Wednesday 4 February 2015

When Rockstars Attack

As the early lives of our contemporaries drift into the twilight zone known as "within living memory", not yet compacted into "history", the semi-official accounts of Our Times begin to emerge.  For example, I am about to embark on David Kynaston's ongoing multi-volume account of post-War Britain, not least because I'm curious to know how we're going to look to posterity.  Although I can be certain my name won't appear in the index, I can be pretty sure the name of my home town, Stevenage, will.  It's one of the stranger aspects of having grown up as a juvenile extra in a major social experiment.  We were being watched, counted, and measured, although nobody said so at the time, or has ever asked me how I felt about it or what I have made of it since; just another microbe in the Petri dish, I suppose.

One area where I always find myself at odds with the emerging narratives is rock and pop, a subject close to my heart (as it is to 88.3% of all post-War teens born 1946-1960, or so it says here).  I've been reading Fire and Rain: The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY, and the Lost Story of 1970, by David Browne.  I was intrigued by the title, or rather by the subtitle.  Or, actually, just the bit that says "the lost story of 1970".  Ah, 1970!  What a vintage year that was...  I turned 16 that year, began visiting pubs and clubs, had my first "steady" girlfriend, received the validation of some good exam results, had my first holiday without my parents...  The list goes on.  I have a vested interest in any account of that year, especially one that focusses on the popular culture of the time.  That's one of my years.  Tread carefully now!

It's not a bad book, Fire and Rain.  If you have an interest in the breakup of the Beatles, or the story behind the albums Déjà Vu, Bridge Over Troubled Water, and Sweet Baby James, then you'll find it fascinating.  The trouble is, I don't, and didn't.  I never owned any of those albums, or remember hearing them much at the time, even.  In fact, I had never listened to Déjà Vu until yesterday, when I span it up on Spotify ("I Nearly Cut My Hair"?  Seriously?  This is not a Zappa-style spoof?).  So, as far as I am concerned, this is not the story -- whether lost, misplaced, damaged, or deliberately dropped behind the sofa -- of 1970.  Although, clearly, it is a story of 1970, but one compiled from the unreal, outer-space perspective of the historian.

Nonetheless, I have been finding this tale of behind-the-scenes sulks, spats and breakups entertaining.  How could you not?  What big babies these rockstars be!  And, as it happens, I have also recently watched two fascinating movies on Netflix, both of which tell a very similar story of young men behaving badly: History of The Eagles, and Beware of Mr. Baker.

Now, I only really know one Eagles album: Desperado, surely the most satisfying "concept" album ever made.  Granted, grown men dressing up as cowboys is a bit silly, but -- as I have written before -- the whole rock/pop enterprise comes out of the Dressing Up Box, so why not make a virtue of it?  Few albums can have taken a thematic metaphor and run with it as brilliantly as Desperado.  And yet, as I discovered from the film, it was a disappointment in sales terms, and got made amid some serious inter-personal difficulties and rivalries, and thus gets passed over fairly swiftly in the band's "history".  In the end, all roads lead to Hotel California, yet another album I have never heard.

And therein lies the lesson, historically.  To us, as consumers, the lost story of any given year, as far as music is concerned, is not a tale of hissy-fits in the studio, sales figures, clever technical feats, or how unfairly the loot got split; it's the private story of our relationship with those few entertainment "products" we happened to choose or, as it more often felt, the ones which chose us.  That was our real, lived experience, quite a different thing to the statistical reduction of a million lives. A lot of people bought and loved Déjà Vu: I didn't.  A lot of people didn't buy and love Desperado: but I did.  We didn't know and probably still don't care who walked out or who was fired or who had to struggle with demons and addictions in the process of manufacturing the songs that invoke important times and places and feelings in our own little lives.  No-one loves a song or an album because it went platinum, and they don't necessarily go platinum just because people love them.

To take an interest, retrospectively, in the production process is fine, if you want to find out how the trick was done.  But this is never such a good idea, if you want the enchantment to last. Which brings us to Beware of Mr. Baker.  That is, drummer Ginger Baker, Exhibit A in the Monsters of Rock freak-show.  I mean, really...  I knew he was regarded as a bit intense and difficult to work with, but crikey.  As it happens, Cream were never really my thing -- they were practically Dad-rock even by 1970 -- but if you harbour any precious memories of that particular rock combo, take my advice:  never, ever watch this extraordinary movie.  To anyone else, though, this is probably a pretty good insight into how the trick was done; or, in Baker's case, how the trick was thoroughly and repeatedly fluffed, muffed, stuffed and stamped on.  But do you really want to know?  I don't think you do.

Desperado, 1958

25 comments:

Dave Leeke said...

Some interesting points here. Maybe being only 14 in 1970 means I have a different perspective on the music of the time.

I haven't read the Browne book but quite possibly I may. My favourite Eagles album is also "Desperado" but I couldn't face going beyond "Hotel California" on the documentary. As for the Ginger Baker one, well, I refer you to the Cahiers du Cinema group and their revolt against "Cinema du papa". "Music du papa" indeed. Cream to me added nothing that I needed in my life.

Meanwhile back at "Deja Vu" - I still like the sound of the album especially in its naïvety. But let's face it, it was always going to be flawed as it has one of the worse songs ever written on it. "Our House" really is a song that should have been put out of our misery by being left on the cutting room floor.

Even if it is about Joni Mitchell. No wonder she chucked him!

BTW - "Almost Cut My Hair" was written/recorded 3 days after Crosby's girlfriend was killed and was Neil Young's favourite song on the album. I guess there was a lot of anger in that moment of time. I will refer you to Crosby's solo album of the same year where "I'd Swear There Was Someone Here" (also about her) still sends goosebumps up my spine.

Mike C. said...

Dave,

I'd be curious to know when you first heard "Deja Vu"? Yes, "Our House" is toe-curlingly twee...

Not having spent much money on albums in my earlier life, I generally know only the singles or the frequent radio plays. But then, on 90% of albums most of the other tracks tend to be self-indulgent filler...

Mike

Dave Leeke said...

Mike,

A friend's girlfriend was a real CSN fan so I heard "Deja Vu" pretty well when it came out. I've never actually owned a copy but I could make it up as a playlist from composite albums. Obviously I'd leave "Our House" off!

As you say, many albums feature a lot of filler - even "Rumour & Sigh" by RT. "Psycho Street" anyone?

Dave

Mike C. said...

Dave,

All that empty space on CDs made the "filler" problem so much worse, too. I'm a big fan of guitarist Bill Frisell, but rarely listen to more than the first five or so tracks on any CD -- sometimes they contain what feels like 100 tracks of self-indulgent noodling.

Then, of course, there's always the "Ringo track", to provide an income for a band's lesser members...

Mike

Zouk Delors said...

Funny, because I'm sure I remember standing in the sitting room of a flat in Chauncy House, Stevenage (don't know why I wasn't sitting) being enthusiastically played the young resident's brand new copy of Wheels of Fire. Could have sworn it was No.47. Maybe it was his dad's record?

Mike C. said...

Zouk,

Yeah, Dad was always a big Ginger Baker fan. He used to be a drummer, too, you know!

It's true, I did once own that record. Tried to convince myself I liked it, but failed. Happens a lot at that age, I think -- ditto the Beatles White Album (truly awful, but wish I'd kept it -- those original embossed and numbered pressings are quite valuable now).

Pre-internet, it was so much harder to figure out what you might or might not like, especially if you were waiting for Xmas and birthdays to add new items...

Mike

Zouk Delors said...

I've still got my copy. There's nothing quite like a blast of White Room to summon those days to mind.

Mike C. said...

Zouk,

Good to know. In that case, you should definitely *not* watch "Beware of Mr. Baker".

Mike

Kent Wiley said...

Oh goodness, now I have to see Beware of Mr. Baker. Being a couple years older, it was definitely cool stuff when we first heard the Dad Rock that was Cream in 1967. I remember tearing the double disc set in half with a friend. Not sure which of us got the studio album and which got the live disc. Those objects are long gone.

Mike C. said...

Kent,

Well, don't say I didn't warn you... You'll be haunted by "Blue Condition" for days.

Mike

Zouk Delors said...

I've still got Blue, too! Don't get any ideas from Kent, btw, that I might rend my Wheels of Fire in two and give you one half; you had it and you got rid of it!

Here's one for the mondegroids: What exactly was it Pressed Rat and Warthog (Studio, Track 1, Side 2) sold, other than amplified heat, in the shop they unwillingly closed down? And why did they only have eight of them?

Mike C. said...

Zouk,

If you mean Joni Mitchell's "Blue", then I raise you two LPs, a cassette, and two CDs, plus, of course, the version on my own internal memory drive.

"Blue Condition" is the mournful "Ringo track" on "Disraeli Gears", which plays out the end of the "Beware of Mr. Baker" movie. But you probably knew that, really, as you mention the egregious "Pressed Rat" which I will not listen to ever again except by accident...

Mike

Zouk Delors said...

Not counting Pressed Rat's collection of dogs's legs and feet.

Zouk Delors said...

Ah, no, didn't know that. I've never owned a copy of Disraeli Gears. The only tracks I recall are Sunshine Of Your Love and Swalbr, and not even sure of them. I did once hear that Ginger Baker (I think it was) came round with a brand new racing bike, saying it had "disraeli gears and everything", which is how the album got its name.

Joni: I fold.

Zouk Delors said...

Oh, no, I just checked and Sunshine of Your Love never made it to Disraeli Gears - http://www.gingerbaker.com/lyrics/index.htm - probably it was actually Strange Brew that was the standout track. And it turns out PR&W sold atonal apples.

Martyn Cornell said...

Hmmm - maybe it's because I was 18 in 1970, but I still love Cream. OK, Pressed Rat and Warthog was pretty shit, but there are a dozen or more tracks by Cream I still listen to with enormous enjoyment – Eric Clapton may have a streak of stupid racism running through him, but some of his solos then were almost perfect. And he can still do it – listen to the solo here on the old Howlin' Wolf son Forty Four with the Wynton Marsalis band, about 4' 10" in, and watch Wynton's face https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOixoY6k0I4

Mike C. said...

Martyn,

No argument about Clapton -- the "461 Ocean Boulevard" album was very much part of "my" time. That album, plus "Feats Don't Fail Me Now", "Fish Rising", "Natty Dread" and various others will always take me back to various smoke-filled rooms.

But, Ginger Baker... I repeat my warning -- don't watch "Beware of Mr. Baker" unless you enjoy poisoning the well of your memories...

Mike

Kent Wiley said...

No accounting for tastes, is there? I always kinda liked PR&W. Sounds like Zouk has listened a lot more closely than I ever did. And I have no memory whatsoever of "Blue Condition". But I guess that's why it's a "Ringo track".

Zouk Delors said...

Yeah, PR&W has some great bass playing from Jack Bruce as the melody is maintained on trumpet by Felix Pappalardi (to whom the studio album owes a great deal of course as he plays a variety of instruments throughout). Baker, who wrote and recited the poem, says it was "a silly goon inside joke": http://www.gingerbaker.com/lyrics/pressed-rat-warthog.htm. Btw I'm now definitely not going to go out and get Beware of Mr. Baker at the first opportunity

Kent Wiley said...

I see from Wikipedia that my memory is mistaken. Wheels on Fire didn't release until 1968, so I obviously didn't hear it the previous year, as I stated earlier. My bad.

Kent Wiley said...

Found this interesting old GB Trio video from Frankfurt with Charlie Haden and Bill Frisell. The inevitable drum solo comes towards the end, and is still impressive.

Visually and sonicly superior is this Bill Frisell performance from 2014 in France.

Mike C. said...

Kent,

Yikes. I only hope good old Bill got out in one piece.

Mike

Zouk Delors said...

Kent,

Wheels of (sic) Fire* was recorded in 68, but you probably did first hear Cream in 67 as Disraeli Gears and the single Sunshine of Your Love were recorded then and the latter was huge in the States. Interesting notes on its composition and recording on Baker's lyrics page (see above).

*This Wheel's on Fire was a Dylan/Danko composition and a big hit for Julie Driscoll and the Brian Auger Trinity, about the same sort of time (if your memory serves you well).

Kent Wiley said...

Zouk, you're probably right. No doubt I did hear "Sunshine of Your Love" earlier. The childhood friend I split Wheels on Fire with disappeared from my life when we moved away from that town at the end of 1968. So we must have torn that album asunder some time in the summer.

My memory doesn't serve me very well, but I certainly remember the Julie Driscoll/Brian Augur rendition. "Classic" Rock Radio aka Classic Crock still plays it to death. At least as of several years ago they did, when I was still being unwillingly subjected to it.

Kent Wiley said...

"Wheels of Fire" - my bad again