Black Crowes 9/7/06 Richmond Review - Swan Song?

Despite leaving Raleigh later than anticipated and missing a turn to get to the venue (hey I only lived in Richmond for a year and it'd been 7 months since I'd been back) I got to Brown's Island in time to get a couple of drinks and head to the show. Getting lost and running a bit late I think gave me a much needed adrenaline boost, which I needed knowing Marc and Eddie were gone.
A pretty large turnout, but I wouldn't say it was crammed. I was expecting a show heavy on the "hits" and that's what we got. Unfortunately, but understandably the band rescaled their catalog to strictly songs off the greatest hits album (with the exception of Southern Harmony's Hotel Illness). Let's just say right now, the well isn't deep. This is plenty to satisfy the casual listener, but for us hardcore fans, it wasn't the same. As we were making our way closer, Paul was sounding a bit like Marc on Sting Me, and for a few seconds I thought it was Mr. Ford.
I think Mr. Stacey did a very good job filling in...I watched Rich all night giving cues to Paul. I was on Paul's side, definitely a wrong chord or 2 thrown in during A Conspiracy...but the casual fan was oblivious to what was happening that night.
A friend of mine commented that it looked like Chris was watching Rob and thinking "Do I dig this guy? He's not Eddie, but this can grow on me." And maybe that's what we need, a little time for this lineup to solidify and grow on us.
Missing were Rich and Marc on lap steel, the nightly gem from Dylan's back catalog, or perhaps a nice number from The Band or Gram Parsons. Maybe covering the Dead's "He's Gone" would be too fitting for this occasion. It was straight Black Crowes hits night.
When they started Hard to Handle, the crowd was excited...of course I knew this was signaling the end of the show...all the songs they would've closed with were already played. The crowd stuck around afterwards, even sticking around when the roadies were putting gear up, stagelights were on, and PA was playing music...3 very strong indicators the band had just bid us goodnight.
After the show it felt empty...I was honestly disappointed, I understood why the show went the way it did, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed.
I think I'll still see them in Charlottesville Saturday (2nd row). It felt like the beginning of the end...it's certainly an end of an era.

The Black Crowes
07 September 2006 - Brown's Island - Richmond, VA [ USA ]

Sting Me
Jealous Again
Good Friday
Twice As Hard
She Talks To Angels
Thorn In My Pride
Sometimes Salvation
Wiser Time
By Your Side
Hotel Illness
A Conspiracy
Remedy
Hard To Handle

I would've dubbed this summer as the Summer of the Crowes...with the new releases, the band just gaining momentum and all, there was a lot to look forward to. I'm just sorta sad it ended on this note.

Best Week Ever…

Wed night, I caught Jeff Tweedy (Uncle Tupelo, Wilco) for an intimate acoustic solo show just 5 minutes from my house at the NC Museum of Art. I’m not very familiar with his body of work, but I was very impressed by his command of melodies in his song. He paid homage to local blues player Elizabeth Cotton (who I was not familiar with) by playing a ragtime/piedmont blues type piece. There were times he reminded me of Dylan and McCartney, he was that good. In such a stripped down form, it is real apparent that he’s one of the best songwriters of our era.

Friday night was Herring/Rodgers/Sipe/Fountain at the Cat’s Cradle in Chapel Hill. I believe all the songs were strictly Bobby Lee originals, as I recognized most of them from Codetalkers live shows. During one of the songs, they lauched into Coltrane's Impressions-which was definitely a treat.

Herring was…well “Herring” and Sipe was just unbelievable. Sipe would get a mischevious look on his face and throw the band curveballs, changing the tempo, time, the entire foundations of songs…yet the band would just knock them right out of the park. Fountain was every bit as good as advertised and did remind me quite a bit of Oteil…

Now onto Saturday:

Unfortunately we didn’t get to the venue in time to see Oteil and the Peacemakers, I did hear Paul Henson singing as we were walking away from the venue (my buddy had a microscopic knife on his keychain). By the time we walked back, the band had finished.

We did manage to give ourselves plenty of time to see the Derek Trucks Band. I was curious to see how our boys would translate in a larger venue. From our 2nd row seats, I would answer very well.

It was my first show since the band came to the Lincoln Theatre sometime this past spring. I really haven’t been listening much to dTb this year…but they certainly did blow the roof away. The boys were beyond smoking…they exceeded my expectations, and I’ve seen the band upwards of 15 or 20 times. Key To The Highway was just incredible. So much energy in this one, I thought much more so than the Lincoln Theatre show this year. Then into a Greensleeves that would surely having Saint John Coltrane smiling and nodding from up above. I brought a friend with me that had never seen the DTB, and like much of the crowd, he has joined the fold. He vowed to not miss them again when they are around.

My thoughts, can any band top this?

During the break between the ABB and DTB, my excitement was boiling over…the dtb were just that good. In between the sets, they were playing Howlin’ Wolf over the PA…would it be some sort of omen?

We heard the crowd roaring, so we rushed to our seats. I happened to miss half of Hot ‘Lanta last year watching Mood Cultivation Project. After a quick hundred-yard dash, beverages in hand, we were standing about 10 feet from Warren. I like what how they’re now “swinging” into Done Somebody Wrong…very nicely done…It’s always great to get Revival. Can’t Lose What You Never Had threw me out for a loop, until Gregg started singing. Always nice to hear one that I’d never seen before.

During Every Hungry Woman, Warren broke a string and it threw a wrinkle in the performance.

I always enjoy singing along with Rockin’ Horse…this particular version was a bit heavier on the wah and featured a Voodoo Chile tease…at the end of the song, the person next to me suggested the next song would be Desdemona…normally I would agree, but I saw Warren put on a slide, Gregg started counting “1-2..”…I told him Statesboro Blues…This was easily my favorite Statesboro Blues ever…Warren’s slide just really spoke to me.

What I’ll remember most about the show will be watching Marc guide Yonrico Soctt during Come and Go Blues…giving him cues and signs as when to play and when not.

Ah and now for Howlin’ Wolf’s Smokestack Lightning…had it not have been for the Wannee disc, I would’ve not seen it coming. This one was groovin’ like none other.

A fellow coworker asked me this morning how long Liz Reed/drums were…I would have ventured to guess probably around 20 minutes…it ended up being 40 minutes…all the percussion players of the night were given chances to shine. There was also a quick Les Brers tease during Liz Reed.

The show ended at around 10:40 or so after an encore of Midnight Rider and One Way Out…I expected at least another song, but it was apparent Oteil was having difficulties with some of his gear. I wanted to hear Layla, since I still haven’t seen it yet (should’ve gone to Charlotte last year). I guess there’s always next year, unless of course I decide to snag a ticket this week for Va Beach.

So back to the question…can anyone have topped that DTB set? I’ll just say it was a nice way to put an exclamation mark on what has been an incredible week.

He's Gone

August 1, 1942-August 9, 1995

10 Days to buy post-Garcia live shows

Just received the following e-mail and I must say I'm curious as to why post-Garcia Dead shows are no longer going to be sold. The band's foresight to allow free trading amongst fans went a long way to solidfying their legacy, becoming the architects of the jam band scene, and spurring a traveling community of fans-The Deadheads. Of course I imagine free trading will still be allowed.
What I'm failing to grasp is why this decision is being made after the recent ruckus concerning the archive.org website. Just a few months ago, perhaps half a year, the decision was made to remove all live Dead material from the archive. Of course there was quite an uproar, and a fellow worker, a Deadhead that I had told about the archive (unknowingly the shows had just been pulled that week), scanned a copy of the story from the Richmond newspaper.
After the fans had their say, the decision was made to allow Archive.org to host the concerts, however the soundboard recordings could no longer be downloaded, only streamed. And yes, the epic Cornell '77 is still available at the archive as well as much of the May '77 shows.
Here's the story at Livemusicblog.com.
Though the first line says "The Dead has decided to close shop" I'm not pointing fingers at Lesh and Co. just yet, or even their management. Looks like we'll have to wait and see.

I've copied the e-mail I received just today:

Final sale of The Dead recordings

| | |

Dear customer, The Dead has decided to close shop. While some of the older Grateful Dead recordings will still be marketed under an arrangement the band has made with Warner Brothers, the band's post-Garcia touring organization will be shut down. This also means that all sales of The Dead's "Official Concert Recording Series" - the live recordings from The Dead's 2003 and 2004 tours - will come to an end. So, between NOW and August 18th is the last chance to get your hands on any of the 66 live recordings from The Dead's 2003 and 2004 tours, as well as the two 2003 New Years Eve shows from Mountain View, CA, and the 2/9/04 Winter Jam show at the Warfield, in San Francisco. After August 18th, the "Official Concert Recording Series" website will shut down, and none of these recordings will be available for sale anymore ! There were innumerable highlights during the 2003 and 2004 tours, including the 5-night runs at Red Rocks in Colorado; guest performances by Steve Winwood, Willie Nelson, Branford Marsalis, and many more; the 3-set shows at Jones Beach, NY in '03; and the shows from The Gorge, WA where the scenic beauty always seemed impose its special effect on the music. All wonderful memories. All now available for the last time! We are hopeful that the "core four" surviving members of the band will decide to perform together again, and that MunckMusic will bring you the recordings of these shows when they take place. In the meantime, we will continue our work to record and market more great bands and music festival performances such as Bob Weir and RatDog, Bruce Hornsby, Little Feat, and over 100 performances from the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, and more - all available at www.munckmusic.com. In closing, all of us at MunckMusic want to extend a heartfelt "thank you" for your interest in The Dead's recordings over the past four years, and for thereby helping to spearhead a whole new way for bands and artists to market their music. Thanks to you, good music and good memories will live on for a long, long, time. And the fields are full of dancing Full of singing and romancing The music never stopped Thank you! Peer Munck President, MunckMix. Inc. service@munckmusic.com THE DEAD Live recordings from 2003 and 2004 tours Last Chance - sale ends Aug. 18 Jazz Fest Live 100+ recordings from New Orleans Jazz Fest RatDog Live Bruce Hornsby Live Little Feat Live

Jeff Tweedy's Top 10 Live Albums....

On August 16, Jeff Tweedy is playing the NC Museum of Art (5 min from my house). Tweedy along with Jay Farrar fronted Uncle Tupelo, which is credited as being the flag-bearers of the "alt-country" movement in the 90s.

Tupelo has since parted ways. Farrar fronts Son Volt which had a mainstream hit with Drown. (I actually just purchased Son Volt:A Retrospective 1995-2000 today)
Tweedy fronts the critically acclaimed Wilco. Pitchfork Media gave Yankee Hotel Foxtrot 10 stars. That's unheard of.



I stole the following from another website:


Jeff Tweedy's Top 10 Live Albums

Play It! Have you been listening to Wilco's new live album Kicking Television: Live In Chicago nonstop since it was released on the 15th? Yeah, me too. For a change of pace why not check out this playlist of 10 essential live albums as selected by Wilco's Jeff Tweedy? This playlist contains 8 of his 10 picks for 18.2 hours of music. If Jeff ever stops by unexpectedly for some tea, you've got the playlist right here.

Jeff Tweedy's full list of essential live albums:

1. Neil Young - Live Rust
2. Allman Brothers Band - Live at the Fillmore East
3. MC5 - Kick Out the Jams
4. Albert Ayler - The Complete Live in Greenwich Village
5. Richard Pryor - Wanted: Richard Pryor Live in Concert
6. Miles Davis Quintet - The Complete Live at the Plugged Nickel
7. Johnny Cash - At Folsom Prison
8. James Brown - Live at the Apollo Vol. II
9. Pink Floyd - Ummagumma
10. Bob Dylan - Bootleg Series Vol. IV: The Royal Albert Hall Concert

Most rock journalism is people who can't write, interviewing people who can't talk, for people who can't read." - Frank Zappa

COLUMN ONE
A Backstage Pass to Intimate Moments in Rock's Odyssey
Meeting Joplin and her demons, having cornflakes with Lennon and coffee with Bono, going to Folsom with Cash and outraging Elvis.
By Robert Hilburn
Special to The Times

July 22, 2006

It was the fall of 1969, and Janis Joplin, the biggest female star in rock, seemed invincible on stage - long, reddish hair swinging wildly as she stretched her vocal cords to alarming limits: "Come on, come on, come on, come on and take it . take another little piece of my heart now, baby!"

But the 26-year-old native of Port Arthur, Texas, was so self-destructive that no one thought she'd make it to 30: too many drugs, too much booze, too much, well, too much everything.

I was a young writer, new on the job, and I desperately wanted to interview her while she was in town to play the Hollywood Bowl.

I talked my way into her dressing room. What I discovered beneath her hard-boiled image was someone I never dreamed of.

It was the first of many private moments I had with great artists in my nearly 40 years as The Times' pop critic. Among the encounters: sharing cornflake dinners with John Lennon, having a post-Grammy coffee with Bono and sitting in the kitchen with Johnny and June Carter Cash. Each one gave me not only insight into the creative process but also a deeper understanding of what drives artists - or destroys them.

Joplin's Bowl show came near the end of rock's most explosive decade. Bob Dylan and the Beatles had turned the primitive energy of teen-oriented '50s rock into an art form that could express adult themes and emotions. Rock stars were suddenly pop culture gods whose music was embedded in the social and political fabric of a generation.

But many musicians found it difficult to adjust, especially those like Joplin, whose art was driven in part by feverish personal demons and an overpowering lack of self-esteem.

As we saw decades later in the suicide of Kurt Cobain, no generation is immune from the pressures of fame. But the rock star role was particularly difficult in the '60s and '70s, an era when young people prided themselves on stepping into the unknown.

When I caught up with Joplin at a rehearsal, nothing about her suggested "star." It was as if all the flashy boas, oversized glasses and Gypsy-hippie attire were her way of compensating for the beauty that nature failed to provide. Minus that camouflage or an audience to energize her, she seemed weary.

Finally, she retreated to her dressing room, collapsed onto a sofa and reached slowly for a pack of cigarettes. She was tired, she said - tired of fighting with businessmen and musicians and the writers who wanted to know where the pain in her voice came from.

When her road manager closed the door on his way back to the stage, the room felt like a cell. Like the best rock 'n' roll, Joplin's music was mostly about freedom, and yet she seemed trapped. I felt like an intruder. I didn't want to be just one more guy asking about the pain.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" I asked.

Joplin stared back at me across the room.

"Man," she finally said, "don't you even have your own questions?"

For me, the time with Joplin was a crash course in rock 'n' roll reality - an introduction to themes I'd encounter time and again. In the end, she got past my clumsy start and began talking about feeling like an outcast growing up, her music, her lifestyle and the one constant in her world: loneliness.

"Somehow you lose all the old friends," she said. "When we're not on stage, we rehearse, lay around in bed, check in and out of motels, watch television. I live for that hour on stage."

On stage that night, Joplin "the star" emerged. Ultimately, though, the lonely hours proved too much. Less than a year later, Joplin was dead in a hotel room. An accidental heroin overdose, it was said. She was within walking distance of the Bowl.

Making Elton John a Star

After the turbulent '60s, you could still hear ringing guitars and loud, rebellious voices on the radio and in college dorms, but the soulful center of the pop experience shifted to folk-based singer-songwriters like Joni Mitchell, Carole King, James Taylor and Neil Young.

The West Coast citadel of that movement was the Troubadour in West Hollywood. On what proved to be the club's most historic night, Elton John, a 23-year-old Englishman, made his U.S. debut on Aug. 25, 1970.

Everything about him was fresh. There were moments of rock energy, but the heart of his sound was in tender, intimate numbers. The gentleness of it seemed revolutionary against the roar of the '60s.

After the show, I raced to the office, where I wrote a rave: Elton was going to be the biggest star in pop. It has been 36 years, but John still cites that review - giving me credit for making him a star. The funny thing is, at first I believed him. I really thought I had star-making power.

I soon got over that.

The next year I raved about John Prine, a young Chicago singer-songwriter whose folk-country style employed a literary ambition and soulful insight that was extraordinary. But Prine never became a major seller, though he is widely regarded as one of the greatest songwriters of his era.

The lesson was that it takes more than raw talent - and glowing reviews - to reach the top commercially. More important, it taught me that critics can't always predict stardom, but they can spot excellence, and that, ultimately, is the most important thing they can do.

Much popular music is hollow professionalism - musicians and record producers recycling ideas and styles most likely to sell records. The memorable artists redefine the boundaries, either through blinding originality or by looking with unbending honesty at their deepest fears and grandest dreams. In writing about their worlds, I learned that the best were driven, almost obsessed, tough and, at times, brave.



John Lennon's Inner Child

It's a rule in criticism: Keep a professional distance from the artists. I violated that with John Lennon.

I was a fan of the Beatles. But I also wanted to know more about the man behind the 1970 album "Plastic Ono Band," a flat-out masterpiece. It was Lennon's first solo album and a chilling attempt to move beyond the emotional scars of being abandoned by both parents.

In the opening lines, Lennon sang about loss so painful that his voice seemed tied to a nerve deep inside: "Mother, you had me / But I never had you / I wanted you / But you didn't want me."

When I finally met Lennon in 1973, he was temporarily estranged from his wife, Yoko Ono, and living in Los Angeles. Depressed about the separation and the pressure of trying to live up to his fans' high creative expectations of him, he spent much of his time partying with friends or drinking and taking drugs on his own; sometimes drinking a bottle of vodka or half a bottle or more of brandy a day. Years later, he told me that when he had an important business meeting the next day, he'd spend the evening with me because I didn't drink.

"I think I was suicidal on some kind of subconscious level," he said of what he called his "lost weekend."

"The goal was to obliterate the mind. I didn't want to see or feel anything."

One evening at his hotel, Lennon turned on "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson" and ordered up cornflakes and cream. I didn't think much of it until the same thing happened another night.

"What's up with the cornflakes?" I finally asked.

He smiled.

As a child in London during World War II, he explained, he could never get milk, so this was special. The lesson of the evening was that there are some childhood losses you can deal with through room service. For Lennon, the harder ones could be exorcised only through his songs.

Heartbreak, Heartfelt

Lennon eventually returned to Ono, and they teamed up in 1980 on the album "Double Fantasy." I visited them at their New York apartment in the Dakota during the final phases of recording, and Lennon was as happy as I had ever seen him.

As we left the Dakota that evening, though, half a dozen people rushed toward him. They were upon him so fast that I was startled. Without a bodyguard, he was helpless.

When I asked if he wasn't worried about his safety, he said no. "They don't mean any harm. Besides, what can you do? You can't spend all your life hiding from people. You've got to get out and live some, don't you?"

That closeness to Lennon contributed to my most difficult moment at The Times. After learning Lennon had been shot to death outside the Dakota by a deranged fan that December, I flew to New York and asked Elliot Mintz, a friend of the Lennons, to express my sorrow to Ono.

Mintz called back to say Ono wanted to see me. I didn't know if I was supposed to go as a friend or a journalist. It would be a great scoop to get her first words after Lennon's death, but I didn't want to betray the friendship. I left my tape recorder behind.

Ono was in bed, under the covers, when I got to the couple's seventh-floor apartment, clearly distraught in the semi-darkened room. Hundreds of mourning fans were gathered below, and you could hear their singing from the street.

"The future is still ours to make," Ono said softly. "The '80s will blossom if only people accept peace and love in their heart. It would just add to the tragedy if people turned away from the message in John's music."

It sounded like something she wanted to say to her slain husband's fans, and I asked if I could print it. She nodded yes and I reached for a pen.

Ono's thoughts were repeated in news broadcasts and newspapers around the world the next day. On the flight back to Los Angeles, I went over the evening again in my mind, wondering if I had acted honorably or if, in some way, I had taken advantage of her.

I realized only Ono could make that judgment. A few weeks later she did, sending me a thank-you card.

Cash's Peace of Mind

With last year's hit movie "Walk the Line," Johnny Cash's 1968 Folsom prison concert will likely stand for millions as the defining moment in the country music giant's life. But on that cold, overcast January morning, I was the only music writer with Cash because the singer's career, after a spectacular start in the '50s, was in decline.

The record label bosses had lost faith in Cash, and they didn't think a live prison album was going to do much to reverse his sales. But I had been a fan since hearing "Folsom Prison Blues" on the radio in the '50s, and what could be better than to see him sing it live at Folsom?

Cash wore a black leather coat over his black suit as he stepped past the prison's gray walls just after sunrise. The mood was tense. Two weeks earlier, inmates had held a guard at knifepoint. Guards with rifles followed Cash's party everywhere. He seemed nervous, but not for his safety.

What worried Cash was the concert itself. He wanted to capture on tape the electricity he had felt in other prison shows, when the inmates' response to his tales of sin and salvation, redemption and regret was so intense that he had chills.

Cash was spellbinding on that stage, and "Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison" turned out to be one of the most acclaimed live albums ever, revitalizing his career. Still, Folsom isn't my favorite memory of Cash.

That would be the day in the fall of 2002 that I spent with him and his wife, June Carter Cash, at the old Carter family spread at the base of Clinch Mountain in rural Virginia.

I had visited Cash at his glamorous home on Old Hickory Lake near Nashville and knew about his estate in Jamaica, so I was intrigued by the modest, two-story wood-frame house in Maces Springs, population 800, where he spent part of every year.

"It comes down to solitude and peace of mind," Cash said, sitting in a rocker on his front porch, relaxing in a khaki shirt-jacket and gray slacks. "That's something we cherish now. The phone rarely rings up here."

For years, Cash's artistic integrity and compassionate spirit made him a symbol of the best qualities in the American character - a man who seemed to have been born with the natural compassion and curiosity of an artist.

At a time when other country music stars showed no more ambition than to keep honky-tonk jukeboxes supplied with hits, Cash concentrated on concept albums. His themes included railroads, the Old West, Native Americans, convicts, the workingman and God.

Offstage, he was a man of extraordinary humility and grace.

So it was hard seeing him so fragile.

It wasn't just the white hair or even the trembling hands and the fading eyesight - it was the long, awkward pauses between sentences, sometimes even between words, as he sat there, straining for the energy and breath to continue. Cash was 70, but he seemed like a worn-out 90.

I was also drawn to the Virginia valley because it was the only place the Cashes got on stage anymore - in an old-fashioned barn dance in a small, makeshift amphitheater, just a mile down the country road. It was a setting so informal that fans sat on old church pews or discarded bus seats.

That night, I followed the Cashes to the barn dance. Some in the audience had driven hundreds of miles - many of them for a chance to see a piece of history before it was too late.

Dressed once more in his trademark black, Cash opened his short set with "Folsom Prison Blues," and his deep, rich voice suddenly reclaimed its power. At least I thought it did.

Few around me appeared to notice when he began to miss a word here and there, but June Cash, alert for problems, sensed he was having trouble. After one number, she took the microphone and began singing one of her own songs, allowing him to take a seat and rest. He later returned to center stage for a couple of songs, and his voice again soared.

When I rejoined them later at the house, June Cash was wearing her robe, eating corn bread and milk before retiring. Cash sat opposite her, a tray of cookies and milk in front of him.

Upbeat as always, she talked about how good the show went. But Cash was quiet. He knew his performance was shaky, and it only added to his worries about the future. He didn't know if he had the strength to make another album and didn't know what he would do if not.

Cash picked up one of the cookies and nibbled at it, but he was tired. He put it back on the tray and said it was time for bed. Just as June Cash was saying good night at the door, he returned. Maybe he sensed the sadness in my look. Maybe he just didn't want me to think he was complaining about how things had turned out.

"Hey, Bob," he said, "don't forget that story I told you."

Earlier that night, Cash had talked about the time in 1970 that he took Michael Nesmith of the Monkees on a tour of the house on Old Hickory Lake.

"We looked at the house and Michael said, 'I'm glad for you. Shame you can't keep it,' " Cash recalled.

"I asked what he was talking about, and he said, 'We can't keep things like that in this business. My bet is you'll lose this place and this woman because the business is awfully rough and you're as vulnerable as anybody else.' "

Cash paused to let the words settle in.

"I knew what Michael was saying, but I told him I'd take that bet, and you know what? I won."

Appraising Elvis

Elvis was my first rock hero, and he remains the most charismatic performer I've ever seen.

Because Presley's manager, Col. Tom Parker, kept him from doing interviews to maximize the mystique, I never spent time with Presley. But I did meet him one night in 1971 before one of his Las Vegas shows. Parker came by my seat in the showroom and asked if I'd "like to meet the boy." It would be a social call, he made clear, not an interview. Elvis wanted to thank me for something I had written about him.

Over the next few years, I watched Elvis slowly decline - physically and creatively. It was years before we knew the reasons for the weight gain and the careless shows - the depression and cases of prescription drugs that led to his death in 1977. The sight of him turning into a caricature was so disheartening that in 1974, I wrote one of the most difficult pieces of my career, suggesting it was time for Elvis to retire.

Presley fans were so outraged that I received death threats. Elvis read it, I learned, and was said to be furious. There were no more backstage invitations.

The Boy King

Another major star who seemed even more isolated than Presley was the man-child Michael Jackson, who called himself the King of Pop.

By infusing music videos with the ambition and craft of mini-films, he changed the way we watched pop music. He also made R&B records so sensual and irresistible that the sound, after its eventual partnering with hip-hop, challenges rock as the nation's dominant musical form.

I got the rare chance to observe this new pop phenom at close range, before allegations of child molestation and the resulting legal actions began to rule his life. In 1984, during the "Victory" tour, I worked with him on his autobiography for Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, then an editor at Doubleday.

She wanted a formal autobiography; he wanted a picture book. One evening, I began to see how difficult a book of any sort would be. Jackson had handed me a folder with dozens of family photos. I picked out a shot of an elderly man, who turned out to be his grandfather.

"I love him very much," Jackson said.

"OK, shall we put that in the book?"

He looked shocked. "Oh, no," he said, "that's too personal."

After nearly an hour of this, he decided it was enough work for the evening. Popcorn was ordered from his personal chef, then he pulled a video from one of the huge trunks he took on tour. Slipping it into the VCR, he settled on a couch and said, "Let's watch cartoons." Jackson was 26.

For all his brilliant showbiz instincts, Jackson was ill-equipped to deal with many of life's most routine matters, as if the years of childhood stardom had left him socially stunted and more than a little frightened. His world was so guarded that admission to his room was strictly by invitation only.

Part of this, most certainly, was security, but Jackson also was not good at dealing with people, especially adults. Adults could be cruel, he said.

The most painful period in his life up to then, he told me during the dozen or so times I met with him, was his late teens, after he had outgrown his Jackson 5 "cuteness." He hated his photos - his nose was ugly and the acne horrified him. Adults would come to the house, he said, looking for little Michael and be disappointed when they saw him. It hurt him deeply, which no doubt fueled the obsession with the colorful jackets, the dark glasses, the sequined gloves, the ever-altering physical appearance.

Everything in his life seemed held together by fame. It's what gave him the power and money to control his world, to keep everyone from seeing how fragile it all really was.

When "Thriller" became the biggest-selling album of all time, Michael felt the "love" of the pop world again and became obsessed with holding on to it. Back at his hotel room one night after a concert in Washington, D.C., he talked about his next album. "It's going to sell twice as many as 'Thriller,' " he said.

When I looked skeptical, he said, "You've got to believe. I can do it. I can do it. I will do it."

There was both innocence and desperation in his voice. On the flight back to Los Angeles, I wondered if he really could achieve that - and how he would handle it if he didn't.

Bono, a Man in Full

In reviewing any act, but especially a new one, a critic is looking for specific qualities: originality, purpose, depth, craft - and the potential to make memorable music for years to come. U2 had all that when I first saw them at the old Country Club in Reseda early in 1981. The music spoke powerfully of youthful awakening at a time when many were losing faith in rock.

I interviewed Bono a few months later and found a remarkably focused and articulate 20-year-old. He had an innate curiosity about life, and that extended to Los Angeles and its culture. His one request was to go to an old-fashioned drive-in restaurant. And so we went to Bob's Big Boy in Toluca Lake, where he had two servings of the ice cream hot fudge cake.

A few years later, with U2's popularity soaring, I caught them at the Los Angeles Sports Arena. Influenced by Bruce Springsteen's emotional performances, Bono was looking for his own way of embracing the audience. Riding the energy of the crowd, at one point he raced to the balcony and jumped over the rail and into the arms of fans below. Two fans leaped from the balcony behind him.

That night I wrote in my review: "When you have music as purposeful as U2's, you don't need a sideshow, especially a potentially dangerous one." A few days later, Bono phoned to say the sideshow was going to stop - that the rest of the band was on his case too.

Over the years, we kept in touch. On the morning after "The Joshua Tree" won a Grammy, we had a late breakfast in a coffee shop just off Central Park in New York. He was excited, not just about the success of "The Joshua Tree" but also about all the things he wanted to do - screenplays, books, plays.

I loved his enthusiasm but worried that it might mean the end of U2. He had written a few great songs, but nothing that would leave a musical legacy as rich as Cole Porter's or Hank Williams'. The point was, I told him, he was just beginning.

Bono was quiet. So, I was surprised eight years later to read about him recounting the conversation in Bill Flanagan's book "U2: At the End of the World."

"That reprimand rattles around Bono's head," Flanagan wrote. "He is still wrestling with it."

Things had changed when I interviewed Bono last year. It was at the Chateau Marmont a few days after the start of the band's world tour, and the subject was Bono's crusade to combat Third World poverty.

As he talked, I thought about how the singer had been ridiculed in the '80s for his spiritual and idealistic views. By the end of the '90s, when the band's popularity was secure, Bono began meeting with world leaders, encouraging them to tackle poverty issues. It wasn't a role he wanted, he told me, but one he felt compelled to follow.

"Look," he said with a smile, "I'm tired of Bono too, and I'm Bono."

On the way back to the office, I thought about how much he had grown and how much I admired him. I also realized there was nothing more I could tell him.

The Truth of Ice Cube

Nothing since rock itself has changed the shape of the pop music experience as forcefully as rap - and, in the late '80s, Los Angeles was the birthplace of the music's most explosive wing: gangsta rap.

Ice Cube, who grew up in Los Angeles, wrote raps, first with NWA and then solo, that were so edgy even some hard-core East Coast rappers felt uneasy about his brutal, X-rated tales of drug dealing, gangbanging and police run-ins. An FBI official warned that the music could provoke violence against police.

Cube's office itself underscored the sense the young rapper was reporting on life from a battle zone. The two-story building was surrounded by a high protective wall topped by menacing rows of razor wire.

I admired Cube's work for the insight and social realism in it and for his courage as an artist. I was even more impressed after I met him; he was very aware of his role as a voice of the inner city. He always had an angry snarl for the camera - "Life can be hard. I know a lot of guys who never smile, you know what I'm saying?" he said in explanation - but when he would talk to me of his fiancee or his son, there was an easy, disarming smile.

When I wondered why he needed to go so far in describing racial tensions in the city, his response was: "Because it's true."

The public perception of Ice Cube and of rap itself changed after the 1992 Los Angeles riots. Suddenly, Cube's warnings about race assumed an eerie ring of prophecy.

Some time after that, Cube told me about a song he'd written - a wistful one about a day when nothing goes wrong, no one in the 'hood gets killed, titled "It Was a Good Day." Hard-core rap fans could have rejected it, thinking he'd gone soft. But "Good Day" is now considered as much a landmark in rap as Cube's hard-core "F--- tha Police."

That artistic daring has been echoed through the years by other gifted rappers, who also allowed their tender sides to show - Tupac Shakur's "Dear Mama," Eminem's "Stan" and, most recently, Kanye West's "Jesus Walks."

When I asked West last year why he released "Jesus Walks" despite warnings that radio wouldn't play anything with such a spiritual theme, West replied, in effect, because it's true.

Embracing the Horizon

One of the great disappointments in covering pop music all these years is seeing so many older pop fans refuse to give talented young arrivals a chance.

Although it's hard to say goodbye to massive talents like Cash, Lennon and Joplin, new greats do step forward.

Jack White of the White Stripes is a Detroit rocker with country and blues instincts as solid as Presley's and integrity reminiscent of Cash. Eminem outraged us all with his riveting debut album, just as Ice Cube did.

Lots of artists have tried to look at the world today with the sense of poetic flair that Dylan had, but Conor Oberst, a 26-year-old from Omaha, does it with such freshness and uncommon grace that I can't wait until his next record.

Kanye West may be best known as a rapper, but he's also a musical auteur who is reshaping hip-hop before our eyes - merging the music's cutting-edge sounds with the most enriching elements of R&B and pop. He may just be the Stevie Wonder of our times. And if she keeps pushing herself, Alicia Keys could one day be considered the most gifted female artist in mainstream pop history.

And there are more.

"I think we're all writing the same song," Jack White told me when I asked him why he thinks there is anything new to say. "It's the same song for 1,000 years; it's just how you tell it."

Lots of things evolve in music, including the way we listen to it. I've seen it go from vinyl albums to eight-tracks to cassettes to CDs to iPods. Through it all, there has been one constant: the search for the next great artist. Whether you are a critic or a fan, the important thing is to approach the future with innocence and enthusiasm.

Above all, remember this: Don't ever think you've heard it all.

*

(INFOBOX BELOW)

Critic's picks

These are Robert Hilburn's favorite rock albums, arranged by decade:

The '50s

Elvis Presley's "Sunrise." The tracks Presley cut for Sun Records before his "Heartbreak Hotel" fame largely defined rock 'n' roll - from the instrumentation to the attitude. The moment of celebration and discovery remains magical after half a century.

The '60s

Bob Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited." With his literary skill and acute social observation, Dylan turned rock from youthful exuberance into a mature art form in a series of brilliant '60s albums. This was the moment of supreme breakthrough.

The '70s

John Lennon's "Plastic Ono Band." Despite his landmark work with the Beatles, this solo debut ranks for me as Lennon's finest hour. He looked at his own doubts and fears with an unflinching honesty that set a new standard for rock 'n' roll introspection.

Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." At a time when rock 'n' roll had lost much of its heroic lure, Springsteen gave us reason to believe again in the music and ourselves - a youthful self-affirmation that was absolutely thrilling.

The '80s

U2's "The Joshua Tree." This great Irish band combined the anthem power of rock with a restless spirituality that once again expanded the horizons and heart of the music.

The '90s and beyond

The White Stripes' "Get Behind Me Satan." After four albums that established the Stripes as the most essential American rock group since Nirvana, Jack White made music this time that was even richer and more personal than before - anxious, even desperate, looks at conflicts between innocence and morality on one side and compromise and betrayal on the other.

*

Source: Robert Hilburn

When Good Music Goes Bad...

I try not to be too critical about music/bands or whatever. Sure I'll write off some bands, songs, and even entire genres but I'm careful about saying xxx sucks or I hate xxx type of music. I think what is fair game for me to criticize is bands that I enjoy extensively, who sometimes fall short in my opinion. Take The Allman Brothers, Black Crowes, Beatles:

ABB:
The dreaded 1979-1981 era. Mike Lawler (pic on the left) on synth. I still cringe when I hear him playing the synth solo on You Don't Love Me from the Brothers of the Road DVD. One Allman fan described seeing Lawler's playing sounded something like what a "goat might make if was being sodomized".
The DVD does have its moments-the jams in the hotel are cool and Dickey certainly has his moments. Enlightened Rogues CD has some good material but the albums that came out afterwards, I haven't bothered checking out. I did find bassist Rook Goldflies internet site and from my experience Dangerous Dan Toler was a nice guy.
But then again it was the 80s. Synths were in and so was a lot of bad music.
Good to see they got their act together in '89 and are definitely Hitting The Note.

Black Crowes:
Seeing the video to Blackberry, off of Three Snakes and One Charm, was what inspired me to write this piece. Where do I start with, the video or the lyrics? So the video has this whole psyechedelic cartoon Alice In Wonderland thing going on. It immediately reminds me of Tom Petty's Don't Come Around Here No More. I always hated that song and video.
The lyrics might even be worse. I think Chris Robinson is a fantastic lyricist, which makes these all the more disappointing.
The chorus:
I need some L-O-V-E-N to make me happy
You got to be L-U-C-K-Y to get
With a girl like Blackberry

Beatles:
Yellow Submarine. I think maybe they shouldn't have let Ringo do his "one" song on this album.

Do you find this offensive? Sorry. Well actually...

This past weekend I went to visit some family in the mountains. I was told that my Allman Brothers sticker on my car could be offensive to people and that I should be more careful about doing things that other people may find offensive, especially the good ole people of Ashe County aka "God's Country." On a sidenote if you want to buy from God's Country in God's Country go here. God forbid you would like to purchase this offensive sticker, go here.

Anyway I was then later asked what my boss would say about my sticker...of course if sarcasm went over well in that neck of the woods I would have replied something along the lines of-they think I'm an herb smoking, shroom eating, long haired hippie...however sarasm and humor sometimes doesn't work to your advantage.

I did reply that if I did offend someone, which I should not have, but if I did offend some old, narrowminded, racist bigot...I should pat myself on the back. For a point of reference of the mindset of some of the citizens...the highest mountain in the county, Mt. Jefferson was officially known as another name (at least from what I've been told...this could be an incorrect statement) until the 1970s, which you may rightfully find offensive. USGS data

I then mention what about all these people with the politically driven stickers...such as this one.(which happens to say almost nothing, yet speak volumes, while still saying absolutely nothing)

This discussion goes off into a tangent...how I believe one of the biggest problems about society is that people are too sensitive and get offended (or at least say they are) too easily. My belief is you'll know society has progressed when people can say what they want...seriously or joking...and not worry about being PC or offending someone. Why's that? Because that would mean that everyone has gotten past their differences and have reached a point in which everyone embraces one another...we wouldn't get bent out of shape over some silly or insignificant remark.

The Anti-islamic cartoon from the Netherlands, was brought up...I think George Carlin put it best when he stated that too many of the people Middle East are too serious...there's no humor in the Middle East. This seems to be a good point, though I've never been there, so I can't really comment, but it makes sense. And then the whole thing about going to war over religion...over water or oil or money, I can see-not that I necessarily advocate that, I can at least understand...war over abstract things, ideas, theology-I don't understand...why people fight over something that cannot be seen, I'll never understand. I guess I see it this way having lived in a country that's "tolerant" of others. anyway off this tangent.

I thought I'd brainstorm and list any reason why my Allman Brothers Band sticker could offend someone. So here we go...I'm trying to reason with the person that accused me of being offensive...note that some of the reasons are absurd, (you have to think absurdly to reason with those that think absurdly) but I'm just trying to see how this is offensive:

1. Someone who doesn't like their music.
   
2. Someone who doesn't like peaches.
3. Maybe someone is still upset that Dickey Betts is no longer in the band.
4. The fact that they had/have long hair.
5. Hippies!
6. One of the first racially integrated bands from the south...well actually period. (which Phil Walden was credited for being a genius...it was of course Duane who put it together)
7. They Jam too much.
8. Don't like "jam bands." (I don't consider them a "jam band")
   
9. Don't like "southern rock." (I don't consider them southern rock by the way)
10. They don't play Ramblin' Man in concert now (see #3)
11. Their association with psilocybin. recent NY Times article
12. Christians could be offended they are a secular band.
13. Non Christians could find Oteil Burbridge offensive because he's openly Christian.
    
14. Greg married Cher...ok that one's reasonable.
15. Their songs are too long.
16. Someone who is boycotting them for "kickin'" Dickey out
17. Their guitar players are too damn talented.
    
18. Those long haired hippies!
19. The fans at their concerts consist of only drunks and bikers. (they draw a very diverse crowd by the way)
20. They're old...Put in that new Nelly Furtado CD...this just happened to be the #1 cd on billboards right now...she's actually pretty damn hot
    

Music - Indian and a lil' Theory

So tonight, I'm catching the Daily Show with Jon Stewart...one of the correspondents does a piece on hookahs:
Trend Spotting with Demetri Martin – the “trend” of Hookah pipes in the Middle East, and the “growing trend” in the US as soldiers return from the Middle East. Demetri visits a hookah bar in NY. It was an amusing piece.
This then reminds me of when I went to a hookah bar with a few friends, maybe a month and half ago or so...Interesting experience, I don't smoke, but it was actually a bit soothing and pleasant. A lot of the music was interesting as well, a fusion of classical indian and arabic music with modern forms of music, def some stuff I'd like to listen to again.
This then gets me in a mood to listen to sarod artist Ali Abkar Akan.
From there I put in Derek Trucks first CD (which features 2 sarod performances)...and then onto Steve Kimock.

All this got me to the Fareed Haque website. Fareed's the jam/jazz/classical indian guitarist for the cleverly named Garaj Mahal and the less cleverly named Fareed Haque Band.
What this all brings me to is Haque's well done guitar/music lessons on his website, which are very effective of breaking down different musical aspects into layman's terms...so basically this whole blog is just a reminder to myself to check out Fareed's site, as I've gotten some really good tips from here...it also proves that since it is my blog, I can make every post as concise/long and as relevant/irrelevant (depending on the perspective) as I wish.

Me and The Devil Blues...

THE GUITAR THAT GAVE BIRTH TO ROCK 'N' ROLL.. YOURS FOR £3M
By Pete Samson


THE guitar used by legendary blues singer Robert Johnson is up for sale - at
more than £3million.
Johnson, said to have have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his
musical ability, used the Gibson L1 acoustic guitar on his only two
recording sessions.
The Texas sessions in 1936 and 1937 pro duced 29 songs that were a huge
influenced on future stars such as Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling
Stones and Bob Dylan ??" and led Johnson to be dubbed the father of rock 'n'
roll. The current owner only realised he had Johnson's guitar when a boxed
set of the singer's work was re-released in 1990 complete with a picture of
him playing the battered instrument.
The Gibson L1s were handmade between 1926 and 1930 - and each is unique.
Experts who studied both the Johnson picture and the guitar confirm they are
identical. The anonymous owner is selling the guitar through memorabilia
website Moments In Time for £3.25million. But famous fans such as Eric
Clapton, Keith Richards, Jimmy Page and Morgan Freeman could yet start a
bidding war.
Relatively little is known about Mississippi-born Johnson, apart from the
fact he died in 1938 aged just 27 - probably after drinking whisky poisoned
by the jealous husband of a lover.
Eric Clapton, who released an album of cover versions of the bluesman's
songs in 2004 titled Me and Mr Johnson, has called him "the most important
blues musician who ever lived".
Scores of other modern acts have also covered his songs. Led Zeppelin did
Travelling Riverside Blues, The Rolling Stones covered Love in Vain and Stop
Breaking Down, and The Red Hot Chili Peppers sang They're Red Hot.


My recommended listening:

Blogs of Interest

Justin Kreutzmann's blog (film maker and son of Grateful Dead drummer Bill Kreutzmann):

rock and reel
rock and reel: The Black Crowes (check out the Words You Throw Away Video)
http://nugs.net/vault/jk2005_The_Thrill_Is_Gone.mov (Grisman/Garcia video)
The Wheel

Blog of a couple of friends' trip to New Zealand:
Changes Abroad

Marek's blogs:
Mark's thoughts

JR's blog around the world:
A Gedanken Experiment

The creator of Phreshwater (music site I used to write for) and his blog:
Phreshwater.net

Cool music blog site I stumbled upon:
AquariumDrunk

Please allow me to introduce...

Alright, this is my 3rd ever blog...following a livejournal and myspace...why change, because change is good, or so I hear.

What's Halfway to Everywhere?


I'd been trying to think of a name for my soon-to-be blog for a couple of days. Because of my infatuation with music, I knew it would reference a lyric or one of my favorite bands. Last night I put in Three Snakes and One Charm by the Black Crowes, and "Halfway to Everywhere" came on...It's not my favorite song by the Crowes, heck it's not even my favorite song off this CD, but the title rang a bell to me. I couldn't even recite any of the lyrical content if I tried right this second.
I just liked this idea of being Halfway to Everywhere. To me it implies that you're near where you would like to be ideally, but you're not quite there yet. Living in Richmond, Va a year ago, I would be 2 hours away from where I want to be...People ask about Richmond and the location, the response would be it's near the mountains, it's 2 hours from D.C., 2 hours from the beach, and my usual reply it's 2 hours from Raleigh, NC (the city of my alma mater and current residence). The same concept applies to Raleigh, we're between the ocean and mountains. It's an ideal area, it almost has the best of both worlds, but not quite...it's halfway.

This blog will serve some sort of purpose, maybe not for you, maybe so. It might be about life in general, maybe a CD or concert experience, perhaps something going on in the world, or maybe even a soapbox for me to lash out my opinions on various worldly matters, maybe a couple of anecdotes here and there. . I have no idea how often I'll update this thing, maybe every day, maybe once a week, maybe almost never...just how often I want to stir the pot, or perhaps how often it stirs me. And on that note, I'll be on my way to eveywhere.