A Concert for Linda

Ultimate Classic Rock recently commented on the 15th anniversary of "A Concert for Linda":

On April 10, 1999, Paul McCartney made his first public appearance since his wife Linda passed nearly a year earlier – and just his second in the two years she’d battled breast cancer – during a touching farewell concert.

...

McCartney was backed by members of the Pretenders, along with Costello, for his appearance. He dedicated his set to Linda, whom he called “my beautiful baby — and our beautiful children, who are here tonight.” He then joked: “It’s past your bedtime” before launching into Ricky Nelson’s “Lonesome Town” (a favorite of the couple’s as youngsters) amidst a standing ovation.

As he played an energetic version of the Beatles‘ 1963 hit “All My Loving,” many of the evening’s stars began to congregate on stage, joining in for a rousing chorus.

Because Paul has maintained such a visible public presence in the last decade-plus, it's weird to think there was a time in the near past when he just dropped out of view. The reason he did so couldn't be more understandable, but still. Anything that doesn't perfectly comport with the now-ingrained image we have of him - youthful, irrepressible, jet-setting, eternally carefree - takes time to compute.

They got it covered

Need a fix of recent Beatles/solo-Fab covers?

- Here's Arctic Monkeys' take on "All My Loving." It's a slowed down, less anxious version. Only several steps removed from a Roy Orbison-style torch song (though not so hopeless, and with a fuzzy-squeal solo lodged in the middle). The Monkeys played this cover at MSG almost 50 years to the day after The Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show for the first time.

- Here's the War on Drugs, an indie rock act from Philadelphia, revealing something that perhaps should've been obvious long ago: John's "Mind Games" was always a jammy Southern-rock anthem waiting to happen.

- Finally, here's Broken Bells (that is, the duo of Danger Mouse and Shins leadman/professional Kevin Spacey-lookalike, James Mercer) with a starry electro-pop revamp of "And I Love Her." Kudos for the clever "guest spot" by Ringo and the expertly placed sample of "I Am the Walrus." In my view, this is a perfect Beatles cover: an homage that artfully tinkers with the original but retains the core intentions and core emotions.

"Words of Love" video

I'm not crazy about the new video, which is part of the promotional campaign for On Air - Live at the BBC Volume 2. It's breezy fun for sure, but I would've preferred that the old footage remain free of animation. The added color and the fanciful flourishes just end up having a cheesy, distracting effect. Why not keep the clips of The Beatles and their fans unaltered and then intercut those scenes with purely animated ones? I think the final product would've been much better. In any event, if the video isn't your style, still check it out for the song itself (a Buddy Holly cover, for those unaware). The sound quality is superb, especially on John and Paul's harmonized "hmms." They're little moments of dreamy perfection.

"The Greatest Rock Spectacle of the Decade"

When I last wrote about the Concert for Bangladesh, I had this to say:

One of the central pleasures of the concert (as shown on the 2005 DVD) is that, notwithstanding the handful of rock 'n' roll powerhouses and living legends that participated, it was the well-regarded but still second-fiddle keyboardist Billy Preston who completely stole the show. In my view, his soulful rendering of "That's the Way God Planned It" and the animated, loose-limbed boogieing that he punctuates the song with outshine the two ex-Beatles' handiwork, Eric Clapton's unrehearsed guitar-playing, and Bob Dylan's mini-set. Preston's stage presence is truly radiant and even has an unmissable spiritual flair. There's also a lot of simple charm in the spontaneous feel of his performance. In sum, it's the most memorable moment of a concert not lacking in talent-heavy highlights.

After watching the film again, I thought I should go into greater detail. It deserves better.

Because the Concert became a template for future pop charity events like Live Aid and Farm Aid, it can be easy to focus on the significance of its legacy and lose sight of how incredible it was simply as a rock 'n' roll concert(s)*. No single performance is as memorable as "That's the Way God Planned It," but there isn't a bad apple among the whole batch. Every song delivers.

George and his super-group opened the show with three songs from All Things Must Pass: "Wah-Wah," "My Sweet Lord" and "Awaiting on You All." That's three Walls of Sound played live at Madison Square Garden. A perfect fit, as it turned out. Freed from the confines of the studio, the songs don't suffer from that gauzy, boxed-in quality that Phil Spector lathered all over his productions. These are the IMAX versions, exploding with bold color and a sonic hugeness that works much better live than on record. "Wah-Wah" in particular is a revelation. Next was "That's the Way God Planned It," which was followed by Ringo's star turn, "It Don't Come Easy." Ringo being Ringo, it's a perky, crowd-pleasing performance. Then came two more cuts from George: "Beware of Darkness," which features Leon Russell as a guest vocalist, and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," which teams George with Eric Clapton on lead guitar. Because of his crippling heroin addiction at the time, Clapton wasn't expected to show. Only with the aid of methadone did he find himself able to function (and not all that well). Apart from the Clapton drama, the performance is noteworthy because it was the first time that "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" had ever been done live (the same was true for "Here Comes the Sun" and "Something," which came later). Next was Leon Russell's change-of-pace medley of "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and "Young Blood"; then George's delicate, stripped down rendition of "Here Comes the Sun"; and then the surprise of the night: Bob Dylan. Dylan hadn't been onstage in several years, and George had serious doubts he would make it. Though a nervous wreck, he did show, and the crowd received him rapturously. As depicted on the film, Dylan played "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall," "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry," "Blowin' in the Wind" and "Just Like a Woman." In that brief moment, the spirit of Sixties idealism was revived. Finally, once Dylan wrapped up, George returned to the mic and closed the show with "Something" and "Bangla Desh," which was the first charity single in pop music history. It was a day of many firsts.

Again, what a collection of songs. And, just as much, what a collection of musicians: George, Ringo, Clapton, Dylan, Ravi Shankar**, Billy Preston, Klaus Voorman, Leon Russell, Jim Keltner, Jesse Ed Davis, Badfinger, and more. That's an embarrassment of riches. George had cultivated many strong relationships over the years, and the Concert testified to how well-regarded he was. It was an event rooted in friendship.

Of course, a few of George's closest friends from the near past were conspicuously absent. In the early stages of planning, John expressed interest in playing, but he later backed out. George had stipulated that Yoko could not be involved, which apparently led to a dispute between her and John. After the Concert, the excuse John gave for his absence was that he had been on vacation in the Virgin Islands at the time. Paul, on the other hand, was a firm no from the start. He said that too much bad blood remained from the breakup. He couldn't stomach the thought of working alongside Allen Klein in any capacity.

In the end, it didn't matter. As with All Things Must Pass, the Concert for Bangladesh was George's moment to shine. To this day, it's still a major part of his legacy. The Concert started out as a noble cause but became a landmark event thanks to those superlative musicians and those classic songs.

* - The Concert actually consisted of two installments, but the film combined them into one.

** - I apologize for ignoring Shankar and the Indian music set. It holds little interest for me. I appreciate the craft but don't care for the creation.

Don't pass Ringo by

I write a lot about John and Paul, not enough about George, and woefully little about Ringo. Such is the natural order of things with The Beatles. To be sure, I make no apologies for the considerable space I devote to the Lennon-McCartney tandem, and I feel I'm on the path to correcting my neglect of George. As for Ringo, it's a different story. I admire him as a drummer; he added terrific style and color to The Beatles' music. And I have no time for those lazy, dried-out jokes about his "luck" in being a Fab; the others sought him out for a reason. But it shouldn't be lost on anyone that Ringo has never been a noteworthy songwriter. Far from it. His output, it seems, is judged more on the basis of charm and feel-goodness than artistry and technical skill. Modest expectations and upfront good-will often occasion reviews that are chock-full of awkward faint praise (one line from an Amazon.com write-up: Ringo "does not embarrass himself at all"). In other words, Ringo doesn't permit the most rewarding or honest conditions for evaluating an album. I've avoided his solo discography because the post-Fab careers of the other three interest me far more and I feel more comfortable being critical of their music. Well today marks the end of those days. This is a Beatles blog, and Ringo's voice deserves to be heard.

Ringo's first solo outing, 1970's Sentimental Journey, is an album of popular standards. At first blush, it may seem like a curious genre escapade for a rock 'n' roll drummer and country/western enthusiast, but - as Wikipedia explains - "the idea was to create an album of standards that would reflect his parents' favourite songs." Against the odds, Ringo was one-upping Paul, The Beatles' arch-sentimentalist, in the nostalgia department. To produce, he enlisted George Martin, who was likely tickled by the opportunity to work with a Beatle on his home turf: florid strings, booming brass, singsongy fluff. For the arrangements, Ringo brought in an array of big-name talents: Richard Perry, Maurice Gibb, Quincy Jones, and more. Recording began in late October 1969 and wrapped up the following March. The final product was released on March 27, a full three weeks before McCartney came out. (I like to imagine an alternate universe in which it was actually Ringo's debut solo album that hastened The Beatles' demise.) Though reviews were mixed, Sentimental Journey hit #7 on the UK charts.

As with Kisses on the Bottom, I'm not on strong footing writing about an album like Sentimental Journey. I'm pretty ignorant of music from the pre-rock 'n' roll era, and I don't have much of an ear for jazz, big band or show tunes. Plus, this is exactly the kind of album that leads to cliched talk of "charm" and the like. But I'm in too deep at this point. My layman's take on Sentimental Journey is that it's a mixed bag of easy listens - several gems and pleasant confections alongside a handful of so-so cuts that bleed together - and it may work to greater or lesser degrees depending on your comfort level with Ringo as a singer.

Ringo's voice isn't an ideal fit for this showy style; flat and earthbound, it can't fill out a big sonic canvas. If this objection looms large in your mind, it'll likely take you out of Sentimental Journey. The easygoing title track will just plod; the big jazz of "Night and Day" and "Blue, Turning Grey Over You" will feel too big for the guy at the mic; and the lushness of "Whispering Grass (Don't Tell the Trees)" will seem wasted without the right voice as an anchor. Indeed, some of these songs need a stronger presence in the middle. However, if you focus on the positive associations that Ringo and his familiar, folksy voice can recall, you may enjoy what you hear more.

Then again, each song is different. Ringo's vox may be pedestrian, but "Bye Bye Blackbird" is still a bright and bouncy jaunt that wouldn't be out of place on "The White Album." Better yet is "Love Is a Many-Splendoured Thing," a shimmering, wide-screen take on the Oscar-winning classic. The huge vocal accompaniment that hovers behind Ringo delivers a dazzling effect. Finally, on more low-key numbers like "I'm a Fool to Care," "Dream" and "Let the Rest of the World Go By," Ringo sounds right at home.

To no surprise, I haven't avoided all of the Ringo review cliches I cited above. I'll add one more. Sentimental Journey is a hit-or-miss vehicle for Ringo's always-winning *personality*. It's hard not to root for an album that was essentially made for someone's mom. Richard Starkey = The Beatles' clown prince. Going forward, I hope to see more of him in these parts.

A mini Beatles Bible

I finally got around to reading Rolling Stone's "The Beatles: The Ultimate Album-by-Album Guide." I strongly recommend it. As a source of facts and analysis, it's thorough, insightful, witty and entertaining (albeit slavishly laudatory). Every album from the band's official canon is profiled in detail, and every track (including non-album singles and b-sides) is given a blurb-length treatment. Just don't bother with the musician testimonials; most of them range from dull and forgettable to vapid and incomprehensible.

Below is a smattering of facts, quotes and historical tid-bits that I found worthy of note:

- Paul on the spoils of success: "A Liverpool boy with this tanned beauty in my MG going out to dinner. It should have been 'Can Buy Me Love,' actually."

- I wasn't aware of this gender-modified cover of "And I Love Her." It's smokier and more textured than the original.

- In the chapter on A Hard Day's Night, Douglas Wolk posits that the album only has 13 tracks (as opposed to the early standard of 14) because, before the last recording session, Ringo came down with tonsillitis and pharyngitis, resulting in a schedule change. The band left for a tour shortly afterward, with Jimmy Nicol filling in for Ringo.

- "The Beatles covered more songs by Carl Perkins than by any other songwriter."

- "Ticket to Ride" was the first Beatles song to hit the three-minute mark. It was also their first song "built track-by-track rather than recorded live."

- According to Paul, George Martin's initial assessment of "Tomorrow Never Knows" took this form: "Rather interesting, John. Jolly Interesting." Ever the decorous, unfazed gentleman.

- The "Kinfauns demos" = "possibly the greatest 'unplugged' session in pop-music history."

- "Back in the U.S.S.R" was recorded just days after the Soviets and other members of the Warsaw Pact invaded Czechoslovakia and thwarted the Prague Spring.

- "Our relationship was platonic, believe me" - Paul wryly commenting on his English sheepdog Martha, who apparently wasn't the eponymous lass in "Martha My Dear."

- "Julia" was John's "only solo vocal performance on a Beatles recording."

"Early Takes: Volume 1"

Over the past week, I've been listening to Early Takes: Volume 1, the George Harrison compilation album that was released in tandem with Martin Scorsese's recent documentary about the Quiet Beatle. If, like me, you're not naturally drawn to George's solo catalog and, in particular, often feel overwhelmed by Phil Spector's lavish, echo-smothered, Big Pop production job on All Things Must Pass, the modest, stripped-down Early Takes may be in your wheelhouse. I mention George's first solo release because six of the comp's ten tracks are demos or early versions of songs from that album. With Spector out of the way, the difference in the texture and atmosphere of the two sets is like going from an opulent mega-church to an open-air country service. The songs here - most of them acoustic - are looser, folkier, more intimate. Unburdened of the Wall of Sound's padded lushness, notable cuts like "My Sweet Lord," "Awaiting on You All" and "All Things Must Pass" are able to stretch out and breathe freely, their spiritual themes losing no potency. The added space also benefits George's voice, which sounds more soulful, delicate and expressive than ever. (See the achingly beautiful cover of "Let It Be Me.") All told, I prefer this George Harrison to the one on All Things Must Pass. I suspect George himself did as well.

"Awaiting on You All"

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Weekend happenings

This past Saturday, I saw the Walkmen in concert at "the house that Prince built." Superb show. The Walkmen are among my favorite American bands, and they happen to have an interesting tie-in with The Beatles. In 2006, they put out a song-for-song re-creation of Harry Nilsson's 1974 album Pussy Cats, which was produced by John during his debaucherous but fertile "Lost Weekend." Ringo, a close friend of Nilsson's, contributed as well; he was one of the featured drummers. Furthermore, as stated on Wikipedia, "On the first night of recording, March 28 (1974), Paul McCartney popped into the studio unexpectedly. Bootleg recordings from this session were later released as the album A Toot and a Snore in ’74." All told, the original Pussy Cats is smeared with The Beatles' fingerprints. In fact, John co-wrote my favorite song on the album, "Mucho Mungo," which I described here as a "shimmering coral treat." If you go here, you'll find two versions of the song: one by Nilsson and one by John. Below is the Walkmen's faithful cover.

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. . .

Then on Sunday, I watched The Last Waltz, Martin Scorsese's renowned rock doc about The Band and their farewell concert, which took place on Thanksgiving Day, 1976. Included in the large number of special guests who performed at the show was Ringo. He played drums on Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released" (see below) and took part in a jam session that, frankly, didn't suit his style at all. Ringo wasn't the improvisational, soloing type. He was more of a minimalist who thrived in the controlled environment of a studio.

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"...the problem with the Great American Songbook albums"

This Slate article is worth your time: "Why do Great American Songbook albums by pop artists so often disappoint?"

Excerpt:
Kisses On The Bottom, like just about everything else Paul McCartney has ever done, is marked by a game, high-spirited optimism that's pretty hard to hate. A few of the songs on it—like his lilting and graceful "More I Cannot Wish You," from Frank Loesser's Guys and Dolls—are truly beautiful, offering ample proof that Macca's own remarkable body of work is as firmly rooted in classic, pre-rock pop as it is in Little Richard and everything that came afterward. But even he can't escape the curse that befalls so many of these respectful, well-intentioned projects. It's the curse of pleasantness, of innocuousness, of valedictory tribute. It threatens to turn the best songs ever written into easily forgettable ditties. Thankfully, these songs are also the most durable—they're "standards," after all—and will always be a good deal stronger than their weakest renditions. They can't take that away from us.

Word of the day: prelapsarian ("characteristic of or belonging to the time or state before the fall of humankind").

"And all religion's true"!?!

The biggest Beatles-related news story of 2012 has easily been Cee Lo Green's New Year's Eve performance of "Imagine," during which the Gnarls Barkley singer-songwriter/rapper impiously jettisoned John's original line, "Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too," in favor of, "Nothing to kill or die for, and all religion’s true." To no surprise, many Lennonites responded to the edit with indignation and cried blasphemy. Defending himself on Twitter, Green pleaded, "Yo I meant no disrespect by changing the lyric guys! I was trying to say a world were (sic) u could believe what u wanted that's all."

Though I find all of the outrage to be needless, I'll side with the "Imagine" fundamentalists in this rather indirect, even insulting way: the proposition that all religions are true and will deliver what they promise strikes me as one of the few notions more implausible than John's vision of mankind living in harmony once countries, religions, and possessions have been eradicated. Which is to say, they're both bunk, but one is just a tad more so.

Here are some other takes:
- "Imagine there's no simplistic religious imagery"
- "The Ballad of John and Cee Lo"
- "Let Lennon be Lennon and forget Cee Lo Green"

Saturday cover

As a public figure, Ringo Starr seems irrepressibly upbeat. In interviews, he always has a smile ready, and you can't imagine him turning down an opportunity to advocate "peace and love." As a recording artist, he's much the same these days. On his cover of Buddy Holly's "Think It Over" - part of the compilation Listen To Me: Buddy Holly - he makes a lover's plea for reconciliation sound like a warm and jaunty trip down memory lane.



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Paul's cover of "Hitch Hike" by Marvin Gaye

It's from his performance over the weekend in Detroit.



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Reviews of "Rave On"

Rave On is the newly released Buddy Holly tribute album that features Paul's raucous cover of "It's So Easy." Below are two takes on it.

From New York Daily News:
Two oldsters do wonders by bringing in surprising references to their own pasts.

Softie Paul McCartney stretches himself by reviving his distorted voice from "Birthday" for "It's So Easy," while rocking the track with far more Jerry Lee Lewis madness than Buddy Holly reserve. He even channels Wolfman Jack in a wild spoken coda.

Lou Reed goes even further with "Peggy Sue," bringing back the violins from "Heroin" to add grit and abstraction to a formerly innocent ditty.

From Pitchfork:
The departures from the originals are generally more entertaining than the straight readings. Lou Reed, an under-appreciated humorist, sings "Peggy Sue" with the aimless intensity of a very drunk person grinding through karaoke. "It's So Easy"-- a song Holly originally sang with a gee-whiz kind of tone-- is turned into a noisy blues about how hard it is to control yourself when you're horny. Happily, comfortingly, it is sung by Paul McCartney, the only Beatle funny enough to write a song about his sheepdog

Saturday cover

From Rock 'n' Roll, John's 1975 album of covers, here's "To Know Her Is to Love Her." John's shimmering and expressive vocals + Phil Spector's billowy production style = incredible atmosphere.



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Friday lists

All of these are courtesy of Gibson:

- Top 50 cover songs of all time;

- Top 10 drummers of all time;

- Top 10 Gibson J-200 greats.

Sunday cover

Listen to Paul's forceful and, at times, deliriously unhinged rendition of "It's So Easy" by Buddy Holly. It's part of the Holly tribute album, Rave On, that is set for release on June 28.

And for good measure, here's the original:


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Saturday cover

It's John's dazzling rendition of the Phil Spector classic, "Be My Baby."



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Paul to release pop standards album

Tentatively set for release in early 2012, the album will consist of "covers of pop standards from the pre-rock years."

Read more here.

Excerpt from the Rolling Stone article:
Working with an orchestra in Capitol Studios, McCartney quickly knocked out nearly a dozen tracks, including a handful with Diana Krall and her band. But he's keeping the titles under wraps for now: "They're just songs I admire," he says. "I'm trying to steer away from the obvious ones." McCartney also cut several of his own new songs in a similar vein — even singing into a microphone used by Nat "King" Cole. "It's get-home-from-work music," he says of the LP, tentatively scheduled for release early next year, following additional sessions in London. "You put it on and get a glass of wine."

Macca, covers, and the Cure

I dig the sound of this: an album of Wings and solo-Macca covers that features the Cure.

I refuse to turn down this opening: here's "Close to Me" by Robert Smith and co., one of my favorite songs of all-time:


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James Durbin does Macca

From Wednesday's episode of American Idol, an electrifying and emotionally charged rendition of "Maybe I'm Amazed":


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