"Make No Mistake" Keith Richards-Keith Richards and the Expensive Winos Live at the Hollywood Palladium

"Keith Richards" ...and so much comes to mind to many. Drugs, the gorgeous Anita Pallenburg, Chuck Berry riffs, fights with Mick, blood transfusions, jail; the list goes on and on. When I hear the name I think of a man who is my musical brother, always have. Get into the weeds on what he think music is, his likes, beliefs and even the construction and you have the same thoughts that run through my mind.

Early on in Keef's career he wrote those powerhouse Stones songs that are considered the greatest rock and roll licks of all time. "Satisfaction", "Jumpin Jack Flash", "Gimme Shelter", these songs are the bedrock of the cannon, what the Torah is to the bible. As Keef says he would figure out the lick, maybe the first line or the title then throw the song to Mick and he would take it from there. It is the genius of their work they way they interacted and the reason why they have been productive for over forty years.

But there is another side and if you delve into the Stones catoluge deeply you can see what they (and because Keef is the main catylst, basically he) is about. In the beginning the Stones set out to be the greatest blues band of all time and that was all. They honed their sound by listening to the great Chicago blues musicians such as John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters. On a side note their name itself is because of Muddy Waters. But Keef wanted the blues and nothing else. At the same time they force fed themselves Motown, whose influence can be seen in later songs. Finally later on in life Keef dove heavy into Reggae, Ska and island music. Combine that with the fact that he has been attached to Ronnie Spector (The Ronnettes) and a whole host of Black women through the years and you just know that this limey from Dartford has more soul than the average white man.

And it is evident in his more mature songwriting, this song in particular and the beautiful trade off of lines between him and another Soul Seductress: Sarah Dash. At this point in Keef's life the Stones were believed to be dead. Mick went off on his own in a vile split to pursue his own record career (which would fail miserably) leaving Keef with the creative bug. He would form the band The Expensive Winos with lesser known but probably more proficient and percise musicians and produce two albums, "Main Offender" and "Talk is Cheap". The scope of musicians who contributed to these albums approaches insanity. Patti Scialfa (Springsteen's wife) does vocals, Chuck Leavell (Eric Clapton's band for decades) on keyboards, Bootsy Collins (Parliment) on bass and Ivan Neville on Piano to name a few.

Both this live version and the studio cut of this track are enthralling. Impossible to catorgize it is a mix of that Motown soul, evident in Sarah's breathlessly sultry Soprano and Keith's smokey rasp making love to the mic, that rock beat driven by Steve Jordan's main bass foot and sharp G tuned guitar riffs. Keef states that he never knew how to sing in such a manner until an engineer turned down all the instruments in his monitors so almost all he heard was his voice, thereby forcing him to whisper into the mic.

It works. As does the subject matter. The complexities of relationships, which of course Keef has had his fair share of and the subtleties of his voice mirror the looks across the room and casual but serious glances at certain body parts. This song could be running into your mistress while walking down the street with your wife, it could be finally having those ten seconds alone with the woman you've been pinning for or even contemplating running into the relationship you have just left as she walked to the corner Korean grocery. The whole time Keef is narriating such events and whispering them into your ear. It is what makes life so hypnatizing and fascinating. It is what puts this song in the epic category above all the other more evident ones this great crafstman has constructed over the years. I ask of you to buy his new book and listen to the man himself instead of myself for if you could converse with the Almighty you wouldn't want a conduit to hear what he has to put down.

Man on The Move....

Your Blogger getting some street cred on another vastly more popular blog.
http://manonthemove.com/2010/11/12/music-on-the-move-playlist-challenge-1-and-the-winner-is/

"Winter Winds" Mumford & Sons-Sigh No More

In the late 90's I was a struggling college hockey player and a self-handicapped struggling English major with a minuscule 2.1 GPA. With hockey, well sports is always a struggle for no matter how good you are there is always someone in the ranks better than you, as for Literature well it sometimes helps to buy the books you actually are assigned to read. Impressive though is the rhetoric I learned to craft when called on in class sans book nor any knowledge of what it contained. Last time I checked Hemingway never went to college and the next time I checked you don't have time to prepare for a question in life by reading what happens after you answer it. And as it stands today whenever I had to shoot from the hip my shot rifled through the air and penetrated some lesser who spent his nights studying for class.

How I spent my nights was crowded up against other sweaty bodies in small storefront bars resembling the picture above. I worked at the rink in town in the pro shop with a deranged young man who spent years listening to the dead and hours with me dipping and crafting Frankenstein like creations out of hockey gloves. CCM cuffs on Bauer palms, names embroidered just like the boys in the show. He lived on my couch for some time when we weren't in the shop or pounding Cutty Sark in the bars. With him there was another buddy from Philly who smoked non-filtered Pall Malls, another who smoked and drank everything in sight under the rein of his father who was a two star General. There was obviously a Sully and a Sean who dreamed of owning a liquor store, and there was Tommy who desperately tried to be seen as anything but a friend to every woman on campus.

With steamed windows from the freezing Boston air we'd rage and sing, drink and skull everything within our vicinity. This being Boston there was always a strong UK/Irish music scene. People who lived with the same dismal, shitty weather; people who were just as young and ready to take on the world without fear but knowing nothing. People who were growing and would eventually be consumed with that dark cloud on the horizon being adulthood.

The Frankenstein creator now owns three hockey stores in New England with a wife and two kids, his gear is worn throughout the college and professional ranks. The Pall Mall smoker moved back to Philly after some town in Charlestown, the General's son became a priest in D.C after a few years in the Senate. Sully and Sean have their liquor store and Tommy finally found a woman who wanted more than to find an arm around her shoulder while she cried over her ex. As for myself I am still the same person inside though I am sure the others feel they are the same within the constraints of their own personal consciousness.

Mumford & Sons plays a variety of traditional instruments and crafts lyrics based off of Steinbeck and Shakespeare. When not on the road Mumford runs an online bookstore which no doubt fuels the fire for more of these superbly crafted songs and melodies. Their works encompass the best of bar-folk-music showcased in their motherland, like Morrison, The Clancy Brothers and Moore before them there is Skiffle hidden within their tunes. The music born of lifetimes of hardship only lifted by a few hours in the pubs. However these boys are no run of the mill, gin joint crooners. Nor are they the political activists telling all that 26+6=1. This may be because their home is the main force in making that equation work but more so because political statements become so banal after a few minutes or one song. Their message transcends politics and delves into such worldly topics of which music belongs sticking its nose in, topics like love, longing and living just as you always knew you would. Living it wild and reckless.

We eventually moved into that dark cloud with doubt that would eventually be trumped by the beauty of all that is out there, our memories washed away by the classes behind us and their spilled beer on the century old hardwood floors. When the sun ascended up and over Boston its rays swept across the country and illuminated the remainder of the country hour by hour. Our ascent while not so instantaneous moved with universal force through the land where we made our mark in the same way we moved through the crowds to find that one girl, that last drink and eventually our own full lives. In thinking about this and believing this to be true I see the same silly pride and ego that sweated out through our pores more than a decade ago and am reassured that yes I am still that same young man though that body maybe older and bent out of shape by the winter winds and lonely hearts across that same land my rays fell over.

"Augusta" Dave Loggins

There's not a lot of tradition left in the world these days. However there are two that are adhered to outside of each other but still bearing significant connection. One of them takes place over a four day period of the year, the other rolls along 365 of each and will continue on past our own demise. The four day one concerns myself where I plant my body on the couch and watch The Masters every year. The second are the members and ideals they embody in maintaining that magnificent place where there are still manners, civility, sportsmanship and good nature. Remove any of these two and my life would be significantly less bearable.

From my earliest recollections, even when I thought golf was a boring game I could never understand I used to watch the vivid greens and polite applause on TV, when commercial time came and the leader board was viewed, every year a subtle piano ditty trickled out of the speakers as the names flashed across the screen. I never thought about finding this song until this year while watching Phil go for it all yet again.

I began Googling the song on the internet and with the exception of youtube ran into barricade after barricade. I learned that it was written by Dave Loggins who was famous for such songs as Please Come to Boston and Nobody Loves Me Like You Do, I learned that CBS owned the rights and that CBS never let this dear ballad go. I say ballad because I found it odd that there were actual lyrics to this song:

Well, it's springtime in the valley on Magnolia Lane
It's the Augusta National and the master of the game
Who'll wear that green coat on Sunday afternoon?
Who'll walk the 18th fairway singing this tune?
Augusta, your dogwoods and pines
They play on my mind like a song
Augusta, it's you that I love
And it's you that I'll miss when I'm gone.
It's Watson, Byron Nelson, Demaret, Player and Snead
It's Amen Corner and it's Hogan's perfect swing
It's Sarazen's double eagle at the 15 in '35
And the spirit of Clifford Roberts that keeps it alive
Augusta, your dogwoods and pines
They play on my mind like a song
Augusta, it's you that I love
And it's you that I miss when I'm gone.
It's the legions of Arnie's Army and the Golden Bear's throngs
And the wooden-shafted legend of Bobby Jones.

One would suppose that if you were not a golfer then the words here are useless, if you don't know who Watson, Nelson, Snead and Arnie are, or why Amen Corner demands not only Hogan's but a perfect swing from anyone. However just as you do not know the names of the gentlemen strolling along in those green jackets that are given only to members and winners the listener has no need to know who they are, but rather to know that there is something pure and beautiful that has been for quite some time and continues to exist in today's modern fadish world.

Back to my searching I came across one copy of the song that was up for auction. I don't have a record player and while I didn't have the couple hundred dollars for the record I found a reason in my mind to but a bid in. I won and the next day had the old piece of vinyl twinkling through the speakers and into electronic format.

Now when the world gets crazy and life slips out of reach, now I can turn my four day a year tradition into a 365 day one without becoming one of those old grey-haired men who stroll through the dogwoods in the Georgia sweet air, walking over the bridge without clubs or caddy, concern or pretense but lost in thought and serenity while the troubles of life evade and the resplendent humanity of all of worldly tradition returns with the first note of an ivory and the scratching from an old '45.