by album four she was indeed with the self-publishing crowd. And, as the cover might indicate, there's another sense of going back to the roots, as we wander back deeply into country and folk territory, some of the most fertile grounds for pearls from the 1970s. 

If you are a fiend of little to unknown country rock, like your friendly neighbourhood blogger OBG, you'll be happy to find Colorado outfit The Black Canyon Gang looking for "Acapulco Gold". Barry Zell, né Barry Pagliaroli, was part of the - don't laugh - New Jersey country rock scene and was backed on his one record by One Buck Records faves and one-album wonders Lakota. Fellow one-album band Mantra from Montreal mixed folk and country rock influences together, with "Tomorrow Without You" more the former than the latter. Crowfoot (below) are on the outer periphery of country rock, dipping into everything from light psychedelia to soft rock and some folk-ish stuff as well. 

Could these dudes possibly look any more like hippies?

Speaking of folk-ish stuff: U.K. artist Baby Sunshine is Ian Scott Massie who gave up music after one album to focus on writing and watercolour painting. For some more internatioonal flavor we have aussie Gino Cunico (yeah, with that name I would've thought he's from New Jersey, also...) giving the softest of soft-rock treatment to the Goffin-King classic "Goin' Back" and Spanish pop trio Nubes Grises. And back over in ol' Cali, folk-rockers Saltcreek bravely named their first record I, probably in the hopes of many more to come, which unfortunately didn't happen. Folkie Rod Abernethy joined Arrogance as lead guitar player for a while in the late 70s and 80s before becoming a hugely successful composer of music for computer games. His compilation closer "Cavalry" comes from a various local artist compilation LP recorded and issued in Raleigh, North Carolina in 1973.  

So, this is it, folks. All Pearls, No Swine up to its old tricks in its old hunting grounds. Relaxed, countrified sweetness for a warm summer's eve on the back porch, or your living room. Enjoy. 

Ain't it grand time to shill the rubes, David !?

And the David Bowie plastic soul extravaganza continues here at One Buck Records, as here is part two of the David Bowie Young Americans project. And like said in the piece on Young Americans - The Complete Edition, today's One Buck Record is an alternate version of Young Americans, one which does include two of the most famous outtakes from the period: "The Gouster" - which gave Bowie's first configuration of the album its name and a famed outtake that for years was simply a song title with no assurance that the rumored title and song actually existed. This is even more true of "Shilling The Rubes", which for years was only known as a rumored title of the album, but no leaked track that would prove its existence. And yet, "Shilling The Rubes" does indeed exist and is giving this alternate album its title. It is, however, much less polished than many of its brethren from the Sigma sessions, and in order to make it a satisfying track, some surgery had to be performed. "Shilling The Rubes" is clearly a demo that has a guide vocal by the man himself, and at one point he hasn't finished the lyrics yet, and is simply doo-doo-dooing over the melody. That section has been removed, as has been the studio chatter during the last seconds of the music. Now, "Shilling The Rubes" sounds more than ever like a finished song, warts and all. However, the songwriting and production style of "The Gouster" and "Shilling The Rubes" is quite different from the final Young Americans album, so they wouldn't have been a good fit for The Complete Edition.

The third track not on Young Americans - The Complete Edition is Bowie's cover of Springsteen's "It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City". While the other two were left for the above reasons, I didn't include "Saint" because there are - even among Bowie experts - some discussions about its exact provinence. Bowie clearly worked on a version of the song at Sigma, but the two releases it was on list it as a Station To Station outtake, so possibly another version was cut at Cherokee studios, but - as Nicholas Pegg argues - the finished track has a number of Young Americans hallmarks, so most likely the available version is indeed from Sigma studios with possible later overdubs for Station To Station before being re-abandoned again. 

As for the rest of the songs from the album, all of them are alternative versions or mixes. "Young Americans" is presented by what is called The 'Gouster version', though the differences are relatively minimal. The 'Gouster version' of "Right" is quite different though, with some more pronounced guitar work, less emphasis on the sax and the backing choir and a different Bowie vocal in which he doesn't try as hard to be a seductive soul singer. 

"Across The Universe" is presented in a stripped-down mix that takes off most of the instruments to focus on Bowie's admittedly stellar vocals (and Lennon's backing vocals). "I hammered the hell out of it" said the man without a trace of false modesty. "Someone Up There Likes Me" is an unfinished mix that sounds a little sprightlier than the finished version, though I edited down the endless vamp section at the end. Interesting for a different reason is the alternative versions of "Win", which was essentially due to an accident: When prepping the first CD edition of Young Americans, the original 1974 mixes were accidentally swapped out for these 'alternative echo-heavy mixes'. The Ryko Disc remaster from 1991 rectified that error and issued the album in its original form.

The "Young Americans (Reprise)" track was created from an early version of the song with an entirely different, slower but more funk-inspired rhythm. Problem being: That track exists (in public) only as a one-minute snippet, so I did some editing with a bit from the original to turn it into its final form...

So, out of all these disparate ingredients I tried to create a new, fresh look at Young Americans. I think I succeeded, but then again, maybe it is I who is just shilling the rubes... 

Mr. Bowie and his entire plastic soul extravaganza...

It's been a good long while since I posted something involving Mr. David Jones. And last time I did, I previewed doing something with Young Americans, Bowie's soul-inspired interlude in between roughly the Ziggy Stardust and Thin White Duke/Berlin-Trilogy eras. Which is already quite descriptive of Young Americans. Unlike all the projects surrounding it, Young Americans didn't have a big fancy concept or conceipt behind it, it was quote unquote just an album of songs. Which is fine, obviously, though for some Young Americans could never quite shake its reputation as a transitional album, made by an uncertain artist. Which, technically is probably true, but that doesn't lessen the modest pleasures of Young Americans. Not to mention it did what was its unofficial goal: establish Bowie completely in the American market. Before this album Bowie had essentially been a curio, that weird Brit who could place a song or two in the charts and of course had a devoted fan following during the Ziggy years, but hadn't really made much inroads on being a household name or being a constant charts presence. Young Americans changed that.   

Modest pleasures you heard me say? Yes, I wouldn't rate Young Americans as a top Bowie album, and it's not among my favorites, though last time we talked about Bowie one user had it as theirs. But it is a pretty nice diversion - the fact that there isn't some sort of fancy sci-fi or arthouse concept attached might actually work in its favor for some. It's an album purely for pleasure - fitting, since Bowie is trying his hands on Philly Soul, albeit at a typically distanced fashion, thus the term 'plastic soul' he coined himself, pointing out the ersatz nature of the exercise and the fact that a "white limey" (in his own word) was singing soul music, or, rather, some kind of mutated, Bowie-fied version of soul music. 

What changed the trajectory of Young Americans quite a bit was the belated and unexpected presence of one John Winston Lennon. Writing and recording of most tracks had been completed in Philly's fame Sigma studios during two hectic (and cocaine-filled) weeks in August 1974, then in late December Bowie and his crew wrapped up "Win" and "Fascination" at New Tork's Record Plant and the album seemed to be set, with Bowie and Toni Visconti starting to mix the recordings. Lennon was also at the Record Plant, putting the finishing touches on his all-covers album "Rock'n'Roll". The two Brits, who had begun socializing  a year before, went into a one-day recording session at Electric Ladyland to ostensibly record a cover of "Footstompin'", an old doo-wop number that Bowie had already played in concert and where guitar slinger Carlos alomar had developed the beginning of the riff that would turn into "Fame". Rightfully thinking that the riff was too good for a mere cover, Bowie and Lennon wrote and recorded "Fame" on the spot and then - possibly slightly overegging the pudding - Bowie's take on "Across The Universe". 

Bowie called Visconti, who had returned to London the morning of the recording session, somewhat apologetic - both for Visconti missing out on working with Lennon and for the fact that the inclusion of the two new cuts would mean that other completed songs for the album would have to be dropped. This is entirely in the eye of the beholder, but I think he dropped the ball on this one and the wrong tracks from the album. "Who Can I Be Now" and "It's Gonna Be Me" were both taken off the album at the last minute to make space for the Lennon collaborations. Visconti sounded non-plussed about the decision: "Beautiful songs and it made me sick when he decided not to use them". 

On one hand you can argue that the driving "Fame" and his take on "Across The Universe" bring some much needed muscle to an album that otherwise floats by on sometimes interchangeable midtempo grooves. On the other, the two dropped songs were clear highlights of the sessions and I would've rather dropped "Win" and "Right" (or maybe "Can You Hear Me"). Another solution to this conundrum didn't really exist for Bowie in 1975, but it does today here on One Buck Records: Just make the damn thing a double album! Which is of course what Young Americans - The Complete Edition is, a look at how Young Americans would sound like if, instead of replacing those two songs he adds the Lennon-tracks and then rescues his soul-reworking of "John, I'm Only Dancing". That song was clearly dear to him, turning up as the opening track on early mock-ups of the album. When the album was initially dubbed The Gouster in September, it was the opening track, and even in December - when Bowie wanted to call the album Fascination after the then just finished track - it was still in that spot. But it got mercilessly axed, like those two great soul ballads. Throw in "After Today", a disco-soul excursion with Bowie in falsetto mode, and you've got yourself a solid double vinyl album. 

Twelve tracks, spread across four sides at three tracks each, with every side coming in at a little more than 15 minutes - this could have totally worked, even if at aroung 62 minutes it would have been on the shorter side of double albums. Well, it'll be for you to judge what you make of Bowie's plastic soul extravaganza - now longer and better than ever. 

But that isn't all, dear non-paying customer! Young Americans - The Complete Edition is part of a two-tier project. Be back in two days' time for Shilling The Rubes, an alternate album version of Young Americans featuring a different set of outtakes and different versions of the album's songs...

Blue Öyster Cult cause a ruckus...as they damn well should...

Unlike our first group of musical hooligans causing a ruckus at the movies, Blue Öyster Cult weren't quite as busy or involved in providing music for movies. The one huge exception is of course their signature tune "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" which has shown up - credited or uncredited - in about three dozen different films and tv shows. So obviously the Ruckus At The Movies: Blue Öyster Cult edition opens with "Reaper". But since everybody already has (or bloody well should have) that one, I decided to include the re-recording the band did for Cult Classics, an album directly inspired by the public's renewed interest in the band after "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" was so effectively used in the opening of the 1994 The Stand mini-series. Which, incidentally, was also my first brush with BÖC. 

But the band's other film adventures were more modest in nature and sometimes not entirely successful. They were for example asked to provide some songs for the movie Teachers in 1984, which the band dutifully did, writing three relatively Neanderthal-ian shool-themed songs, rhyming rebel with devil etc. I guess they were the knuckleheads of their class. Anyway, somehow the deal fell through and BÖC weren't featured on the soundtrack that had, among others 38 Special, ZZ Top and...uh...Joe Cocker (?!). The three demos the band recorded for Teachers are of course featured here.and, as said, they're pretty good in a 'dumb but fun' way. Probably about as good as the BÖC were gonna be in 1984 - and the fact that they are only demos probably worked out for the best, as they escape the hideous overproduction of The Revolution By Night and Club Ninja. 

This was, in many ways, the second time the band had invested time, money and effort writing and producing music for a film that then...turned out differently. They had written a couple of songs with the hopes of seeing them included in Heavy Metal - The Film, but none of the specifically prepared songs were picked. Instead, the producers chose "Veteran Of The Psychic Wars", a superb sci-fi song. The rest of the songs landed on Fire Of Unknown Origin and form a sort of mini-album within the album. I included the one most obviously made for Heavy Metal: "Vengeance (The Pact)", which recounts the adventures of one of the main stories of the film, Taarna, which is probably and ironically what got it axed in the first place. Oh, also: it is absolutely kick-ass, one of the best of the Cult from the 80s, when the pickings began to get slimmer. 

And finally, there is the BÖC's one time where they were completely in control of a film's music. Unfortunately it was for a complete turd of a film, a cheap Charles Band sc-fi flick called Bad Channels. Fortunately, the band provided not only two heavy metal song to the soundtrack, but also the entire score. Unfortunately, it was almost all incidental music, broken up into often very short bits and thus not a particularly good listen. Fortunately, the One Buck Guy is not gonna let that pass, so I picked what I thought were the best moment of the score and edited them into three suites extravagantly called "Bad Channels Suite". These should be much more satisfying listens.  

So, it was time to get some BÖC on this here blog, and why not with a listen to them causing a ruckus at the movies...

The alt album Byrds series goes farther along...

Now that we enter the true purple period of the Byrds twilight years, it's storytime with Uncle OBG once again, who tells you how things could've gone down way back in the early 1970s...

The year is 1971. The place is L.A. The Byrds have convened during a short break in their immense touring schedule to begin recording their tenth studio album. The sessions did not go as well as for the predecessor. Several Byrds members were distracted, going through divorces. And producer Terry Melcher, a veteran working with the band - having produced their first two albums and the two most recent ones - was in a state of turmoil and torment as well. About two third through the recordings, Terry Melcher, citing 'exhaustion' checks himself into a mental health facility, after years of wine, women and drugs amplified rather than soothed down his (justified) paranoia that the Manson family really was after him when they went on their murder spree. With the sessions unfinished and the Byrds scheduled to go right back on the road, the Byrds strike a deal with Columbia Records: They promise to go back into the studio as soon as possible to finish the album. In the meantime, Columbia gets to pick from the completed Melcher material to issue a stop gap single, but "Glory Glory" b/w "I Want To Grow Up To Be A Politician" doesn't trouble the charts in any way. When the Byrds reconvene in the studio and listen back to the Melcher material, they decide to go in a less elaborate direction and rather try to put the simpler, earthier sound they have on the road on the record. Columbia execs insist that for more commercial viability at least 40% of the album has to come from the Melcher sessions and has to be left with his production intact. The Byrds agree and otherwise proceed to cut the rest of the songs for what will become Farther Along in the summer, with the hybrid album hitting shelves in late 1971... 

Well, things didn't quite go down like this, of course, as Melcher poured on the overdubs on the Byrdmaniax tracks while the band had hit the road again and most of the band - but especially the traditionalist axis of Gene Parsons and Clarence White - were flabbergasted when they heard the results. And their decision to quickly record a more appropriate follow-up later in London in unseemly haste - basic tracking and recording was done in just five days, with most songs written or finished to be written within the same short time frame - was an overreaction to the arch pop excesses of Byrdmaniax. 

But it might have been better if they had gone down like that, as today's alt album easily covers the most problematic stretch in Byrds history. Byrdmaniax is pretty much as awful as everyone says it is. Weak songs and a ridiculously overblown production make for a terrible mix, with the lowest amount of keepers of any Byrds album, which is reflected in my choise of only including five of its tracks in my version of Farther Along. However, and I explained why in my intro to the Byrds alt album series, I love the original Farther Along, so I really only threw off the bad stuff which basically comes down to their super-dull cover of "So Fine" and Gene Parsons' misguided roadie comedy song "B.B. Class Road". "Bristol Steam Convention Blues" is fine, but surplus to requirements since the superior "Green Apple Quick Step" is included. "Precious Kate" was right on the cut line, but some typically lovely guitar playing from Clarence White had it come down on the right side of that line.  

One of the biggest disappointments of the last two CBS Byrds albums is how little Gene Parsons contributed. After having secret or not-so-secret highlights on Ballad Of Easy Rider ("Gunga Din") and (Untitled)/Phoenix ("Yesterday's Train") he had no songs on Byrdmaniax and the two songs he had on the original Farther Along were far from his best. He deserves to be present on this Byrds album that represents the end of his tenure, but I edited "Get Down Your Line" down and shaved off the 'groovy' (or: annoying) ending pretty drastically. Surprisingly, considering his increasing reputation for including wacky novelty songs ill-fitting for the Byrds, Skip Battin gets three songs on my version of Farther Along, the two superior ballads from the two albums, as well as "America's Great National Pastime", which was the last single the CBS band would issue. Johnny Rogan, in his standard work on the Byrds, Timeless Flight Revisited, reserved his biggest scorn for that song, hyperbolically calling its inclusion "inexcusable" and "the severest loss of musical identity the Byrds ever suffered". Dude, what? I think Byrdmaniax's "Tunnel Of Love", a shameless Fats Domino rip-off and seeming Battin solo outing, would qualify as having nothing whatsoever to do with the Byrds sound, whereas "Pastime"'s sound can be somewhat placed in the band's country rock canon. Plus, you know, novelty song or not, the track is endlessly catchy and does have some funny lines. 

McGuinn gets some of the highlights here: Even in compromised form (i.e. heavily overdubbed with a female choir), "I Trust" is an underrated song from the time frame, as is the slighly psychedelic "Antique Sandy" with his doubled lead vocals. "Tiffany Queen" isn't a great song per se, but it's a pretty kick-ass opener and, as "Pale Blue" reminds us, McGuinn always had a hand with ballads.

The real hero, though, is Clarence White this time around, singing Jackson Browne's "Jamaica Say You Will", a song he brought to the group, and while Melcher's orchestral overdubs drown out a bunch of the Byrds, notably Gene Parsons, whose drum skills Melcher found severely lacking, the swirling orchestration makes for a good listen either way. White's cover of Larry Murray's "Bugler", is one of the best recordings of the twilight years Byrds and the clear highlight of any version of Farther Along. Speaking of: The title song, an old hymn brought back into the consciousness of the L.A. country rockers by The Flying Burrito Brothers, is another highlight - just a beautiful way to ride out the career of the CBS Byrds. "Farther Along we'll know more about it...farther along we'll understand why...".

So, the OBG version of Farther Along tries to wring a satisfying album from two not satisfying ones. For the cover art I wanted something that recalled the sepia simpleness of Farther Along's original cover, so I used the image originally used for their second Greatest Hits compilation. The Byrds might not have been at their absolute best in 1971, but a lot of this music is much better than you might think, and the OBG version of Farther Along hopefully proves that...

PS: The run of the CBS Byrds might be over, but the alt album series of The Byrds is not. Coming up: A better version of the 'classic line-up' reunion for Asylum Records...

  

One Album Wonders: He's A Gypsy Boy, He's A Miracle Man, He Is Bob Carpenter

The story of Bob Carpenter is one of unsteadiness, reject, and uncertainty, of wandering through life looking for purpose. Carpenter was half-Ojibway, born into the First Nations tribe on the Northern Ontario Tamagami  reservation, from which an unhappy childhood full of orphanages and foster homes followed. This broken childhood most certainy instilled not only a sense of restlessness but also a strong resistance against being told what to do, something that would ultimately derail his music career before it even began. He went to the Navy, but was discharged for mischievous conduct on drunken shore leave. After some years of rambling and wandering around he ended up in the Yorkville folk club scene of Toronto, where basicall every Canadian folkie paid his dues. 

The story of Bob Carpenter is also that of a man banging his head against the recording industry and its conventions. Trouble started early when finally trying to harness the power of Carpenter's songs into records. Recording sessions with Neil Young's producer David Briggs in 1970-1971 fell apart when they clashed about the direction of his music. Enter producer, fellow Canadian and future Mr. Emmylou Harris Brian Ahern. Recording Carpenter seemingly was like pulling teeth, and the promising partnership soon took a turn for the worse. Ahern believed in Carpenter's songs, but not necessarily in the stark manner Carpenter presented them in. Where Carpenter wanted to,play his songs as simply as possible, Ahern thought bringing in studio cracks and overdubbing embellishments was the way to go. A minor disagreement with Ahern concerning the use of instrumentation and the general 'sweetening' of the record grew into a bigger conflict that finally unraveled Carpenter's burgeoning career. 

Carpenter had also signed with Ahern for the publishing rights of his songs, but that deal was about to expire at around the same time that the release of Silent Passage was scheduled. Ahern insisted that Carpenter resign with him, but Carpenter decided that he didn't want to and tried to hold out for other publishing deals. Though the exact rundown of things is unclear and no one - especially not Ahern - detailledevents, things went something like this: Ahern essentially took Silent Passage hostage, withholding it from release and essentially blackballing Carpenter from the music industry while the conflicts with him weren't resolved. And we're not talking about 'accidentally mislaying the master tape' either, 30.000 copies of the album were sitting in a warehouse ready to ship when Ahern, backed by Warner Brothers, decided to withhold the album. Warner Brothers first postponed, then cancelled the release, with all of those records being melted down a while later. 

When Canadian specialist label Stony Plain finally released Silent Passage in 1984, almost a full decade after its scheduled release, the era of the folky singer-songwriter had long gone the way of the dodo, and so had Carpenter's ambitions of a music career. In 1984 Silent Passage was on first release essentially an archival release. Whatever moment the kind of country-folk and singer-songwriter music had in the early 70s was gone, and so was Carpenter's shot at a career. What's left is Silent Passage, and the music itself.   

So, that orchestration and those backing singers that caused so much strife? Yeah, it's a bit of a mixed bag. Ahern's 'more is more' approach works wonders on opening track "Miracle Man", which faithful One Buck Heads might remember from the very first volume of All Pearls, No Swine. With slide guitar by the late great Lowell George, backing vocals by Emmylou Harris and a fabulously catchy tune, "Miracle Man" does go big and works great. But the slower, more introverted numbers probably didn't need more than a voice and an acoustic guitar. Blame the whole orchestration debate turned fiasco on the times. As a folkie/singer-songwriter on Warner/Reprise in the early 1970s you basically were assured that some string accompaniment was going to end up on your record, with Lenny Waronker's work with Gordon Lightfoot being the prime example.  

Compromised in their form - at least in Carpenter's mind - or not, the songs of Silent Passage are sturdy to withstand whatever embellishments Ahern put on them. The title song is an absolute marvel, with some of my favourite opening lines to any song ever: "Before the war I had no need for traveling / indeed I do not know what made it so important to leave." And the great lines just keep on coming: "Upon this ship of life, we are the mast, the sails and the wind", yet by the end of the song "we are scattered on the oceans once again". Masterpiece, pure and simple. It's sailing and war imagery will be picked up by "First Light" a little bit later on, to almost eually stunning effect.

After the one-two punch of  "Miracle Man" and "Silent Passage" settles into a number of songs, in which the protagonist - an eternal wanderer in search of reason, purpose and companionship - always seems to be at least partly Carpenter himself. "I'm searching always for better wheather", he sings in "The Believer", "I'll chase my shadow 'till I remember". And consider the title character in the backwoods gothic tale of "Gypsy Boy", the song Tony Joe White covered: "I think it's time to leave now, but I don't know where we're going...for I am a gypsy boy, and my home is where you find me."

These observations make it seems like it's some sort of solipsistic record to rival the L.A. mellow mafia guys, but that could not the further from the truth. Carpenter's tone is mystical, all these characters seem to live in a netherworld that is not quite here and not quite elsewhere, vaguely familiar but also strange, both hostile and inviting at the same time. There is something deeply unnowable in Carpenter's words and his songs, a sense of mystery and myth that never completely get uncovered before the listener. Ed Ochs' great essay on Carpenter ponders this and the other enigmas of Carpenter's life and music and is well worth reading in whole. 

But really, it all comes back to that music. Silent Passage is one of the great, way too unknown treasures of North American music from the 70s. So with the miracle man, the gypsy boy, set sail on his ship of life, and see where this Silent Passage takes you... 

P.S.: Even though he is technically a one album wonder, if you like Bob Carpenter and Silent Passage, rejoice: there will be more Carpenter and Carpenter-related material here at One Buck Records. 

Meet everyone who's singing for their Main Man, Mr. Marc Bolan...

A recent mention, even erroneous, of Father John Misty reminded me to post this, another of my re-imagined and in this case slimmed-down versions of longer tribute albums, since it's been *checks notes* oh, three months since the last one. The original version of Angelheaded Hipster - The Songs Of Marc Bolan & T.Rex runs for two discs and had a bunch of songs I wasn't really into. If I was Bolan I'd probably say I don't dig 'em. As a matter of fact, my first single disc version ended up a mere 12 tracks that I liked. A second listen to the full thing yielded another six tracks on the 'to keep' list. See, during the first and second run, I thought Perry Farrell's version of "Rock On" was well-meaning karaoke - like a lot of the tracks that didn't make it on here. But repetition seemed to break down my defenses, as by swing number three I was on board. Same thing happened with U2's (with Elton John on piano!) take on "Get It On", which at first I found rather unremarkable, but it finally made the cut.

Anyway, I never was the biggest fan of Mr. Bolan and his oeuvre, so maybe that's why I had some trouble getting into some of Angelheaded Hipster. The good songs of T.Rex are memorable, but I also feel that the glam direction boxed Bolan in somewhat and there's a bunch of songs that sound a little samey to my ears. Be that as it may, as with my Fleetwood Mac tribute album, I tried to find a good mix between the more traditional versions and the more experimental re-imaginnings. Flow was important here, so I juggled the sequencing until I found what I think is a satisfying running order. To further improve the flow, three songs have been slightly edited. 

The artists list is a healthy mix of vets (Nick Cave, the ever-present Lucinda Williams, Joan Jett, Marc Almond, surprisingly: Nena) and young'uns or semi-young'uns (Kesha, Peaches, Devandra Banhart). And of course, Father John Misty, whose version of "Main Man" opens proceedings and is by far my favorite on this comp. I also quite like Nick Cave's stately, beautiful piano-dominated version of "Cosmic Dancer" and Devendra Banhart's fragile "Scenescof", a track not particularly often covered and on the other side of Bolan's music, Joan Jett's thumping "Jeepster" and Nena's slightly new-wave-ish "Metal Guru".  

So, this stream-lined version of Angelheaded Hipster runs a little over an hour, a good 35 minutes less than the original. You can easily breeze through this in one sitting, which was the goal. "Bolan likes to rock now, yes, he does...yes, he does..." If you also like to rock (yes, you do! yes, you do!) rock and swing with his acolytes...

A true 'lost album' from a true lost artist...

I don't know when I first heard the term 'lost album', but I'm sure it was in the liner notes of an album that finally wasn't that lost, in fact, perfectly fine masters were available once the album made its CD debut. And so it goes with almost every 'lost album' - it isn't truly lost, merely waiting in the vaults somewhere until someone somewhere remembers it or the critical and cultural winds blow in a favorable direction for whatever artist and his work that have fallen in obscurity. 

But there are true lost albums, albums that were never finished or were never issued and are not lying (hopefully) in a well-tempered warehouse somewhere. One such case is the One Buck Record of the day, an album that was never finished or issued, one that never even was an album in the first place. Because despite circulating as The Lost Album, the recordings Jim Murray made with ex-band mate John Cipollina and other assorted musical friends wasn't an album either, rather a reel of demo recordings of varying fidelity and quality. 

And finally, that rarity of rarities, not only an album that was lost, but an artist as well. Jim Murray is very barely known for being the guitar and harmonica player in the earliest configuration of Quicksilver Messenger Service, when they were still a five-piece. But those early recordings with that hippiest of hippy bands - often issued years, if not decades later -  are the only credits for Jim Murray on Discogs. When the sessions for a planned solo album which are the basis for The Ladies' Man didn't go anywhere, Jim Murray seems to have left the music - or at least the recording - business. 

The five men QMS with Murray (second from left)

Mystery man Murray is so mysterious that there are not even any particularly good pictures of him, other than what seems to be a single cropped and reworked picture of Quicksilver Messenger Service. (That's also why the cover art goes in a decidely different direction). Maybe someone here knows more about Jim Murray's whereabouts, musical or otherwise, but for now the only real testament to the man and his music is the songs that make up The Ladies' Man. Recorded and produced by old band mate John Cipollina, these sessions were of the true "homebrewed" variety, taking place at Mickey Hart's ranch and then mainly at Cipollina's apartment. In an interview extract I joined to the tracks as a virtual booklet/liner notes, he talks about the wild, long and loose sessions that took place at his home, but even if he says that "We kept the tapes running about 20 hours a day, with two engineers taking 8-hour shifts at the board", not all of the music - not even close to it - were preserved.

As a matter of fact, only six songs (plus alternate takes and backing tracks) seem to be left. That's little for a proposed album, so I had two choices: Either make a mixed album with some Cipollina demos from around the same time frame, or keep the intended Jim Murray solo album. I decided for the latter, seeing it as a challenge for myself: Can I make an album worth listening to out of these tapes? Well, you'll decide - but I definitely gave it the ol' college try. But even with my best efforts, The Ladies' Man inevitably ends up on the very short side of album lengths. Only the Beach Boys were issuing albums of 27 minutes and change at the time. Tracks 1-4 would have been side a, tracks 5-7 side b. Fidelity of these tapes isn't great, but don't be put off by the first twenty seconds or so of opener "White Lady" - it'll get better and stay stable. 

The one shot of our phantom artist

But what about the music you say? Well, it's of its time, that's for sure. Hippy rock, very loose and off the cuff, which considering the "us and every musician friend who happened to pass by"-vibe that Cipollina describes for these sessions is quite understandable. The lyrics aren't of great concern and are no great shakes - but at least they gave me immediately an idea for an album title, considering that 'lady', 'woman' or 'girl' show up in all but one of the song titles. Murray isn't a particular strong or distinctive singer, so these songs get by on vibe and feeling rather than technical perfection. But if you are a fan of Cipollina's playing - especially his work on slide guitar - you'll be in for a treat. Check out "Sweet Lady" for some serious Slide action. As for the musical friends, Paul Butterfield and Mike Bloomfield are probably playing on some of this, so does Nick Gravenites on 12-string.  

Generally I based my selection when there where several takes available on what was musically the better take and had better fidelity - which in all but one cases overlapped, I'm happy to say. The one exception was "I Can Love You Woman", the longest track here, that recalls most Murray's and Cipollina's old band and their jams. I think both versions had a lot of good stuff in them, but not constantly. One take had Cipollina go crazy on the effects pedals, whereas the other had a more muscular beat and more forceful vocal performance. Both had jam parts with some questionable linking and some slow spots. Long story short: I created a hybrid version of "I Can Love You Woman" that takes the best parts of both takes and - I think - nicely alternates between slower and quicker sections. Without false humility, I'd say this is the best version of "I Can Love You Woman" that you are going to hear. 

So. Murray may have disappeared from the music biz, but his music has not entirely and I hope that this version of what Murray and friends left behind will help to restore a bit of his lost musical legacy. Join The Ladies' Man and his merry band of musicians and feel what it's like for a chaotic month in John Cipollina's appartment in January 1971... 

Let's get random, again!

Well, well, well, things have been awfully quiet concerning the One Buck Heads recently. Barely a comment could be squeezed of of ya lazy lot! That's gotta change! So, the first random shuffle wasn't a rousing success, but hey, that means we can always do better!

The rules are very simple. Take whatever music playing device you have, put it on random shuffle and list the first ten songs that come up in the comments. There, how hard is that? 

If you don't have a playing device that has a random function, just list the last ten songs you remember hearing/playing, or the last five albums, or whatever your grey cells can remember...

I show you mine, you show me yours?

So, here's mine:

Broken Bells - Citizen

The Shins - One By One All Day

Two Gallants - Miss Meri

Beware Of Darkness -Sweet Girl

Ian Matthews - Da Doo Ron Ron

Midlake - Roscoe

Ramones - The KKK Took My Baby Away

The Doobie Brothers - Don't Start Me To Talkin' 

Kings Of Leon - Frontier City

Paul Weller - Whatever Next 

So, have at it folks...

Kurt Cobain's Ghost Adventures - A Rock Opera Revisited

My mother liked musicals. And since my father didn't, she had to find someone to go with her, so it was obvious that fate should befall her sons. It was the late 80s, so, for better or worse, I've seen a bunch of 'modern classics' of the genre, notably Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Phantom Of The Opera was actually pretty good, whereas Cats...uhm, was not.  

I hadn't thought of musicals in a good long while when three years ago for my birthday my wife gave me tickets to something called Smells Like Teen Spirit - L'Opera Rock. A rock opera (to differentiate it from an ordinary musical) by a local theatre/music ensemble. Huh. Why not. The description was, uh, promising (?!). The ghost of Kurt Cobain, wandering earth after his suicide, helps out some people. That's it, that's the pitch. After a false start (Covid outbreak cancellation), we finally got to see the premiere of Smells Like Teen Spirit. And, not knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised. A good evening was had by all, the band playing the music could really shred when they wanted to. And say this for local entertainment: they pull out all the stops. The stage design and props were top notch, they even recruited a local girl as a pole dancer. She was pure window dressing, but hey, that kind of window dressing we take (before you get any wrong ideas, she was pretty much fully clothed). 

Symbolic image

The story was pretty bonkers, and you probably don't much care, but I'll summarize it quickly anyway, in case you want to follow the 'story' of the accompanying music collection: So, as said above, ever since his suicide Kurt Cobain is walking the earth in a sort of purgatory, with no one able to see or hear him. For some reason he's hanging out in this mafia bar, where the two barmaids who are friends or maybe friends with benefits?! - one is pretty clearly a lesbian whereas the other is probably bi-sexual, seeing how she's got a kid with a dude - decide they need to get away from it all. At the same time, a small-time crook swindling people as a medium shows up in this bar and - wouldn't you know it - he can see and hear ghost Kurt. So ghost Kurt gives him instructions how to help the girls make their getaway, steal the car keys to the cadillac etc. Problam being, that when the two girls run off with the fake medium and ghost Kurt in tow, they haven't realized there's a suitcase full of drug money in the trunk, spurring some mobsters into hot pursuit. One of the girls has to stop by her ex, an Elvis-imitator, to get her son, and it's there where all protagonists collide and their fates will be decided...

"Why Do I Have To Do Stuff? Purgatory, Shmurgatory, I Tell Ya..."

So, that's Smells Like Teen Spirit - L'Opéra Rock in a nutshell for you. There was obviously never any sort of soundtrack for that thing, so I decided to make my very own. Some comps don't always turn out quite like I hoped to, but I'm happy to report that Smells Like Teen Spirit - L'Opera Rock Redux turned out pretty much like I wanted it to. Finding a number of female-led Nirvana covers helped set the tone and mood and imitated the two protagonists. 

As I like to do (some of you may have noticed), I like to use recurring music as sort of Leitmotive, which is something I do again here with Ramin Djawadi's "Heart-Shaped Box" (from the Westworld soundtrack), as well as a number of other numbers that get instrumental introductions/reprises from The Hipster Orchestra (terrible name, but good tracks). "Lithium" is the sort of theme song for the central couple, whereas "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is obviously ghost Kurt's. I thought Foxy Shazam's "Drain You" was the perfect end for the retelling of the rock opera's story: "One baby to another says I'm lucky to've met you" seems to sum up perfectly the relationship between the two protagonists at the end of the story (and its inevitable happy end).

Some fortunate events exist, like The King, a real-live meme before everyone had internet. An Elvis imitator from Northern Ireland he had about five minutes of fame in the late 1990s, when for Gravelands he covered a bunch of classic rock/pop songs in the voice of Elvis. So for the role of - you guessed it - the Elvis impersonator we get The King's "Come As You Are". For "I Can't Help Falling In Love", with which in story the Elvis impersonator wants to win back his ex, I picked a version from Youtube singer Chase Eagleson, whose babyface hides an impressively modulable voice. 

The other fortunate event was that for years I had this SPIN comp celebrating Nirvana's Nevermind, but I didn't like the flow and about half of the covers on it, so I rarely played it. The Smells Like Teen Spirit project was just the thing to revisit and plunder that comp for my purposes, sometimes just keeping bits I liked. For a comp of other people covering Nirvana covering Bowie, who better to go to than back to the man himself? But not for the usual: This is Bowie's drum'n'bass re-imagining of "The Man Who Sold The World" which fits better into the Redux project. Fittingly, the 'end credits' are Kurt's heroes The Meat Puppets covering his most famous song.   

So, do you need to know or care about the story to follow or enjoy Smells Like Teen Spirit - L'Opéra Rock Redux? Absolutely not. If nothing else, it will be a cool comp of Nirvana covers. And hell, even if you don't like Nirvana all that much, but you love, say, soul music, you should still get this for Charles Bradley's cool-as-fuck version of "Stay Away" and Irma Thomas' smoking reading of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?". 

So, join Kurt's ghost on his adventures. With the lights out, it's less dangerous...