Friday, March 13, 2026

Black Mountain - Live Freak Valley Festival 2022


 Black Mountain - Live Freak Valley Festival 2022
 

 Black Mountain - Live Freak Valley Festival 2022 - Part 2
 
“So, how was touring with Coldplay?” That’s the answer Black Mountain’s guitarist/co-vocalist Stephen McBean gives when asked what their least favourite interview question is (future interviewers take note), although, as bandmate Jeremy Schmidt explains, it’s “far enough in the distance now that it’s not so forward in people’s minds.”
The three of us are talking a day before the Canadian prog-rock five piece’s first ever New Zealand show at the Great South Pacific Tuning Fork, sitting on an outdoors bench on a sunny Auckland afternoon. The two band members are only too happy to discuss a range of topics, from side-projects to streaming.
The band have come to New Zealand for the first time on the wings of their fourth album, IV, an ambitious offering packed with classic rock references, both sonically and in its straightforward title. When I ask whether they were wary of choosing a title with connections to what many people see as untouchable rock albums, Schmidt instead confirms their ambitions.
“That’s exactly why we chose it. It’s a lineage that we like. And it was sort of brought up as a bit of a lark, like ‘Oh, well it’s the fourth record, we should call it IV, probably not gonna have a chance to do that again’.”
As a worthy side note, “toying with all that stuff” apparently briefly involved, among other things, the working title OS4. “Yeah that was a stupid one,” laughs McBean, while Schmidt clarifies, “The variations seemed amusing to us for like, about a day or two…”
While this is Black Mountain’s first time in Aotearoa, McBean’s other outfit, Pink Mountaintops visited in 2012. They are just one of many side projects linked to one or more of the prolific band members.
“Pink Mountaintops and Black Mountain, at the beginning, were kind of essentially born out of the same band, and those first two records, some of that stuff could have been on either record, it was just kind of what we recorded,” says McBean, who devoted a lot of time to Pink Mountaintops in the six-year gap between IV and Black Mountain’s previous album, 2010’s Wilderness Heart.
In this time, keyboardist Schmidt was also working on his own solo project, Sinoia Caves, with which he debuted IV track Mothers Of The Sun. “That was like an old song that we had worked on years ago and really didn’t want so see it fall by the wayside, and I knew that just suggesting we go back and work on something old was not going to be terribly appealing to everyone, so I went and worked on it. We always liked it, the song had a great riff, but it seemed like a jam that just sort of… wore its welcome out. I did a vocoder version of it with my solo project Sinoia Caves… I knew all my bandmates would be there, so that was sort of a trick.”
“They all inform each other in different ways,” adds McBean. “You Can Dream was a Pink Mountaintops song that I was playing live, and I was kind of like, well, if there’s more keyboards in Black Mountain it would make more sense.”
In review, the band are often described as drawing heavily on classic ’70s music, but they “don’t live in a vacuum,” as Schmidt puts it. “People always say that old music was way better,” says McBean, “but it’s just ‘cause you don’t hear all the garbage. There’s definitely a certain thing that was happening then because it was the first time it was happening.
You can never return to that, unless the world explodes and we start again.”
This talk of time differences leads me to inquire about a hot topic in the music industry: How they feel about streaming. “Since forever you’re trying to get your music out there, whether people are dubbing it on cassette tapes and stuff, and it’s always been the record labels that are complaining about that killing music.” says McBean.
“It kinda sucks that now it’s… gotten to a point where it creates music as a… can of pop, or whatever. If you spend ten bucks on a record when you’re thirteen, that could be the only record you’re gonna have for that month and you’re gonna damn try your hardest to like that record ‘cause it’s yours, whereas [now] you’re like, “err, I don’t really care for the first 30 seconds, this record sounds like an ambient record,” and go seek something else.”
“Bands I think are fine, because more people come to your shows when you tour and people buy merch and stuff, but sometimes it’s a bit of a shame that, well it’s the same with film, that the people behind the scenes are getting slowly pushed out of the financial equation, whether it be the producers or the arrangers… The Beatles were obviously amazing but without George Martin it would have been a bit of a different game.”  From: https://tearaway.co.nz/interview-black-mountain-aotearoa/
 

The Amorphous Androgynous - The Witchfinder


Just why this deeply trippy album gets such a negative write-up from various progarchives contributors is something of a mystery to this writer, because this is actually rather wonderful. Released in 2005, this was the fourth album issued under the Amorphous Androgynous moniker adopted by Gary Cobain and Brian Dougans, a London-based duo perhaps better known to some as both the popular underground dance act Future Sounds Of London and the compilers of several volumes of the excellent 'A Monstrous Psychedelic Bubble Exploding In Your Mind' series of compilation albums. Despite their background in dance music however, the twosome obviously have a deep fondness for a wide variety funk, rock, jazz and folk-based 1960's and 1970's psychedelia, and 'Alice In Ultraland' is an impressive testament to that love. Skillfuly blending dance elements, woozy beats and ambient washes with proggy instrumental flourishes and a dazzling array of psychedelic sound effects, this arguably ranks as the finest of all Amorphous Androgynous albums, though die-hard prog-rockers may wince at some of the album's more 'contemporary' elements. But it's their loss. From the opening strains of the blissful opener 'The Emptiness Of Nothing', to the cosmic grandeur of stand-out track 'All Is Harvest' and the neon-coloured keyboard washes that pulse throughout 'The World Is Full Of Plankton', this lovingly-crafted slice of neo-psychedelia rarely lets up, sweeping the listener along on a kaleidoscopic sonic journey brought to full life by the diamond-sharp production. Even the album's sleeve manages to allude to the clever crossbreeding of hazy sixties ideals and 21st century cool, with an EMI stereo label cunningly placed in the corner for true authenticity.  From: https://www.progarchives.com/album.asp?id=22795 


Yaelokre - Harpy Hare


Harpy Hare is the first song released by Filipino-Icelandic folk music artist Keath Ósk under the name Yaelokre. It was released as a single on January 4, 2024, and later included as a track on Yaelokre's debut album, Hayfields.
Harpy Hare is a song based on a popular clapping game in Felicity that in turn is based on the fable of the Harpy, the Hare and the Hound. The game is played with three or more people and end up as a game of hide and seek.
Yaelokre has said on one of their twitter spaces that this song is about the Bellringer, but they haven't disclosed in what way yet.
Harpy Hare as described by Yaelokre: "Harpy Hare is a rendition of one of Meadowlark’s common fairy tales; “The Harpy, the Hare, and the Hound”. It has many alterations and depictions. Commonly known as a rhyme, or a children’s poem. Its a verse kids say during a game of Hopscotch. While also being one of the ‘easiest’ plays to perform. Though in spite of its prevalence, barely anyone could remember its truth and origin. It was a song the Storyteller refuses to sing once more for it was claimed, but misunderstood."  From: https://the-yaelokre.fandom.com/wiki/Harpy_Hare

R.E.M. - Shiny Happy People


"Shiny Happy People" is described as an accessible and optimistic pop song. It contains waltz-time strings, "rippling" guitars and "hippy" lyrics, and guest vocals from Kate Pierson. Pierson said she felt the song was an "homage" to her band, the B-52s. R.E.M. had already recorded the song when she arrived, and gave her no direction, telling her "do whatever you want".
R.E.M.'s lead singer, Michael Stipe, described "Shiny Happy People" as a "really fruity, kind of bubblegum song". Pierson interpreted the line "throw your love around" to mean "to share your love and grow your love with others. It's not mindless at all. It's a song about spreading love."
According to some reports, the phrase "shiny happy people" was taken from Chinese propaganda posters used after the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests. However, no statements from the band members have been found to support this. Pierson said the song was "supposed to be shiny and happy ... So I can't imagine that R.E.M. was thinking at the time, 'Oh, we want this song to be about Chinese government propaganda.'"
The accompanying music video for "Shiny Happy People" was directed by American film and music video director Katherine Dieckmann. She was asked by the band to direct the video, and drew some inspiration from a scene in the 1948 movie Letter From an Unknown Woman by German director Max Ophuls. In this scene, a couple goes to a carnival with a railroad car attraction. Rotating landscape backdrops roll past their "window", and eventually we learn they're propelled by an old man pedaling a stationary bicycle behind the scenes. Dieckmann wanted to re-create this situation, using a large children's painting for the moving mural. Stipe suggested her to contact a friend that was schoolteacher, having her fifth-grade class create the backdrop.  From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiny_Happy_People

The Fiery Furnaces - Tropical Iceland


In a grand move to restore liner notes to their informative zenith, the inky little paper accompanying Gallowsbird's Bark offers a handful of (supposedly) autobiographical clues to The Fiery Furnaces' raucous brother/sister gambol: "Matthew encouraged Eleanor to come down in the basement to make their first Fiery Furnaces music together. Maybe he should have hit and stabbed and smashed her. But he just swore." Despite some implied tongue-in-cheekiness (and the obvious fact that relentless sibling posturing is an awfully exhausted conceit right now, even if these kids really are related), it's a surprisingly apt and insightful peep into the bright blue heart of The Fiery Furnaces' blaze: violence, dark rooms, boy/girl handholding, and big selfless compromises all vie for attention on this debut, a feisty blues-rock barn-dance with enough pings and yelps to keep everyone's little hands curled tightly into fists.
The Furnaces' electric guitar, drums, sparingly applied bass, and freewheeling piano riffs recollect everything from Muddy Waters to the Rolling Stones, and Gallowsbird's Bark plays like a big, half-drunken romp through golden-era rock 'n' roll-- airy and thrilling and shifty as hell. Lyrics mostly consist of quasi-rambling witticisms that somehow come together in the delivery; Eleanor Friedberger's brash, oddly assured warble (the evenly hollered "I pierced my ears with a three-hole punch/ I ate three dozen donuts for lunch") is lovingly reminiscent of the kinds of semi-absurdist snickers that Dylan got away with in the late 60s (check the baffling-but-somehow-not credo, "The sun isn't yellow/ It's chicken," from "Tombstone Blues"). Likewise, the duo's spare, confrontational guitar riffing is grating only insofar as it jars; blues-driven, feral, and scribbling all over the page, Bark's sixteen tracks house a mess of weird, undulating musical bits that are hugely intriguing despite not always making a whole shitload of sense.  From: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/3271-gallowsbirds-bark/

Cult of Scarecrow - Rainbows and Unicorns


Even though Cult of Scarecrow is a relatively new band with just one EP prior to their debut proper, most of the guys behind this moniker are all veterans from the Belgian metal scene. Starting out as Dead Serious before they turned into Die Sinner Die. This was all way back in the early nineties. Fast forward to 2017 when the troupe got back together and re-baptized themselves as Cult of Scarecrow on the base of the second song they had newly written together again . A self-titled EP with four songs was the result. Now three years and a world pandemic later, they have construed their debut full length under this new banner.
Stylistically, they’re not so easy to pigeonhole. There’s a wee bit of thrash in there still from their yesteryears, but mainly this is simply nineties styled heavy metal with a lot of groove, grunge and a touch of old school doom metal. Not that any of these tales are actually really slow, it’s more the rumbling Black Sabbath-like bass that will remind you of the doom of yore. That is one of the main differences with the EP which adhered much more to doom’s typical slow-mo tempo.
This difference will in part come from the new drummer Nico Regelbrugge who likes to kick up more of a racket than his more stoner oriented predecessor. Maybe not doomy per se either, but the vocals for sure ingrain the songs with a sense of sinister brooding as their lead singer Filip De Wilde sounds like a Flemish version of Alice in Chains’ Layne Staley, which brings in this grunge aspect from way back in the nineties.  From: https://www.grimmgent.com/albumreviews/cult-of-scarecrow-tales-of-the-sacrosanct-man/


Malicorne - Une Fille Dans le Désespoir


Gabriel Yacoub and Marie Yacoub formed Malicorne on 5 September 1973 (naming it after the town of Malicorne in north-western France, famous for its porcelain and faience). For two years, Gabriel had been a member of Alan Stivell's band, playing folk-rock based on Breton music. He sang and played acoustic guitar, banjo and dulcimer with Stivell, appearing on his 1972 À l'Olympia breakthrough (live) album and his 1973 Chemins de Terre (studio) album, before leaving at the end of Summer 1973 to form his own band, intending to popularise French music the way Stivell had popularised Breton music. Since several of their albums are called simply Malicorne it had become the custom to refer to them by number, even though no number appears on the cover at all.
Released in October 1974, Malicorne 1 consisted of the four founder members, that is the Yacoubs, Hughes de Courson and Laurent Vercambre. They use a combination of electric guitar, violin, dulcimer, bouzouki and vocals. The four musicians, between them, could play twelve instruments. Their first four albums (one album released each Fall from 1974 to 1977) consisted of mostly traditional French folk songs, with, per album, one or two songs written by Gabriel Yacoub, one or two instrumentals and a few music and lyrics borrowed from some Canadian versions of the songs and instrumentals. They occasionally sang group harmonies a cappella. On Malicorne 4, they were lastingly joined by a fifth member, Olivier Zdrzalik, on bass, percussion and vocals.
L'Extraordinaire Tour de France d'Adélard Rousseau, dit Nivernais la Clef des Cœurs, Compagnon Charpentier du Devoir (1978) was very much a concept album, concerning a guild craftsman's travels around France, with an implied spiritual exploration. It is perhaps the most exciting of their albums, with some gothic and prog-rock elements in the music. Like their next album Le Bestiaire, it consists mostly of songs by Gabriel, with a few by Zdrzalik and de Courson. The range of sounds of these albums is huge. Some sections are clearly classical music, but electronic wizardry and bagpipes also appear. Their appeal goes beyond the French-speaking world, and still gives them a dedicated following. All of their albums but one (Les Cathédrales de l'industrie) are available on CD. In 1978, Malicorne released their first compilation album Quintessence spanning their first four "classic" albums and including their non-album track "Martin" (previously released only as a single in early 1975).  From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malicorne_(band) 

Dillard & Clark - Lyin' Down The Middle


Dillard & Clark was a country rock collaboration between ex-Byrds member Gene Clark and bluegrass banjo player Doug Dillard. Their collaboration began in 1968, shortly after Clark departed the Byrds and Dillard left the Dillards. They were considered part of the Southern California country-rock scene in the late 1960s, along with Poco, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Linda Ronstadt, Michael Nesmith and the First National Band, Rick Nelson & The Stone Canyon Band, and the latter-day Byrds.
Their first album The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark was released in 1968 on A&M. Recording personnel included Clark (lead vocals, acoustic guitar, harmonica), Dillard (banjo, fiddle, guitar), Bernie Leadon (vocals, lead guitar, bass, banjo), David Jackson (bass), Don Beck (mandolin, resonator guitar), with guests Chris Hillman (mandolin), Byron Berline (fiddle), and Andy Belling (harpsichord). Most of the songs were written by Clark, Dillard, and Leadon. Drummer Michael Clarke assisted with a few early live performances. The album is praised by connoisseurs for its iconic quality and innovative character, at the intersection of country rock and americana. 
The duo's only other album, Through the Morning, Through the Night, was released in 1969. Donna Washburn (guitar, vocals) joined the group, and Bernie Leadon departed to co-found the Eagles (in 1971). Further band members were Berline, Jackson, and Jon Corneal (drums). Leadon, Hillman, and Sneaky Pete Kleinow (pedal steel guitar) made guest appearances. After his work with Dillard, Gene Clark resumed a solo career. Dillard kept performing as Doug Dillard & The Expedition for a short time, but soon pursued his own solo career. Byron Berline went on to form the Country Gazette with guitarist/bassist Roger Bush.  From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dillard_%26_Clark 

Farafi - Moussou Teke


Born on the streets of India, Farafi is a nomadic duo whose music is based on authentic vocals and percussive sound. Joy and Darlini have drawn inspiration from their travels to create an eclectic collection of sounds inspired by traditional African, Middle Eastern, Indian and Western contemporary music. Their songs vary from heartfelt to upbeat dancing styles. Farafi sing in their own language as well as several African languages, showcasing limitless ways of creating, to reach the depths of all humans. 

Darlini: We met in the state of Goa on the West coast of India, in a little town called Arambol. We first sang acapella, just the two of us. In Arambol, people meet easily and come to create spontaneously. Over time a vibrant platform of international artists joined in and brought their colors to the project. 

Joy: The friends I made in this magical place are still very close to me. In fact, many of them are featured on this album and continue to support us throughout this adventure. 

Darlini Singh Kaul and Joy Tyson were raised by musical families. Right from their childhood, they were keen on visiting unfamiliar worlds both in real life and their imagination. Darlini was born in London, with Indian-French roots. She went to a French conservatoire, later on, she studied theater and dance in the UK. Joy, whose family comes from Eastern Europe, grew up in Clearwater, Florida. When she was 17, she moved to the West Coast to raise dairy goats and study sustainable living in a community in California. 
The two women were united by their shared love for African music. From their early beginnings in Goa, they were surrounded by an enthusiastic community of musicians who explored different music traditions, such as Indian classical, Turkish and Arabic maqam. Of course, they were inspired by Western jazzcats as well. When it came to naming their band, the duo drew inspiration from the West African Bambara term ‘Farafina’, meaning the ‘land of the black skin.’ In addition to their own, wildly creative ‘farafish’ language, African vernaculars are key to Farafi’s way of singing. 

Joy: We resonate with the phonetics of Zulu, Xhosa, Swahili and Yoruba. We often translate English lyrics to multiple languages, and then look at what phrasing fits best for what we have to say. 

Darlini: When I was a kid, I felt limited by English and French. As I started to sing African songs, a language I had no intellectual reference to, it made me look at the notion of invented languages as a tool to compose purely on a phonetic aspect. This allowed me to express feelings that were beyond a language and sing straight from my heart. 

The heart of Farafi is a duo, with both women singing. Joy plays the cajon, Moroccan krakebs and frame drum, Darlini the West African ngoni, the kashaka and Indian ghungroos. They have exhilarating percussion tracks such as Ey budida and enchanting acoustic ballads like Sembere. Farafi can extend to as much as a live eight-piece band, creating songs like the female warrior chant Djanya Wofu, an unadulterated blues power.
Having traveled around the world, now that they consider Berlin their new home, they teamed up with local label Piranha Records – Kreuzberg’s outpost to send messages from the global underground. After two official bootlegs, the time was right to release their debut album. Calico Soul is the poetry of two free-spirited women, joining their voices together with a world-bound, cosmopolitan sound. Calico Soul is a timeless message of hope, togetherness and freedom. 

From: https://www.piranha.de/piranha_arts_ag/farafi 

The Black Crowes - MTV Spring Break 1993


It was the turn of the decade and the rock world needed something fresh to break through the glut of highly produced hair metal / hard rock that was flooding the airwaves. Though grunge would eventually be the force to overturn rock radio as we knew it a year later, The Black Crowes eventually became the breakout band in 1990 that started to show there was finally a fresh appetizer on the menu. This strong five-piece rock band emerged as a force with their debut album, Shake Your Money Maker — a record that embraced early era rock's soulful R&B influences while bringing back a Rolling Stones-esque swagger for a new generation.
The group started six years earlier with brothers Chris and Rich Robinson forming Mr. Crowe's Garden in 1984 while still teenagers. The group went through a series of other members in the years leading up to settling on a lineup that would eventually playing on Money Maker and the changes didn't stop after the album was recorded. Guitarist Jeff Cease played on the record, but eventually gave way to Marc Ford who would handle duties on their second record. Johnny Colt played bass on four albums, while drummer Steve Gorman was the other constant through the band's entire first era prior to their 2019 reunion.
The early years provided some challenges with a still underage Rich Robinson having to hide out in the car at times before being allowed to come into clubs to play the shows. But eventually George Drakoulias, a staffer at Rick Rubin's Def American label, caught the group playing a New York show and was so impressed that he not only helped to get them their label deal with Def American, he also stepped in to produce Shake Your Money Maker.
Splitting time between Atlanta's Soundscape Studios and three different studios in Los Angeles, the now newly renamed Black Crowes laid out their bluesy yet Southern rock inspired record throughout the course of 1989. Speaking of the name change, Chris Robinson told Q Magazine, "We were really into the Dream Syndicate, the Rain Parade, Green on Red — all those Paisley Underground bands, so we wanted a psychedelic name. When we changed, we kept the Crowes because that's what people called us anyway."
The sessions also provided some stellar assistance, with The Allman Brothers' Chuck Leavell helping out on piano and organ, noted backing singer Laura Creamer helping to accentuate some of the record's chicken skin-raising moments and a young engineer named Brendan O'Brien chipping in on "a potpourri of instruments." The Shake Your Money Maker album arrived Feb. 13, 1990, but it wasn't an instant hit. "Jealous Again" was the first song released from the record, but it didn't catch fire immediately. Though the song's muscular opening riffs and killer piano backing are fan favorites now, it was a slow build until the track eventually climbed to No. 5 on the Mainstream Rock Tracks chart.
However, people did take notice, picking out influences ranging from '70s-era Rolling Stones to making their Georgia connection to Southern Rock roots. “What Southern rock became is not what the Allmans started out to be. They were creating a new Southern sound. And what we do now is what I’d like Southern rock to become," Chris Robinson told Rolling Stone, adding, “But there is a lot of the South in us. I don’t know exactly what it is. Maybe it’s just that we’re a little closer to the ground. We have no pretensions about what we do. We’re just a little earthier. We do things a little slower, more casual.”  From: https://loudwire.com/black-crowes-shake-your-money-maker-album-anniversary/


Moby Grape - S/T - Full album

01 - Hey Grandma
02 - Mr. Blues
03 - Fall On You
04 - 8 05
05 - Come In The Morning
06 - Omaha
07 - Naked, If I Want To
08 - Someday
09 - Ain't No Use
10 - Sitting By The Window
11 - Changes
12 - Lazy Me
13 - Indifference 

Moby Grape’s career is “Murphy’s Law’ in action, so much so it transcends other archetypal stories of  fledgling rock and roll bands for whom ‘what could go wrong will go wrong.” The bungling all began even before its eponymous debut album was released fifty-five years ago when the group itself committed the cardinal sin of signing away rights to their creations (as well as their comically cryptic name). Not long after, well-laid but intrinsically unsound promotional plans of their record company gave way to even more unforeseen personal adversity, all of which was in stark contrast to the unflagging confidence the quintet radiated in the baker’s dozen versatile performances on their first album. 
It’s a mature piece of work that belies the group’s abbreviated history together: they had been formed but six months prior to entering a recording studio. The efficiency and productivity of recording Moby Grape belied everything that otherwise went awry around it: the project took just six weeks, and $11,000 to record all thirteen tracks (while another song, “Rounder” was also recorded, but without lyrics or vocals). The end result is a gem from start to finish, as ebullient as it is seamless in its composite of folk, country, blues, and rock. And the psychedelic overtones hearken to the ‘Summer of Love’ in which the album was issued, yet without dating the music at all. 
As fully in evidence on the very first cut, “Hey Grandma,” the unflagging exuberance permeating this record is comparable to that zest pervading the work of none other than the Beatles when they hit their stride on A Hard Day’s Night. Besides containing original songs from each of the five members, and in addition to inventive group harmony singing on cuts including “Fall On Me” and the various lead vocals are as distinctive in their own way as the individual styles of lead guitar work by Peter Lewis (finger-picking) and the aforementioned Miller (staccato blues). Acoustic and electric instruments mesh as completely as the counterpoint and contrast of the lead and background vocals on “805.” 
Meanwhile, Skip Spence—one-time drummer for Jefferson Airplane and collaborator in founding the band alongside manager (and future business nemesis) Matthew Katz—inspired the band early on in more ways than one: his enthusiasm was unflagging early on–most clearly in evidence during the effervescent “Omaha”–but also in the way his guitar work locked in with drummer Don Stevenson and bassist Bob Mosely. In addition to their other contributions, the natural solidity of the rhythm section also maintained the fleet thrust of the ensemble: the changes the group navigates during “Indifference,” in addition to the instrumental ride-out, hints at the collective predilection to improvise on stage (see 2010’s Moby Grape Live). 
Clearly, Moby Grape’s was a wealth of talent in which nothing of value went to waste, at least on this first LP. In the form of carefully-tailored arrangements like that of “Come In The Morning,” this band proffered tracks with as much (or more) hit potential as other releases of the time by, say, the Buckinghams or the Association. But Columbia Records’ simultaneous issue of five singles from the long-player (plus an over-the-top release party) was an effort of unprecedented hype at a time such publicity engendered skepticism in the cognoscenti, influencers of the era both the band and its label were eager to win over. 
Ameliorating the situation somewhat, at least early on, was the designation of David Robinson as their producer for the debut album–he of studio work with jazz-icon-in-the-making Herbie Hancock, the Pointer Sisters, Santana, and Taj Mahal. But a further faux pas in the form of a misconceived press party, plus the ignominy of band member’s arrests soon after the record came out only followed some outrage over famed photographer Jim Marshall’s cover photo: Stevenson was flipping the finger and not all that surreptitiously. In the end, the not inconsiderable lengths to which the prestigious record company strove to win a bidding war to sign the band were effectively squandered and the momentum behind Moby Grape the band never matched that within Moby Grape the LP.
In fact, with the possible exception of Buffalo Springfield’s own debut, few if any other contemporary albums of the time could measure up to this one in terms of the consistent quality of material and musicianship (and the latter suffers tremendously for its audio quality). It’s superior in comparison to early efforts by peers including the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane and, strictly in terms of debut albums, this self-titled record also transcends the initial release by The Doors, often lauded as the greatest of its kind during its (or any) epoch of popular music. 
The Grape’s performance at the Monterey Pop Festival might’ve turned the tide of ill fortune, but instead only continued it. The quintet’s opening of Saturday’s festivities was rescheduled by the promoters in response to the aforementioned Katz’ outlandish demands for the film footage of the performance to be included in the movie of the festival. As a result, the winning and infectious assets of the Grape’s tight set were lost to most attendees except the earliest arrivals in an assembly that would later bear witness to the legendary theatrics of the Who and Jimi Hendrix (on which Sunday the band was originally set to play). 
As detailed in various written accounts of the Moby Grape saga, but most comprehensively in Cam Cobb’s 2018 book What’s Big and Purple and Lives in the Ocean?, that egregious mistiming was a precursor of more unfortunate events as well. The record company hurried the fivesome back into the studio, again with Rubinson, but, at his request, in New York City instead of the more amenable West Coast environs that nurtured the ensemble’s congregation. Outside their collective comfort zone, Moby Grape lost its shared sense of focus both inside and outside the studio and, based on wildly divergent personal and professional circumstances,  the tightly-knit amalgam of versatile talent that gave birth to the eclectics of the first LP dissipated in the sessions for WOW/Grape Jam. (In an instance of woeful irony, the album was nominated for a Grammy in 1969 based on its surreal cover art). 
Columbia’s marketing wisdom compelled the set to be sold for just over the price of a single LP. But the damage had already been done to Moby Grape’s reputation and integrity because, when the sophomore work came out less than a year after its predecessor, memories of the early debacle(s) remained fresh. By that time, even as the initial LP had sold well for such an inaugural release, Skip Spence went his own somewhat errant way (not wholly by choice) during the course of the coming months: he was able to complete his own fairly famous solo album called Oar. Due primarily to health issues, he was then only intermittently to ever work again with the four others in the wake of the Big Apple fiasco, et. al.
The over-produced stylistic morass into which Rubinson and the musicians descended on Wow afflicted even the sole tune to recall the penetrating intimacy of the prior effort. As included in the splendid Listen My Friends anthology, the alternate take of “Bitter Wind” is Mosley’s vivid tune in its purest form, a foreshadowing of his later prolific contributions on two subsequent records, each of which is outstanding on their own terms. Variations on the themes set out on the debut recordings as a quartet resulted in the excellent Americana-styled Moby Grape ’69 and, later that very same year, Truly Fine Citizen (the latter in Nashville with Dylan’s producer of the era, Bob Johnston). 
Various management snafus continued, however, most seriously damaging of which was Katz’ assembly of a faux road entourage. The end result of such errant machinations was exactly the kind of misperceptions both the musicians and the record company had rightfully wanted to avoid but nevertheless fell prey to, despite all their (scant?) best intentions. The lack of a clear-cut and widely-appealing image was (and is) anathema to the widespread popularity this extraordinary band deserved. But in testament to the fundamental chemistry at work within Moby Grape, the various members have soldiered on in a variety of forms since (often under different names), actually reuniting its original personnel lineup for 20 Granite Creek on Reprise Records in 1971. Meantime, the band has performed live sporadically–oftentimes in later years following Spence’s passing with his son Omar– including on special occasions such as the Summer of Love 40th Anniversary Celebration in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park in September 2007.
It was later that year the group’s five original albums, appended with bonus material, were reissued by Sundazed Records, home of the aforementioned collection of concert content (issued coincidentally with the previously-reference Legacy Music compilation). But, in a continuation of ongoing legal skirmishes initiated by Katz (including the very rights to the band’s name), the first two were withdrawn from the marketplace in less than a month. Nevertheless, they are worth searching out if only because, in the case of the first, the five additional cuts illuminate the essential strengths of the original personnel: the tight muscular musicianship comes into greater focus on the instrumental of “Rounder,” while the full-throated group harmonies are even more prominent on this take of “Looper.”
Ironically, the aggregate of deterrence to a bonafide breakthrough this fivesome encountered renders all the more stellar that vintage work of more than a half-century. It’s a testament to its potency that the mythology arising around the record (and its creators) does nothing to taint, much less undermine, the incandescent power of Moby Grape.  From: https://glidemagazine.com/276607/55-years-later-revisiting-moby-grapes-commanding-self-titled-debut-album/

Xenia Rubinos - Help


Do you remember when your interest in music and recording was sparked?

I was always listening to music in my house. My dad was from Cuba. My mom is from Puerto Rico. They both liked salsa music and traditional folk music from Puerto Rico. My dad loved to dance, so any excuse that he had to dance salsa, we were dancing salsa. My dad was also a classical music fan. He wanted me to be an opera singer and a classically-trained pianist, which is what he always wanted to do. But I was really into Mariah Carey, and I wanted to be her. I was seven years old and would spend the entire day learning all the lyrics to every song. I didn't even know what she was talking about, or what most of the words meant, but I would study them. My mom got me a karaoke machine and tapes of Mariah Carey songs. I would sing to these, and then I figured out that I could tape myself. As I got a little older, around 12, I started writing my own songs on this machine. I would take two blank tapes and layer voices, my little keyboard, and beats on it. I found some of these cassettes last week. They're still somewhat playable. It's wild. I was making beats. I didn't even know what I was doing. I didn't have any formal training. Music was something for myself; my own private space.

Were you bouncing these tapes back and forth, doing sound on sound?

Yeah, that's exactly what I was doing. By the end, there was a thick layer of noise on top of everything. I had a Casio keyboard that had built-in speakers that came with some pre-programmed beats. I'd play the beats and spit on top of it. Or I'd get a pencil and play the table or the bed frame, and I'd use the karaoke mic to record it.

I'd love to hear some of that!

It's intense! There are some that are more experimental, where I'm doing what I think is jazz. There's one that's me clearly trying to figure out this pop music thing. The lyrics are, "I came down here to bust a move." It's ridiculous. It's so embarrassing.

But you were a kid! It's supposed to be ridiculous.

I was 12. We might need to issue a re-master. [laughter] Get Heba Kadry [Tape Op #139] on the case and see if she could fix it!

It sounds like your parents were supportive of your musical endeavor.

They were very supportive and patient of the space that I needed to do my thing. My dad was paying for lessons early on, because he thought that I could be a child prodigy. Then he quickly realized that I was not interested. But when it came time to figure out what I was going to do after high school, I just wanted to move to New York. I grew up in Hartford, Connecticut, and I wanted to move to New York, meet other musicians, and learn how to do music. That wasn't an option. I'm first-generation born in the United States. My father escaped communism. He was a professor in Havana and came to the U.S., worked at a 7-11, and started all over again. My mom was the first person to graduate from university in her family. For me, the "no college" thing was not an option. I was like, "Okay, music school then." My dad was saying, "You'll never be able to do anything because you're too lazy. And also, you're old." He was thinking about that young, 6-year-old violinist vibe. That wasn't me! For both of my parents, it was important to give me the opportunities that they never had. That was their dream, to create this situation that was such a luxury for me to be able to say, "I'm going to study music," or to choose what I wanted to do. My mom took the approach of, "I'm not going to force you to do something else and then have you grow up and hate me."

How was your debut, Magic Trix, conceived?

Magic Trix came out of a period of time where I was urgently trying to play my music. I had moved to New York and was coming out of this jazz/composer scene. I would write music, I would write all my parts out, and then I would get people together to play it for me. I would never, myself, play it. I graduated from college and studied jazz composition; but, despite doing that, my physical writing of parts skills was not so great. I had varying degrees of success in getting my music to sound like what I wanted it to sound like, getting a band together to play it, and being able to rehearse them the way I wanted to. It was always an uphill battle to get my music played. A lot of the rhythms I was playing were easy to me, because I felt them in my body and wrote them naturally. I didn't think it was complicated. I didn't think it was something to argue about. All of my rehearsals would devolve into, "You wrote it like this, but I think it's like that." It was a nightmare to get to the point where the music sounded like what I had envisioned, and the players were confident in playing it. It was exhausting.

Eventually you did it all yourself?

I urgently needed to play. I got a [Boss] Loop Station. It was when Tune-Yards [Tape Op #88] first came out. I thought maybe this could be a way for me to make my music without other people. I also was shy about playing instruments that were not my voice in public. I was coming out of this very jazz-centric scene, where it's like, "Do you have the chops?" I started looping and playing keyboard. That accelerated everything. Some of the songs I started developing became Magic Trix. Then some of the songs, "Los Mangopaunos" and "Ultima," I had been playing with my instrumental group – more on a composer tip – became more developed songs. All of a sudden, I had all this music. I was sharing it with Marco, who had been playing with me all these years, and he said, "You should make a record. Record this." We made [Magic Trix] in my basement studio with this great engineer, Jeremy Lucas. It was very much live playing. It was my first time ever making a record. I had no idea what I was doing. Marco and I started our own little LLC to put out the record. A year later, Ba Da Bing Records, a small independent label in Brooklyn, re-issued it.

From: https://tapeop.com/interviews/152/xenia-rubinos 

The Rolling Stones - Monkey Man

 

In the mid-1970s, I became friends with a guy on my block, Steve, who was a couple of years older than me, played guitar (he would eventually be the guitarist for very popular Fresno new wave covers band Aqua Bob), and was enough of a Rolling Stones fan that he had a poster of Mick Jagger on his bedroom wall.
It was a poster for Ampex tapes, featuring a close-up of Mick doing his thing with a giant “AMPEX” in black letters below him. Only Steve had crossed out the “M” and the “X” so that the poster just said “APE.” Which teenage Jim always found pretty hilarious. Anyways, I think of that every time I hear “Monkey Man,” a very self-conscious piece of myth-making in the vein of “Sympathy For The Devil.”
“Monkey Man” opens with an ominous Bill Wyman bass line accompanied by equally unsettling piano tinkles by Nicky Hopkins and a Jimmy Miller tambourine, all of which lead into one of Keith Richards’ greatest rhythm guitar parts, a jumping and jiving riff that always seems like it’s on the verge of leaping out of your speakers and kicking the shit out of you.

I’m a fleabit peanut monkey
All my friends are junkies
That’s not really true

And it wasn’t, yet, as Keith hadn’t yet entered into full-blown junkiedom, though he’d probably dabbled by that time. (One of the quotes that comes up in nearly every book I’ve read about the Stones is from Anita Pallenberg, who pointed out that Keith dealt with his guilt about Brian Jones’s death by becoming Brian (though obviously Keith was made of sterner stuff, in case you haven’t noticed.) In any event, Mick continues, even more delighted in himself than usual:

I’m a cold Italian pizza
I could use a lemon squeezer
Could you do?

But, I’ve been bit, and I’ve been tossed around
By every she-rat in this town
Have you, babe?

Oh look, it’s another Robert Johnson reference! I’d honestly not put together how much Johnson was on Let It Bleed, outside of the cover of “Love in Vain” — which they infamously credited to “Woody Payne” until eventually Johnson’s estate sued. It probably recorded around the same time that Led Zeppelin recorded “The Lemon Song,” in yet another case of great minds stealing from the same source. Meanwhile after Mick expresses that he’s a monkey man and is glad that the potential lemon-squeezer is a monkey woman, he continues shit-talking.

I was bitten by a boar
I was gouged, and I was gored
But I pulled on through

Yes, I’m a sack of broken eggs
I always have an unmade bed
Don’t you?

Well, I hope we’re not too messianic
Or a trifle too satanic
We love to play the blues

That last verse is, of course, just Mick fucking with people: a wink an a nod to the devilish image they’d been cultivating and darkness they’d been flirting with for a couple of years, and is delivered with Mick’s massive tongue firmly in his cheek, and wouldn’t even come close to being the last time he’d go down this road.
That said, this is all a warm-up for the main event, an absolutely thrilling instrumental break, where Keith turns his jumping jack riff and bounces it pretty much all over the place in a battle with Charlie Watts, who answers Keith with some big slams on his floor tom before overdubbing some slide guitar, or not as the case may be. In addition, Nicky Hopkins is all over this, and even takes a long piano solo while the guitars wheeze all around him. It’s finally cut off by Mick singing “I’m a monnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-kayyyyyyyyyyyyyy . . . man” a couple of times in the sickest possible voice, literally Steve’s poster come to life.
After that, it’s Mick just screaming that he’s a “ma-ma-ma-monkey” in a shattered falsetto as Keith continues to dance with his guitar. The whole thing is equal parts ridiculous and awesome, and “Monkey Man” is one of those Stones songs that’s honestly so over-the-top I can actually see people hating it with a vengeance, but I come back every single time to how Keith and Charlie are playing off of each other, and that’s what does it for me.

From: https://medialoper.com/certain-songs-2053-the-rolling-stones-monkey-man/

The Nields - May Day Cafe / I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry / Mercy House / One Hundred Names


On their fourth album, the Nields remain primarily a vehicle for Nerissa Nields' songs, which here are concerned with the opportunities and pressures of community and relationships. A search for home is the subject of several songs, but Nields makes it clear that home is to be found in emotional commitment, not in a specific place. In fact, the more conventional sense of home is a place to be escaped from: In both "This Town Is Wrong" and "Caroline Dreams," specific friends identified by name are urged to get away, and the spoken word "Barbie Poem" associates convention with artificiality. The songwriter's affection for locations is ironically tinged. In the lead-off track, the catchy "Jeremy Newborn Street," she is content to wait even though she's been stood up, while the "May Day Cafe" is a place she goes to drink alone. Her ambiguous sense of romantic attachment is expressed in a trilogy of songs in the middle of the album, beginning with the unlimited devotion of "One Hundred Names," continuing with the dangerous attraction of "Mr. Right Now," and concluding with "Jack the Giant Killer," which is about domestic abuse. By the end of the record, she declares, "I Still Believe in My Friends." The accompanying music to these songs generally falls into the category of Beatles-influenced, folkish pop/rock, specifically the Beatles music of 1966-67 found on the singles "Paperback Writer"/"Rain" and "Penny Lane"/"Strawberry Fields Forever" and the album Revolver, with their touches of strings and horns augmenting the pop arrangements. Katryna Nields remains her sister's mouthpiece, with Nerissa joining in on harmonies, and she gives the lyrics an emotional edge with the pronounced break between her chest and head voices, which she uses to expressive effect. This is elegant, appealing music that speaks to the varied concerns of contemporary women.  From: https://www.allmusic.com/album/if-you-lived-here-youd-be-home-now-mw0000605572#review 

Prick - Riverhead


I know that for a lot of people, Prick isn’t much more than the random product of the clout Trent Reznor carried at Interscope in the 90s; a favour extended to former bandmate, friend, and mentor Kevin McMahon. You might hear “Animal” out at a more retro-minded industrial club night now and again, but the first Prick album just isn’t discussed that much, and second LP The Wreckard, released seven years later, is almost entirely unknown. But Prick was an integral part of my initiation into industrial music. I have innumerable memories of and associations with “Communiqué”, “No Fair Fights”, and “Makebelieve”, many of which are deeply personal and not of any interest to anyone else, but I think the way in which the record blended ’90s industrial production and rock structures is worth discussing.
Whether I was conscious of it at the time or not, part of what drew me to Prick was how it framed industrial rock as being part of, or at least clearly connected with, extant rock traditions and markers in the broadest sense. As opposed to, say, Skinny Puppy, one of my other recent discoveries and obsessions circa ’96-’98, Kevin McMahon’s music didn’t sound wholly separate from the music I’d heard on the radio all my life…and yet it was still undeniably different from the glam rock and new wave it drew inspiration from (two other genres I was also busy exploring at the time). Unlike industrial metal, itself a hybrid of two “extreme” genres, Prick wears its debt to the smoother (if no less alienated, perhaps) sounds of Bowie and Bolan on its sleeve. In a way, that made Prick a weirder listen than Last Rights, which I understood the place of only by virtue of its complete opposition to music itself as I then understood the term. I didn’t know where Prick fit in in the topos of music, and thus it puzzled and beguiled me.
Two decades on, I realise that by straddling two worlds, Prick was forcing me to pay attention to core compositional structures rather than the production and engineering techniques with which I was, and still am, enchanted (I can’t overstate how much of my taste was formed by Flood and Alan Moulder at a young age). After a few years with Prick I could listen to Pretty Hate Machine and notice just how much it owed to pop songcraft. That seems painfully obvious now, but it would have been blasphemy to my sixteen year-old self, decked out in ripped fishnets and chipped nailpolish. The reasons why Reznor cited Prince as an influence were now plain as day.  From: https://www.idieyoudie.com/2015/01/22/in-conversation-prick/

Silly Sisters - Geordie / My Husband's Got No Courage in Him / The Game of Cards

Muddy Waters one week, Maddy Prior and June Tabor the next. Flitting from genre to genre, from men to women, my reputation as a musical slut is secure. I’ve tried to imagine what would happen if I got a job at a hard-core blues club as the chick responsible for the filler music between the acts—and instead of slipping the expected John Lee Hooker disc on the turntable, I decided to play Silly Sisters. “What the fuck is that crazy bitch doin’ back there?” I hear the audience shout. I’d probably get the same result if I played Muddy at a British folk festival, though the crowd would probably not use such foul and offensive language. How might I respond to such casting of aspersions?
I would defend myself, heart and soul! While the differences between these two musical genres are quite obvious to anyone with ears (the use of the scales, rhythmic patterns, instrumentation and vernacular to name a few) there are also deep similarities. Both blues and traditional folk (from whatever country you choose) are the “music of the people.” They are forms of music where the commoners get to express both directly and indirectly their feelings about the uppers, weave stories about the conflicts that arise among themselves and celebrate the various and sundry vices that make life worth living, especially those of the erotic variety. The sentiments expressed in Silly Sisters’ “Four Loom Weaver” aren’t that far removed from the anguish of job loss that Ramblin’ Thomas sang about in “No Job Blues.” A similar parallel can be found in “My Husband’s Got No Courage” and “You’ve Been a Good Old Wagon,” both of which deal with lovers who have lost their mojo. Add to that the myriad songs in both genres honoring hooch and John Barleycorn and the commonalities begin to balance the differences.

June Tabor’s solo is “Geordie,” a song that may or not be another song that evil fellow Huntly, as the names used in this tale have changed over time to reflect whichever murderous creep happens to be in the headlines of the day. The basic story is of a man who is jailed for murder and of the woman who comes to his rescue, but there are implications that the murder is a trumped-up charge based on politics. As the executioners sharpen the axe, the bonny lady pleads with the king to “give me back my dearie.” One of the wiser of the king’s counselors whispers in the king’s ear that the royal treasury is having a cash flow problem and it might be a good idea to trade the accused for a badly needed infusion of currency. June Tabor gives her usual fabulous performance, but what really drives “Geordie” is Martin Carthy’s mastery of guitar rhythm, keeping the beat constant and steady on the bottom strings while still managing to add color with counterpoint on the higher notes.

The anonymous multitudes who composed British folk songs always found their way into the sack sooner or later, but in this tale, sad disappointment lurks under the counterpane. “My Husband’s Got No Courage” is a dramatic monologue sung by a young wife who finds she’s married a man who can’t get it up. Since women were not allowed to divorce in the 19th century, and the possibility of release through lesbianism, masturbation or a quick trip to the vibrator shop were not realistic options, her agony is understandable. Maddy and June sing the moaning, hand-wringing chorus together without harmony and then take turns singing the verses solo. This poor horny broad has tried everything: vittles, meats, oysters, rhubarb, clapping a hand between his thighs, throwing her leg over his and nothing she does gets a rise out of this hopeless prick. Bitter that he continues to present himself to the world as handsome and desirable, she finally explodes in the last verse, giving as clear an expression of sexual frustration as you will ever hear.

“The Game of Cards” is a flirtatious, metaphorical trip down lover’s lane by a young man and woman who take a break from their travels at a moment when “this young damsel began to show free.” The young man responds by suggesting the game of “All-Fours,” hint, hint, nudge, nudge, wink, wink. The pair “play cards,” having at least two sexual experiences of unknown variety, but certainly implied when she keeps taking his “jack” in card play and saying, “Jack is the card I like best in your pack.” As is usually the case, the girl dominates the proceedings and the man whimperingly surrenders to her power, saying, “You’re the best I know at this game.” The gracious victor offers him a rematch: “Young man, if you’ll come back tomorrow/We’ll play the game over and over again.” That’s my girl! June takes the lead here, with Maddy providing lovely complementary harmony at a slightly lower volume. Martin Carthy is superb once again, aided by Andy Irvine’s delicate touch with the mandolin and gentler play on the whistle by Johnny Moynihan.

From: https://altrockchick.com/2013/11/18/classic-music-review-silly-sisters-by-maddy-prior-and-june-tabor/

Birth of Joy - The Sound


Birth of Joy is a Dutch rock band, founded in 2005 at the Utrecht-based Herman Brood Academy. After many live concerts in the Netherlands, the band was signed by Dutch indie label Suburban Records following a performance at the Zwarte Cross Festival in 2011. After further shows at the Rencontres Trans Musicales in France and the Eurosonic Noorderslag festival in Groningen, supported by Rockpalast, the group became known outside the Netherlands. The band played their (provisional) last concert on 3 January 2019 in Paradiso, Amsterdam, after more than 1300 live performances in the Netherlands, Europe and the US.
The band's music is influenced by the blues and psychedelic rock scene of the late 1960s and early 1970s, but also borrowed from rock 'n' roll and boogie-woogie.[citation needed]
The band chose L'Ubu club in Rennes, France (city of the Rencontres Trans Musicales) to record a live album during two evenings (29 and 30 January 2015). The band's name is a reference to Friedrich Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy.  From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Birth_of_Joy 

Sleater-Kinney - One More Hour


Sleater-Kinney‘s self-titled debut laid down a solid foundation for the Pacific Northwest trio’s artful yet furious punk. Their second album Call the Doctor only expanded the possibilities of their music, incorporating darker textures and greater nuances between impassioned yelps of desire to be someone’s very own personal Joey Ramone. But they didn’t achieve perfection until their third album, Dig Me Out, a 13-track rollercoaster of two-guitar, no-bass punk rock. The band’s first album with new drummer Janet Weiss, Dig Me Out almost sounds like the work of a completely different band—and in all fairness, it is 33 percent of a new band. It’s crisper, punchier, more streamlined, yet still fierce and with some of the most urgent, rhythmically taut drumming on an album of its kind. Thus would begin one of the most rock solid lineups in rock ‘n’ roll for the next nine years.
While Sleater-Kinney’s roots may have been in the riot grrrl movement in the Pacific Northwest, the band took a different stylistic tack than the raw punk of Bikini Kill or the grunge of L7. For a slight hint of what one’s getting into on Dig Me Out, just look a little bit beyond the guitar on the album’s cover (which pays homage to The Kinks’ Kink Kontroversy) to find the LP sleeve of Black Sabbath’s Vol. 4 pinned up on the wall. Sleater-Kinney aren’t metal, but having emerged from a D.I.Y. punk scene and with an ear for the heavy rock canon, Sleater-Kinney created a brand new sound all their own, one that steps outside any comfortable D.I.Y. constraints in favor of something bigger.
The group plays their most confrontational cards up front with the title track, guitars blazing and drums rumbling beneath Corin Tucker’s raw lyrics like “do you get nervous watching me bleed?” Yet “One More Hour” shows a more tender side of the band, written by Tucker about her prior relationship with guitarist Carrie Brownstein, as she revealed in a somewhat awkward interview several years later. This balance of the personal and the political is another component that sets Sleater-Kinney apart, with feminism and personal politics coming to fuse into one brutally honest package that could only be paired with their aggressive but fun brand of indie punk.  From: https://www.treblezine.com/sleater-kinney-dig-me-out-review/

The Smithereens - Drown In My Own Tears / Especially For You / Spellbound


Late August, 1987: The Smithereens - guitarist Pat DiNizio, lead guitarist Jim Babjak, drummer Dennis Diken and bassist Mike Mesaros - were winding up a packed 16-month tour in support of their breakthrough effort, 1986’s Especially for You. Encouraged by the strong showing of EFY cut “Blood and Roses,” the New Jersey-based foursome was eager to get back into the studio in order to strike while the iron was hot. With little time to spare, the pressure was on for chief songsmith DiNizio to deliver.
“We’d just come off this amazing run on the road after scuffling for six years in search of a deal,” recalls Diken. “I remember being in the van during the last leg of the EFY tour seeing Pat sitting in the last set of seats with a recording Walkman, singing riff ideas into a microphone. I know he was very concerned about and consumed by the prospect of coming up with the material for our second album and avoiding a sophomore slump. Pat had the makings of the songs in dribs and drabs and as he put it at the time, ‘I just needed to get organized’.”
Weeks later, the Smithereens convened inside their East Village rehearsal space and began working on the new batch of tunes DiNizio was cranking out in short order. Like “Blood and Roses” and much of the group’s previous effort, “Only a Memory,” “House We Used to Live In” and “Drown in My Own Tears” were angst-filled odes to failed romance. Despite the gloomy overtones, however, the wall-of-guitar foundation, fortified by Diken’s thunderous rhythms, made for some incredibly catchy pop music. “I, for one, was quite knocked out by the quality of the songs Pat was writing,” recalls Diken. “I remember finishing up the last rehearsal before flying out to LA for the sessions; Pat held his head in his hands and was literally weeping/laughing with relief and delight that the burden had been lifted.”
Tracking for the set of songs that would become Green Thoughts began shortly before Christmastime at the famed Capitol Studios in Hollywood. “The prospect of working at the Capitol Tower was very exciting to us,” says Diken. “We were rabid record fans and Pat and I had a fierce fascination with all things Capitol. Of course we were into the Beatles and Beach Boys and all the rock stuff, but we were equally enamored with Stan Kenton, The Four Freshmen, Les Paul and Sinatra, and as such we were hoping to grab hold of the ghosts of some of these venerable giants as we did our thing within those hallowed walls.”
Like their mentors, the Smithereens wasted little time getting down to business. Setting up inside the smaller Studio B, the band proceeded to record and mix two-dozen new tracks in just over two weeks. “We did all the drum tracks in 2 or 3 days,” says Diken. “We just didn’t have the luxury of time to spare.” At the console was producer Don Dixon and engineer Jim Ball, both of whom had manned the controls for the group’s previous effort. “I like certain sounds on all of our albums for different reasons, but I have a special place in my heart for the spirit of the records we did with Don,” says Diken. “We were also fortunate to have Capitol staffer Peter Doell on board as assistant engineer, who knew the room and gear and was a great help to us.”
If the group was going for “a bit of a tougher sound” as Diken suggests, that attitude was immediately apparent on the album’s opening cut, “Only a Memory,” its molten riff born during a sound check in Spain earlier that year. Contrasting DiNizio’s suicidal sentiments (“I feel much too weak to live/ I’ve got nothing left to give”) was Diken’s powder-keg snare attack, liberally laced with gated reverb (as was the fashion of the time). “We rented a kit from Jeff Chonis, who was the drum tech for Jim Keltner and is still is Ringo’s guy,” says Diken. “He came in, set it up, tuned them and we had at it.”
Issued in March 1988, Green Thoughts would spend the bulk of the year on the album charts, solidifying the Smithereens’ standing worldwide. Meanwhile, the single “Only a Memory” gave the group its first-ever Album Rock chart-topper. Twenty years on, the Green Thoughts repertoire remains the centerpiece of the Smithereens’ blistering live shows.
“I felt that we had really achieved something important for ourselves, and for our fans,” recalls Diken, who these days doubles as a session man and songwriter when not working with the band. “Plus it was the realization that maybe this thing would last after all. It was one of the best times of my life.”  From: https://www.bmi.com/news/entry/Takes_from_the_Top_The_Smithereens_Green_Thoughts

Rocket - Act Like Your Title


You just finished a tour with Smashing Pumpkins. How was that experience?

Baron Rinzler: Unreal. It was a dream come true in a lot of ways. And also seeing them every night was epic because they’re one of our favourite bands.

Desi Scaglione: They played a lot from Mellon Collie, which was super cool. Like, they just put out a record, but they only played about four songs from it. And they played close to two hours every night. So they did all the hits off of Siamese Dream and then the ones off of Mellon Collie, but also some deep cuts, which was really cool. And yeah, I don’t think it comes as a surprise, but they’re a huge band for us. So having the honour of playing with them and getting to see them every night was very amazing.

How approachable were Billy, Jimmy, and James?

Desi: They’re all actually very nice people. James, I think we probably talked to him most. He also lives in L.A., so we were able to bond over that. We talked to Billy a few times and he was super, super friendly and genuine. And we met Jimmy briefly and he was really nice.

Alithea Tuttle: They’re all very… around, which I think was really cool, just because when you look up to somebody, obviously, you hope that they would be like all the things that you wish and they absolutely were. They kind of went out of their way to welcome us and they each gave us a good amount of advice, which is really nice because obviously what they’ve done and the music that they’ve made in their career has been incredible. So to be able to talk to them and ask, “How’d you do this? How’d you do that?” I think it was just so special to us.

When I first heard your band, I initially wondered, “Did they get their name from the Siamese Dream song?” Because I hear a lot of Pumpkins in some of your guitar tones. Is there any truth to that?

Desi: Not necessarily. I mean, first of all, it’s a very valid assumption, and you are not the first person to assume that. [Alithea] came up with the name, I can’t even remember how. But it was the only name we could say out loud that we liked and we’ve had a bunch of names. Like if you have to tell your parents your band’s name, like, what sound can you get out of your body?

Alithea: We knew immediately, though, that it would be the assumption, and I think we were so okay with that because they’re such an amazing band and because they’ve been such an influential band for us specifically. So we thought they were awesome company to be with. Sometimes people will assume that and we don’t even necessarily correct them because it makes sense.

Were there any other names you’d considered?

Desi: Yes, and they will not be repeated.

Alithea: There were none that we really considered heavily. Like, this is the only one where we thought, “This is us.”

Since we’re talking about Smashing Pumpkins, what are some of the other ‘90s bands that kind of helped shape your sound?

Desi: Probably all the ones you would assume. There’s a band called Chavez that’s really big for us. I feel like there are some songs on the new album that are more leaning towards that than some of the softer stuff we’ve listened to, but that’s a huge band for us. Pumpkins are a huge band for us.

Alithea: Fugazi is one of our favourite bands, even though obviously we don’t sound much like them. Their music is a massive influence on us and. What else?

Is that more about their DIY ethos or a lyrical thing for the Fugazi influence?

Alithea: No, I don’t know how to really put it into words, but guitar-wise they’re just so unreal and awesome. And just their energy behind things, I feel like they always came across so passionately, even on recording, which I feel is so hard to pull off. For me personally, I can see a band live and feel moved by it more often than not, just because it’s in your face and it’s real and it’s tangible. But I think sometimes it’s hard to come across as that energetic on a recording because you’re in the studio and you’re just by yourself and you’re just singing. It’s hard to channel that same energy. And I feel like they always did that perfectly, which was something that, again, I don’t think necessarily comes across maybe on our new record. I don’t think that we sound like them, but there were little things like that that I feel made us all think differently about recording, but also playing live. They were amazing.

I see Desi is also wearing a Helmet shirt.

Desi: Helmet, yeah. Fugazi, also Television was a big band for Baron and I specifically with guitar playing, which is funny because I feel like Television and Fugazi, as different as they are, are very similar in terms of how important the guitar playing is. They’re also very similar in the sense that there are two guitar players and they’re both individually, really good from one another and they work together really well.

I saw a video the band shared where you talk about some influences for the album. I thought it was really cool that Alithea mentioned Juliana Hatfield’s Only Everything.

Alithea: Yeah, the first time I heard that record it just evoked such a feeling and it was so exciting to me. It was so new, even though we’ve been listening to this genre of music for years and years and years. But I only found out about Juliana Hatfield a couple of years ago. It was Baron who played me a song, and I remember just feeling so excited because she was a girl and, not to deduce down to that, but just at a very simple level, I was like, “This is so cool. I want to do this so badly.” And I think it made me even more excited than I already was to try to be like that. I would look up photos of her and think, “Oh my God, she’s so cool.” All of those aspects of it.
But I love that she is so talented. Her melodies are incredible, her lyrics are so honest, but then at the same time, her guitar playing is incredible. Like, she doesn’t leave anything out. And I feel like sometimes people just will sing and they’ll just play rhythm guitar, and that’s just kind of their thing, which is also really cool. But she was like, “I’m gonna do both and be really, really incredible at both.” So I feel like that’s kind of what also influenced me personally about it, just being like, “I’m going to sing and I’m going to play bass. I’m not going to just play it simple. I want to try to do this the best that I can at both.” I think just her sound on that record, it feels very honest. She’s like, “This is what I am. Here you go. Take it or leave it.” And I appreciate that about it.

I feel Only Everything is one of the more under-appreciated albums of the ’90s. People usually mention her previous album, Become What You Are instead.

Alithea: Yeah, no one talks about it, and that’s exactly how I felt when I heard about it. I was like, “Why have I not heard this sooner? All of my favourite bands are in this same vein and this is the first time I’m hearing of this?” She’s incredible and just as good as the most famous bands of the ‘90s, but it feels like no one ever talks about her. And then, of course, I got into Blake Babies. And I love The Lemonheads. And once I kind of found out all that out, I was like, “Okay, I guess she was around more than I initially knew.” But I had never heard her name. I had never heard anything about her. So anytime anybody asks, I’m like, “Yeah, she’s just incredible.” And she’s still making incredible music, which is crazy.

Rocket formed during the pandemic. At what point did you realize that Rocket was no longer just a pandemic project?

Desi: From the moment we started, it really wasn’t a pandemic project in a sense of, “Oh, there’s nothing to do, we might as well be in a band.” Whether the pandemic was happening or not, I think this was going to happen.

Alithea: But I think it gave us the freedom to do it because we all were at home, able to start writing and brainstorming, just having a lot more free time than prior to being home. Obviously, everybody picked up new hobbies and such, but from the get go, we’re like, “This is not going to be a hobby. We’re gonna try to give this our best effort.”

From: https://firstrevival.substack.com/p/an-interview-with-rocket 

Belles Will Ring - Come to the Village


“I suppose the thing that surprises me most is how bang on some reviewers are to our intentions,” Liam says, “Some have delved even further than us, and have come out with some incredibly lush sounding descriptions of what they see and hear from our music. That’s what really gets you excited as the artist.”
The band fled to a small town in rural New South Wales to make the record last year, and hoped to evoke their isolated and eerie surrounds in a psychedelic collision of guitars.
“We wanted to create characters and situations, but not make it too obvious or too much like a concept album. On the other hand, we wanted the album to play out kind of like an audio road movie – or perhaps a fitting companion to your own dusky, haunted road trip,” Liam explains, “I think it’s the kind of album that people can lose themselves in, and come out the other end with their own interpretation.”
Crystal Theatre represents a more refined sound for Belles Will Ring, a distinct progression from the wall of sound aesthetic on 2007’s Mood Patterns. Liam describes the difference as the band “playing less”, being more selective with their instrumentation, more experimental with their song structures and more grandiose with their melodies. Some of the songs on the record have been part of the Belles Will Ring set for at least two years, and have taken on a richer character in the recording process. Other tunes were road-tested at the Big Sound Festival in Brisbane last year and at The Church’s show in Sydney (where Belles Will Ring featured as a support act). The response was fantastic, giving the band confidence that their new approach was working.
Belles Will Ring will launch a national tour to promote Crystal Theatre in Melbourne (“Because we love you the best”), at the Workers Club this Friday 1 July. Fans can expect their standard lush and glittering performance, with a few added effects to accommodate the new songs.
“There are way more instruments on stage,” Liam says. “We make use of that with the older songs too sometimes – bringing some of the new sounds to the old.”
When they’re done here, Belle With Ring strike out for South Australia and Queensland before winding up back in their adopted home town of Sydney a couple of weeks later. They’re primed for the trip.
“The best thing is that it’s your own road trip with some of your closest buddies – it’s an adventure. Crazy shit sometimes goes down; often there is incredible amounts of laughing. You get to listen to music together – you’re not often in a situation that lends itself to that, but it’s a really great thing. The bummer is food. You start feeling unfit very quickly due to the amount of garbage food you are forced to consume on the road. On a brighter note,” Liam smiles, “We’ve been doing this long enough now to know what towns to turn off onto to get good food.”  From: https://beat.com.au/belles-will-ring/