The Albums That Changed My Life (Part Three)
Taking a Look At Decades of Records, With Gratitude, That Began A Lifelong Love Affair With Music
When I think about it, words fail to express my gratitude. Through many decades of living, Music has been the safe harbor, my best friend, the faithful lover, the perfect relationship, and the muse that sparked a lifelong interest in drumming and moved me out of social isolation into engagement with people.
A world without music, for me, would literally be a world not worth living in.
It’s the thread that has connected my life, and I imagine, was, and remains, the salvation of hope for myself and many people.
Hopefully, this doesn’t come across as a “top ten list”, those are annoying and ubiquitous, and in my humble opinion, a bit trite, with too much emphasis on “Good, Better Best” frameworks of presentation.
Music, ideally, isn’t a competition, it’s an artistic and spiritual offering that is shared.
Frankly, we all need a respite for our sanity and mental health, especially in these times, something music has provided for decades without asking anything in return.
With that said, time to dive in:
The Who: Live At Leeds / Tommy
My first introduction to the Who, the moment that deeply imprinted, was hearing their single release “I Can See For Miles” in 1967, a shimmering, powerful burst of barely contained Rock energy built on the three-way dynamic of Pete Townsend’s power chords, John Entwistle’s solid and innovative Bass lines, and Keith Moon’s muscular and delightfully unrestrained percussive bursts. Roger Daltrey, on lead vocals, promised trouble for the victim of his jealous wrath, and you believed it.
Even on the noisy carrier wave of AM radio condensed to a monophonic blast, you could hear the future of Rock being planned in real-time, as well as the great, innovative potential of the band. The Who came roaring straight out of the starting block and took no prisoners. I became, like millions, indoctrinated as a lifelong fan.
Keith Moon probably couldn’t have made it as a drummer in any other ensemble, but his completely unique style, devoid of tradition and technique, was perfect for The Who. How was it even possible that three people could sound like an instrumental Army of musicians?
I was very young when I excitedly opened the gatefold cover of “Live At Leeds” and, essentially, I knew nothing about which person played what role in the band, for example, that Pete Townsend was also the principal composer and songwriter, or that he sang lead vocals as well as harmony. The original cover was stamped like a bootleg or demo, very rough looking and unadorned with typical album cover artwork.
Inside, the built-in pockets were stuffed with posters, photos of the band at Woodstock, early promotional posters for their gigs in London, and even rejection letters from record companies they auditioned for. Who were “The High Numbers”? It was a peek into the band’s origin and History, and completely innovative, if confusing. The posters had a place on the wall, but what did they want us to do with the paperwork?
With the opening track, Mose Allison’s “Young Man Blues,” a song written by a JAZZ musician, I was hooked in seconds. The false start of the opening chords, followed by a kinetic burst of cymbal and tom pummeling from the incomparable Keith Moon, and then, another instrumental dead stop as Daltrey roared with masculine energy that only a young man could express: “Well A Young Man, Ain’t Got Nothing In The World These Days!” was Punk attitude before Punk even existed. The Who were stamping attitude all over the stage. They were the template for the Sex Pistols and The Clash in the years to come.
The original record contained only six tracks, due to the limitations of vinyl, and later expanded editions gave us, thankfully, the concert as heard in its entirety without edits. The band took the tight structure of their original hits like “Magic Bus” and tossed it aside in favor of reinterpretations, improvisation, and extended jams, sometimes with unsatisfying and uneven results. It’s pure Rock and Roll passion exemplified. Perfect imperfection.
“Live At Leeds” was the follow-up to what is arguably The Who’s most important record, the “rock opera” Tommy. The band apparently wanted to follow up the “lighter” feel, recording, and instrumentation on Tommy with a harder-edged live record and “Leeds” certainly provides that.
Ironically, The Who reinterpreted a truncated version of Tommy ON “Live At Leeds” (unavailable on the original vinyl and now gloriously restored) for the live stage that they would perform for many touring dates to come.
The quasi-mystical narrative of Tommy, expanded across two records, tells us the story of a “deaf, dumb, and blind boy” seeking salvation and redemption, only to become a Messiah figure himself. The story arc centers around Tommy’s birth, subsequent abuse by unsavory characters and his own family, and eventual worship and adulation by millions for his skill at pinball.
Scholars of the narrative, or the composer himself, would be better suited to explain the storyline if it is explainable at all. No matter. It has zero effect on the listener’s enjoyment. It’s a musical journey. Its parallel is our life journey. The fact that “Tommy” produced another massive hit single in “Pinball Wizard” for The Who is an unlikely surprise, along with John Entwistle’s contributions on French Horns, which stamp the orchestration with class and majesty. It’s a fine moment in art as much as a “rock record”.
2001: A Space Odyssey Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
One event in my life where art/media literally changed my consciousness was my first viewing of Stanley Kubrick’s cinematic masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey.
It has taken me decades to absorb and understand why I was so fully immersed in the film, its narrative, and the music. My parents, again, kindly gifted me with an original vinyl copy of the MGM Records soundtrack and I disappeared into a strange world of the most beautiful yet alien music I had ever heard. I never could separate the story and the cinematography from the music. It seemed they were inextricably fused.
Thanks to the brilliant microanalysis on YouTube and other information sources, I can, now, finally understand that Stanley Kubrick created the first multimedia event of its kind, that is, the narrative, the visuals, and the music were all tweaked with exhausting personal participation, and laborious listening sessions by Kubrick himself. He didn’t direct the film, he was the film. He insisted on the perfection of his vision of Arthur C. Clarke’s story.
In many ways, Kubrick’s demands on the creative team that worked on his films remind me of the standards Frank Zappa imposed on his band members, grueling, exacting, but necessary to realize his vision.
The thought didn’t occur to me until very recently, that absorbing this strange, spooky, and diverse soundtrack enabled me to embrace weirder music down the road: from Zappa’s dissonant offerings to Brian Eno’s synth experiments on the first Roxy Music record, to the alien soundscapes created by Pink Floyd in their masterpiece “Echoes”. It also introduced me to Classical Composers like Ligeti and Strauss, influences I otherwise might never have intersected with at all.
The compositions on the 2001 soundtrack record do not make for easy listening, but they are the most powerful, emotive selections I have ever heard on a movie soundtrack.
Jeff Beck: Blow By Blow /Wired
Growing up in the 1970s, you would have had to live under a rock not to know the name and reputation of Jeff Beck, yet, I was largely unfamiliar with his earlier work with the Jeff Beck Group. I had acquired a copy of “Beck Bogert And Appice” his collaboration with Bassist Tim Bogert and Carmine Appice in 1973, but with the exception of their cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition,” I found the record an uneven, unsatisfying listen as it seemed hastily recorded and engineered.
Fast forward to March of 1975, a few short months remaining in my High School career, and Beck dropped a record that not only changed the course of his career, it arguably created a new genre of instrumental music fusing Jazz, Rock, Funk, and beautiful ethereal arrangements. My friends played the record incessantly, and it became, in my mind, theme music for major life changes and events. An album that spoke volumes sans lyrics.
The magic touch on “Blow By Blow” was non-other than the contributions and oversight of Beatles producer and engineer George Martin, which at the time seemed an unlikely combination, as Beck was not exactly known for the lush string arrangements on his compositions but as a master of heavy guitar.
By 1975, Beck was reportedly tired of being a backup guitarist for Rock singers like Rod Stewart, had compositional ideas of his own, and wanted to step into the forefront. The intersection of the talents of Beck and Martin created a record that broke the rules (all instrumental) and contained exactly zero pop hits. Martin’s genius at arranging strings paid off in spades for “Blow By Blow”, especially the countermelodies and harmony on tracks like “the emotive “Diamond Dust”.
The album, probably to the surprise of the record company, and possibly Beck himself, was a huge success, eventually reaching Number Four on the Billboard Top 200. It is considered an undisputed instrumental classic. The band that backed Beck up on “Blow By Blow” deserves as much credit as Martin for helping Beck push the boundaries of instrumental composition, especially the technically sharp drumming of Richard Bailey, which is at the forefront of the mix, and propels tunes like “Air Blower” with authority, demanding the listener’s full attention.
Buoyed by that success, Beck continued in 1976 with the all-instrumental formula and experimentation, collaborating with Jazz fusion keyboardist Jan Hammer on “Wired”. Wired, while basically using the same production formula as Blow By Blow, is less subtle, and certainly more hard-edged, but is beautifully recorded. There are moments of mood and subtlety, as Beck covers Charles Mingus’s composition “Good Bye Pork Pie Hat” and the acoustic instrumentation of “Love Is Green”.
There is little doubt, in hindsight, that Beck took a huge gamble in insisting on a bigger voice in his artistic expression, despite the shadow of the industry marketing machine. After all, what he does best is play guitar in a completely unconventional way technique-wise, (he hasn’t used a pick since 1980) pulling almost otherworldly sounds and emotive phrases out of the instrument, and stunning and delighting audiences in concerts across the world. The validation of that talent is in the intent of these records.
Listen To “Blow By Blow” here.
Roxy Music: Roxy Music
Mott The Hoople: All The Young Dudes
David Bowie, by the early 70s, had pioneered what was to become a brand new genre of Rock known as “Glam Rock,” arguably less for the audacity contained within the music itself, and more for the image attached to the gender-blurring costuming and hairstyles. What he did, beyond the image, was pave the way for some exciting and innovative Rock And Roll music that still stands up today.
As a reminder, at that time, you heard music in limited ways: the radio, word of mouth, a freind’s record collection, or in person at a retail, brick-and-mortar record store. The record store is where I “auditioned” the first record by Britain’s Roxy Music.
The beautiful woman on the cover was certainly no hindrance to a sale, it became a sort of trademark for the first series of Roxy albums subsequently released. Yet, it was hearing the weird, obtuse synthesizer sounds created by Brian Eno, credited on the album cover simply as “Eno,” that sold me.
I also recall being less attracted to the strange, slightly disaffecting vocal stylings of leader Bryan Ferry, and more to the driving guitar rhythms and pure Rock and Roll feel laid down by guitarist Phil Manzanera, drummer Paul Thompson, and saxophonist Andy McKay on compositions like “Re-Make Re-Model” and “Virginia Plain”. The music and image of Roxy were completely futuristic, yet simultaneously based on Rock and Roll nostalgia, thanks to the costuming and alien synthesizer bursts of Brian Eno, which always felt like a champagne cork popping at the wrong time.
Weird was also synonymous with rebellion, and any teenager in the 70s was more than happy to express rebellion as often as possible. How many bands had the audacity to start the first track on the first record, their global debut, with the sounds of a nightclub audience murmuring, clinking glasses, and silverware, supposedly waiting for the bands opening number?
“Roxy Music” paved the way for their more lush, romantic, stylized offerings like the brilliant “Avalon” in the next decade. The band evolved beyond weirdness and outrage, but personally, I have great affection for this version of Roxy that tested boundaries. This album represents a time in life that was more optimistic, exciting, and open-minded.
I first heard Mott The Hoople through a neighborhood friend who was also a fellow music fanatic. The first attraction point was the name, it was so obtuse and devoid of meaning that it represented nothing. Yet, extremely cool.
The band was literally on its last legs career-wise, despite grueling touring and recording at home and abroad. Mott had immense talent: the Dylan-influenced poetic lyrics of the brilliant Ian Hunter, the solid Rock guitar stylings of future Bad Company guitarist Mick Ralphs, bassist Pete “Overend” Watts, and drummer Terence Dale “Buffin” Griffin, unfortunately, the band was going nowhere, and couldn’t catch a break despite a fiercely loyal cult following.
David Bowie was a huge fan of Mott The Hoople, and as the story goes, became quite distressed on hearing that Mott was struggling, so he offered, very generously, one song that would cement Mott’s reputation forever. That song, on which the album was titled was the iconic “All The Young Dudes”.
Mott was, unfortunately, destined to fracture, but Bowie’s vision, and faith in the band, at least gave them a chance to shine and continue recording and touring a bit longer. This was the pinnacle of Mott’s career, and they never did shine as brightly as they did here.
The album flows so beautifully from hard rockers like “One Of The Boys” with its “rotary telephone dialing the listener up effects” to the lush and emotional “Sea Diver” that is the coda for the record.
Listen to “All The Young Dudes” here
Thanks for indulging me with what I feel is a true passion, and allowing me to expound a bit on these records. The Substack limits on content have sort of forced me to split this up.
More to come, stay tuned.