vinyl 4, arthur, swedish psych, dropkick murphys
i've been having uncannily good luck at half price books lately. i think "jeff beck," and immediately damn near his entahr catalog appears in the lp bins at south hulen, ripe for the picking. one night i'm having a convo w/darrin via the wonder of myspace (that's right, i'm out there with all the 20somethings waxing nostalgic about the good old days back when music was _real_; y'know, when jibe and tripp fontaine were still out there sho' nuff doin' it) re: terry reid, the leather-lunged brit who turned down the lead singer slots in both led zeppelin and deep purple before riding off for shoulda-woulda-coulda land and the next day i find his second lp move over for terry reid, a nice organic-sounding slab of late-'60s brit r&b-flavored rawk, in the rack at ridgmar. (i just read in the new arthur -- pick one up by the door at the wreck room before they're gone -- that somebody in the u.k. has released a double cd comp on terry that's available through forcedexposure.com.)
one night i'm listening to the rhino handmade thingy by the stalk-forrest group (precursor to blue oyster cult that recorded the same album twice for elektra, who inexplicably declined to release it) and the next day i unearth a clean copy of tyranny and mutation, the one b.o.c. alb that lived up to all the hype writer types like lester bangs and r. meltzer (who had an ulterior motive, being the band's sometime lyricist) were giving the band in the pages of rolling stone and creem ca. '72. the same night, i'm ruminating on the paul butterfield blues band alb east-west, which, the same arthur ish notes, raised the curtain on the whole west coast psych-jam development, and the next day i find not east-west is own self but fathers and sons, a late-'60s production that paired butterfield and his original lead gtrist mike bloomfield with authentic chicago blues heavies muddy waters and otis spann. as all of the above are now deceased, it truly makes no diff, as the saying goes, whether they were black or white, and in the fullness of time, it seems like butter (the lawyer's son turned southside hardass turned beatific acidhead) and bloomer (the self-described "fat little jewish child" whose trust fund bought him a career as maybe the first authentic '60s 'meercun gtr hero) could surely play the shit. as rabbi frank would say, "it's a blessing."
i shouldn't shit-talk myspace too much, because that's how (on marcus' recommendation) i was able to discover dungen, this great swedish psych outfit that's actually touring the states behind the release of their new alb ta det lugnt (that's right, kids, they sing in swedish, which might be a little disconverting for ppl who -- unlike me -- listen to lyrics first) and will be in dallas at gypsy tea room on september 24th. dungen's built around gustav ejstes, a multi-instrumental whiz with a rustic upbringing who recently told arthur that he's subsisted for days on just popcorn, and why doubt him? there are moments when his band sounds like hendrix playing techno music, while at others, it has the same happy hipi vibe as the polyphonic spree, only with loads more instrumental ear candy, which after all is what makes good psych melt in yr brain, not in yr hands -- it's all those different colors and textures that make for such good architecture in yr head. (my buddy irv once questioned how i could call frank zappa's gtr-playing "psychedelic" if frank hisself had never been, um, _experienced_, to which i reply, "psychedelia is in the mind of the behearer.")
turns out that long before the '90s, when the hellacopters and what seemed like a zillion bands with '70s muscle car fetishes invaded these shores, blaring hyperthyroid dee-troit ramalama (sorry ray), there was an active psych scene in sweden, led by bands like the mecki mark men and hansson and karlsson (whose song "tax free" hendrix covered). last year, a bunch of 50something swedes who go by the monikor trad, gras och stenar (trees, grass and stones) played the wreck room (where graham richardson taught them how to do tequila shots). i didn't make it to the show, but i have one cd of theirs that john bargas brought me back from a visit to the west coast (thanks, uncle johnny) and while it's a lot lower-energy and less groove-oriented than dungen's work (think fairport convention or the 1969 velvets), it's still hypnotic in its way.
last but not least, steve steward let me borrow the dropkick murphys' blackout. while i have reservations about any punk band with a bagpiper (still recoiling from the horror that was the outfield back in the '80s -- remember that band from philly that used the irish pipes? i think it has something to do with the mummer's day parade, but i'm not sure), i checked 'em out and was surprised to find that they didn't suck. these boyos are from baaahston, but prolly more the, um, good will hunting 'hood than haaahvid yaaahd (altho the frontguy claims a coupla ivy league pedigrees in one song). what this is, is _electric folk music_ (steve sez they cut a song w/sean mcgowan from the pogues a coupla yrs back, which makes perfect sense). as i've always been partial to punk that sticks close to the folkloric roots o' the music (the clash when they were good, the minutemen), i like this real much. proof positive, as if any more were needed, that you never know _where_ the good stuff is gonna come from.
one night i'm listening to the rhino handmade thingy by the stalk-forrest group (precursor to blue oyster cult that recorded the same album twice for elektra, who inexplicably declined to release it) and the next day i unearth a clean copy of tyranny and mutation, the one b.o.c. alb that lived up to all the hype writer types like lester bangs and r. meltzer (who had an ulterior motive, being the band's sometime lyricist) were giving the band in the pages of rolling stone and creem ca. '72. the same night, i'm ruminating on the paul butterfield blues band alb east-west, which, the same arthur ish notes, raised the curtain on the whole west coast psych-jam development, and the next day i find not east-west is own self but fathers and sons, a late-'60s production that paired butterfield and his original lead gtrist mike bloomfield with authentic chicago blues heavies muddy waters and otis spann. as all of the above are now deceased, it truly makes no diff, as the saying goes, whether they were black or white, and in the fullness of time, it seems like butter (the lawyer's son turned southside hardass turned beatific acidhead) and bloomer (the self-described "fat little jewish child" whose trust fund bought him a career as maybe the first authentic '60s 'meercun gtr hero) could surely play the shit. as rabbi frank would say, "it's a blessing."
i shouldn't shit-talk myspace too much, because that's how (on marcus' recommendation) i was able to discover dungen, this great swedish psych outfit that's actually touring the states behind the release of their new alb ta det lugnt (that's right, kids, they sing in swedish, which might be a little disconverting for ppl who -- unlike me -- listen to lyrics first) and will be in dallas at gypsy tea room on september 24th. dungen's built around gustav ejstes, a multi-instrumental whiz with a rustic upbringing who recently told arthur that he's subsisted for days on just popcorn, and why doubt him? there are moments when his band sounds like hendrix playing techno music, while at others, it has the same happy hipi vibe as the polyphonic spree, only with loads more instrumental ear candy, which after all is what makes good psych melt in yr brain, not in yr hands -- it's all those different colors and textures that make for such good architecture in yr head. (my buddy irv once questioned how i could call frank zappa's gtr-playing "psychedelic" if frank hisself had never been, um, _experienced_, to which i reply, "psychedelia is in the mind of the behearer.")
turns out that long before the '90s, when the hellacopters and what seemed like a zillion bands with '70s muscle car fetishes invaded these shores, blaring hyperthyroid dee-troit ramalama (sorry ray), there was an active psych scene in sweden, led by bands like the mecki mark men and hansson and karlsson (whose song "tax free" hendrix covered). last year, a bunch of 50something swedes who go by the monikor trad, gras och stenar (trees, grass and stones) played the wreck room (where graham richardson taught them how to do tequila shots). i didn't make it to the show, but i have one cd of theirs that john bargas brought me back from a visit to the west coast (thanks, uncle johnny) and while it's a lot lower-energy and less groove-oriented than dungen's work (think fairport convention or the 1969 velvets), it's still hypnotic in its way.
last but not least, steve steward let me borrow the dropkick murphys' blackout. while i have reservations about any punk band with a bagpiper (still recoiling from the horror that was the outfield back in the '80s -- remember that band from philly that used the irish pipes? i think it has something to do with the mummer's day parade, but i'm not sure), i checked 'em out and was surprised to find that they didn't suck. these boyos are from baaahston, but prolly more the, um, good will hunting 'hood than haaahvid yaaahd (altho the frontguy claims a coupla ivy league pedigrees in one song). what this is, is _electric folk music_ (steve sez they cut a song w/sean mcgowan from the pogues a coupla yrs back, which makes perfect sense). as i've always been partial to punk that sticks close to the folkloric roots o' the music (the clash when they were good, the minutemen), i like this real much. proof positive, as if any more were needed, that you never know _where_ the good stuff is gonna come from.
posted by stashdauber at 1:32 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home